Babysteps, Again

I wore a bra to work the other day. Considering the conservative nature of my workplace, It was not a small thing. I wore it under one of his big shirts so it couldn’t be seen unless you looked close. It might not have been visible, but the bra did its job and supported my breasts. That was certainly visible and I was proud.

All day long if I noticed at all, I thought of my transition and how far I’ve come. I celebrate each small step toward GRS. I see others achieving their goals and I think of my wasted years. Never the less I’m taking steps and I couldn’t be happier. Wearing a bra to work, was a small step, but it was a major step toward my self-esteem.

I am a woman, and I’m following my dream. There is a first time for everything.

The Elusive Butterfly

 Those of you from my generation might recognize that title. On Facebook one day, an old friend of mine posted some lyrics and challenged everyone to name the title and the artist.

You might wake up some morning,
To the sound of someone drifting past your window in the wind.
 
My friend posted more than that, but having played the song on my guitar, I immediately knew it was Elusive Butterfly, from the nineteen seventies. I sang the song in my mind and realized a hidden message, I never noticed before.

I don’t know whether the meaning was intended, but let me explain the reference, first. Have you noticed a fascination with butterflies in our transgender culture? Another friend posted a picture of her new butterfly necklace and one of the comments said, “Butterflies are free.”

Yes, they are, but that’s not the point. Butterflies are truly transitional. They spend their lives from the egg, working toward an event. Then when the time comes, they morph into the beautiful butterfly, they were intended to be. There is more than just the obvious in that example, but we, transgender people, undergo transition to become the butterfly we always wanted to be.

That is the reason so many of us wear butterfly jewelry. It reminds us of, who we want to be. The jewelry also identifies us to other, like minded, people. It’s all about symbolism to many of us. To others, it’s just a butterfly.

Getting back to the song, in the chorus we find,

Don’t be concerned, it will not harm you.
It’s only me, pursuing something I’m not sure of.
Across my dreams, with nets of wonder, I chase the bright, elusive, butterfly of love.

Sure, it’s about a guy with a net, chasing butterflies. Why is he doing that in the middle of the night? Is he actually stalking the girl? Is he a peeping Tom?

I believe, he’s coming in from a night out, cross-dressed in his preferred gender and he’s trying to find a way of telling her. He’s outing himself in hopes she will understand, and accept the her he wants to be.

He’s chasing the transgender butterfly and I’m amazed I never noticed it before.

It Aint About the Clothes

It really isn’t. Like all women, I love to shop too. Finding the perfect top to match a skirt in my closet is one of life’s pleasures, but I’ve been reading other ladies blogs. They talk about the clothes they wore at one event or another. I envy their outfits and the fact they can wear certain things.

Suffice it to say, I’m old, and I’m overweight. I dress my age and for my comfort. After all, if I don’t feel at ease in my clothes, what’s the point? I’ve read posts and heard the axiom, “It’s not about the clothes.” That’s true, but I admit, it used to be. Back when a few minutes of feminine expression had to be enough to last until I could, again, grab a few minutes with my stash.

Now the life I should’ve had is replacing my former one. I sometimes wear his underwear. It makes me feel a little like a tomboy, but it doesn’t feel like cross-dressing. I’ve learned however it doesn’t really matter. In my quest for the perfect pair of blue jeans, I’ve noticed very few differences between women’s and men’s but I prefer the crotch in women’s, also the fly on the other side reminds me of who I am. With the right foundation garments, I can wear either, and still be true to myself. 

I might look a bit frumpy but I’m a trans woman, no matter what I wear.

“But, I don’t wear pants,” you say, and I don’t blame you. There are cis-gender women who don’t either. I do, but then I remember the revolution over whether girls could wear pants at school or not. I love frilly outfits as much as the next girl, but most of my dresses emphasize my belly. If I dress up to go to out, or to church, I usually wear a skirt with a camp shirt. Or a peasant style top. So, usually, I wear pants and tops that cover my waistline.

