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| Image from Navy Medicine on UnSplash. |
I remember completely when I was a kid, intensely afraid of heights, and my mom made me jump off the high diving board at the swimming pool we were at. It was the last thing I wanted to do, and I still don’t know till this day how she convinced me to do it. But she did. I am sure she thought that once I did it, I could do it again, which I never did.
Perhaps, by this time, you are thinking what does this have
to do with being transgender but of course I can connect the lines as always. Fast
forward to the days when I was first gathering all the courage, I could muster
to leave the house and attempt to explore the world as a woman. To do it, I
needed to jump off that high diving board again and again. Plus, I would have
to raise the diving board even higher every time I tried it.
As I did, I discovered little pockets of cross-dressing
acceptance I could exist in. Such as the women’s clothing stores where almost
everyone was nice to me. It took me awhile to realize the clerks who waited on
me were not being nice just because I was another woman, they were being nice
because I had money to spend. To them, my gender was not trans, it was green. Even
though I took acceptance and built on it to other potentially mellow venues in
malls such as bookstores and coffee shops. I was successful in them and was
able to build my confidence from there and move up to a higher diving board and
jump off. No matter how scared I was, I needed to force myself to climb and
jump.
The next comfort zone I forced my way out of was by forcing
myself to stop for lunch to see if I would be accepted. For the most part I
was, because again, my money was green and I smiled and tipped well. The magic
ingredients it turned out to be accepted into a challenging new feminine world.
Or so I thought until I kept on climbing. It turned out the climbing part was the
easiest. Once I arrived where I thought I wanted to be. I added “thought” in
because once I made it to a higher board, the jumping part really scared me. Mainly
because I was leaving so much behind me, along with all the male privileges I
had worked so hard to gain. Such as fighting back when someone made fun of me
for the way I looked. When it happened, the only recourse I had was to go back
to my cross-dressing drawing board and try to determine what I was doing wrong.
Before long, my drawing board became quite littered with
fashion mistakes I had made. Going through my cross-dressing adolescence was
quite painful because I was a thirty-year-old male trying to do it before I learned
otherwise. I was exhausting myself climbing up the high dive and then down when
I discovered there was no water in the pool. Finally, I learned the hard way to
cross-dress to blend with the other ciswomen around me because they ran the pool
I wanted admission to.
It turned out that the pool was much farther down than I
thought it was, and I had too much time to think about what I was trying to do
before I hit the water. I had not made the time to build up the feminine muscle
memory I would need to allow me admission to the world as a transgender woman.
It did me no good at all if I vaguely looked like a woman if I could not move or
communicate like a transfeminine person.
At that point, jumping off the high board became very real
to me. I was rapidly coming to the point of decision about what I would do with
my life. By this time, I was in my fifties and was beginning to carve out a
respectable life as a trans woman. My new world knew what I was and did not care.
About my present, or more importantly, my past as a man. I was able to bring
what baggage I wanted from my male life without any interference. It made all
the difference in the world to me when I needed support from wherever I could
get it in the worst way.
As I lost my fear of the high dive, I began to consider
other transgender alternatives such as taking advantage of therapy and HRT
through the Veteran’s Administration health care system which I was already a part
of. I wondered then what my mom would have thought (she had long since passed
away), about teaching me to take the long and difficult path to the high board
would come back to help me so much later in life. Especially when she was the
one who was dead set about me coming out to her after the Army when I tried. Karma
came back to help me when I needed it the most. I could jump off the highest
diving board I could just to prove I could.
Of course, the final high board I jumped off was the one
which saw me do away with all my male clothes and live life as a fulltime
transgender woman. In reality, I was never a stylish swimmer or diver, but at least
I made it to the point where I could make it in a woman’s world. A world which
would prove to be much more complex and difficult for me to succeed in than I
ever thought possible. Probably, because, for the most part (except for a few
friends) I was filling out my gender workbook as I went along. Preparing myself
for when I could achieve the ultimate goal, my lifetime dreams of living as a
woman to the best of my ability.
At the least, I was happy I gathered enough courage to go
ever higher on my gender diving board and more importantly jump.






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