If you’re reading this, there’s a good chance you’ve been wrestling with gender dysphoria for a long time—or love someone who is. You’re not alone. The question that often lingers silently in the background is, “Can I really live like this for the rest of my life?” It’s a question that deserves more than a quick yes or no. It’s emotional, complicated, deeply personal, and often, quietly painful. My heart is with you. I’ve worked with countless adults facing this exact dilemma, and I want to walk with you through the realities of long-term coping—without sugarcoating, but also without despair.
Yes, it’s possible to live with gender dysphoria long term, but it requires ongoing self-awareness, healthy coping strategies, and acceptance of its often unpredictable nature.
This isn’t just a clinical issue. It’s real life, with real emotions and real impact. Many adults—especially later in life—don’t feel transition is an option, whether due to personal, health, financial, or familial reasons. If you’re in that space, you need more than theory. You need compassion, tools, and the validation that your experience matters. That’s what I hope this article provides.
Gender Dysphoria Isn’t Static—It Changes Over Time
One of the most misunderstood aspects of gender dysphoria is that it doesn’t stay at one steady intensity. It’s not a switch that’s either “on” or “off.” Instead, it often behaves more like weather—sometimes calm and distant, other times crashing down with full force, leaving you emotionally soaked. From what I’ve seen in years of clinical work, especially with adults who have felt gender dysphoria since childhood, it doesn’t vanish entirely. But it doesn’t always show up the same way either.
Some days, it can feel like a quiet background hum—something you can almost ignore. Other times, it can knock the wind out of you without warning. And perhaps most frustrating of all, it can disappear for weeks or months at a time, only to return with no clear trigger. That kind of inconsistency can mess with your sense of self. It can leave you second-guessing everything: Was it ever real? Am I imagining this? Did I make too big a deal out of it? These thoughts are common. But just because the volume changes doesn’t mean the song has stopped playing.
This pattern of ebb and flow isn’t random, but it can feel that way. Sometimes it’s influenced by your external environment—like seeing a photo, hearing someone’s voice, or interacting with people who align with your gender identity in ways you long for. Other times, it’s internal. Hormonal shifts, sleep, stress levels, or even your diet can subtly shape how intensely dysphoria shows up in your body and mind.
Then there are life transitions—things like becoming a parent, entering a new relationship, changing careers, or aging—that can throw dysphoria into sharp relief in ways it hadn’t before. I’ve worked with people who coasted relatively peacefully through their 30s, only to have dysphoria roar back in their 40s when other parts of their life started shifting. That doesn’t mean they were faking it earlier. It just means their emotional ecosystem changed, and dysphoria found a new way to speak up.
The key takeaway here is that dysphoria is dynamic. Its presence or absence in any given season of your life doesn’t define the validity of your experience. Your identity isn’t a moving target—what is moving is your relationship with the pain, and how it intersects with the context of your life at any given moment.
If you’ve ever felt that your dysphoria has quieted down and wondered whether it was “gone for good,” you’re not alone. If it then came roaring back, you’re still not alone. The waves you’re riding aren’t a sign of inconsistency—they’re a sign that you’re human, responding to an incredibly complex internal experience within an ever-changing world.
This shifting nature of dysphoria doesn’t make you any less valid. It doesn’t make your experience less real. In fact, it makes your resilience even more remarkable.
The Temptation of Hope—and the Danger of Denial
One of the most emotionally complicated experiences of living with gender dysphoria is what I often call the “false quiet.” It’s that period—sometimes days, sometimes weeks or even longer—where the internal discomfort fades just enough for you to start hoping that maybe, just maybe, it’s over. You begin to exhale a little. You imagine what it might be like to move forward with your life without that ever-present ache following you around like a shadow. And in that space, a flicker of hope lights up: Maybe I’ve outgrown this. Maybe I misunderstood what I was feeling. Maybe it won’t come back.
That flicker is beautiful. And it’s entirely human. But it’s also what can make the return of dysphoria feel so cruel. When it reappears—sometimes suddenly, sometimes creeping in slowly—you’re left not just with the pain itself, but with the weight of disappointment. It can feel like grief. You’re mourning the comfort you thought you finally found, only to realize it was temporary.
This is where denial often enters the picture, not as a conscious decision, but as a quiet defense mechanism. It’s protective. Understandably so. Holding out hope that the worst is behind you is a way to stay emotionally afloat. Denial says: Don’t look too closely. Just keep going. Maybe if you don’t think about it, it won’t come back. And for a while, that might even work.
