F2M

I met a new acquaintance the other day. He is younger than me and we have something in common. For his privacy I will call him George. Anyway, we were waiting for the doors to open on our first day on a new job and I introduced myself.

He paused, apparently struggling with the name he was given at birth, but ended up saying, “My friends call me George.”

Because of the chest binder and the fact that I am trans, I knew George was, too. I asked, “Are you in transition?”

My question seemed to surprise him. Probably because of the conservative place where we live, and the fact that very few are accepting of people like us. I called him George and told him I was glad to meet him. I wanted to share my transition with him, but I didn’t. He mentioned how hard it is to get treatment when you don’t make lots of money and understanding doctors are few. Still, George is much closer to his goal than I am to mine, and that intimidated me.

In contemplation of that chance meeting, many thoughts came to mind. George is tossing away what I dearly wish for and I always had a hard time understanding that. You see, I hated being a boy. Yes, there’s a lot to be said for peeing standing up, but I will gladly give that up to be a woman.

That’s when it dawned on me and I realized something so basic, I’m ashamed I never thought of it before. The idea that Gender Dysphoria is all-inclusive. We didn’t chat about it, but George must’ve dealt with the same feelings I had. Our birth gender was confused. He must’ve hated the things in childhood that I craved.

There must’ve also been other similarities too. I played the game so well, that people call me masculine. He played the game and ended up with the traits I adore. We now have a ton of traits to undo. No matter the age when we jump on bus, society has an effect.

I envy George, however. He is much younger than I, and he will have the rest of his life to enjoy his choices.   

Now, after all of that, I understand, and I feel stupid for not realizing it before. More troubling to me, though, is why I didn’t tell George I am trans, too.

I love you guys.  

Inclinations

Recently, I wrote about my experience on Facebook with a man who thinks transgender people are possessed. After discussing it with some other friends I began to turn inward and think about my own life of entrenchment.

Obviously, my bigoted friend has more in his personal life than he would ever want anybody to know. The clue is found in the line from Shakespeare “The lady doth protest to much, methinks.”

In other words, the loudest critics are often guilty of the same affliction. That makes your mind dance when you apply that truth to Mike Huckabe and his recent comments.

As I turned the principle inward, I remembered things from my life. There were many times, while deeply entrenched in my closet, I made too much fuss. While trying to ignore my own inclinations I reacted to others in a negative way.

Okay, you can throw rocks at me, but since deciding to transition, I’m trying to reverse all that. Foremost in my mind, is how I reacted to my uncle’s announcement that he would transition. To be fair, I didn’t condemn, but I wasn’t supportive. There were bridges I could’ve built but I was in hiding. My aunt has gone it alone, and I’m proud of her.

Now I’m in transition, I would love to reconnect but I can read the signs, and I’m sure there are others in my family who suffer from gender dysphoria. I intend to nurture and defend each one as they come out. In the mean time, I protest the inhuman treatment being perpetrated in the world.

That’s where we are in our society. Some of our most loved friends and family are choosing be happy and become the gender they identify with. We can choose to condemn or embrace them. A universal truth that seems to be ignored is that one does not have to embrace the sin to love the sinner.

Whether transgender and gay people are sinning is not ours’ to judge. The bible gives specific instructions and we must embrace our fellow man.

Judgements

I usually file stuff like that under everybody is entitled to their opinion, but I couldn’t do that the other day. One of my conservative friends claimed to be doing research and she re-posted an article by a dinosaur who claims psychiatric accreditation. He offered his opinion about transgender people, and I’ve been doing a slow burn since.

He, like most everyone in his profession used to do, claims we are suffering from a mental condition. He went on to give permission for religious hatred and persecution. Well, to be fair, I don’t think he knows the hatred is implied.

 So, I don’t really care if somebody thinks I’m crazy, but I resent somebody claiming they understand what it’s like to be me. You see, I’ve been fighting this thing through my whole life. I think I know how it feels better than some old guy who believes I am a sinner, going against God’s wishes.

As a young man, I was convinced that I was crazy. As an older, young man, I went through a period of intense religious training and service. I experienced many gifts from God, but even during that time, I couldn’t shake those feelings. I was able to temporarily put my dysphoria out of mind, but God never completely took it away.

