Adjectives

 We all spend incredible time and effort to achieve a feminine transgender life. 

Seeing as how most all of us had a late start on the world and had to make up all of our own rules as we went along, changes were inevitable. Over the years, the woman in the short jeans skirt (me referred to in an earlier post) became the woman who is rarely seen in a dress or skirt at all. Instead I concentrated on refining and building my new person I was building. Seeing as how, very few humans have the opportunity to legally reinvent themselves, I didn’t want to screw it up. Since I ran into fewer and fewer other cis women I encountered dressed like I use to dress, I began to dress to blend. 

Instead, I will let Connie add a few adjectives I wanted to achieve:

“Qualifying adjectives I like are: smart, witty, loving, caring, kind, lovely, pretty, talented and capable. The more I try to present myself as a woman who could be described by any of these, the less important it becomes that anyone might also add “transgender” to my identity.”

Great words to live by! Thanks.

The Trinity

Spoiler alert, this is a very shallow post and it reality it has nothing to do with being transgender. It’s actually about being on hormone replacement therapy. (HRT) It’s my belief you don’t have to rely on drugs and/or surgery to calm your trans feelings. For that matter, you can look like a man with a full beard walking around who feels between her ears she is a woman. The tricky part comes when a person tries to “sync” up  what’s going on inside with what they are projecting to the outside world. Since I am not planning on any surgeries, HRT was my only path to helping my feminine presentation with the public.

By now, perhaps you are wondering what any of this has to do with the title of this post.  Another of my not so guilty pleasures I have is watching any and all of the PBS television networks’ cooking shows but Vivian Howard’s Somewhere South is my current favorite. She is a Southern Chef who also does quite a bit of work with other feminine chefs and features the bond between women. Which of course I am always quite interested in, since I am not much of a cook. Fortunately, my partner Liz is. If you know anything about cooking, the “trinity” is normally made up of onions, peppers and celery (if you are cooking Cajun style).

My own personal HRT trinity is hair, skin and breasts. It’s what I rely heavily on when I wake up in the morning. It ties in with my brain and tells me I am a feminine person. Like so many of you, I spent most of my life wondering where I fit on the gender spectrum. I am well aware of the trinity could well be temporary since I have to rely on continued good health to stay on the regimen. 

So I try to be thankful everyday.

Building a Dream

I am currently working on one of chapters of my book which focuses on the past decade or so of my life. I did it because it occurred to me a large majority of the book dealt entirely with my life before that time and nothing more current. 
One of the ideas which occurred to me was how long it actually took me to leave my male self/life behind. 

I literally wasted decades seeking out an answer to my gender dysphoria which I had known all along and was afraid to confront. I only knew the time I was spending as a prospective transgender woman felt increasingly natural. The changes came because the time I was spending in a feminine world had changed because of my perspective. Suddenly I was approaching my life as a transgender woman as just that…not a cross dresser. There was a huge adjustment to face when I did it.

There was also the question of what I was going to do with the decades of male baggage I carried with me. I was fortunate in that I discovered I could go to and be accepted by others with similar “hobbies” such as drinking draft beer and watching sports. In fact, back in those days, it was just becoming fashionable for all women to enjoy a craft beer and watch a game on one of the many new giant televisions in the venue. 

I began to appreciate the male years which had did their best to deliver me to the spot I had finally arrived. After all, the body I inherited proved to be very resilient to health problems and provided me just enough background to not be bullied much at all. Plus, good or bad, my body had carried me through three years in the Army and provided my share of DNA to reproduce a very talented and intelligent accepting daughter. 

I’m not a big fan of “what if’s” but if I had it all to do over again, I would have followed through on my wife’s advice to be man enough to be a woman much earlier. I was just too stubborn to do it.  

Masculinity and the Trans Woman Intuition

Recently I have been seeing again a few posts here and there about the effects of masculinity. After reading one of them, I began to think of my own up bringing. I have written many times here in Cyrsti’s Condo about the macho-centrist family I grew up in. Between my other brother, my Dad and I, I don’t know sometimes how my Mom made it. In our house, sports dominated along with a liberal amount of fishing and some hunting thrown in. We lived in a rural area and there were very few girls even in the neighborhood. 

During this time I had discovered the allure of feminine finery in my Mom’s closet and even tried it on when I had the rare chance to be alone. I even had a minimum income source to buy a few makeup items and clothes from my paper route and mowing grass. 

I often wonder if these were the formative years when I learned how I had to be as ultra masculine as possible to get by. Of course I was scared to death my Mom would discover my “secret.” I knew there would be no “understanding” of any desire to be a girl.

Overwhelmingly I hung out with a group of guys and girls were just the impossible dream. Impossible to figure out and even harder to date. For the longest time I considered I was taking the easy way out by creating my own girl. 

On the other hand, by nature, I was shy and sensitive. Not male traits in my family, so I hid them too. Through sports and cars I was able to effectively disguise my growing feminine desires and show the public a macho male outward persona.  

To put it mildly, it was hell trying to maintain such a life, plus by that time I had the Army to look forward to. It seemed my masculinity was never going to let me go. And, after years of gender dysphoric struggle, I finally gave up and tried to commit suicide. 

