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| Image from Juli Kosalapova on UnSplash. |
I call being accepted in the feminine world of ciswomen around me, as being able to play in their sandbox.
Getting a chance was similar to living a dream and very
difficult for me to do. To begin with, I needed to lose whatever weight I could
off of my very male dominate frame and take better care of my skin, so I could
use less makeup. I desperately wanted to be pretty but accomplished it as
naturally as I could. Motivation to do both came easily for me because I was obsessed
with doing something very well in life that I cared so deeply about. Surprising
even myself, I was able to shed nearly fifty pounds as well start moisturizing daily
after I shaved. Obviously, the weight loss helped more dramatically when I
could shop for a better selection of stylish women’s clothes in my new size and
the decrease in makeup I needed spoke for itself when I presented better in the
world.
Even with those positive results behind me, I was still very
naïve and had very little knowledge of what I would have to do to be let in to
play in the sandbox by the alpha female gatekeepers. As my second wife was
always fond of telling me after major fights, we had that I made a terrible
woman. Then she added she was not talking about appearance. Which was good
since I had just had situations where I was mistaken for a ciswoman to back me
up. Then I was confused, if it was not my feminine appearance holding me back,
what was it? What would make me a better woman after all.
From that point on, I set out on a mission to understand what
she was telling me but I had a major drawback…I was still living the vast
majority of my life as a man and as such, ciswomen would not allow me back
behind the gender curtain. For the most part, I was stuck in my part-time
cross-dressing ways until I could find a better way out. The sandbox remained a
faraway dream.
The main problem remained. My male ego would not easily let
me pull down my male defenses to see and learn what really went on in a women’s
world which operated quite nicely with or without male influence. For the longest
time, he (me) refused to listen to women the best he could to learn what they
were really saying when he was stuck playing the game behind the gender border.
I felt as if I was in East-Germany behind the Berlin wall of gender. I knew I
wanted to escape but did not have the willpower to do it. I was a victim to my
newly discovered transgender hopes and dreams. At that point, I still had not
realized how far behind my gender dreams being a victim made me and I still
felt sorry for myself because of all my gender dysphoric issues.
As I always point out, it was not until I began to
experience my version of womanhood in the public’s eye did anything begin to
change for me. All the effort I put into my appearance came back to help me get
my high heeled foot in the door with other women. Then the real work began when
I needed to communicate and interact with them. What happened was many other
ciswomen were encountering me on a regular basis in the venues where I always
went, so I needed to develop a stable feminine persona to go with my appearance.
What would I call myself and what wigs would I wear every time I went out are prime
examples of what I am talking about. I was getting to the point where I was staring
my forties in the eye and I knew I was not getting any younger and in the back
of my mind, I had a sneaking suspicion that I had lived my life all wrong up to
this point.
Rather than bemoan all of the mistakes or missed
opportunities I had as a male, I needed to face the fact I was wasting my time
as a male anyhow because I was always meant to be female. I went home and wrote
in my secret diary that I was not a man cross dressing as a woman; I was a
woman doing her best to cross dress as a man and build a life on a house of
cards.
The realization of my true gender status enabled me to be my
real self to the public and ciswomen responded well to my truthful gender
identity. Even if they were curious what I was doing in their world and why I
wanted to play in their sandbox and work my way into coveted woman only spaces.
Finally, I was coming to the point where I could think I achieved my own
womanhood, just in a different way than most ciswomen. I was still relevant to
the world and should be allowed to play in the sandbox.
Another big lesson I learned was that once I was in the
sandbox, I needed to work harder to stay. One slip up back to my old male self,
and I would be labeled an impostor and barred from the box. Faced with the task
of starting all over again. To the best of my ability, all of my feminine
mannerisms, interactions and vocalizations had to be perfect. I was so afraid
most of the time until I finally began to relax and have confidence in myself.
The best part about the entire process was I survived to
write about it and hopefully to inspire others in this very trying, difficult
time to be a transgender woman to make it also. We all have differing yet
similar paths to make it to the women’s sandbox. Just don’t expect the process
to be all positive and you can make it by hopefully finding ciswomen who
knowingly or unknowingly help you along. Those minor claw marks you might receive
like I did down my back were just learning marks and helped me along. More than
the women scratching me ever knew.
They helped me to earn my way into playing in the women’s
sandbox. The claw marks just equated out to the stripes I earned when I was in
the Army.
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