Monika: Your journey is unusual in so many ways because before transition you spent 23 years in the military and served four combat tours. What was it like to reconcile the very tough, traditionally masculine world of the military with the woman you knew yourself to be?
Jynx: To put it succinctly? Brutal. My masculine presentation was my mask and my shield. I used it to keep my identity safe, to protect a part of me I’d been taught was weak and would be shunned forever. I buried myself in work, deployments, and for the first nine years as much “ass” as I could find, until I forgot who I actually was. People see my old photos and say, “Holy shit, Jynx, you were totally conservative passing.”
That always makes me laugh, because I was toxic as hell mostly because I hated myself. But the truth is, one person commented on those old photos and said I looked more like an animated corpse. They were right. I had died inside right around the time I left my second wife.
Monika: I imagine the military taught you a lot about discipline, endurance, and getting through things even when they are difficult. Do you think those lessons helped you during your transition?
Jynx: Absolutely. Whatever else people say about the military, it gives you a foundation, slowly, painfully, over years. It either builds you up or breaks you down; there’s not much middle ground. For me, it built me up. I became an A&P-certified aircraft mechanic, a combat crew chief and flight engineer, a DIA attaché and police augmentee. I earned project management and cybersecurity certifications and multiple degrees, all the way to my doctorate, all because the military taught me discipline.
So when it comes to transitioning in a world where someone as venal and ridiculous as Donald Trump can be president of the United States? Yeah. That training absolutely helped me walk through some very dark bullshit.
Monika: The journey to becoming ourselves can come with a heavy price. We can lose friends, family members, relationships, careers, or simply the life we thought we were going to have. What was the hardest part of coming out for you, and what helped you get through it?
Jynx: The price was steep. I don’t think I’m special in that; plenty of us pay it. I had started and owned two businesses, was a pillar of my community, owned acreage and a beautiful historic home, consulted for the state and federal government, and had a wife I loved dearly and five wonderful kids. I had success, power, and even a serious shot at a state senate run in Texas. I had everything a certain kind of man is supposed to dream about.
Monika: You had built an entire professional life before you transitioned, including two businesses and important government work. How did coming out change your career?
Jynx: When I came out, my business partners were embarrassed. They accused me of using company funds for transition “drugs” lol. They said my unpopular business decisions like paying employees a livable wage with benefits, sharing profits across the whole team, and letting employees make real decisions, suddenly made sense to them. Their explanation? Those were “irrational woman” ideas. Misogynistic and affirming at the same time, I guess. They bailed and left me to run both companies. Most of my employees quit, though a few stayed.
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| "When I came out, my business partners were embarrassed." |
Monika: The losses did not stop with your career. You also lost friends, faced hostility from people in your community, and eventually lost your marriage. Which of those losses was the most difficult to come to terms with?
Jynx: I’ve already talked about losing my second oldest child. That remains an absolute mess.
Then there were the temporary losses. Friends I’d known for twenty years dropped me the moment they found out, some even blocked me on social media, which I’d just started using to document my transition. The community split right down the middle: half proud and happy that I was finally living as myself, half hateful enough to do burnouts on my property, scream slurs at my door, throw bricks and rocks at my house and cars, or refuse me service around town.
And my wife. We tried. We went to therapy. I wanted us to work so badly. We were desperate to get out of Texas, so I took the whole family to Key West. It was magical, even if it burned through what little savings I had left, thank satan for credit card points. On the flight back, I felt something shift in her. We got home late, put the babies to bed, and went to sleep. The next morning I was making breakfast when she walked in, expressionless, and said: “We need to have an adult conversation about me leaving. Today.”
My heart dropped so hard I thought it stopped. I climbed back into bed and sobbed for hours. A few days later she had an apartment sixty-five miles away. That chapter ended abruptly. She was the only person I ever truly loved like that. I still love her, and I always will.
Monika: So what helped you get through?
Jynx: What helped me get through? My children. Pure stubbornness. The few people who refused to leave. Eventually therapy. And, later, music. But at the time, I just survived: I sold the big old house, packed my life into boxes, and moved into a rental I could afford until I found work.
Monika: Many of us feel enormous pressure to "pass" as women, especially during the early years of transition. Did you ever find yourself chasing a particular idea of femininity, or did you eventually reach a point where you thought, "This is simply who I am, and that's enough"?
