Nothing to Admit, Just Expressing Loyalty

I'm not admitting any exciting encounters, but with things happening so fast in Utah, I'd better declare my allegiance. Since I'm trans, I proudly wave the pride flag of the LGBT movement. As you know, T is for transgender, and even though many pride people tend to forget the T, we remember them.

Besides, with my transition, and a lifetime erectile dysfunction, comes a lot of self-evaluation. I might someday, declare an attraction to men. Right now, however, I'm too screwed up to say that.

I know I might receive flack, but as for what the right wing calls Gay Marriage,  I wish it hadn't come to this. There has always been a need to protect partners in every relationship. In the past, the law has been lacking. There were no rights for those who share each other's lives. When one partner died, or when someone needed to claim they're partner's insurance, there were no community property rights. Therefore, a law was needed, and under the law, only married people had those rights.

Times are changing, but it would've been less explosive if my brothers and sisters in the LGBT would've sought a new law instead of calling it marriage. You see it's the word that makes it an explosive issue. If we hadn't sought a same sex marriage law, the so called religious right wouldn't have anything to complain about.

Never the less, it was their stating the marriage laws that set the course. They chose the battlefield, they shouldn't be surprised when that became the law in question. Now, with the right government, things are changing. God bless those of you who cherish their marriage vows. Please remember, however, they are vows. Honor them. cherish each other into old age. Love each other, and prove that the right wing is wrong. Above all, love them, too.



  

Happy Day-Merry Christmas

Yeah.

The Joke is on Me

I was chatting with a customer the other day. He mentioned the difficulty of something. I don’t remember what it was, but he said, "Can’t live with them."

I thought of the old cliché and said to myself, "Yeah, just like a woman."

Suddenly, I realized, what I’d said. I laughed, and told myself, "Yeah, and you are one." the male in me had made a sexist remark, and as a woman, it was directed at me.

The old saying, You can’t live with them, can’t live without them, has been used by men and woman for many years. It’s a sexist joke and it can be funny, when applied to the right couple. Because Mars and Venus are so opposite, living together has sometimes been difficult. That’s why the joke has survived for so long in human culture.

Still, the joke is, as Shakespeare wrote, a comedy of errors. That’s especially true, when you apply it to transgender folk. If I could choose, right now, I’d come down on the feminine side. Then men could say that about me, but I’m caught in the middle. He, (meaning my masculine self), still has influence in my life.

So, I could say, I can’t live with him, can’t live without him. He could say the same about me, but it’s not a joke. I really couldn’t live without the experiences of his life. He needs me to literally keep him alive, but there will be only one winner of this game—me. Does that sound crazy? Tell me about it. That’s why it’s a comedy of errors. It’s also sad, because I can’t stand being him.

Feeling it

There are times when I’m wearing the right outfit. My makeup looks great and my walk is just right. I feel so pretty and feminine, I love being a girl. There are other times, when I look like a cow and I wonder if transition is even possible, let alone the right thing for me. (I’ve gotta stop looking in the mirror until I get further along this train ride.)

Last night I was feeling it. I loved my outfit, and I loved being me. There are so many feelings I haven’t had since childhood and transition is helping me feel those things. I’m so happy when I think about second chances. I’m anxious to see a therapist and get started on HRT.

I hope you feel it too. I also hope you had a great holiday. Love Francine

PTSD Bringing out the Woman

I watched a transgender MTF being interviewed on the news the other day. She talked about her reasons for transition and I noticed a common thread running through her story. I’ve read many biographies of transgender women, and that thread was there.

There are exceptions, and some won’t admit it, but many of us failed in our masculine roles. As for me, I feel I can’t be a man anymore. I just can’t measure up to expectations. I’m not sure what being a woman will do for me, but there is a lot of appeal in fulfilling the traditional role of housewife.

Oh, sure, we all talk about our childhood, and how we longed to be girls, but I’ve noticed that most of us who transition later in life, talk about triggers (although we don’t call them that). There was something that made life unbearable as a man and pushed us into remembering the comfortable feminine role.

Most of us have been cross-dressing since childhood, so it’s not about the clothes. It’s about the warm feeling of joy we remember from those days, before we were forced into a masculine role. We lament the natural way our lives should’ve played out. I admire those who’ve had it both ways. With an understanding spouse, they successfully cross back and forth. They found happiness in both roles.

