A product called “i can’t believe it’s not estrogen” by a company called “estrolabs” is being advertized on Twitter.
It is not estrogen. It is ashwagandha.
The active ingredient increases your lutenizing hormone, which will cause your body to produce more of whichever sex hormone it produces endogenously.
If you have testes, this will increase your testosterone levels.
If you are transfem, this shit will increase your testosterone levels.
They are lying to you to take your money. Don’t fucking touch it. Tell your friends and family.
If you’re desperate, DIY is an option. The subreddit r/TransDIY is an excellent resource, as is the DIY Wiki.
If what you really want is a herbal supplement, there are certain herbs that will have a minor antiandrogenic effect. The DIY resources here will have more information on it.
Edit: the dose of ashwagandha is so high that it will give you serotonin syndrome within four to eight weeks. This shit is evil.
“Fun” update on this: some people were speculating that this was some sort of right-wing anti-trans attack and not just a scam. I thought this was a bit overblown; incompetence before malice and so on. I was wrong. The page selling the products has been changed to one selling t-shirts about gas station dick pills.
Some people were even speculating that this was being used to collect the information of trans people in order to doxx them; given the clearly malicious nature of these bastards, I don’t think this is an unfounded fear.
Anyways, stay safe out there, and if you’re doing DIY make sure to access it from reliable sources. We have networks; rely on them, not randos on Twitter.
This is an anti-trans attack; more information in previous reblog.
Speaking of therapy, I say, as though we’re old friends, and you’re not a stranger trapped in this metaphorical elevator with me and you can hear the suspension wires starting to fray.
I’ve been doing a lot of work recently that’s focused on imposter syndrome and the feeling that no matter how well or how much I do, I’m not good enough. That I’m somehow tricking everyone into thinking my work is actually good.
Some days it’s a minor niggle in my head that I can gentle and soothe with logic and affirmations. Or smother, depending on the mood. Other times it’s loud and all-consuming and the mental anguish it causes me is so real I can feel it twitching in my muscles. This desperate fight-or-flight instinct with nowhere to go and nothing to fight but myself.
Anyway, because I’m several types of Mentally Unwell™, I was switching between workshop sheets ahead of next week. Filling in different forms. (Trying to get a good grade in therapy) And I got my “recognize your harmful ADHD coping mechanisms” worksheet mixed in with the “you’re not actually lying to people, you just feel like you are because your brain is full of weasels” worksheet, and seeing them side by side made something go topsy turvy in my head, and I just had to sit and breathe for a couple of minutes until the urge to scream passed. Because it clicked, it all suddenly clicked.
The reason the imposter syndrome workshops and therapy sessions aren’t sticking was because I do routinely trick people into thinking I’m someone I’m not.
Because I’m masking my ADHD for their convenience.
I’ve always known there was something wrong with me. My neurotypical peers made it abundantly clear I didn’t fit in or was failing in some way I couldn’t see nor remedy, no matter how hard I tried.
So I compressed myself into a workaholic box of hyper-competence in the hopes they’d stop noticing the flaws and exploit like me instead. And then subsequently lived with the daily fear that if they looked too close, they’d realize I’m a monumental fuck up with enough personal baggage to block the Suez Canal.
If you ever need someone to burn themselves to ashes for your comfort and convenience, I’m your gal.
Or I used to. Until I had a bit of a breakdown, and the rubber band holding my brain together snapped and pinged off into the stratosphere, never to be seen again.
Unfortunately, the trauma of living like that didn’t also fuck off and instead left a gaping maw where my personality ought to be, so now I get to deal with that aftermath.
And it’s that aftermath that’s affecting the imposter syndrome shit. Because yes, I am hyper-competent and good at what I do– but it doesn’t feel real because that is how I mask.
And the truly frustrating thing is I am good at what I do. I am not pretending. I worked hard to be good at this. It just feels like I’m dicking around because 90% of my personality turns out to be trauma masquerading as humor in a trenchcoat, and having people genuinely like something weird I’m doing is so foreign my brain has decided it’s just another form of masking.
I’m pretending to be a good author so people will think I’m a good author, and my brain thinks we are in Danger of being found out. We are in Danger, and writing is Dangerous because then people will know I’m Weird and not whatever palatable version I’ve presented myself as for their NT sensibilities.
Like the neurotic vampire with a raging praise kink wasn’t an obvious giveaway.
Anyway. I got nothing else. Thanks for listening.
I’m going to go be very normal in another room and not stare into the abyss of my own soul for a bit.
