Having decided to transition, Juliet Jacques begins living as woman. Here she recounts the reaction of friends, employers - and total strangers

Having made my decision to transition, the first place I went was the Clare Project. The convenor handed me pages on the NHS pathway, the numerous oestrogens available, hair removal and surgery, and told me that the first step was to ask my GP for a psychiatric referral.

My doctor warned of a three- to four-month waiting list. Fine, I thought, I'll have time to manage things with friends and family. Days later, the letter arrived: my assessment would be in two weeks. This is it, I decided. I would live as a woman - except at work, as my temporary contract expired in two weeks. Why make all that effort for the sake of a fortnight?

I emailed everyone I saw socially - I wanted them to find out from me. I covered every issue I thought they might have, before apprehensively pressing 'send'. Then I went into town to buy essentials for my new life. I picked an outfit, trying to assert that I was presenting as female without over-dressing. I settled on a black-and-white T-shirt, a knee-length skirt, black tights and flat shoes, and set out.

The more 'everyday' my action, the more unfamiliar and frightening it seemed. Stepping outside was terrifying - this was nothing like glamming up for genderqueer nights. The stakes felt sky-high: I'd denied myself the 'off' switch I'd had whenever presenting as female meant difficulties. I knew, though, that I was doing the right thing.

I had to replace the cheap bra inserts I'd bought on eBay, so my first stop was transgender-specific: a shop in Hove that caters for anyone on the male-to-female spectrum. I spent £110 on more durable breast forms, baulking at the expense but knowing that they'd last until I got on hormones. (I've promised these, signed, to a friend once I no longer need them. If they appear on eBay, I'll be very annoyed.)

Hungry, I nervously dashed into the Co-op. Would transphobia complicate the simple act of buying fruit? No: I bought a banana without judgement from cashier or customers, and confidently got the bus home. My initial fear - that I'd struggle to walk around town without constant hassle - didn't materialise.

Friends replied to my email: all supportive, many praising my 'bravery'. I didn't feel I was being brave: I'd done what was necessary to stay sane. Some, particularly my male friends, expressed concerns - they liked me as a man, and worried that I was going to 'disappear'. From my transgender perspective, I'd underestimated the tribal nature of gender. I was surprised to find that some female friends felt I was 'joining' them, whilst some males felt I was 'leaving' them.

Soon, their anxieties dissipated. The immediate changes were superficial; fundamentally, I was the same person. But out for a friend's birthday on the second night of my 'real-life experience', I became worryingly aware of how strangers might respond. Two men stared at me, then one got up and asked: "Are you a bird or a bloke?"

What to do? Demand a third option? Say "woman" in my untrained male voice, or some camp-sounding high-pitched tone? "Bloke" seemed the safest, yet least comfortable, option. "I thought so," he said. "Nice tits!" He squeezed the contents of my bra and left. I sat down, simultaneously violated and relieved.

Two days later, I returned to the Clare Project. I felt less secure: shops had refused to serve me, several old friends hadn't returned my email, and I was worrying about my family. Their counsellor told me to give my friends time, to expect some discrimination, and to bide my time with my parents.

"What if the psychiatrist rules me unfit to transition?" I asked. "He won't," said the counsellor. "There's a raft of psychiatrists to go through - this referral just checks for any obvious mental health problems. Explain everything calmly and you'll be fine."

I went home, slightly reassured. The next day, I returned to work - as male. I knew that the Gender Recognition Act prevented employers from sacking transitioning staff, but as a temp I could soon be out of work, and nothing stops employers passing over transsexuals.

I told my manager, who was helping me find another job within the organisation. She told me to consult human resources. The HR manager and I decided that if I got another job, I would email everyone I knew explaining my transition not just between departments, but also between genders. For now, though, I contemplated unemployment - and starting another job in an unknown situation. I'd rather stay where I was: I knew it was a welcoming environment, and there was another trans woman on my floor who seemed perfectly happy.

My psychiatric assessment was the next day. I nervously entered Hove Polyclinic and filled out a preliminary questionnaire, measuring my depression and anxiety. To my relief, my scores were low - I'd heard rumours that the people at the Charing Cross Gender Identity Clinic don't like to hear of other psychological difficulties besides gender dysphoria.

The psychiatrist asked the questions I expected - about my childhood, my family and friends, my work, my involvement with the transgender community, my mental health, my substance use and my sexuality. My fears of rejection were unfounded: he scheduled a second appointment, telling me that he would recommend me for full reassignment.

To celebrate, I went shopping with a friend. I treated myself to a makeover, before getting started on a new wardrobe. Once we were done, I discarded the (awful) coat and bag I'd bought years ago, symbolising my shift from 'cross-dresser' to 'trans woman'. Already, I'd stopped feeling that I was living 'as a woman' - I was simply living.

I returned to work the next day, and arranged a new temporary role. I told my new boss that I was transitioning: no issue, she said. I thought how fortunate I was - I must have had one of the easiest beginnings to transition ever. One trans friend told me that she lost everything, including her job and her relatives. It was tragic. I thanked goodness that I had been able to live and work in a relatively accommodating time and place.

There was just one group left to tell: my family.

• Juliet Jacques's column will appear fortnightly. You are invited to post comments and questions for Juliet below, and are very welcome to share your own experiences.