Getting back the trigger, and some of our feelings of failure, I’ve noticed a great many of my sisters served in the military. Could it be a provoking factor?

While watching a documentary about ex-soldiers with post-traumatic stress disorder, I realized I have some of those same symptoms. Mine, were caused by working for many years, under the thumb of an overbearing, abusive manager. Then being fired from that career job. Not as drastic as war, but I think that was my trigger.

I wonder if PTSD was a trigger for a lot of transgender veterans. If I got PTSD from being the whipping boy of a manager, I wonder how many of my veteran sisters got it also? My boss managed people like a drill sergeant trains, well, you get the point.

Keep it in mind, however, that I might not know what I’m talking about.
Like the woman on the news, I was born with uncertain genitals. Erectile dysfunction plagued my teenage years, and never went away. I wanted to be a girl, and I wanted to be seduced by them. Yes, my dysphoria or discombobulation is real, so is that of my sisters, but I wonder what their trigger was.

Oh, ladies . . . and gentlemen. We are embarking on a new life. The possibilities are endless. I hope and pray, all of you will find peace because I love you.

Love Francine

Small Victories & A Few Steps Backward

Have you noticed how gradual transition really is? Coming out of the closet is hard, especially for us older ladies. We have a whole life of stereotypical prejudice to overcome. Many of us remember when cross-dressing was a crime.

We make goals and convince ourselves we have every right, but the past ideas slip in and incapacitate our expression. I was writing in a coffee shop, late one night, dressed partially en-fem. I wore my aqua camp shirt, men’s jeans, and ankle socks under penny loafers. No makeup, and no wig.

I also wore bracelets on both arms, and a necklace with a heart shaped pendant. As time went on, my bracelets began to come off. Well, to be honest, I hate typing on my laptop with them banging on the table. I left my LGBT friendship band on.

On a side note, I braided six strands of cord into a friendship band for two reasons. I’m transgender, and proud of the T. Also, I’m curious. As I take steps to transition, I wonder if I will be a lesbian woman, attracted to men, or totally non-sexual. Wearing the bracelet with the red, orange, yellow, green, blue and violet strands is an invitation and an experiment.

Anyway, there I was, working on one of my books and two policemen walked in. What did I have to be worried about? I felt pretty in my semi-feminine attire, but seeing them brought up all the old fears. One of the officers even stared. I looked him in the eye and smiled. It’s easy to do, when the officers are young enough to be my grandchildren. After a few minutes, though, my self-conscious fears took over and I removed the bracelet.

Last week, I went to the coffee shop dressed in leggings, ballet slippers, and a big shirt. Under that, I wore a bra and I always wear panties. I was proud to be trans. I still am, even though I took off my bracelet.

Transition is a gradual thing, and I’m happy for small victories. Such things as wearing my camp shirt with the buttons on the left side. I’m looking forward to, after seeing a therapist, when I live full time as the woman I long to be. For now, though, I straddle two worlds, hoping for an easy transition and knowing it won’t happen that way.

In light of the subject and title of this post, I should mention the Trans Day of Remembrance. As you know, human beings are being murdered. In that way, things have not changed, we have no victory, small or otherwise.

The bigoted selfish reasons for these crimes are probably based on fear. I think the perpetrators have desires that scare them to death. I’m not saying that cross-dressing, transgender, or being gay is for everybody. I certainly don’t want to inflict those things on others, but acting out in hatred toward those who follow those feelings is not acceptable. Killing or just hurting others will not make your inclinations go away.

While I’m ranting, why do others wish everyone followed the same groove? Diversity in the human race makes us individual. Not every manly man is into sports. Not every democrat is pro gun control, and not all women dream of knights in shinning armor.

Allowing diverse lifestyles in your midst does not constitute acceptance. To borrow a page from your book, Jesus hated the sin, but loved the sinner. Moral issues should never be legislated. Freedom of choice is a birthright. Let others choose for themselves and stop trying to put them into your mold.

Even though I don’t abide your hate, I still love you.

Still, there is something to be grateful for on this Trans Day of Remembrance. There was a time, when in certain parts of this country, people like me just disappeared. As soon as word got out about the sissy boy, he was gone.

           

Trans What?

Before beginning this skateboard ride, my direction faltered. I had no goals, and flaking out was my normal routine. Life was hard, but taking steps toward transition has given me something to look forward to. It sounds strange, but I’m feeling better about myself.

