My Crossdressing Journey: From Childhood Curiosity to Letting Go

After over a decade of crossdressing, today marks a milestone — this will be my final post. Where should I share it? Without hesitation, I chose to post it here again — on the Roanyer. It’s clean and friendly here, and the content isn’t too extreme. Whenever I had thoughts, I’d post them here. 

It’s Sunday. While cleaning out the storage bins under the bed, I gathered a large bag of clothes and skirts. My wife asked what I was doing. I replied, “Everything under the bed — I don’t want it anymore. But there’s a lot, so I’ll get rid of it gradually.” She asked, “Weren’t those your favorite things?” I answered, “I’m not crossdressing anymore.” She smiled — that same bright, blissful smile she had on our wedding day.

As I carried the heavy bag of skirts to the community garbage station, my thoughts drifted back… to childhood.

Childhood

My earliest memories start around age four or five, during kindergarten. It was summer, and the little girls wore pretty princess dresses to school. Compared to them, the boys’ outfits were plain — just tank tops and T-shirts. Boys were naughty; teachers favored the girls. They praised the girls, scolded the boys, and told us to learn from them. I began to envy them. I thought: “How wonderful it would be if I were one of them.” I fantasized about having long hair, braids, and wearing their princess dresses. And strangely, whenever I daydreamed about wearing their clothes… I’d feel the urge to pee. I didn’t understand why — I just knew that these fantasies made me feel… good.

My mom and aunt often took me shopping. While trying on clothes, they’d ask for my opinion: “Is this one pretty? How about that one?” Maybe they thought kids had honest eyes. Over time, I started finding the dresses in the store beautiful — and I wanted them. In elementary school, most of my teachers were female. The younger ones often wore dresses. What I remember most clearly is how their hair and skirts would sway when they turned. So elegant. So beautiful. Especially the ones with ribbons tied into bows at the back. I often got lost in thought during class — always because of this beauty.

But by then, I had developed gender awareness. I knew boys weren’t supposed to wear skirts or grow their hair long. So I kept it all to myself. No one knew what I was thinking. I could only admire women’s dresses on the streets or in the classroom, and imagine myself in them. And whenever I thought about that, my body would react…

Teenage Years

In middle school, puberty hit. I was like a restless little beast. But my obsession with dresses remained unchanged. I still remember — it was a hot afternoon in my second year of middle school. My family was out. I stayed home playing video games in my parents’ bedroom. There was a skirt my mom had left on the bed. Suddenly, I had the urge to wear it.

After a long internal struggle, I finally took off my shorts and slipped into that mid-length skirt. It felt… amazing. My legs felt so bare and free. The fan blew the hem of the skirt — it was magical. But when I took a big step, the tight fabric held me back. I got bolder. I opened the wardrobe. It was full of skirts — all hanging neatly. One by one, I tried them on. The joy of discovery was far greater than the video game I had been playing. Before my parents returned, I reluctantly put everything back.

Back then, I was both excited and terrified. I knew I couldn’t resist the temptation, but I feared being caught or that it would affect my grades. So I only did it occasionally — maybe ten times a year at most. Nothing bad happened, though. My grades stayed good. My parents never found out. Still, keeping this secret was painful. One time during dinner, I vaguely hinted to my mom that I might want to wear skirts. But she didn’t react much — maybe my words were too cryptic.

Then came college.

College

I stayed local for college and went home weekly. I finally had my own allowance. Though small, I saved up. One day, I passed by a lingerie shop. I had always wanted to go in, but was too shy. This time, the shop owner — an auntie — caught my gaze and asked if I needed something. I froze. She smiled knowingly: “Buying something for your girlfriend, right? That’s totally normal!” She handed me some black lingerie and let me feel the fabric. It was like electricity in my fingers. I bought them.

At that point, I had grown, and my mom’s skirts no longer fit. So I started buying my own — dresses, shoes, wigs… But I didn’t know how to store them properly. Sweating heavily in summer, unable to wash or dry them, I stuffed them into small cabinets. Soon, they began to smell and mold.

I joined some CD forums. They shared stories of coming out to family and being accepted. Inspired, I tried it too. One day, I wore a white spaghetti-strap dress, white heels, a long wig, and a red bra. I walked out and stood before my mom — hoping for understanding. She collapsed, sobbing: “You’re not my son! I want my son back! How did you become like this?!” My heart broke. I threw everything away. Only then did she calm down.

Later, I couldn’t resist. I bought again, wore again, and threw away again. It became a cycle. Eventually, we reached a silent agreement — I could buy and dress up, but never in front of her. Only in my room, in secret.

Adulthood

After graduating from college, I started working. At first, things didn’t go well. My college girlfriend left me. I wasn’t adjusting to the work environment. Crossdressing became my emotional outlet. Now that my parents silently accepted it, I began carrying a big backpack to work, so I could shop for dresses on my way home. My stash kept growing — wigs (long straight, long curly), dresses of every kind: daily wear, qipao, even wedding dresses and gowns, both long and short. I owned multiple breast forms and hip pads.

Whenever I saw a nice style on TV or in the street, I tried to resist… But eventually, I always gave in and bought it. I filled six storage boxes to the brim. But more things meant more problems.

Laundry, for one. After dinner, I’d dress up and feel euphoric — for the first half of the night. But the second half? Exhausting. I had to sneak into the bathroom to hand-wash everything. Machine washing wasn’t an option — I didn’t want my parents to notice. Then I’d return to my room, turn on the fan, and try to dry the clothes. Often, I’d wake up in the middle of the night to flip them, checking which parts were dry. All so I could put them back in the box before heading to work in the morning.

