What if you regret it?

If you're transgender, you've likely faced that question before.

Perhaps it came from a stranger online, a doctor, a friend, or a caring parent. The wording might have differed, but the question was often the same.

What if you regret transitioning? What if you regret the hormones? What if you regret the surgery? What if you regret becoming who you believe you are?

For a long time, I didn't know how to respond.

Not because the question was tough, but because it raises an intriguing question about regret. It assumes that regret is the worst thing that could happen.

As I grow older, I'm less sure that's true.

I've regretted many things in my life. I've regretted staying in relationships longer than I should have. I've regretted making myself smaller to please others. I've regretted saying yes when I wanted to refuse. I've regretted staying silent when honesty would have been healthier. I've regretted waiting years to trust myself.

To be honest, some of my biggest regrets have nothing to do with my actions. They stem from the things I didn't do. The opportunities I talked myself out of. The risks I never took. The versions of myself I let go of because I feared disappointing someone else.

So when people ask me if I worry about regretting my transition, my answer is straightforward.

Of course I do. Because I'm human.

Every major decision comes with uncertainty. Every meaningful choice asks us to move forward without knowing exactly what lies ahead.

No one can guarantee a perfect outcome. Not in marriage. Not in parenthood. Not in careers. Not in moving to a new place. Not in love. Not in becoming yourself.

Life simply doesn't provide that kind of certainty.

What fascinates me is how selectively people fear regret. When someone changes careers at forty, we call it brave. When someone relocates for a fresh start, we call it exciting. When someone pursues a dream, we urge them to take the leap.

But when a transgender person decides to feel at home in their own body, regret suddenly becomes the first thing everyone wants to discuss. It's as if the possibility of regret is seen as proof that the journey shouldn't occur at all.

And I don't think that's how life works. Because if regret is the standard, then no one should ever do anything meaningful.

No one should fall in love. No one should marry. No one should start a business. No one should have children. No one should take a chance on an uncertain future.

The truth is that every life worth living involves risk.

For me, the greater fear wasn't regretting my transition.

The greater fear was spending my life wondering what might have happened if I had never let myself try.

I know what that life looked like. I lived it. I know what it feels like to act the way others expect. I know what it feels like to look in the mirror and feel disconnected. I know what it feels like to endure years of hoping the discomfort would eventually fade.

It didn't. And eventually, I had to make a choice. Not between certainty and uncertainty. But between fear and honesty.

People often ask if I regret transitioning.

What they rarely ask is what I would have regretted if I hadn't transitioned.

That answer comes much more easily.

I would have regretted never allowing myself the chance to live honestly. I would have regretted spending my life trying to be someone else. I would have regretted choosing comfort over truth. And I would have regretted never discovering who I could become.

Maybe that's what I've learned about regret.

It doesn't always wait at the end of the road you take. Sometimes it's at the end of the road you were too scared to walk.

And that possibility frightened me far more than transition ever did.