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