But the longer dysphoria is pushed aside without being acknowledged, the more intense its eventual return can feel. That’s when the crash happens. It’s not just the pain of dysphoria anymore—it’s the exhaustion of emotional whiplash, of feeling like you’ve failed yourself by “believing” in the wrong thing. But here’s the truth I want you to carry with you: You haven’t failed. You’ve coped the best way you knew how at the time. And that is something to honor, not shame.
You are not broken for hoping. You are not foolish for feeling relief when dysphoria lessens. And you are certainly not weak if you find yourself overwhelmed when it returns. This isn’t about a lack of willpower or emotional strength—it’s about navigating a deeply personal, often unpredictable experience that affects your sense of self at the core.
What I often tell the people I work with is this: allow yourself to feel hope when it comes, but hold it gently. Not as a promise that things will always stay better, but as a sign that you can feel relief—even if it doesn’t last forever. And when denial shows up, try not to judge it. See it for what it is: a sign that something inside you needed a little bit of space to breathe. The goal isn’t to eliminate denial, but to slowly build the inner resilience that allows you to face the return of dysphoria with more kindness and less fear.
You’re doing something incredibly difficult—balancing reality with hope, pain with persistence. That’s not weakness. That’s strength in motion.
Why Predicting the Future Feels Impossible
One of the most emotionally disorienting parts of living with gender dysphoria is the sheer uncertainty of it all. We often crave certainty—not just as a comfort, but as a survival tool. It’s natural to want to map out the road ahead, to be able to say, “This is what I can expect, and here’s how I’ll handle it.” But when it comes to gender dysphoria, that kind of clarity is rarely possible.
There’s no formula. No diagnostic test that can tell you exactly how your experience will evolve over the next five, ten, or twenty years. I wish I could sit with every person who asks, “Will this get better or worse?” and give them a straightforward answer. But the truth is, dysphoria is profoundly individual. It’s influenced not just by your sense of identity, but by your environment, your relationships, your health, your resilience, and so many other shifting pieces of your life.
Some people find that their dysphoria eases with time—especially as they grow more self-aware and discover ways to express or affirm their identity, even without transitioning. Others find that it deepens, or transforms, or re-emerges in new and surprising ways during different life stages. I’ve seen people experience an unexpected spike in dysphoria after becoming parents, hitting menopause, or even moving to a new city. Life events can stir up layers of identity that were resting quietly for years.
And that’s what makes this so emotionally complex: it’s not just about what you feel today. It’s about trying to make peace with not knowing what you’ll feel tomorrow.
This unpredictability can lead to a kind of emotional limbo. You may wonder if you should make a big decision now—such as coming out, transitioning, or staying the course—and fear that whatever you choose, you might regret it later. That kind of pressure can be paralyzing. And if you’ve spent months or years searching for the answer that finally gives you peace, it can feel devastating not to find it.
But let me gently remind you: not finding a permanent solution doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong. You’re not indecisive. You’re not broken. You’re responding to something that genuinely lacks a predictable path. And you’re doing the best you can with what you know in the moment.
What I’ve learned—both in my own life and through my work with others—is that the goal isn’t always to find a final, clear solution. Sometimes, the goal is to learn how to navigate the shifting terrain with a little more grace. You start recognizing patterns, noticing what soothes you and what spikes your distress. You become more attuned to your needs, more forgiving of your bad days, and more able to reach for the tools that help when things get tough.
Think of it less like solving a puzzle and more like learning a rhythm. The waves might not stop coming, but you can get better at surfing them.
Your future doesn’t have to be perfectly predictable in order to be livable. You don’t have to have it all figured out to have moments of peace, joy, or connection. Sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is keep showing up for yourself, even in the absence of clarity.
Triggers: Sometimes Obvious, Sometimes Invisible
When it comes to gender dysphoria, one of the most confusing—and often disheartening—things is how unpredictable the emotional landscape can be. You may think you’re on solid ground, doing okay, maybe even feeling neutral or calm. And then—out of nowhere—you’re suddenly in a spiral of discomfort, agitation, or emotional overwhelm. Sometimes you can trace the moment back to a clear trigger, and other times it feels like it came out of thin air.
