Burning my Gender Bridges

 

Image from Kellen Riggin 
on UnSplash. 

Sadly, following  my gender path included burning many bridges behind me which connected me to my old male past.

I think the problem stemmed from the self-destructive behavior I always exhibited when I did anything remotely successful as a man. I still had not yet faced the fact that I wanted nothing to do with being a guy, and everything that came with it. Including the potential of living with the white male privilege that was an automatic addition to my life.

Then, there was always the part of relief if I was ever caught cross-dressing early in life. Finally, I would be exposed as the deeply feminine person I really was. Life was much simpler back in those days, and I wondered how bad it would be to go to a psychiatrist and try to explain to him or her how I was not mentally ill; I just wanted to be a girl and my ultimate goal in life was to grow into a woman someday. The only way to get there was to risk everything and not get caught, but I never did and did not have to burn any bridges to find my way into early forms of conversion therapy.

It was not until much later in life did, I really began to torch my bridges behind me. The problem was, I needed to build my bridges longer and stronger to carry all the increased male baggage I had accumulated. Most of which was against my will. This was when my male life was outpacing my female life and I was building a small family and a very good job while at the same time managing to hang on to a long-term marriage where my wife was learning about and fighting against any thoughts of me sliding towards leading a transgender lifestyle. I desperately did not want her to be on any bridge that I burnt, and the pressure built on me not to light the match on my life if I took the huge step and decided to keep femininizing myself.

As I reached deeper and deeper into myself looking for an answer, I felt increasingly natural when I was attempting to put together my feminine self. No matter how risky burning my previous gender bridges behind was, I could not shake the idea I was doing something right by transitioning my old male life away.

The next big problem I faced was letting the world I was in know I was switching from my male club membership to the girls’ club. As I was being increasingly successful in carving out a new secret life as a trans woman, I did not want it to be secret any longer. So, I did the natural thing for me, I tried to make it impossible for me to turn back on my gender path. I started to go into my own restaurant dressed as me to see if I was recognized which I quickly was. I could have lost my executive general manager’s job immediately if I was but I was prepared to burn that bridge when I came to it. Looking back, it was not the smartest decision I ever made in my life but one I was desperate to make as my female self was crying out for attention.

When I progressed to a certain point in my male to female transition plan, burning bridges became just an automatic part of the plan because I did not need the male part of my life anymore, I was getting rid of. The prime example as I always point to is the night that something had changed in my thinking that I was not cross-dressing to go out and socialize, I was finally trying to formally join the world as a full-fledged transfeminine participant. The evening was a resounding success, and I knew from that point forward that I could never go back to being a man again. I could see my bridge burning over a not-so-distant horizon and it actually was scary and good at the same time.

I probably would have burnt more bridges earlier in my life if it was not for my second wife and my male self who was hanging on for dear life but still refusing to give up his hold on me. They put up a formidable fight to the point of putting out the fires I started on purpose. It lasted until my wife passed away, leaving only my weakened male self to fight me.

The final bridge to burn was when I was approved for HRT or gender affirming hormones. It was an all hands-on deck torching when my external and even internal body began to change. My sudden change in skin tone, slightly protruding breasts and longer hair which I refused to cut gave my external transition away and the part no one saw, but I felt, such as my emotional growth made itself known to me.

Following years of gender turmoil and change, having nothing in my way felt very good and I loved the hormonal changes I was going through with my new wife Liz. Which was well over a decade now. As I said, burning bridges in my life was always a scary idea but one I needed to do to get to where I wanted to go as a transgender woman surviving in the world of ciswomen everywhere.

I was fortunate in that I did not get burned as much as I did along the way in the process. I must have been quicker than I thought as my trans destiny showed me the way during the darkest nights. Who knows? Being caught on one of my bridges may have been for the best when I needed to work my way out of danger, but it never came to that with me. I became quite good at burning my bridges…or lucky.

Thanks to all of you who have taken the time to comment, clap or subscribe and just read along with me.

Without you, it means nothing!