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| JJ Hart on left, Pic Nicking with Liz on right. |
Yesterday, I went with my wife Liz to her appointment with her “vampires” to have her blood labs done.
When I did, I had a chance to sit around and watch the other
ciswomen in the waiting room and see if they were watching me at all. They were
not and went on as they all were too busy on their cell phones to even come
close to noticing the trans woman in the room. Instead of me joining them on my
phone, I thought back to a time when just going to a doctor’s appointment was
not such an easy task because of all the gender paranoia I was feeling. A
gigantic case of impostor syndrome to be sure.
Early in life, as I imagined my dream of living a
transfeminine life, I never factored in all the mundane things a woman does
during her life. I was too busy being the “Pretty, pretty princess” as my
second wife always called me. And to her I would have been about the furthest thing away
from being any sort of a princess in the waiting room that there was. I would
have never dreamed I would have been seen in public without being dressed from
head to toe as close to an attractive woman than I could.
Nobody but me cared that my dream had changed and I was
alright in jeans, t-shirt and light makeup to be seen anywhere in public. I was
just another person with very long hair and breasts in a doctor's office. Had I
become lazy in my old age or just dressing to blend in with a public who
increasingly does not seem to care about feminine appearance.
Maybe I was just being selfish in that I was OK with just
dressing to blend in with the rest of the world around me who were too busy on
their cell phones to notice me at all. Is that what my dream had become?
Perhaps I am being too demanding in my dream that I wanted it to turn out a
certain way. And, I certainly did not set out to be some sort of a leader in
the ciswomen’s fashion world, I had had enough pressure on me to lead for a
lifetime when I was living in a cisman’s world. I just wanted to fade into a new
world and learn it totally. As I come closer to the age of seventy-seven, I
think I can safely say I have reached that goal I set so long ago.
Coming up Saturday, my daughter and son-in-law are making
the trip down to Cincinnati from Dayton, Ohio to bring me a scrap book of family pictures
and have breakfast with Liz and I. For that visit, I will certainly attempt to
dress up more for the occasion, which will include a new top I bought, along
with new flats and even tying my long, long hair back also. She is the only
accepting blood relation I have left, so it will be good to get out of the house
and see them.
In many ways, the visit will prove my dream is not dead as I
get to relive the fun of dressing up different as a transgender woman. Which was
one of the fantasies I had when I started so long ago up my gender path. I
should have known that my path would have been different as I veered away for
just wearing skirts and dresses and sticking with slacks and women’s pants.
Much to the chagrin of the cross-dressers around me who kept asking me why I
would want to wear pants when I had to wear them all the time as a guy. My only
answer was that I liked the way I looked in them, so now you can go away and
mind your own business.
I guess you can say that even in my formative years as a
novice transgender woman, I have always been a “tom-boy” of sorts. Which is
probably another reason I fit in so well with the lesbian culture that I did in
my jeans and boots. One way or another, the pieces of my lifetime dreams puzzle
were coming together and even though I was too stubborn to initially accept it,
the finished puzzle was all me. “Tom-boy” and all.
I was fortunate too when I discovered that and became a firm
believer in my gender was completely between my ears and not between my legs.
Which made feel less bad about not having any access to the early sex-change or
gender realigning surgeries which were available at the time. My complex life
was slowly coming into focus, and the best part was that I increasingly felt
comfortable and confident with it.
Coming full circle back to Liz’s blood work appointment, I
had the chance to remember the bad old days when even such a mundane trip such
as that could cause me strain and paranoia. It felt so good to feel good about
myself and confidently walk in proudly holding Liz’s hand. I never wanted to go
back to the early days of gender dysphoria and impostor syndrome that I
suffered through.
The moral to the story is that if you are on your path to a
gender dream goal, there is no real unique way to get there. Ciswomen lead such
complex lives that they leave you many ways to carve out your own. Way past the
shallow aspects of appearance and sexuality. Which gives you more interesting
sidelights of your life to explore and live. Just remember to stay safe as your personal
safety privileges you had as a man go away forever. You are just learning what
ciswomen have always known…stay clear of toxic men.
In the end, it is your dream to claim if you can get there,
and to do it you may face challenges until the final pieces of your puzzle come
together. Just remember, you are attempting one of the complex and difficult
efforts a human can try and even if it so difficult to do, it can be worth it
in the end.