Let’s start with the more obvious ones. For many people, there are repeatable patterns that cause dysphoria to flare. It might be seeing someone who closely reflects the gender you identify with, and feeling an aching sense of distance or longing. Or it might be something more internal—hearing yourself speak, catching a glimpse of your body in the mirror, being misgendered, or being called by a name or title that doesn’t feel like yours. These experiences, although painful, at least offer the clarity of cause and effect. And that clarity can become a doorway to building tools and strategies to manage the response.
But then there are the other kinds of triggers—the sneaky, silent ones. These can be the most disorienting. You might wake up one day and feel a heavy cloud of discomfort settle over you for no apparent reason. Or you could be going about your day—working, caring for family, out with friends—when suddenly your mood crashes and you feel raw, unmoored, or deeply self-conscious. There may be no direct gender-related prompt, and that lack of a “reason” can leave you questioning yourself: Why am I feeling like this? Did I do something wrong? Am I just being overly sensitive?
Let me reassure you: you are not imagining things. These invisible triggers are very real, even when they don’t come with clear labels. Your nervous system, your history, and your subconscious are constantly absorbing and interpreting the world around you. Sometimes what feels like “random” dysphoria is actually your body responding to a dozen tiny signals that never made it into your conscious awareness. It might be a tone someone used, a memory briefly stirred, an advertisement you glanced at without even registering—or just emotional residue from a stressful week.
This is why coping with dysphoria requires both flexibility and tenderness. If you approach every spike in distress like it needs to be explained, fixed, or eliminated, you’ll exhaust yourself. Instead, try to meet those moments with curiosity and compassion. It’s okay not to always know the “why.” The goal isn’t always to prevent dysphoria entirely, but to learn how to respond to it when it shows up—whether it makes sense or not.
Some people find it helpful to journal or keep a mood log, not as a way to analyze everything to death, but to gently start noticing patterns. You might uncover subtle connections between dysphoria and things like exhaustion, conflict, loneliness, or overstimulation. These aren’t directly about gender, but they can erode your emotional resilience and lower your capacity to navigate gender-related distress when it does arise.
The more you can soften around the unpredictability—the more you can say to yourself, “I’m having a hard moment, and I don’t need to understand all of it to care for myself right now”—the less power those spirals may hold. You deserve gentleness. You deserve coping tools that meet you where you are, not where you think you should be.
Every Life Stressor Affects Dysphoria—and Vice Versa
One of the most important things to understand—especially if you’re trying to live with gender dysphoria long term—is that it doesn’t exist in isolation. It’s not a standalone issue neatly boxed away from the rest of your life. And neither are you. You are a whole, layered human being, moving through relationships, responsibilities, emotions, and environments that are all deeply interconnected.
When your life becomes heavy—maybe you’re caring for a sick loved one, navigating the anxiety of financial instability, juggling parenting and work, or simply feeling the cumulative pressure of being emotionally stretched thin—it’s no surprise that your ability to cope with dysphoria starts to wobble. Stress steals bandwidth. When your emotional resources are already being pulled in multiple directions, you may notice that what felt like manageable dysphoria last month suddenly feels overwhelming now.
This doesn’t mean you’re regressing or falling apart. It means you’re human. Emotional overwhelm in one area of your life often amplifies distress in another. If you’re already on edge from external stress, the inner discomfort of dysphoria can feel like the final straw. It’s not just a body-based or identity-based experience—it becomes a magnifier for everything else you’re carrying.
And the connection goes both ways. Intense dysphoria, especially when it’s chronic or flaring unpredictably, can have ripple effects across your life. It can erode your sense of presence with loved ones. It can leave you distracted at work, struggling with focus, motivation, or self-confidence. It can cloud your ability to enjoy intimacy, connection, or even the simplest forms of rest. It may affect your appetite, your sleep, or how you care for your body. Sometimes, even when the rest of your life appears “fine” on the outside—stable relationship, steady income, supportive community—dysphoria can still cast a long, unrelenting shadow.
What I want you to know is this: you’re not weak for feeling overwhelmed. You’re not flawed if the strain of dysphoria sometimes bleeds into other parts of your life, or vice versa. This is what it means to be a whole person—complex, interwoven, and affected by everything that touches you.
That’s why part of coping long term isn’t just about managing the dysphoria itself. It’s also about nurturing the other areas of your life with as much care and intention as you can. Because when those parts of your life feel steadier—even just a little—it often becomes easier to ride out the harder waves of dysphoria.