Jynx: When I first started, I had no real hope of ever passing. I was a forty-year-old crusty veteran with bad knees, a bad back, high blood pressure, and almost three hundred pounds on my frame. So I didn’t think about it much until I actually started going out in public as myself and got hit with hate, harassment, and, occasionally, violence.
Then passing stopped being a vanity metric and became a safety issue. That reality drove me to train my voice obsessively and eventually pursue vocal feminization surgery. Passing became a way to stay safe, to blend in. I’m grateful to have some passing privilege now, but when I look back at the number of painful, expensive procedures I endured just to feel at home in my own skin, I realize how much it cost.
These days, I am who I am. I’m happy with my body and my appearance. That’s enough.
Monika: I remember the period right after my transition. It was pure euphoria. My closet suddenly filled with dresses and shoes, and I felt as if I had to make up for all the years that had been taken from me. I must have tried on hundreds of outfits! Did you have a similar period of discovering femininity and enjoying things you had previously denied yourself?
Jynx: Oh, absolutely. I went feral for clothes and shoes, especially shoes. I probably own thirty pairs by now. I spent months trying on every style I’d ever denied myself, twirling in my living room like a teenager, feeling so free and giddy it was almost dizzying. It was like finally exhaling after holding my breath for decades. Finally!
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| "My everyday look now is fast and a little undone." |
Jynx: The best description I’ve got is “Lazy Goth.” I can do traditional goth looks when the occasion calls for it, and I love that, but most days I keep it simple. Oversized band tees or huge black hoodies worn as dresses. Black leggings, distressed tights, or baggy sweatpants for maximum comfort. Occasionally tiny black or green shorts with distressing I did myself, plus metal buckles, knots, and rope. Yes, the symbolism is intentional if you catch my drift.
I also love a simple slip dress or cotton midi skirt with an oversized cardigan, or a plaid skirt with a button-up and cardigan over it. I’ll finish with fishnets or stockings with cool patterns, sometimes thigh-high socks, and pair it all with slip-on combat boots, flat creepers, or beaten-up Converse. I have a pair of high-heel Converse that are stupid cute.
Monika: And what about makeup? Are you someone who can spend an hour happily experimenting in front of the mirror, or are you more of a "give me the basics and let me get on with my day" kind of girl?
Jynx: I spent two years before coming out watching hundreds of hours of makeup tutorials on YouTube. So when I finally came out, it was on. My face became a canvas for nearly three years of intense looks and outlandish color. I used makeup heavily to pass, and I often overdid it, especially around holidays. It was nothing for me to spend two or three hours on a full face.
Eventually I calmed down. My everyday look now is fast and a little undone: smudged eyeliner or a messy pencil stroke that says “Fuck it, but make it intentional.” I skip foundation and let my skin look like skin instead of doing a full pale-white face. Maybe some concealer or color corrector. Then a quick dark lipstick or tinted balm in berry, plum, or black. Hair is often day-old and effortlessly messy, a low messy bun, a beanie, or a patrol cap to hide unwashed hair. Honestly, it’s a whole aesthetic.
Monika: Be honest, do you enjoy being complimented on your appearance? And after everything you've experienced, is it easy for you to believe a compliment when somebody tells you that you're beautiful?
Jynx: I think everyone likes being complimented on their appearance occasionally, and I’m no different. But here’s the honest part: I’m still not used to it. People say it so often now, and I have a hard time believing all of them. It makes me smile anyway. Some part of me is still that person who never expected to be seen, let alone called beautiful.
Monika: Did you experience any unexpected changes from hormone therapy, either physically or emotionally? Was there something about HRT that surprised you?
Jynx: Two words: emotional devastation.
I was not prepared for the full-body emotional upheaval that comes with continuous HRT, especially after my orchiectomy. The first two years turned me into an emotional wreck, barely functional. And because I was also grieving so many losses and rebuilding my entire life, everything hit at once. I also learned that testosterone is a female hormone too; when you have zero for almost two years, it can really mess you up. Once my levels were balanced, it felt like I was finally returning to myself.
Monika: One thing that really caught my attention in your story is your voice. You underwent vocal feminization surgery and were then told you would never sing again. I cannot imagine what those words must have felt like, especially when music had been such an important part of your life. What went through your mind when you heard that prognosis?
Jynx: I was crushed. Music had been part of me for as long as I could remember, writing songs, singing to myself, jamming with friends on deployment, doing karaoke, dancing with my wife in the living room after the kids went to bed and singing softly in her ear. When the surgeon told me I’d never sing again, I grieved it. I chalked it up as one more chapter of my life, gone. At least until it wasn’t.
