Since the Rabbi that was guiding my conversion was female, we worked with a male Rabbi who could help with the Hatafat Dam and the mikveh. Since he was not a Mohel, he asked a friend and more senior Conservative Rabbi who was a Mohel to supervise. The senior Rabbi served as one of the witnesses, and two other males from his congregation were called in as witnesses.
I admit that I was completely out of my body for the whole experience, which was done after Mariv services at the senior Rabbi’s schul. I was out of it since, honestly, hanging out the private parts in a Rabbi’s office in front of four other men was a bit much. Thank heavens my mother told me to always wear good underwear with no holes. The actual lancet (same as they use for diabetes tests on the finger) prick was negligible pain-wise, and the least of the considerations. I barely remember the brief prayers or being presented with my certificate. (And BTW, it did not hurt at all later—there was only a tiny scab the next day and then it was gone).
Immediately after my Brit, I was not sure how this could be meaningful to anyone. I was feeling like it was a combination of a trip to the dentist and a somewhat embarrassing mishap from grammar school.
However, a few days later I was at my synagogue for Friday Shabbat services, and then I understood. There was a profound sense of belonging that I had not quite ever felt before. Not to go too mystical, but it felt like I was suddenly connected to the Patriarchs, that they were present, and that I was therefore a definite part of the family. Nothing on the outside was different, only a few people in the room knew that I had undergone the Brit—but it made all the difference in the world to me. I sang louder and davened more deeply is how I would express it, and ultimately, felt a deep sense of being welcomed into the family.