It’s not a lack of skill. It’s permission to be messy. Permission to grow out loud. I don’t owe anyone a polished, passing, perfect version of womanhood. I owe myself the joy of trying.
Some days my femme voice sounds like a squeaky cartoon character. Other days, I forget to try and just… talk. And you know what? It’s okay. Every tgirl I admire started somewhere. We’re not born knowing how to adjust resonance or smile with our eyes. We learn. We mess up. We record a hundred voice notes and delete 99 of them. amateur tgirls blog
Hey, loves. 💖