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Presenting the fruits of my labour to the team this afternoon, I listened to myself. All of a sudden, I was lucid, coherent, confident. Momentarily, it took me by surprise.

But, really, it shouldn’t have. This is the hit of testosterone, ten days after delivery, bringing me back to normal levels. This coherence is how we’re supposed to be. This is the norm for men the world over, other than the 1 in 500 born with an extra chromosome.

It’s hard for others to appreciate what it’s like to live with low or negligible natural testosterone in your body. Some effects are more obvious that others, of course. Decreased muscle strength and mass, for example, or decreased endurance.

Less well known: persistent symptoms of low mood and anxiety, stubborn fatigue, irritability, memory problems, difficulties concentrating, decreased confidence, a lack of ambition or competitive spirit.

These are all traits those closest to me would recognise in my character, either pre-diagnosis or during those long periods in which I abandoned all intervention. It’s true that even I didn’t have a clear understanding of the advantages or benefits of treatment.

Observing my body’s reaction to my most recent system update, I think I now appreciate just how important these interventions are to my general sense of wellbeing. While there are effects I really don’t like, I can see that the benefit broadly outweighs those perceived harms.

One such benefit witnessed this afternoon, as I took my team through my proposal to improve processes and practices I found in complete disarray when I joined them. Yes, it helped that I had documented the proposal in painstaking detail beforehand, immersing myself in the topic to enable me to speak with ease.

Still, my coherence would have been unfamiliar to my former colleagues, well-used to my shambolic weekly performance amidst that posse of senior managers. Over there, I was forever apologetic that my words would often come out in jumbled order, every update nearly identical to the last.

Over here, by contrast, I’m considered a thought leader, respected for the insight and expertise I bring to the table. Is the difference merely a change of environment? Well, that may well be a factor. But the main factor? Clearly the same one depositing biceps on once skeletal arms.

I feel the troughs and peaks as clearly as I experience night and day. One is an expressive high, providing a boost in energy and confidence. The other a lethargic low, characterised by heavy melancholy and chronic fatigue.

The latter the engine of self-harm which no doubt sabotaged educational success and career development at every juncture: the mechanism which caused me to spend final-year lectures at university mostly doodling in the margins, lacking all ambition and direction.

So today I was coherent. I set out my case to the team, and they embraced it as the way forward. A step forward both for me and them. They may get coherent processes and practices which actually work for both them and the organisation.

And I may eventually conclude that there’s hope for me yet. That perhaps I’m not the lost cause I thought I was after all. Perhaps I will embrace this newfound coherence. Could it be the start of something new?