With the advent of certain media times and trends, everything trans has been pushed onto society lately. I understand that many people are confused. They don’t understand and they admit that, but to spout your religious beliefs and claim them as fact only confuses people more. Especially, if you happen to have accreditation.

Worse is to claim to understand transgender people, without ever talking to one, is like somebody trying to determine how a dog feels, based on the prejudice of being a human. I’ll get into that later, though.

You see, I’ve been fighting this thing through my whole life. I think I know how it feels better than some old guy who thinks it goes against God’s wishes. As a young man, I was convinced that I was crazy. As an older, young man, I went through a period of intense religious training and service. I experienced many gifts from God, but even during that time, I couldn’t shake those feelings. I was able to temporarily put my dysphoria out of mind, but God never completely took it away.

So now I am old, and I’m tired of fighting against my dysphoria. The studies that conclude gender dysphoria is an actual medical condition, proves nothing. Neither do the studies that point out the hormone connection between a fetus and the mother’s womb. You see, the good doctor, previously mentioned, will not accept those studies.

Contrary to the doctor’s belief, the truth is that without actually being transgender, there is no way outsiders could ever hope to understand. Some people come close, but they can’t empathize. They can’t begin to understand how it feels. How could they after all, we are freaks right? Of course I’m being facetious.

Anyway, on Facebook, I tried to persuade my friend to actually do the research. I rebutted the article, and I asked her to talk to people who actually suffer. Before long, I was called out for what I said. Another of my writing acquaintances began to tell me how wrong I was . . . Okay, you should know, that circle of friends don’t know yet. Still, can you relate to the irony?

He went on to misquote scripture, and even went so far as to claim that we are possessed . . . yes that’s what he said. Needless to say, the discussion degraded from that point. I never came out to him, but I made several points that he could never hope to understand. At one point my other friend, deleted the whole post.

Feeling infuriated, I asked another person, a friend who knows about me, if I am possessed. I went on to say, if I’m possessed, then I have been, for my whole life. Even during that period of intense religious training and service. I’ve been fighting this battle forever.

In retrospect, I’ve concluded we have no hope of changing minds. When I come out to those writer friends in that circle, they will think I’m crazy. Most of them knew me during my last stand, the final battle to be the man I was born to be. Yes those friends will be shocked, annoyed, and condemning. Why do I care? Because I spent a lot of time building those relationships. I care too much to see them write the whole thing off, out of hand.

Hooray for Love

I can't help thinking that this whole thing would be different if only the right wing had agreed to a civil partnership law. They threw down the gauntlet by saying two people had to be married in order to get the rights people deserve. The "Sacred" word, (Marriage) wouldn't be an issue.

Still, I'm thrilled to know that anybody who loves somebody can now be married. 

Never Current

I’ve mentioned that I often write these posts ahead of time. If the muse crawls into my fingers, I often write several at a time. Consequently, by the time I post them, the subjects tend to be old news. My readership, however, isn’t what others have, so who cares, right? I do. Since I’m a writer by trade, I need to promote me and by extension, my writing.

Since I was deep in the closet when I started this blog, the readership didn’t matter. Now, I’m preparing to come out to all my family & friends and extend my public writing career to my authentic self. To accomplish that, I need to promote my blog. To accomplish that, I need to be current and consistent.

In an effort to do that, I began to post a series of articles last week. I set them to publish on their own but life got in the way and I didn’t get Friday published. As I said, my goal is to be consistent. Wish me luck.

She . . .

At the wig shop the other day, I had an interesting experience. I had dropped off an ancient black wig for restyling and was picking it up. I had to wait for the lady in head of me and another customer came into the store.

The stylist was alone in the shop and said, “let me help her.” Now, what floored me was not that she was taking care of the other woman, but the stylist was talking about me. Somehow I knew that the “her” she referred to, was me, without even noticing the pronoun.

She used it again, and again. When I finally noticed, the pronoun took hold and I wanted to cry. Yes, I know the importance of pronouns for transgender people, but as compared to others I’m just beginning my transition.