Maybe it has something to do with being true to my deeply hidden feelings. I’m working at being the girl I’ve always wanted to be. Transition has helped me set goals. I’m moving forward.

This post comes at the tail end of a current battle with self-doubt. There was the usual self-recriminating questions, how could I do this to my family? Etc. That was followed by, stand up and be the man you were born to be. The truth, as I reminded myself, is I failed. I would rather finish my life as a transgender woman, than attempt the fast lane of manhood again.

Yes, I’m messed up, but overcoming my male ego while relearning my life, makes me happy. Of course, I still flake out and try to ignore responsibilities, but I’m coming to terms with that, too. I’m getting a grip on myself and preparing to fly at the same time.

There is a lot of truth displayed in the Transgender symbol above. Indeed, I feel like the caterpillar I once was, emerging into a butterfly. The one who was destined to fly before gender became an issue, and I was forced into a male role.

As I implied, I’ve been thinking about what I will say when I reveal my plans to my family. "You are trans . . . what?" they will say. I’ve downloaded a pile of literature that will explain more than I know, but I’m going to move slowly. My life is like a house of cards and it will collapse in the face of the slightest jostle.

For now, I feel comfortable in my personal knowledge, but I have started wearing colors I never would’ve worn in the fast lane of manhood. My daughter might question my sexuality at some point, but that’s okay. I’m reinventing my life. Eventually I’ll be an old woman, but for now, I’m learning how.

Love, Francine

Back to Baby Steps

Did you ever notice that life is a dishonest prizefighter? I hope your life has been problem free, but just when the rest of us get squared off to fight the good fight, life throws a sucker punch. Then, while we try to overcome the first impact, life lands a knockdown blow.

I had a setback this week. I got into another car wreck. It was the proverbial straw on an already strained camel’s back. Adding to my distress, I got the distinct impression someone was either out to get me, or they were pushing me in another direction. Let me explain,

My transgender story is a lot like most others. There were incidents and feelings in childhood, that told me I had a female mind. I wrote about my Barbie doll addiction on another blog. I remember one day in particular, when at fourteen, I shaved my legs and begged to be female. I thumbed through the JC Penny catalog, shopping for beautiful clothes I would wear as a girl. If I’d been from a richer family then, or if I had other resources, my life might’ve been different.

At eighteen, however, I gave up my wish and tried to fill the masculine role. Since my body was male, I felt I needed to play the cards I was given. I still had recreational cross-dressing to keep me sane. I dated women, but I was mostly impotent. When I married, I assumed the role of husband and provider. My wife assumed the conventional woman’s role and it was my job to take care of the problems, and us.

At first, I gave up cross-dressing, but the desire returned. There were long periods of time between dress and purges, but it felt good when I dressed. I used crossing the line to deal with stress, and managed to keep my feminine expression under control, but I never told my wife about it.

Then about ten years ago, everything hit the fan, things started to fall apart. With one setback after another, stress and problems piled up. Coping became impossible, so I didn’t. Things got worse, and I ignored it all.

I make no qualms about it. I failed in the masculine role. I lost the battle of manhood. I began to dress more frequently, and the dress and purge periods were fewer. Failures seemed small in the shadow of buying a new bra.

As more problems came up, I began to dress almost daily, ignoring my problems. I escaped into a world where I was beautiful. I knew my gender assignment from birth would eventually force me to cope, but I also realized that society expects men to deal with problems that sometimes eat them up, but a woman can rely on a man to help her.

During that time, I remained in the closet. I self identified as a heterosexual (probably should’ve been non-sexual) cross-dresser, and started a blog. Incidents from my life, when my gender was in question began to surface. I analyzed each one, and the prospect of transition, long since abandoned, came back into my thinking. You can read about some of that in my previous blog.

Then, I watched a feminization assurance video on the Internet, and realized it made me smile. I hadn’t smiled like that in years. The possibility that I could actually be a woman and get rid of my male life made me giddy. I was excited about something for the first time in who knows how long? I started a new blog, and began to call myself transgender. I started taking baby steps, then bigger steps, toward SRS. I’ve been dealing (not coping), since.

