@FlyingOink
Navigating university with male genitalia in an explicitly lethally hostile world was an experience I wouldn't wish on anyone, but there was no other option.
I was ace at uni, but largely as a survival mechanism. You're stuck in an awful place where creepy people fetishise you and everyone else assumes you are a creep.
And I realise this is very personal, but as you have shared it, presumably you didn't pass at 18? Had you been on blockers? With regard to university being "explicitly lethally hostile", did you get any support from the university re death threats?
If you hadn't been on blockers, do you think they might have helped? If you were on blockers, and presumably then oestrogen as part of the seamless handover, do you believe that the wait for genital surgery was the main problem for you there?
Sure. I'll answer if it's helpful - hopefully if someone learns something then this'll be worthwhile.
I was quite lucky in the Great Genetic Lottery; I was occasionally passing before even going on blockers, and by the time I was 18 and had been on them for several years, I looked quite androgynous, which meant school and generally existing in public was an absolute nightmare but it was definitely better than the alternative.
Once I started HRT, it only took a couple of months before I couldn't pass as male if I tried. By the time I went to uni, I looked exactly like my mother at the same age - just taller - to the point where most people thought family photos of her were of me instead. I'm not a complete idiot, so I'm not going to post a picture here, but suffice to say that my experience of passing or not was one framed and resolved at a much younger age than most trans people - many of whom never get to that point - and I firmly believe it spared me an enormous amount of suffering on multiple levels.
Unfortunately, this came with its own set of struggles, as anyone who has experienced being read as female as a fresher at uni in the presence of drunken men can likely attest. I had a particularly notable early moment of sudden, stark sober clarity, standing swaying in the doorway of the bedroom of a 6ft2 bruiser with forearms the size of my thighs on the wrong side of a bottle of vodka, where I realised I was about to make a decision with a fair possibility of causing me to become a trans panic murder statistic; this was in my -first week-, and became something of a defining component of my late teens and early twenties. The person I was most afraid of was a decidedly predatory lesbian in one of the uni societies who kept making romantic overtures toward what was clearly a young, extremely insecure, absolutely terrified people-pleaser so I briefly dated her, but could never articulate -beyond feeble excuses- why I wasn't interested in our relationship taking on a sexual character. I got sick enough of having to constantly swat her hand away from my crotch that it finally overcame my fear, and I broke up with her, and then resolved that it was safer to just say I wasn't interested from then on until I'd had surgery.
The wait for surgery was agonising and completely unnecessary. I'd already long completed any semblance of a Real Life Test period - had been living for the best part of a decade in a world that treated me as a young woman in almost every relevant way. It was just senseless treadmilling for the sake of it. It felt like once I'd had it, I could just get on with my life.
If it hadn't been for blockers, I'd have spent that time - right up to today - in the same constant, crushing pit of insecurity that most trans people are locked in every day, doing their best to pass, wondering if they'll get abuse just walking down the street or going to the loo.
It isn't exactly an easy ride - the sheer degree to which trans stuff seems to flood the media and online discourse nowadays is quite painful, and I've often felt that my mere presence in the vicinity of other trans people is an active dysphoria trigger for them, which is an incredibly lonely place to live.
However.
The worst I have to put up with on an everyday basis is good old fashioned misogyny, and the background hum of transphobia in the press. Which is...well it's a different flavour of awful, but still awful.
I look in the mirror and I see the person I should see. When other people look at me, they percieve me correctly. Just living, every day, isn't a constant waking nightmare. That is absolutely due to having made that critical decision about blockers over twenty years ago. I'm living proof that there is a positive road ahead; that you can go on and live your life, and largely just get on with it - but that lifeline is so crucial.
There is nothing inherently magical about passing, beyond feeling comfortable in your own skin. However, we live in a world where everything is vastly easier if you do; where every day isn't a minefield of abuse.
Would they be remotely as significant if it wasn't for our culture's transphobia problem? Yes and no. They wouldn't be an escape from transphobia in a world where that didn't exist; they would, however, remain an escape from gender dysphoria - and one that is significantly safer and more reversible than just starting on CSH at an equivalent age.