I also know that transition actually begins at birth for all of us, but I’ll address that philosophical talking point in another post, suffice it to say, I am thrilled. after a life full of having masculine pronouns forced down my throat, I’m elated.

I am her and she. Not him or he. I am the woman and I always was. The black wig I brought was used when in directly inherited the thing. I hoped for a flat and straight style, because black always makes my head look bigger.

They weren’t able to give me what I wanted. It was just too old and thin, so I got a big hair style that, as predicted, makes my head look huge. I thought about red lipstick and white foundation. Maybe I could try some Gothic eye shadow.

On the drive home, I kept looking in the rearview mirror and I got an idea. I tied on a scarf to pull the height down. It’s my windy day look. What do you think? 

Writing Blogs and Books

This post might piss some of you off, but it must be said. Keep in mind I’m not a perfect writer, either.

There’s a trend in the trans community that I applaud, but it bothers me, too. I know it’s not actually the case, but it seems that the whole world wants to write a book about their transgender life. I'm sure that many of them have wonderful stories to tell, but . . .

Some of those same people are bloggers and they post their complaints about the whole Caitlyn Jenner thing. The opinions vary, but the theme is generally the same. They talk about how Caitlyn never had to struggle, like they have. They mention the carnival like, atmosphere surrounding her very public coming out party.

Basically, Jenner is capitalizing on the same feelings we all had as children. Gender dysphoria runs deep in my generation. Anyway, isn’t everybody who writes a book, also capitalizing on that dysphoria?

It’s true. Exposure is good, but if that exposure draws more negative attention . . . Well, that’s another matter. As many of you know, because I’ve posted about it here, in my masculine life, I’ve been a writer of fiction. By all means I’m not an expert in the English language, neither am I extremely successful in that endeavor. I do, however, know when somebody writes poorly.

When the self-pub/Ebook craze hit, I cringed for many reasons. The authors immediately began pricing themselves out the market, and I knew there would be a landslide of books available that normally would never be published.

I’ve read many of the Trans biographies and as I suspected, most of them would benefit from the services of an editor. Now before you take offense, remember, I never mentioned any of the books by name, and you should know, I am probably in more need of an editor than anybody.

Perhaps you will see what I mean if you read through the posts on this blog. As a writer of novels, however, I wouldn’t dare publish a book without an editor. I don’t know why so many trans women want to write their biographies, but please be careful. Do the best job you can. There will be many who read your book to mock it, don’t make it easier for them.

With that being said, I love you, sisters.

Life on the Train

Do you remember last year, when I jumped off the train? At that time I wrote:

This is my quandary. I stand at the crossroads. I can no longer straddle the line. I should do what is best for me, but is that the best thing? These are questions asked by thousands of others on the train. I’m not the first, nor will I be the last. For now, I’m climbing back on the train.

That was a year ago, and I stayed on the train. There have been things during the last year that made me cry. Some things made me grin, but I’m still on the train. I’m here for the duration and I’m sad I couldn’t see a therapist a year ago. One more year against the day when I wakeup in the hospital with my vagina.

I got everything right the other day. Makeup was good. Hair was fantastic. Clothes were beautiful and I cried. I might’ve been born a male, but I am a woman. I am so ready . . . If only I could have the resources Ms. Jenner has, then I could do more than covet.

That will be my happy place. I will dream of inheriting a small fortune. Did you ever listen to the lyric of, If I were a Rich Man, from Fiddler on the Roof?

If I were a rich man, dubie dubie dum
I would be the woman that I am,
If I were a wealthy man.

Of course, between the cost of hormones, doctors, and surgeries, I wouldn’t be a rich woman at the end of it. Still, just so you won’t think I’m selfish, I wish I had the resources to assist others in their quest. I would be the woman that helps others, but I would do for myself, too. God bless you, sisters. I love you.

Would you like a little Cheese with that Whine?

After my failure to attend my Saturday Pride event, a realization painfully resurfaced. I’ve posted about it before, and still need friends.

The nature of Gender dysphoria, at least in my generation, made many of us introverts. Not because we don’t crave companionship, but because we thought we were freaks. We locked ourselves in the security of our closets to dabble in the need we didn’t understand.

