A New Kettle of Fish

I know there are many with similar stories as this and others who have suffered greatly. I also know I’ve whined about this subject before. To those who would say, "Get over it," this, is a blog of self-discovery, but I hope my words can help others on their path as well.

Being transgender in middle age is not something I would’ve chose. I imagined looking back on a career, enjoying grandchildren, and going fishing. In those, my younger days, I got out of bed everyday, filled the role, and paid the bills. I also fought against my urges. Being a woman was not in the cards and crossdressing was not an option.

Oh what a kettle of fish I was in. Feminine denial was only part of my neurosis. When I hit the wall and lost my career job, I also lost my identity. Sounds drastic, but some men can’t separate what they do from who they are. They value themselves by how successful they are.

Did you ever hear the song from the great depression called Brother Can You Spare a Dime? It goes,

Once I built a railroad, made it run

Made it race against time

Once I built a railroad, now it's done

Brother can you spare a dime?

Once I built a tower to the sun

Brick and rivet and lime

Once I built a tower, now it's done

Brother can you spare a dime?

Like those who lost everything in nineteen twenty-nine, I felt like a failure. My best days were behind me. More than mid-life crisis, I felt like road kill on the freeway of life.



As middle age approached, I couldn’t cope, so I didn’t. I flaked out on family, friends and responsibilities. I self destructed and did things I’m not proud of. My lifelong battle with errectile dysfunction probably kept me from jumping off the deep end.

Finally, in a last ditch effort to save my sanity, I analyzed my life and saw the indicator lights. I recognized each little incident in my life for what it was. I recognized the tragedy that perhaps this boy would’ve been happier if I were a girl.

I mourned the loss of that girl, and tried to hold onto masculinity. It didn’t work. I failed, and lost my perspective. I was worthless. Telling myself I needed to change was easy. Admitting my need to be a woman came in pieces. Oh, how I wish I’d transitioned at fourteen.

Identifying as transgender, brought freedom I’ve never known. To use a cliché, I gave in to the girl inside of me. Yes, it was also a way of escaping my male role, but it hasn’t been easy. As every transgender person will attest, living a life of duality is rough. Self-criticism is crippling, and looking like a woman seems to be forever out of my grasp.

At the heart of it all, is the daily debate I stage within myself. The argument that starts with the question am I doing the right thing? Yes, I have a desperate need to be feminine, but it’s a selfish need. Too many people expect me to continue to play the role, but I can’t play that role. I fear that role.

Changing genders is hard, but it’s nothing compared to coming out to my loved ones. Certainly, my life will change drastically. I’m not talking about HRT, SRS, and FFS. I’m talking about banishment from my home and the hearts of those I love. I hate being homeless and alone. I should be used to it by now, though, since the transgender life is a world within anyway. How can I obliterate the life we built together.

I’m the victim of a powerful lack of masculine ability. Femininity is my salvation, but I don’t think they will understand.

Still, living life as a woman will be like sanctuary, a second chance to be a functioning adult. When the violet stripes on my, (right over left buttoned), camp shirt, glow in afternoon sun, I feel giddy. I feel comfortable in my own skin for the first time in my life. I know, the clothes are an outward expression of an inward resolution. Middle age will be a blessing. I will be completely free from masculine expectations. I will nurture my loved ones, and I can still go fishing.

No, it isn’t the way I imagined middle age would be. Eventually the grandkids will come around and it’ll be much better. It’s much better.

PS I didn’t get any suggestions for my new name. I think I will change it to Kaye. That way I can sign things with the letter K.

What are you called?

Being transgender gives you a lot of freedom. I know, we’re slaves to fashion, it takes forever to get ready, and most of us avoid certain places due to prejudicial treatment, but we are free nonetheless.

We are free to change, because we’ve accepted our need to change.
We are free to love, whoever and whenever we want.
We are free to be loved, hopefully by those who hate our choices.
We are free to start over. New life, new job, new residence.
Freedom comes when everything else is gone.
After a period of change, caterpillars turn into beautiful butterflies, & butterflies are free.

Along with the freedom to change, comes a new name. Legal problems not withstanding, we may call ourselves whatever we want. I switched the initials of the name I was given at birth, and came up with Francine Nichole Keller.

Until recently, I never realized how that name would sound when somebody called me Francine. It’s one thing to call myself that, but to hear it from others, well . . .

I think I mentioned that I write fiction. So does "he", (my male counterpart). For awhile, as an author, I went by Francine Keller, but as I said, the sound of the name Francine bothered me. So I changed it to F Nichole Keller, but "he" knows a GG named Nichole, and I’m not a Nichole.

You see the trouble is, I couldn’t think of a good name that starts with an ‘F’. So, now, I’m thinking of switching my initials back. I’ve heard many stories told by transgender women who picked a name with the same first letter as their male counterparts. That way they could just sign everything using an initial.

I like that idea, it would make transition easier. Can you think of girl’s names that start with ‘K’? Help me pick a name and I’ll love you forever. I think I’ll make a contest of it. Tell you what. If I pick your suggestion, I’ll send you a Walmart gift card.

What would you call me? I’m a Sagittarius, with a Scorpio rising. I’m overweight but losing. Two whole sizes in a year, yeah! Fist pump. My goal is drop more and get into my wife’s old dresses before Diva Las Vegas in March. I might not make it down that far, but I’m going to look good.

Also, I’m a fifty something artistic person, who loves to love and be loved. What would you call me? It should be a ‘K’ name but I’ll consider ‘F’ names, too. Good luck, and thank you.

Love, Francine, Uh . . . Me

PS Happy 2014