So masculinity was tough on me, even though I was able to live the lifestyle without many struggles. On the positive side , I still am easily able to judge a man’s reaction to many different scenarios. 

Call it trans woman intuition.  

Ex Wives

One of the very few times of the year when I have to deal with people who knew the old me, is when my daughter has get togethers for the family. 

Over the years, I have two ex wives (one is deceased) one ex fiance, long gone since before I joined the Army and a partner (Liz) who I have been around for over eight years now. One thing I need to say is all of the women I mentioned knew in some way of my gender struggles. However, only one…Liz has been able to nurture my transgender nature.

My surviving wife remains a solid acquaintance and she is the mother of my only daughter. So, I normally see her a couple times a year during one of my daughter’s meet ups. 

I did see her a couple days ago on Thanksgiving. As we were getting ready to leave, she turned to me and said how good I looked. I was stunned and (even I) was temporarily without words. Finally I recovered and deflected the compliment to my VA health care for some unknown reason. 

I can only imagine what she really thought since she has been around me since the mid 1970’s and quite a few years of my earliest cross dressing adventures. After all, she witnessed more than her share of my earliest mistakes as a feminine person. 

Hopefully, one of these days I can figure out how to properly thank her for the compliment.

Trans of a Certain Age

If you have been following my three part series about my life lived mostly in the gender closet, perhaps you saw a glimpse of your life too. 

Connie did, and here is her comment. *Please note we share several similar experiences because of our age.

“For those of us trans women of a certain age, there was no way to know anything, other than some confused notion that being a boy for us seemed to be different than it was for the other boys. Whatever might have been drawing us toward being the other gender (there were only two back then, you know), did not seem to be enough for us to be like the girls, either. Not only was the knowledge and language yet to be formulated by the professionals, let alone society in general, our young minds had no means with which to express ourselves, either.

I must have been about three when I felt the need to express my feminine side. While my mother was busy doing something in the living room, I went into her bedroom and climbed onto the bench in front of her Art Deco vanity. The low counter top and mirror were easily accessible for even a child of my size, and, after clipping on a pair of shiny earrings and applying a not-inside-the-lines coat of lipstick, I remember admiring myself in the mirror. I was so happy with myself that I just had to share it with my mom. I can still taste the soap and feel the harshness of the washcloth on my face as she admonished me for doing something boys just are not to do.

Knowing there is something different about oneself certainly is not a choice. Being ashamed of being different could be a choice, but, like with many things in childhood, the choice is often made by adults who place it upon the child. For decades thereafter, any conscious effort I made to express my feminine-self was a choice to do the wrong thing – or so I was made to think of it. It was also a choice I made to suppress my feminine-self for many years, and another choice to finally”give in” to it again. It wasn’t until I had the revelation that my choices were all about what I was doing, and not who I was, that I found a peace within myself. I then made one more choice, that being to transition, because I really had no choice at that point.

I now turn around that question of when I knew, when asked by a cis person. Their answer is always that they always did, or that they never even had to think about it. Then I tell them that I was always who I was, as well, but I was so painfully aware and have had to think about it almost every day of my life. I’m still waiting for that day when I don’t think about my gender identity, but it’s so much easier to think about it, even dismiss it most times when I do, because I made that choice to accept myself as the woman I was born to be (and to live it, as well).”

Thanks Connie for yet another thoughtful heart-felt comment!

Are you Man Enough

Part three of my transgender coming of age post revolves around the toughest part of my life.

Backtracking just a bit, to the point when I discovered there were more than just one type of cross dresser. It was the most enlightening point when I went to my first “mixers.” As I wrote before there were everybody from macho crossdressers to wonderfully feminine creatures. Of course, cliques were formed in the overall group. Basically, the more feminine group went out and partied after the meeting while the others stayed in the hotel. 

Very quickly I determined I was going to tag along with the group which went out and partied. Ironically I didn’t quite fit in with most of them either.  They were basically the “mean girls” of the group. So I did my best to look like them without acting like them. My biggest moment came the night about four of us went to a late night tavern and to the surprise of everyone a guy tried to pick me up and not them. 

While all of this was exciting, it tended to make my life so much worse on a day to day basis. It was difficult to wait until the next experience. I began to wonder if I could exist full time as a transgender woman. Plus, what really happened was I took all of my frustrations out on my wife.

She was supportive of me being a cross dresser to a point. But drew the line when I went too far. Tremendous battles followed. Both of us valued the relationship too much to give it up without a fight. 

One of the biggest fights came after the time I was mistaken for a cis woman when I went to a mixer in New York. After the fight, my wife came up with one of the most profound statements of my life:

“Why don’t you be man enough to be a woman.”  Naturally, I was floored. She had built up to the moment by telling me several times I would “make” a terrible woman. It took me years to understand she was right. On some occasions I could approximate what a woman looked like but was far removed from understanding what being feminine was all about. 

After all, females are born but women are a learned societal deal. 

