The excitement led me to swipe right on a photo of a woman named Joanne, biting a fur coat. She was the first person I would love as my true self and the first person to love me back after I transitioned. With childlike innocence, we battled the difficulties and discrimination many queer couples face. Our love made us inseparable and I wanted to share all of myself with Joanne. But, from the beginning, it seemed there was one thing we would never share: a biological child.

In the summer of 2017, while watching Moonraker on Netflix, Joanne fell asleep in my lap. As I ran my fingers through her hair, I began imagining a small child with the same brown curls, a child who loved the beach like Joanne and who, like me, wanted to make art. I decided in that moment that I would do anything to bring that child into the world.

Despite my best efforts, I struggled to find information about transgender people in my situation, who’d interrupted their medical transitions in order to have children. Most of the examples I found, of transgender people who’d had biological children, were online or in documentaries. These included children who came before transition, transgender men who became pregnant after stopping testosterone, and children conceived with sperm stored before the transition process. My doctors warned me that even after a yearlong reintroduction of testosterone, Joanne and I still might not be able to have a child. No one really knew how long I might need to stay off hormones.

That year passed and, going through puberty yet again, testosterone changed my body and mind. I didn’t recognize myself physically or emotionally. I’d become introverted, easily angered, wound up by anxiety and severe depression. The bustle, aggression and constant change of New York City seemed to mirror my tormented emotions and the endless construction site my body had become.

One night last summer, I met Joanne at an all-transgender cabaret show. A trans woman in a sultry red dress began to sing “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.” Midway through her performance, she revealed an estrogen-filled syringe hidden in her bra. I watched as she injected it into her thigh, flaunting her use of the same hormone that had once allowed me to be myself.