Then, money. Though I had income now, crossdressing was a bottomless pit. I bought whenever I could. Once, I got a bonus at work. I gave part to my parents for a vacation, and spent the rest on dresses: a thousand-yuan wedding gown, formal dresses, and qipaos. I track my expenses — That year alone, I spent over 10,000 yuan on crossdressing items.

Even if I bought discounted clothes during seasonal sales, just one or two pieces a month added up. Sure, I could’ve gone for cheaper stuff — but once you’ve worn good-quality clothes, it’s hard to go back. The price does match the fabric, the craftsmanship, and the design.

Relationships were tough, too. While dating, I always feared this side of me would ruin things. Yes, the world is more open now, and some girls are into “femboys”… But let’s be honest — very few can truly accept a crossdressing boyfriend or husband. Some tolerate it, maybe, but rarely admire or support it.

When dating, I’d hear girls say they liked “manly men” and hated “sissy guys.” Outwardly, I was traditional and masculine. But every time I heard that, I felt insecure. This unspoken burden cost me a few potential relationships. Eventually, I met my wife.

Approaching Middle Age

Back when she was still my girlfriend, we really hit it off. She adored me. But I didn’t know how to tell her about my crossdressing. Before we got married, I came clean. She was shocked, but slowly came to terms with it.

We made a pact — not even three rules, just one: “You can’t crossdress in front of me.” I agreed, though deep down I knew… This was a compromise. She was giving in, and so was I. I couldn’t help but feel guilty — like I had wronged her.

After marriage, life got busier. Work during the day, wife at night. To keep the family harmonious, I not only had to earn money but also share household chores and support her emotionally. Plus, I wanted to upskill and enrolled in weekend courses. The teacher was strict; homework needed reviewing. So even though I still dressed once a week, there was less and less space in my heart for crossdressing. That’s when the idea of giving it up started to grow.

The Decision to Quit

I remember — a long time ago, I wrote a detailed guide post on the Sexual Minorities forum. In it, I posed a question:

“Can crossdressing be quit?”

To answer that, we need to understand where the attraction lies. (For me personally, my preferences were light — I only engaged in pure crossdressing, not involving anything more.)

From my experience, crossdressing has three main driving forces:

1. Physical Excitement

When I was young, crossdressing brought intense physical stimulation. I’m sure many of you went through that phase. But after marriage, intimacy with my wife naturally consumed a lot of that energy. Yes, dressing up alone can still satisfy certain needs. For a long time, I used it as an outlet. But over time… it got boring. Not because there was no pleasure — but because that pleasure was too repetitive, too dull. And let’s be real — the warmth of two people in each other’s arms far surpasses self-indulgence. Even if we boil it down to primal instincts, men are capable of self-control. So why not exercise it?

2. The Pursuit of Beauty

Many long-time crossdressers aren’t in it for the excitement anymore — they’re in it for aesthetics. They admire beauty. I once read an analogy that really stuck:

“Men love candy — women. Some, over time, grow to love the wrapper — heels, dresses, makeup. But the wrapper is not the candy.”

It hit me hard. I used to love how I looked dressed as a woman. But as someone trained in fine arts — specializing in portraits — I see things differently. I can easily spot crossdressers or genderbenders at a glance, even those who pass well. There’s always something slightly off. Even if you can’t tell from afar, up close, something reveals the truth. And then what? Even if someone passes 100%, they’re still not truly a woman. So I started to think: if I want to admire beauty, maybe I should admire women wearing dresses, not myself in them.

3. Stress Relief

When I first started working, life was hard. As a traditional man, I had to bear it all. Crossdressing was a form of escape — playing the role of a woman who could focus on beauty without worrying about money. In a way, it was a temporary gender switch. A safe space to breathe. But eventually, I realized — it didn’t solve anything. It didn’t actually relieve stress. To deal with pressure, I needed to face it. Break it down, solve it, and grow from it. Hiding in my room, wearing a dress? It stopped feeling meaningful.

Later, I found other stress outlets — like hiking and exercising. Nature’s beauty is healing. And the activities are diverse — unlike the limited, repetitive nature of crossdressing.

So… Can Crossdressing Be Quit?

No. Because if you feel the urge to quit, that means the attraction is still there. You’re still drawn to it — and that’s why you feel the need to “quit.”

But over time, for me, those three major pillars started to weaken. The excitement faded. The aesthetics lost their novelty. The relief became less satisfying. That’s why — I’m letting go.

But was crossdressing “bad”? Absolutely not. It brought me so much joy. It helped me survive difficult years. It was beautiful. But now, I see that life has so many other wonderful things waiting for me.

External Factors

I can use the money I spent on clothes to travel, to learn, to invest in other hobbies. I can spend more time with family. (Especially my mom and wife — who have been silently tormented by this for years. Their avoidance isn’t understanding — it’s helplessness.)

Someday, I’ll have children. And I want to raise them as a man, in both appearance and essence. All in all, for the sake of my family… For the smile on my wife’s face… I choose to walk away.

Epilogue

This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. It’s the natural result of over a decade of crossdressing. Like a companion through life — from childhood dreams, to adolescent obsession, to young adult indulgence, and finally, fading in middle age.

Crossdressing wasn’t an addiction I had to “quit.” It was a journey. It bloomed naturally, and now, it withers — just as naturally.

Looking back, crossdressing wasn’t some monster. I needed it, so I loved it. Now I don’t — so I let it go. Simple as that.

This article isn’t here to prove or disprove anything. It’s simply a memorial. A reflection on a deeply personal experience. Crossdressing was a beautiful part of my life. I once held it in my hands — it helped me grow.

But now, with new responsibilities, new priorities, and a shifting heart — I release it… To pursue a life full of even greater beauty.

Though I may never cross paths with it again, I want to leave one final message to my fellow crossdressers:

I sincerely wish you all happiness and a fulfilling life.