One of the most noticeable effects of testosterone therapy is the immediate boost in confidence. The examples that jump out at me may strike others as daft or commonplace, but I would say that’s a consequence of taking what is normal for granted.
If for the past six weeks I was plummeting down into the abyss of the inverted bell curve until I hit rock bottom, the effects of Monday’s intervention are instantly pronounced, catching my attention.
One of them at the local corner shop this morning, searching for a bar of flapjack to scoff on my way home. In my default state, I would leave the shop disappointed, speaking of my fruitless quest to no one.
But in my renewed state of heightened confidence, I actually ask the shopkeeper its whereabouts and leave with my prize in hand. Daft? Yes, of course. But this is the reality of those of us tested by negligible levels of natural testosterone, forever wrought by anxiety, shyness and worry.
Another example, seeing my elderly neighbour in his garden on my return home. Often I might just quietly slink past, heading inside without acknowledging him. No, but today my renewed confidence had me wandering over for a chat, to check that he’s okay and remind him to call if he needs anything.
A third example, my first meeting of the day. In this case, I listen to myself as a colleague seeks my expert advice. I am assertive, assured, speaking to them with authority, and they’re grateful. I am analytic with respect to their problem. I suggest a potential solution, which we test and confirm to be a suitable fix.
When we part company at quarter past nine, they are pleased, a major headache resolved within fifteen minutes of the start of their working day. But I am pleased too, because I am a chap who has spent much of his life apologising for even existing, always ready to merge back into a wall, hidden from view, allowing others to stand in my place.
These examples would strike others as so inconsequential that they scarcely deserve being commented upon. But these mundane illustrations exemplify the very real effect of a chromosome variation which is estimated to impact 1 in 500 males. Imagine then the challenges which may effect them engaging with the education system, emerging into the job market and finding a life partner.
In school, does he speak for himself? Of course not. He just becomes the quiet boy on the edge of the class, who never contributes anything. When faced with confrontational situations, does he stand up for himself? No, he just becomes the passive soul who literally enacts the gospel directive to turn his other cheek.
When he finally enters the job market, is he able to sell himself at interview, to convince potential employers that he would be an asset to their business? Don’t be daft. My first successful job interview was in 2004, four years after graduating from a Masters degree. This corresponded precisely with my diagnosis and subsequently commencing treatment.
Despite attending numerous interviews all around the country after graduation, in the end I just had to take an agency job, starting as a temp and proving my worth by the quality of my work alone. When I was then made redundant at the end of 2001 — just married — I’d spend the next three years eking out a living from freelance graphics work and various stints working in cafés and warehouses.
It is no surprise that those with this condition tend to occupy a lower socioeconomic status compared to the rest of their family and educational peers. Developmental delays in childhood likely play a significant part in this, but the role of low self-confidence cannot be underestimated. Working hard to achieve good results academically or produce great work professionally really is inconsequential if you cannot sell yourself at interview.
Renewed confidence provides a buzz, so noticeable compared to all that came before. What is normal to most people, becomes extraordinary for those long hampered by anxiety, shyness and low self-esteem. This is the emergent confidence which has the potential to make all the difference in our lives. Best to make the most of it while it lasts. Until next time…
Last modified: 7 December 2023