What happened next was the gender dysphoria pressure was increasing so much I started to go out beyond the agreed to parameters of our relationship. I was allowed three days a week to go out as a girl. When my wife got a job which included working some nights…I was out the door close to the time that she was. So, on certain weeks (depending on my schedule) I could be out five days out of seven for a few hours a day. 

Again, all this did was increase the internal pressure on me. Finally to the point when I took a whole bottle of pills one night. Obviously, they didn’t kill me, so I decided on taking a different approach. I grew a beard. 

Included is the hated “before” transition picture.

I was very unhappy and it was about this time several personal disasters occurred for me. I lost three very close personal friends in a two year period before the biggest shock of all. My wife died unexpectedly from a sudden heart attack. 

I was lost. But from all the turmoil gradually came the idea I was free to be the real me. I was under Veteran’s Administration health care and it was about that time the VA announced it would cover hormone replacement therapy. Unbelievably, all the doors seemed to open for me. I was even old enough to semi retire and not have to find a job I had to transition on. 

My moral to the story is a life can change in an instant. I am a prime example.  

What’s in a Name?

Connie brought up an interesting point about responding, or not, to one’s old “dead name.” 

“Your slight digression made me want to know more. At that time, you had two names. Today, you have a different one. How, then, do you respond, should someone call you by any one of them? I imagine that you would react differently, depending on which one was used. My dead name has become almost incognizant to me after adopting my new name many years ago.

If I hear someone in a crowded place say, “Connie,” I will likely turn my head in recognition these days, but I no longer do that when my dead name is heard. Well, not until just a couple weeks ago, anyway. I was grocery shopping, and I heard a woman say, in a stern voice, “(Dead name), stop doing that!” I turned around to see a small boy holding a can of something from the bottom shelf, and Mom was standing right over him with a waving finger. It doesn’t take a psychologist to tell me why I reacted to the sound of an irritated mother shouting (Dead name), but I can only laugh now about such a thing. 

Among many other things I did, as a kid, that would irritate my mother was my natural walk; placing most of my weight on the balls of my feet, rather than using a firm step on my heels. I did learn to affect a more-masculine walk, but my mother would always let me know when I had “regressed” to my natural one. Later, as an adult, I started shaping my eyebrows as much as I thought I could get away with, and every time mother saw me, she would say the same thing she said to me regarding my walk: (Dead name), stop doing that! Hmm, maybe I have Cowboy Nightmares and Cowgirl Dreams. :-)”

Sometimes I think I more than burnt out the name situation. Like so many other cross dressers and early transgender women, I chose the name of the cis women of the period I was in whom I admired the most. For example, my earliest feminine name was Karen. Because I used to sit close to a cis girl named Karen in middle school. Back in those days, I didn’t understand why my crushes weren’t really sexual ones but more out of admiration. I wanted so bad to be them.

Over the years, I have been a Darcy, a Roxy a Cyrsti (of course) and finally a Jessie which is my legal name now. Ironically, Cyrsti’s Condo was so established by the time I chose my legal name, I decided to leave it alone. Jessie is actually a family name. 

As far as responding to my dead (male) name, I still catch myself turning around on the very rare occasions I hear it. I am more likely to fight responding when someone uses the “Sir” word when a stranger is using it with another person. Fortunately. more times than not they are directly not referring to me anyhow. 

Now on to my Mom:

My mother and I were much alike and thus never agreed on anything.  I was so focused on living a lie as a guy, I don’t think walking was ever an issue. On the other hand, I con’t imagine she never noticed my forays into her clothes and makeup. Either I covered it up better than I thought, or she ignored my cross dressing urges thinking it was a faze. 

When I came out to her when I was discharged from the Army as a transvestite, she offered to send me to electrode shock therapy. I told her she wasn’t going to plug me into a wall socket and the subject was never brought up again. 

I guess I got the final revenge because I chose her name as my middle name.

Looking back on it now, I hope she would have considered it a honor of sorts. You see, it’s all in a name.

Gender Quiz

Yesterday, I went in for my pulmonary breathing test. 

I arrived early, checked in at the kiosk and pulled out my phone to pass the time. Nobody gave me a second look. 

As I sat there though, my regular Doctor appeared briefly and saw me. Since I wasn’t supposed to see her, I was surprised when she came over to talk. She is very nice and I enjoyed talking to her quite a bit until…she stuck the dreaded “he word” into the conversation. For the life of me, I don’t know why all of the sudden I am having such a miserable time being mis-gendered. 

I have examined how I go about my prep work before I go out and don’t think there is much of a difference. But why would someone call a person obviously wearing feminine clothes with breasts and wearing makeup a he?

I have always believed in the power of how a person projects their personal aura. Perhaps, with time, I have become more lackadaisical in public. I just assume most of the public accepts me as a feminine being.

Maybe I should spend more time channeling my inner female.

Then again, the great majority of people don’t understand what it does to a transgender person to be mis-gendered. I know it can really destroy or make my day when I have achieved the lofty “she” status in a conversation. 

One thing is for sure, the redneck woman glaring and staring at me on the way out didn’t care about pronouns. She was just all ugliness. 

Then again, you can’t educate everyone.