I’ve been happy, though, until the car wreck added another setback. My car was hit from behind, sending a shuddering jolt through my body, and it felt personal to me. Adding insult to injury, the insurance company totaled my vehicle for less than it would cost to replace it. As a man, having my own vehicle was always a symbol of manhood, a mark of my independence.

So, you say, what’s to worry? Didn’t you want to be a woman anyway? Well, yes, however . . . I can’t explain it, but since the wreck and the personal setback it caused, I wonder if a higher power, or a dead relative, is trying to send me a message. Something like, man-up kid, give up the idea of being a girl.

And I wonder, how do genetic women, who don’t rely on a man, cope with problems and setbacks? I need to deal with my problems. I need to find a comfortable compromise. I still look to SRS as the Holy Grail (so to speak). I honestly feel, I would be better off as a woman, but when I think of how that might effect my family, I feel terribly selfish.

After all, I am the one who entered into the agreement to love, honor, cherish, and cope. I think there are too many transgender folks who don’t stop to consider the implications of their personal decision. They run headlong into transition like a Vulcan in Pon farr. Do you like the Star Trek reference, there?

With that being said, I wonder how many M2F ladies got into this because of societal expectations of the masculine entity. Like me, how many of them felt they couldn’t measure up? As for me, I’m still in transition, but I’m back to baby steps. I’m not getting any younger, but there are others to consider.

When I think of that fourteen-year-old, who begged to be a girl, I feel cheated, somehow. Still, there have been good times. Perhaps there is merit in letting children transition, but with the large number of them making those choices, I sometimes question the reality of their feelings.

Such is life in our modern society. May your path be easier to travel.

Love Francine

Moving Faster Now

I’ve needed a few wardrobe and girly items for a while, but I’ve been waiting until things started coming together for me. After erasing the beard, I realized things are moving quicker than I thought they would. I’m still poor, but last night, I tossed fear aside and spent money I didn’t have. A new bracelet even fell into my shopping bag.

an illustration of the transgender duality. my new shoe on the left

It was my day off, and I needed some Francine time. I started with cotton panties and camisole (I needed a new bra, too). I put on the pink shirt I wrote about, I wore my new shoes with men’s hose, and black denim pants. I finished my outfit with my new bracelet and other jewelry, but since I didn’t have a presentable wig, I chickened out and didn’t wear makeup.

Wouldn’t you know, on the inauguration of my new shoes, it started snowing. As you can see from the picture, those flats were not made for snow. Water puddles present a problem, too. I worried about the suede-like material, but they came through.

The coffee shop was fun. I got some writing done. I can’t figure out if the waitress was nice because of how I dressed, or was it because I felt wonderful and I treated her with great respect. Since I started transition, I’ve lost my need for a male ego, and I have a submissive attitude. I think I’m friendlier, too. After the coffee shop, I went shopping again. I don’t even want to know how much it cost. I’ll be paying for it forever. Next, I went home and lay on my bed to write, but fell asleep.

When I woke, determination had reared up. It was as though I was arguing my case for becoming the woman I am. Boldly, I swore that nothing would interfere with my quest. I promised to be in Las Vegas for Diva, in March. Cussing myself for not pursuing this course at fourteen, I realized life would be different. There wouldn’t be any loose ends to tie up with family members.

In my life, I failed miserably at being the responsible male. I’m road kill in the testosterone laden, fast lane of being a man. Now it’s time to be the person I always wanted to be. During my rant, I resolved to go back into one of my old career jobs. My plans are going to take money, and I need to take care of my loved ones. That might sound like the man coming out, but I’m tired of his life and the sooner I get my teeth fixed, find a therapist, start HRT, and move on to SRS, the quicker I’ll feel complete.

So I’m taking bigger steps, moving faster. My Facebook friend told me of a local place where I can get my new wig. It’s been hard sometimes, but I’m losing weight, so my next step is a total reveal and confiscating my wife’s old wardrobe. After that, I come out to the world. There won’t be any doubt as to who I am. (Notice I didn’t say what I am?) I won’t be crawling back into any boxes, either. I have a long list of things to work on, but I’m motivated.

As I said previously, those feminization videos are helping me to believe. I constantly repeat the mantra I am a girl. It’s okay to be girly, because I am a girl. I am not doing anything wrong. It’s true. I knew it as a kid—I know it now. I believe in the future. Even if the world goes to hell in a hand-basket, I’ll be the girl I always wanted to be.