When I finally succeed in dropping 4 (or more) sizes, I will wear more dresses, but until that happens, I am the minimal woman. I’m the girl that guys feel comfortable with. It’s easier than tossing all of his clothes anyway.

 

Like A Dirty Penny

I sometimes work in a convenience store. Often, while working, I notice the change in the cash drawer. Some coins stand out from the others. There a shiny new ones, older ones, and then, there’s always one that looks so old and worn you just have to check the date.

Almost regularly, I get a coin that spent the last few years in somebody’s ashtray or on a muddy road. Some of them have been dug out of asphalt on a hot day. The first reaction when I get one is to get rid of it. There is something odd about them, and they don’t fit.

Recently, while getting rid of his stuff in my closet. I noticed old work clothes and things I wore while working in the yard. Like finding a dirty penny in my cash drawer, I was repulsed. Perhaps that is too strong of a word, but I couldn’t imagine wanting to wear those things. I couldn’t remember being the guy who came home form work at night and put them on before going outside.

Since I began transition, many of the things I used to enjoy no longer interest me. Working in the yard appears to be one of them. That might change when warmer weather comes, but I can’t imagine me wearing those clothes again—Ever.

As a side note to this post, I love the changes in me. I feel comfortable for the first time in my life. I used to feel self-conscious about my breasts. I made sure they didn’t show through my outfit. Now, I embrace them. Even when I don’t wear a bra, I love to show them off.

Through all of this change in mind-set, I feel sorry for him. He spent a whole life trying to squelch feminine expressions. He failed, but he tried to play the game. I had no choice when I was born. My genitals didn’t match my feelings. I was born in a time when those things weren’t questioned. What you got was what you were, until you die.

I lament over the life I could’ve had, I made choices based on what I was given, I shouldn’t regret, but I do feel sorry for him.

There are Two Sides to Selfish

While I recently watched a transgender M2F documentary, and I cried. I trans woman with 5 kids and a wife talked about how her transition effected her kids. It’s so sad. Their lives were uprooted and they want their daddy back.

I wondered what right do I have. I don’t have five kids, but like the subject of the documentary, I married my high school sweetheart. Looking back on it now, I tried to tell her about my feminine desires, but I never came right out and said it. Like others, I thought marriage would change me. Besides, I was deep in the closet and afraid.

Now that my life came to a place where I can no longer deny who I am, I wonder: Is it selfish for me to want to be a woman? Or is it self-preservation? Are the children in the documentary being selfish because they don’t want their lives to change? It isn’t fair to them. On the other hand, is she selfish because she cannot live without transition?

For many of us, there is no question. It’s either transition or die. Is it possible for us to suck it up, be a man to protect our loved ones? The only selfish thing, at least for me, has been letting the charade continue all these years.

Just think of all the pain we could’ve saved, if only society hadn’t been so black and white. If we had been brave thereby avoiding the game of trying to fit. I tried for many years. I immersed myself in other interests, almost successfully overcoming the girl inside. Then one day, she came out.

Yes, there was a trigger. As a joke, my wife applied makeup to my face, and I loved it. Unless you are transgender, you will never know how it feels to have those feelings come out, after being buried for so long. Did you ever see Gremlins? In that movie,they accidentally break the rules and spill water on one. After that, all hell broke loose.

I didn’t come out after the makeup, I didn’t put her back in the closet either. I really do wish I had pursued transition. I could’ve done it while there was still time to save a portion of our lives. I had insurance, and I made a good living. Instead, I crawled back into denial and never successfully closed the door again.

Now, after a lifetime of struggle, I’m doing what I should’ve done years ago. There was no choice. It was literally, either that or die. I failed as a man, and I couldn’t hold back the feelings and desires any longer. Did you ever try to stifle a sneeze? No matter what you do it will not be held back.

Now, slowly, but surely, my masculine self is going away. I look at his awards and trophies and I wonder who was that man? I try to do the things I used to do, and I can’t bring myself to start. I’ve forgotten how to use my tools.

So I ask you, although I should be asking a non-trans person: Am I being selfish, or am I preserving my life? My family will, most likely, never accept my choice, but how can I live without following through?