Transgender Crisis Management

 

Photo from the 
Jessie Hart Collection

I suspect many of you have experienced your share of "crisis management" during your life. It applies to you no matter how you identify as a transvestite, cross dresser, transsexual or transgender person, you have experienced your share of potentially embarrassing moments.

It all started early in life for all of us (in the extreme majority) who did not grow up in a gender supportive family. We needed to be extremely careful when we dressed in our feminine wardrobe, or clothes we "borrowed" from sisters or mothers. We had to be careful not to ruin the clothes we were trying desperately to wear. Plus when we tried to wear makeup, there was the problem of taking it back off. Crisis management became very important to me if and when someone in the family came home early and I needed to take off all the clothes and makeup in record time. 

Little did I know crisis management would follow me through my life. When I got married to spouses who totally didn't approve of me cross dressing so much, I would need again to rush to take all the makeup off along with the clothes of course. Life with my second wife was the worst because we made a deal I ended up breaking many times. The deal was I had three days a week to cross dress as a woman any way I wanted. Even to the point I could leave the house as a man, rent a motel room and redress as a woman. It was heaven to me for awhile until I became so successful as a feminine person, I wanted more and more. I came to the point where I was sneaking out of the house every chance I had and breaking the promise we had set. In essence I was cheating on my wife with myself, the other woman in my life.

Along the way, I sustained many other crisis management situations. Looking back they are humorous now but at the time were anything but. The most embarrassing I can remember is when I had the brilliant (not) idea to use water balloons as breast forms. What could possibly go wrong, right? One night as I was enjoying the "bounce" I experienced from my falsies, one exploded and my water balloon broke. Fortunately I was on my way to the women's room anyhow, so I was able to hide in a stall, dry myself off and sneak out when the coast was clear. It turned out to be all right and I didn't have to tell someone I was pregnant and my water just broke. Or explain how I had just lost my bustline. 

Another of my mis-adventures occurred when I decided to wear my high heeled boots to my regular venue on a snowy night. I was certain I had navigated the boots in the past and if I was careful I could do it again. Of course I was wrong and when I had to stand up from where I was sitting at the bar, down I went. Not exactly the feminine exit I wanted in my new fancy boots. Very quickly I gathered what was left of my confidence, summoned  what was left of my dignity and walked out. I was lucky my dignity was all which was hurt. 

Through it all, my previous experience with having to deal with any crisis served me well. I was prepared for having my heels get stuck in a sidewalk all the way to the more extreme situations I described. Just think, it all started with me rushing to remove my makeup when my brother came home from school early. I was prepared for the worst and expecting the best. I was lucky, my gender glass was always half full. No matter how much misfortune I was experiencing. 

Similar to everyone else with deep gender dysphoria, I went through my share of crisis management. Even if it was based in reality or was all mental, somehow destiny was telling me I needed to see it all as I followed my own transgender path. 

One thing you could say was somehow even with advanced crisis management, life was never boring.

Covid Slippage

 Recently, I have been reading the posts on Paula's Place and Femulate basically concerning wearing high heels and dressing up with no place to go during the pandemic shutdown. 

I literally have not had to worry about wearing heels for years because my feet and ankles are in such bad shape from pounding concrete floors  during my thirty plus years as a restaurant manager. The last time I can remember wearing heels was six or so years ago when Liz and I went to one of the witches' balls which used to be a regular date for us.  It turned out to be agony until I could slip out of my shoes into my nylon covered feet. Also I have a pair of two inch high heeled boots I wore one night...again years ago. The whole experience was ill advised as it was a wet evening and I ended up being seated with Liz at a big table in a winery with several wires from the band I had to negotiate when I got up and went to the restroom. To add insult to injury (almost) my heels took my height to well over six feet, so it seemed the whole room was staring as I walked through.  I did make it without bodily injury and decided since everyone was seemingly noticing me, I would stand up as straight and proud as I could. To this day, I am surprised I didn't slip and embarrass myself.

Not surprisingly,  both Paula and Stana (of Femulate) have written in depth on the effects of how their Mothers' fashions influenced their own. Age has dimmed my thoughts on the subject considerably but I do remember my Mom being in dresses most of the time since she was a high school teacher. Plus, of course, I must have been fascinated at some point by her makeup, since I couldn't wait to try it on me too.

Speaking of makeup and getting dressed up, I must be slipping in Liz's eyes. In fact she has even volunteered to do my makeup and hair someday when we can go out again. 

I guess the "Covid Slippage" may actually be getting to me more than I thought. 

At least I am looking forward to receiving my second vaccine the second week of March. While I am not naïve enough to think life will return to some sort of normalcy,  anything coming close will be appreciated!