Love Francine

A Huge Commitment

As you know, I challenged myself to overcome my alter ego, and shave his beard. I figured that if I planned it right I could trick him into shaving. Then, the beard would be gone before he knew what was happening. He’s been fighting me, and our transition, and every baby step. One of the hypnosis videos I spoke about introduced the concept of letting a river wash my maleness away. Later, the hypnotist explains that the man I used to be was washed out to sea. I was free of him. I was a woman.

I know he is part of me and I need him, but sometimes I wonder how much easier it would be to . . . Anyway, I convinced him that we needed to trim the beard. Then while standing there, I cut out a big, ugly, chunk. The scissors slipped, (tee he). No really they just slipped, (grin). He tried to fix the mess but eventually gave up and shaved it all. I had my heart’s desire. Still, I mourned with him, and assured him it was for the best.

He thinks he looks like a dork, and I agree, but time will tell with HRT. Adding to the distress, are my teeth. I had good teeth before the beard. Now, they’ve gone bad and they’re no longer hidden by hair. (I’ve just gotta get them fixed.) It’s not all, bad though, My double chin is missing, and I can see my lipstick.

Now, enfemme will be a real presentation instead of bits and pieces of clothes and jewelry. Now, it’s sink or swim. It’s a commitment, a sacrifice to the powers that be. I’m serious. I’m a woman, and it’s high time I caught up. I’m looking forward to Diva Las Vegas in March. Moreover, I can’t wait to inherit my wife’s dresses.

Oh, how, I love being transgender. With one more obstacle out of the way, I’m one baby step closer. I’m going to be the woman I was born to be—one step at a time, but I need to keep him from growing it back.

Love Francine

It Sparkled-the pictue



the fake diamond I wear



Free Shirts

My wife returned from a yard sale the other day, with two shirts. She said I could wear them around the house. From his point of view, they were just shirts not something he would wear. One of them had pink stripes, and he’d always been taught to avoid that color. Francine, That’s when I stepped in. They weren’t exactly the kind of shirt I would buy, but I something about them, maybe the colors, intrigued me. I thanked my wife and figured he would wear them to mow the lawn.

Have you noticed I refer to male self in the second person a lot? It comes from a lifetime of squelching my inner, feminine, side. I would refer to the name I was born with, but I’m still in the closet so, to speak.

Anyway, I had the opportunity later, to examine the shirts. They were the same size, and it was smaller than he would normally wear. That’s when I noticed the label and it clicked. The label said Roaman’s and they were women’s plus sizes. I ached to try them on, but my wife was watching and I'd put on a camisole, under my shirt, that morning.

I had to know, but trying to appear nonchalant, I thanked her again and walked away. With baited breath, I waited for her to leave and quickly tried them on. Yes, the buttons were on the left and I grinned. They fit, and I began to make plans for when I would wear them and with which outfit. What can I say, I’m a girl. I’m excited to force him to wear the pink stripes in public.

I glance at those shirts hanging on the door and a few questions come to mind. Did my wife know they were women’s shirts? If she did, does she know I’m in transition? Will she notice the button placement and take back her gift? It doesn’t really matter, I won’t give them up now.

I think those questions lead up to the bigger questions I’ve been trying to avoid. What will she do when I tell her I’m trans? Since we don’t have a normal relationship, and we sleep in separate bedrooms anyway, I’m hoping she will just accept my choice. Maybe we can be girlfriends. Probably not, but ever since I heard the words of that hypnosis video, I’ve been happy.

The hypnotist told me, I am a girl. It’s okay to be girly, because I am a girl. I can’t begin to tell how much those words meant to me. It’s like coming home and I will never turn back. I know it’s not fair to those who know me as a man. They didn’t buy into my dysphoria, but I hope they’ll keep an open mind and learn to accept me.

Love Francine

The Little Reminders

I got a comment on my post last week from Pat who said, I wear panties and pantyhose (and sometimes bras and camis) under my male clothes about 90% of the time. I find that the garments serve as a tactile connection to my femme nature.

As you know, I can relate. When I decided to transition, I started wearing panties everyday. I think we all have little things we do that help us bend the masculine role we play.

I share a bathroom with my daughter and she isn’t the tidiest housekeeper. Often when I pass by her makeup, I put something on even though I’m on my way back to bed.

