Post Transitioning Stress Disorder? First of all, PLEASE do not take this post at all as a slight to all of our service men and women (past and present) who suffer from PTSD! You all know since I am a transgender veteran, I would be the last to go down that road.
What I mean is, when you encounter a group of people who begin to laugh or snicker, do you wonder like I do is it about me? And of course a bad couple of bath room experiences are sure to imprint their memories in your mind. This comment from Connie comes very close to what I am talking about:
"I find it interesting that people with whom we have contact may be more routinely accepting of us than we are of ourselves. While others may not even think twice in thinking of us to be women, we are still cognizant of their simple use of the right pronoun. It's probably because there is still always the chance that somebody won't use the right pronoun that makes us so aware. Could it have come to the point where society is evolving faster than we are? Living in liberal Seattle, I have experienced very few "mis-genderings", but it has stung - and lingered - when it has happened. More disturbing than that, though, is the obvious condescension that often is the result of political correctness. Even with good intention, though, I am sometimes left with mixed feelings when someone treats me based on a stereotype they have.
Recently, I have had someone assume that I was a burlesque drag performer after I told them I was a singer. Another "friend" suggested we could vacation together in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, because they have an LGBT community there - along with a thriving drag club. Just last night (New Year's Eve), I was showered with compliments by a man, but I could finish each one of them with "for a man". That is, "You're gorgeous" (for a man), "You have great legs" (for a man), "What a figure" (for a man). True, I was a bit more "glamorized" for the occasion, but he said things to me that he wouldn't have said to a cis-woman - not in good taste, anyway. Later on, when the clock hit midnight, he found his way to give me a kiss, but I could just feel that he did so with the thought that it would make my night. I was thankful that I was quick enough to do the old head-turn to avoid being kissed on the lips. His (insincere) flattery got him nowhere with me.
I could go on to consider his latent homosexuality, made more palatable by hooking up with a girl with a penis, but that's another subject (although there is really no way for anyone to know if I still have one of those or not if I keep my pants on). It does speak to stereotypes, however, and how, as well as why, we are treated by others."
Notice Connie's addition "for a man." Is that a form of PTSD?