The time we think we'll have and the time we've wasted..

As crossdressers, we often tell ourselves that one day it’ll get easier.

That if we just wait—until the kids are older, until work calms down, until life settles—we’ll finally have the time and freedom to dress as we truly feel inside when we need it - When we get the urge.

We hold on to that promise like a light in the distance.

But for many of us, that day keeps moving further away.

I’ve been thinking about time lately.

Not just in hours or days, but in the deeper sense—of aging, of windows closing, of opportunities we let pass because life just keeps demanding more from us.

We’re so often caught between roles: provider, parent, partner, son or daughter, even caregiver and in doing all that, we push down our feminine selves, telling her to wait a little longer.

The irony is cruel.

In our younger years, when we may be fitter, more energetic, even more “passable,” we rarely have the time and later, when time might open up, we wonder if we’ll still look or feel the part.

Even when the kids move out, they visit.

They may have kids of their own.

Suddenly, we’re babysitting, helping, still giving.

Our lives—especially as men raised to serve others first—rarely stop asking of us.

And while all of that is rooted in love, in duty, in what makes us decent human beings… there’s also this truth: we lose pieces of ourselves in the process.

Crossdressing is more than clothes.

For many of us, it’s about secret identity, release, joy, balance. It’s the deep breath we rarely take and yet, so much time is spent worrying—about being caught, about how our wives feel, about whether people would understand.

We try not to upset the apple cart, even if our needs roll away, untended.

And I find myself wondering: how much of our lives are spent not living for ourselves at all?

I’m not saying abandon responsibilities or turn selfish.

But I am saying this: life is painfully short and the window for expressing this beautiful, complex side of ourselves may be even shorter.

We mustn’t keep pushing it off, thinking “someday.” Because someday isn’t promised.

Maybe we need to carve out small moments of self-expression now.

A scent we wear. A quiet evening as our femme selves. A photo. A secret kept between us and the mirror. A gentle conversation with someone we love.

Something real. Something now.

Because our feminine selves deserve more than waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel which sometimes seems to get further and further away.

Davina