The other day, I stepped out of the shower and misted myself with her perfume. I went to work and smelled it all day. The aroma was a reminder of my transition and it made me smile.

Love Francine

It Sparkles

I’m married, and although it might not be a perfect union, I made promises. While shopping one day, I decided to purchase a cheap wedding ring. Not that I’m a raging beauty, but I want to make it clear when I go out in Francine mode. (I really don’t think it matters, but you never know, I might meet a near sighted sugar daddy).

More than marriage vows, though, the ring looks fabulous and it makes my fingers look great. I wore it the other day while writing in the car when the sun hit my hand and lit up the stone. If I didn’t know how much I paid, I’d swear it was a real brilliant cut diamond. Shafts of light flow through the prism and cast it casts colored spots everywhere. It sparkles with the brilliance of a real stone.

My life is a lot like that fake stone. Every once in a while, the light is just right and I look like the real thing, a genetic woman. I look forward to the time after counseling, when I start HRT and my body changes. Eventually, I won’t be fake anymore. I will sparkle, too.

I hope you have a wonderful day. Love Francine.

Fighting a Battle

Some of you will understand this post, others will think I’m crazy. First of all, let me say I am Francine. I am transgender, but my alter ego has other ideas. When I emerged as transgender-male to female, I gave up the old life, or so I thought. Everyday, I face the mirror with razor in hand trying to shave off the beard my alter ego has treasured for so long.

Everyday, he wins the battle. He’s afraid to face the world without the beard and I need it gone so my makeup won’t look like a joke. Damn I want it gone. If only I could get kidnapped by a demented group of laser hair removal specialists. They would remove the beard once and for all and he would have to deal with it.

There will come a time when I won’t need him anymore. Hell, I don’t need him now, but the life we temporarily live requires his presence. If only the world knew what kind of underwear I’m wearing . . .

He knows, and he tries to get me to grab a pair of shorts everyday. I’m winning the battle, though. I will be Francine and I’m going to throw a coming out party.

Does that sound crazy? I bet it does. As the subtitle of my blog says, I’m taking baby steps, even though my soul wants it over. I know it’s a gradual process, both mentally and physically. Wish my luck.

                                                             Love Francine

Working out the Kinks

Working out the Kinks

Since I decided to transition, I’ve been wearing feminine underwear everyday. It’s a baby step, but that’s what this bog is all about. Being who I am must begin somewhere. I’ve also been using the bathroom, sitting down.

The other day, however, my male prostate woke me and I needed to go. I didn’t have time to sit down and I wondered if I’d make it through SRS. As I stood there looking at my daughter’s makeup, the words to an old song came to mind,

I am strong

I am invincible

I am Woman.

check it out here
I am female and I always have been. Moreover, I always will be. There are many more steps to go in my journey, but I’ll make it. I am strong. I am invincible. I will be who I am.

I was reading blogs and social media postings the other day and I wondered about articles of clothing. What was the first piece of female clothing you owned, and how did you acquire it? I’m not talking about the laundry basket where we borrowed our mother’s clothes.

I used to make clothes from material my mother stored. I admit, I was never a good seamstress but it was all about fantasy in those days, anyway. Puberty has a way of doing that to you. Oh, if I only knew then, what I know now.

I’ll never forget the first time I purchased something. It was after years of trying to bury my feminine nature. I was married and I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I went into the store armed with a sale ad, and pretended to be buying a bra for a female someone. I pointed to the ad and said, "I need one of those."

The clerk asked about size.

"I think she needs 48."

"What is the cup size?"

Not wanting to blow my cover I pretended I didn’t know. I needed a D (I was always big), but they didn’t have one. The clerk gave me a look of consternation when I said, just give me a C.

I hated that bra. I also hated the suspicious look the clerk gave me. Still, it got easier after that.

Tell me about your first piece of clothing, traditionally worn by a member of the opposite sex, (well, opposite of your assigned gender).

Backsliding

After writing about my goals last time, I ran head long into a problem. I hadn’t considered my condition. I cut my food consumption to practically nothing and started eating foods with no fat and no calories. I’m diabetic and I had an episode at work the other day. When it happened again, I pigged out and felt better.

I now know, this won’t be the proverbial walk in the park, but I’m still getting there. I’m eating salads and trying to understand my condition. I’m transgender however, and I will achieve my goals. Losing all those extra pounds will probably alleviate the diabetes anyway, then I’ll be on my way.

