when i finally realised 1+1=2 and stopped being a disaster drag queen go go dancer and crossdressing vibe girl who was into women, and became a trans girl i assumed i'd continue to do all of the above but better now i had gotten out of the way of myself.
My third job at that point was working as the photo editor and lighting assistant to a genderfuck photographer working semi-queer/semi-kink theatre and events, and who was sexually into drag queens and crossdressers in an odd way she couldnt express, but as i and her discovered, she was not into trans girls. I had somehow demarcated from her desire with a single word.
As my "i want to be a man but gaia has cursed me to forever be a moon woman" newly ex-girlfriend of a week before had put it succinctly "I was into all the genderbending stuff but this, gestures to me this just isnt hot".
At the same time i found my value as a dancer on stage, working events, or as an immersive performer immediately dropping like a stone for many who previously booked me. As time went on i was replaced with other disaster drag queens, who when they decided they were women were replaced with drag kings, and so on and i just kept shifting further to the sidelines, first just holding the light, then just designing the flyers, then only contacted in absolute emergencies at last minute, and then nothing.
But early on in this awkward ostracizing of myself into the basement away from the shop front, in my awkward attempts to get through day while my body was on fire, as i held the LED lighting rig, a foot away from these (absolutely lovely) drag queens heads, at the perfect 3/4 angle, focused intently on every contour of their face to make sure the light didnt shift even a milimetre, i had to continually struggle with my own screaming internal discomfort about myself and my validity as a woman that their beautifully lit bone structure echoed.