This doesn’t mean you have to fix everything overnight. It means acknowledging that healing and support don’t happen in a single lane. Tending to your mental health, finding ways to reduce everyday stress, building even small pockets of joy or rest into your day—these things matter. They’re not distractions from your dysphoria journey; they’re part of it.
So if you’re finding that dysphoria feels louder when you’re already exhausted or under pressure, you’re not imagining it. It’s real. And if you notice that caring for yourself in small, loving ways quiets the internal storm even a little—hold onto that. Those gentle adjustments, those acts of self-kindness, are some of the most powerful tools we have.
Healthy vs. Harmful Coping Strategies
When gender dysphoria flares up—whether gently or with overwhelming force—how you respond can make all the difference in how you carry that pain through the rest of your day, week, or even life. And if you’ve lived with dysphoria for any length of time, you probably already know: the tools we reach for in moments of distress aren’t always conscious choices. Sometimes we grab whatever brings the quickest relief, whether or not it truly helps us in the long run.
That’s okay. Coping is messy. We’re not always going to respond in picture-perfect, emotionally mature ways—especially when we’re exhausted, triggered, or just trying to get through the day. But over time, the habits we fall into—how we soothe ourselves, how we avoid pain, how we try to feel better—start to shape our relationship not just with dysphoria, but with ourselves.
There’s no shame in recognizing that some of your coping tools might not be helping you the way you hoped they would. For example, maybe when dysphoria strikes, you throw yourself into work to distract yourself. Or you shut down completely and avoid social interaction. Or you scroll endlessly on your phone until you lose track of time. Or maybe you drink, overeat, isolate, or self-criticize. These are all very human reactions. They’re ways of trying to manage the unmanageable.
But over time, harmful or maladaptive coping strategies tend to create more pain than they solve. They might bring short-term relief, but they often leave you feeling more disconnected, more foggy, more isolated, or more ashamed. And none of those feelings help you develop the resilience you need to face dysphoria with grace and strength.
So here’s something gentle to ask yourself when you’re feeling that wave rise up: “Is this helping me move through the pain, or just pushing it down temporarily?” That question isn’t meant to shame you—it’s meant to create space. Space to pause, breathe, and maybe, just maybe, make a slightly different choice.
There are many adaptive, life-giving ways to respond to dysphoria, and no one-size-fits-all list. What soothes one person might not resonate with another. But here are some common examples that I’ve seen help people reconnect to themselves, even in the midst of discomfort:
- Movement that honors your body without judgment: a gentle walk, stretching, dancing to your favorite song
- Creative expression, like writing, drawing, music, or crafting—something that lets you move the feeling out of your body and into the world
- Grounding rituals, like deep breathing, holding a warm cup of tea, or lighting a candle with intention
- Spending time with affirming people who see you and love you as you are
- Choosing gender-affirming clothing or routines that help you feel more at home in your body
- Setting boundaries with people, media, or situations that consistently increase your distress
- Journaling your thoughts without needing to fix them—just letting them exist
- Caring for your physical needs, like drinking water, eating nourishing food, and getting enough rest
And most importantly: being gentle with yourself when you don’t get it “right.” There will be days when the healthiest option feels out of reach. When that happens, don’t beat yourself up. Instead, ask yourself, “What would I offer a dear friend who was struggling like this?” Then offer it to yourself, even if it’s in a small way.
You deserve to feel supported, not punished. You deserve to move through dysphoria with self-respect, not self-abandonment. You are worthy of care, even—especially—when you feel most fractured.
The more you build your toolkit of healthy, adaptive strategies, the more capacity you create within yourself to weather the hard days. And over time, you may even find that these tools don’t just help you survive dysphoria—they help you reclaim little moments of peace, agency, and self-trust.
Acceptance Doesn’t Mean Defeat
When you’ve been living with gender dysphoria for a long time—especially the kind that ebbs and flows without clear resolution—it’s easy to feel like you’re constantly waiting for a turning point. A finish line. Some magical moment when things “finally make sense” or the discomfort just stops. And when that moment doesn’t come, or comes and goes unpredictably, it can start to feel like you’re losing some kind of battle. Like you’re being asked to just give up.
But that’s not what acceptance is. Not even close.