With the development of the Word Wide Web, I and many others, learned we are not alone, but even with that, we were still alone. We learned we weren’t freaks, but cyberspace, is no place to develop relationships.

Since I bought my ticket and climbed on the train, I’m painfully reminded how much I need a friend. I have the best intentions, but being alone in strange places prevents me from exploring my new identity. I tell myself I’ll go to pride night at the local bar and never go. If I had somebody to go with . . .

I wonder how having somebody waiting for me would’ve helped me get to the pride event. I need somebody to cross the bridges with me. It would help if they’d been this way before, but I need a friend.

Okay, the whining will cease now, carry on as before.

Inferiority Complex

If Kimberly Huddle is your Facebook friend, you know that she posts a daily picture with the tag of today’s inferiority complex. I always enjoy those posts of beautiful women, but when you’re the size of a linebacker, those pictures do exactly that, to you. Then again, maybe if things had been different . . .

Recently, I found my daughter’s BCBGMAXAZRIA spring catalog for 2015 on the back of the toilet. The fashions were gorgeous, then came, the smack in the face. It was a whole book, full of inferiority complexes.

I haven’t been living in a cave for my whole life. I know what models look like, but for some reason I was struck by how thin those ladies actually are. Still, they make the clothes look good. I tried to imagine wearing the fashions, and came up short. Beautiful dresses, that would never work for a woman my size.

On the other hand, I don’t have the money anyway . . . Hmmm. I believe that constitutes a catch-22.

Pride is . . . the best laid plans.

The best laid plans of mice and men . . . that quote from the classic novel, tends to describe so much of my life. I got the time off. The plan called for staying in a hotel. I would spend the whole weekend meeting new friends and building my tribe.

The reality turned out different. Through employment, and family responsibilities, I didn’t get up there until Saturday but then again . . .

I planned to stop at the wig shop on the way to get my new hair adjusted and drop off an ancient wig for restyling. I got that far. Raindrops hit my windshield and I remembered I’d forgotten my umbrella. Added to the fact that I didn’t want to fight traffic and find a parking space close by.

I still have tomorrow. It’s parade day anyway. On the plus side, My wig fits perfectly and I never want to take it off. Damn I need to transition. As the title indicates, Pride is . . . is the theme this year. For me, pride is hard to attend. Anyway, wish me luck.

PS A family thing came up so I didn’t make Pride in SLC this year. There will be another opportunity this year, however, but I won’t talk about that. I don’t want to Jinx my chances.

The Butterfly Club

In a recent post, I wrote about the elusive butterfly. I talked about the song, but I also mentioned the symbolism of butterflies. Not to belabor the point, but it simply fascinates me. Imagine being a lowly caterpillar. Subject to the elements. Birds prey on you. Then, if you survive, you get to start your cocoon. When that is finished, you are totally exposed. Birds could still eat you.

During the time you are in your cocoon, your body changes. It’s a complete metamorphosis. Then when you are ready, you emerge and make adjustments. Fine tuning your new body, learning to appreciate the nuances. After the change, you spread your wings and fly. You are beautiful.

As transgender humans, we live our lives trying to survive the world we were born into. Survival depends on how well we play the game. Hazing, even death waits if we unsuccessfully wear the mask. At some point in our existence, something awakens within. For some, it happens later in life, for others, its sooner. The awakening is a personal thing.

Waking up makes us crawl into a cocoon, preparing for the grand event. During that time, we are exposed. The irony is interesting. Coming out means we have built our cocoon. During our time in the cocoon, we are vulnerable. Anybody with an agenda can and will pick at us, trying to make us give up.

HRT, during the cocoon phase often must be endured alone. After all, it’s a cocoon. It’s lonely in there. Toward the end of our cocoon experience, FFS and GRS are options that will make the whole unveiling more delightful.

Finally, we emerge, beautiful, ready to be the person we were born to be. The butterfly in our soul flies. Our soul is complete.

In another blog post, I coined a phrase I have never heard before. I said we were all members of the butterfly club, and so it should be. Many of us already wear the symbols of our freedom. The butterfly pendants on chains around our necks are symbols of our desire. After all, butterflies are free.