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| "As wild as this sounds, I have horrible stage fright." |
Jynx: When my voice healed after two surgeries and I finally heard myself speak, I honestly thought I was doomed. It wasn’t what I wanted. So I found a vocal coach and a speech-language pathologist and started working on the rasp and squeak. Once I could clear it up, I thought: hell yeah, maybe I can do this.
Then I started trying to sing again. It was awful, and so limited. For months I’d cry over how bad it sounded. But as it started to improve, I got braver. I started posting duets on social media, singing harmonies with other creators and tagging them. I’m pretty sure some of those are still floating around.
Monika: You shared some of your vocal journey on social media, including the moments when things did not necessarily sound beautiful. Was it frightening to let people hear you while you were still figuring things out? And did the reactions from other people give you motivation?
Jynx: As wild as this sounds, I have horrible stage fright. Small groups are usually fine, but big crowds scare the hell out of me. The first concert I did after years away, I literally puked on stage. So yes, letting people hear me in the early stages of rebuilding my voice was terrifying. But I knew I had to let others hear it if I was ever going to improve.
Most people left constructive comments (even when they weren’t nice) and that motivated me. The ones who were hateful just to be hateful? I didn’t give them much time.
Monika: Eventually you went from being told you would never sing again to releasing a full production-level album. That is quite a plot twist! When did you first realize, "Wait a minute, I might actually be able to do this"?
Jynx: It was late 2024 into early 2025. I was recording (badly) my “HRT mixtape” songs, which were all songs I loved growing up or as a young adult. I’d take the medley from my favorite tracks, replace the vocals with my own, and add acoustic guitar. My recording setup was trash, and I had no real studio, but when I listened back, I thought: this is actually awesome. I never intended to release any of it, so I just sat on it.
Then I started taking music more seriously. I bought better equipment and interfaces for my MIDI keyboard and acoustic guitar. In February 2025, I began my cover album, Be Gay Do Crime: My Cover Story. My first real effort at writing my own renditions of songs I love and testing my vocals. I found a music engineer and mastering tech who helped me make the tracks sound decent, even though I still didn’t have a proper studio. I also got FL Studio which helped so damn much. We finished recording in July, and I released it in November 2025. I also released that EP I swore I never would.
Monika: How did a professional studio end up discovering your music?
Jynx: Almost immediately after I finished recording my dark folk album (my preferred style) two people reached out on YouTube after finding my videos. They asked if I had a studio to work with. I said no, and I wasn’t sure I could afford one. They invited me down, showed me what they could do, introduced me to the studio band, producers, and engineers. I thought, “Ooooh, fancy. I’m in the big time now.”
Then I started writing lyrics and music for my next album, one that terrified me and tested my limits. That became Dysphoria Riot.
Monika: Let's talk about Dysphoria Riot. The title itself says so much. When did you realize that these experiences needed to become an album rather than simply individual songs?
Jynx: I’d been writing possible original lyrics for five years, but I never had the motivation or courage to produce them. When I finally looked through them all, I saw they shared a common thread. I realized they belonged together. The title Dysphoria Riot came to me because the songs speak to living with dysphoria, especially externally generated dysphoria, and because the raw emotional reactions feel like a full-scale riot.
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| "The world needs to understand that being transgender is hard." |
Jynx: Yes. Absolutely yes. The world needs to understand that being transgender is hard, and yes, we suffer, almost always because of someone else. But that is not the whole story. There is so much love, joy, happiness, and euphoria in our lives. That joy is the most important part, and I wanted the album to hold both.
Monika: Some of the songs seem to come from very painful places. Was writing them cathartic for you, or did turning those experiences into music sometimes make the wounds feel fresh again?
Jynx: Honestly, the wounds are always fresh, and they always will be. The one thing I’ve learned about pain and trauma is that it never really goes away, and it never gets smaller. There’s no magical “getting better.” We don’t heal from those things; we just become stronger and more capable of carrying them. That strength lets us manage, accept, and move through the pain so we can go on.
That’s why so many people take so long to recover. We all build strength differently. For me, writing has always been one of the ways I build resilience so poetry, lyrics, and music. It doesn’t erase the wound. It gives it a shape I can hold.
END OF PART 2
All photos: courtesy of Jynx Geneviève de Lygh.
© 2026 - Monika Kowalska
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