In a conversation with me the other day, a friend of mine talked about people who move too fast through transition. She is perfectly happy to remain transgender without the surgery. "Those who move too quickly," she said. "Often regret it later.

I assure you, I’m taking baby steps. I’ll be absolutely positive of my need before I submit to surgery. I do feel pressed, however, but only because of my age. I’ve missed so much in my life.

Which, again, raises the questions I’ve been dealing with on my previous blog: Can I be happy without complete transition? Will cross-dressing be sufficient? Could I be happy with hormones alone? There is also the question of, could I sacrifice my family on the altar of femininity? Oh, how I hope for an understanding relationship that allows for my expression.

Believe me, I plan to re-examine these questions during each stage of the process. Hopefully, you’ll be here to help me make those choices. Every time something else happens, You’ll be the first people I tell.

Going Forward and I'm Thrilled

Now that I’ve decided to transition, All the baggage that popped up amazes me. Thousands of little details from my life have come to the surface. Things like catching myself making a feminine hand gesture and rebuking my hand, hoping nobody noticed. I spent my youth trying, but failing, to succeed in sports. I dismissed my inability by chalking it up to being overweight.

I finally got good at football and wrestling, because I turned my frustration into aggression, which I used against my opponents. I was willing to go further with my anger than they were. It earned a kind of respect for me, but I still went home and played make believe. I was the girl character, but I never added it up. I never realized my dysphoria. Although I believe it was XXY syndrome.

Anyway, I know my experiences are not unusual. Many others have been there too, but calling myself transgender instead of crossdresser, has given me a new perspective and I see things with new eyes.

I can’t believe how happy I am. It’s like climbing out of a pit I dug for myself and wondering why I lived in that hole. Life is so much clearer now. I’m not kidding myself, though. I know, there are excruciating struggles ahead, but finally allowing myself freedom to express my feminine me has been very liberating. I made a list of goals Which is a first for me. Tell me what you think.

• Lose pounds. Five dress sizes by Christmas. I know that’s a lot, but my wife left a whole wardrobe in my bedroom closet. She lost a lot of weight and since we sleep in separate parts of the house, I figure the wardrobe is mine. I want to wear some of those things at Diva Las Vegas and, (be still my heart) Southern Comfort next year.

• Secure a better means of support. I need a better job. Especially if I have to make this journey alone. I will need to save a large amount of money for doctors, etc. Anybody know where I could get a signature loan? J

• Get my teeth fixed. I used to have a pretty smile. I was really a girl, after all. ‘nuff said.

• Join several support groups. I need guidance and people to hug and be hugged by. Really though, with the exception of blogging, I’ve never talked to anyone about this and I need to spill my guts. I have a relative who should’ve had the surgery by now. I don’t know, because I’ve been busy hiding my own problems. There’s no better support group than family. I’m going to visit my auntie.

• Come out. They say that confession is good for the soul. This will be hard. But my loved ones have to know.

• Jump through the hoops. Truthfully, I’ve always been wary of mental health professionals, even though I thought I wanted to be one at one time. I don’t like people in my head. Never-the-less in this case they can help me, and they are the gatekeepers. I’m looking forward to living as a female. And I’ve already mentioned my feelings about hormones. (Where have they been all my life?)

I don’t relish the inevitable pain associated with all the surgery, but in the end . . . It’ll be worth it. After all, to finally be who I was born to be. I wish I could’ve gone to the prom. To have worn a Pink silk dress and have my date pin on the corsage. Just above my breast. To have spent the whole day primping and working on my makeup . . . Okay I missed a lot. There is much to make up for.

   
The goal for jumping through the hoops is, of course, a long-term goal. Also there are details that need to be filled in. I wish with all my soul, that time could be rushed forward. I’ve wasted much of life. Still, it would be better to go back and start my life over . . . What we called sex change operations where unusual, but it was being done. Results were sometimes not good. Maybe to have been born in 1990?

It's a New Day & I'm Giddy

Many people would be surprised to here me say this, but for the first time in my life, I feel I'm on the right path. I remember dreamimg about being a girl when I was twelve, but it wasn't possible then. Now, I'm closer. I know there are still hundreds of issues to resolve. Also, thousands of dollars, but I'm happy. It's a new day.