Acceptance isn’t defeat. It’s not the same as giving in or giving up. It’s not a resignation to misery. True acceptance is something much more radical—and much more compassionate. It’s the gentle, courageous act of saying, “This is part of my experience. And I can still live fully, love deeply, and move forward anyway.”
Accepting that dysphoria might be with you for a while—or that it might change in ways you can’t predict—isn’t a failure. It’s simply acknowledging reality, so that you can begin to build something meaningful within that reality, instead of constantly bracing against it.
We all live with uncertainty. Whether it’s our physical health, the future of our relationships, or the shape of our careers—none of us gets a perfect roadmap. And yet, we still laugh, still fall in love, still make art, still plant gardens and chase dreams. We build beautiful, rich lives with cracks and question marks woven all the way through them.
Gender dysphoria is painful, yes—but it doesn’t have to be the headline of your entire life. It doesn’t have to cancel out your joy, or your tenderness, or your sense of self. You are not just your struggle. You are also your humor, your resilience, your desires, your curiosity, your capacity to connect. All of that still exists—even when dysphoria is present.
In fact, one of the most powerful shifts I’ve seen people make is when they stop trying to “win” against dysphoria and start treating it like something they can coexist with. Like a visitor they don’t necessarily welcome, but one they’ve learned to live alongside without losing themselves in the process.
That doesn’t mean you stop seeking relief or support. It just means you stop tying your self-worth to whether the discomfort goes away. You stop postponing joy. You stop waiting until everything is resolved before allowing yourself to live.
You’re allowed to be a work in progress. You’re allowed to have hard days. And you’re allowed to keep building a life that feels meaningful, even with all the unknowns. Because the truth is, you are not broken. You are a whole person navigating something incredibly complex—and doing it with more strength than you probably give yourself credit for.
So if you’ve been equating acceptance with surrender, let me offer you a new framing: acceptance is an act of self-respect. It’s a decision to stop holding your breath and start breathing again. To start making room for beauty and softness and rest, even if pain is still part of the picture.
Your dysphoria may be a chapter of your story, but it’s not the whole book. And you are allowed to write the rest of that story in your own time, in your own voice, with all the nuance and grace you deserve.
You’re Not the First—And You’re Not Alone
When you’re in the thick of gender dysphoria—especially on the hard days—it can feel like you’re completely isolated in your experience. Like no one truly understands, and like you’re carrying something too complex, too invisible, or too painful for the world to hold with you. That loneliness can be sharp. It can make you wonder if there’s something wrong with you for feeling what you feel.
But I want you to know this, from the bottom of my heart: You are not alone.
People have lived with gender dysphoria for as long as human beings have existed. Long before the term “gender dysphoria” was coined, long before there were support groups or therapy or medical pathways, there were people quietly carrying the weight of this inner disconnect. They existed in every culture, every era—often in silence, often without names for what they were feeling, but still very real, still very human.
Now, we have language. We have growing communities. We have knowledge. And that’s a beautiful thing—but it doesn’t always make the day-to-day experience easier. Sometimes, in fact, it can feel even more overwhelming: knowing there are options but not knowing which, if any, will help you. Knowing others have found peace, while you’re still wrestling with your own unanswered questions. That comparison can sting.
So let me say this gently: it’s okay to grieve. To grieve the years you spent not understanding yourself. To grieve the energy it takes just to feel okay in your body some days. To grieve the disconnect between how you feel and how the world sees you. There is nothing weak or dramatic about that grief. It’s sacred. It’s real. And it deserves space.
It’s also okay to feel stuck sometimes. To feel like nothing is working, like you’re trying everything and still waking up with that same ache in your chest. That doesn’t make you a failure. That makes you someone who is navigating something profoundly difficult—and still showing up for your life.
And in all of that—grief, confusion, exhaustion—please remember this: there is still space for you. In the world, yes. But also in your own life. You don’t have to wait until you have it all figured out to be worthy of belonging, connection, and peace.
You are not too much. You are not too complicated. And you are certainly not alone.
There is a thread that connects you to others who have walked this path before you—people who may not look like you or speak your language or live in your time, but who have also wrestled with this particular kind of pain. And there are people walking it now, quietly or openly, all over the world. You are part of a lineage of strength, of resilience, of deep humanity.
So when the weight of it feels unbearable, try to remember: you don’t have to carry it entirely on your own. There are hands to hold, stories to read, voices that will echo your own. And there is a future that still holds beauty, softness, and unexpected joy—just for you.
You belong. Even in your hardest moments, you still belong.
Final Thoughts: Living with It, Not Just Surviving It
So, can you live with gender dysphoria long term?
Yes. You absolutely can. Many people do—and not because it’s easy, or because they’ve found some perfect formula for managing it. They live with it because they’ve learned how to make room for it without letting it consume everything. They find ways to live not just despite it, but alongside it. They survive, yes—but they also laugh, love, build, create, and heal.
But let’s be honest: it takes effort. It takes presence. It often takes grief. This path—living with dysphoria long-term rather than trying to erase it—isn’t for everyone, and it shouldn’t have to be. But for those who do choose it—whether out of personal conviction, medical limitations, or life circumstances—it’s important to name what that choice requires.
It requires self-awareness. The kind that helps you recognize the early signs of dysphoria creeping in, the quiet shifts in your mood, the patterns in your thinking. It means noticing your own inner landscape without judgment, so you can tend to it with care instead of fear.
It requires active coping. Not just distracting yourself or pushing through, but asking: What actually helps me stay grounded when things get hard? Is it routine? Rest? Creative expression? Community? Therapy? Humor? You deserve a toolkit that’s full, flexible, and tailored to you—and you deserve to use it without apology.
And perhaps most of all, it requires radical, compassionate acceptance. That doesn’t mean you stop wanting comfort or change. It means you stop tying your worth to whether or not you’re “winning” against dysphoria today. You begin to honor the fact that some days will be heavy and others lighter—and that neither defines who you are. You are more than your best or worst moment.
Some days will feel like you’re barely hanging on. Other days, you may surprise yourself with how much ease or joy you’re able to find. That’s the nature of long-term dysphoria—it ebbs and flows, and your capacity will, too. You don’t need to be perfect. You don’t need to have all the answers. You just need to keep going—gently, consistently, and with as much kindness toward yourself as you can muster.
Because this isn’t about perfection. It’s about resilience. It’s about finding ways to stay connected to your life, to your people, to yourself—even when the fog rolls in.
And along the way, I hope you gather the kind of support that doesn’t try to “fix” you, but simply walks beside you. I hope you create rituals of care that make you feel more at home in your body, even if it’s just for a moment. I hope you find tiny joys, even if dysphoria hasn’t gone anywhere. You are allowed to build a life that includes both pain and beauty.
Living with dysphoria is not a lesser path. It’s a brave one. And if you’re walking it, you are already showing remarkable strength.
So take your time. Rest when you need to. Celebrate your wins, no matter how small. Let the people who love you in. And remind yourself, gently and often: I can do this. Maybe not all at once, maybe not every day—but I can live with this. And I still get to have a life worth living.
You’re doing better than you think. One breath, one hour, one day at a time.
I’d Love to Hear From You
Have you made the decision to live with dysphoria long term? How do you cope? What have you found that helps—or doesn’t? I invite you to share your story in the comments. You never know who might read your words and feel a little less alone.
Take care of yourself. You’re not invisible. You’re not alone.
With warmth and care,
Edith
References
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- Dhejne, C., Van Vlerken, R., Heylens, G., & Arcelus, J. (2016). Mental health and gender dysphoria: A review of the literature. International Review of Psychiatry, 28(1), 44–57. https://doi.org/10.3109/09540261.2015.1115753
- Bouman, W. P., & Arcelus, J. (2016). Are trans people transitioning successfully? The international evidence. In Transgender Health (pp. 111–128). Palgrave Macmillan.
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- Budge, S. L., Adelson, J. L., & Howard, K. A. S. (2013). Anxiety and depression in transgender individuals: The roles of transition status, loss, social support, and coping. Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 81(3), 545–557. https://doi.org/10.1037/a0031774
- James, S. E., Herman, J. L., Rankin, S., Keisling, M., Mottet, L. A., & Anafi, M. (2016). The Report of the 2015 U.S. Transgender Survey. National Center for Transgender Equality. https://transequality.org/sites/default/files/docs/usts/USTS-Full-Report-Dec17.pdf
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- Testa, R. J., Habarth, J., Peta, J., Balsam, K., & Bockting, W. (2015). Development of the Gender Minority Stress and Resilience Measure. Psychology of Sexual Orientation and Gender Diversity, 2(1), 65–77. https://doi.org/10.1037/sgd0000081
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