Honoring Martin Luther King Jr.

More than ever, we need his messages to resound with us.

Colder Than?

It's downright cold here in Southwestern Ohio. Yesterday and today, wind chill temperatures went down as low as the single digits (Fahrenheit).

Of course, as luck would have it, Liz and I had plenty of errands to run yesterday. Getting bundled up for the adventure reminded me of Ralphie's younger brother in the holiday classic movie "A Christmas Story." If you are not aware, his mother dressed him so warmly, he looked like the "Michelin Man."

For the weather and cold, I pulled out my heavy duty tan and brown 3/4 length fringed sweater coat and added a warm hand knitted cowl to keep my neck warm. Liz's son referred to me as a character from "Game of Thrones." No matter, I figured it was a popular series and I just wanted to stay warm.

We needed to make three stops yesterday. The places we shopped were for food and medications so there was no lingering over any fashion needs. By this point in the season anyhow, I'm starting to reassess my Spring wardrobe. I did buy refills on my daily moisturizer, skin deep cleaning wipes and foundation.

For some reason, my gender confidence level was at a recent all time high. You might say I was out and proud. Of course it's so very rare anymore I get any negative reactions, I don't expect anything else. So the afternoon of errands was over fairly quickly and we made it home to warm up with a big bowl of Liz's home made chili.

A good cold day, ended up a warm cozy one.

Cyrsti's Condo "Quote of the Day"

From Kira Moore's Closet a Wordpress blog I follow:

To Be or Not to Be

Don't worry, this post won't be influenced by Shakespeare and you are not back in high school literature class. In this case, the popular phrase involves coming out as stealth.

Wait? Can you come out as stealth? Isn't that a "Catch 22?" It is but it isn't.

When and if you are in the position to live "stealth" as a transgender woman, should you do it? Remember "back in the day" stealth was the only way to go once you had gone through genital realignment surgery. You were expected to move away and start your life all over again. In many ways, the whole process ignored the basic premise that sex is between the legs and gender is between the ears. I am a prime example. While it is true I have been living full time as a woman for years now, I have no desire to have any invasive surgery.

Now I find myself again  at the crossroads of going stealth...or not. It would actually be a fairly easy decision. The cross dresser - transgender support group I am loosely involved with is increasingly imploding. As a result of a high drama split up, we now have two similar but separate groups. The most recent example of the in fighting was the Thursday night social Liz and I went to. Before the split up we could expect approximately twelve to fifteen diverse individuals. Since the other group decided to have a social the same night, they had ten attendees while we had seven.

So now I am encountering the same small group of people I actually have very little in common with. The only reason I started going was because of the chance to meet new and interesting people. Thursday night the most interesting person I met was a cis woman who was entranced with me enough to smile and say hello. Any number of factors could have been in play. Probably she knew I was trans and her and her feminine friend approved. Or they could have been lesbians too and saw Liz and I holding hands. Then again, maybe she was just laughing at me. Which didn't seem to be the case.

The main force behind me not just saying to hell with it all, is my underlying desire to help anyone who needs it who may find themselves on the same path as me. Plus now I need to see how my upcoming meeting concerning LGBTQ aging issues goes.

If the past is any indication, I probably will continue to not to be...stealth.

A Life with Therapy

Out of the clear blue sky, I was contacted the other day by a person in Dayton, Ohio who wanted me to be involved in some way with their LGBTQ elderly health initiative. On the negative side, the trip from Cincinnati is nearly an hour and a half (one way) but on the positive side, I could do it on the days I see my therapist in Dayton which I am done with at 11 in the morning. Which would give me plenty of time to have a meeting over coffee. It will be interesting what if anything comes of it.

Now, back to my therapist. As I was writing a chapter in my book about therapy, I began to think of all the therapists I have had in my life.

Interestingly, it was the first real gender therapist I went to who diagnosed me as being bi-polar. She correctly told me the bi-polar disorder could be controlled with medication but the gender issue I was suffering from couldn't. Somehow I would have to come to grips with it and do the best I could.

Unlike the two therapists who came before her, she tried at least to do her job. And, explain what she was doing. The others simply tried to medicate me for anxiety. Then again, back in the day, not much was known about the treatment for bi-polar disorder. At least the recommended treatment wasn't a lobotomy.

When I didn't have any insurance for awhile and was feeling very bad, a friend of mine who also was a veteran suggested I go to the Veterans Administration for help. It was there, nearly ten years ago I was set up with my current therapist. With the turn over at the VA it's hard to believe it's been that long.

Lessons I have learned along the way also are, you only get out of therapy what you put into it. A therapist is not a miracle worker. Also, don't give up if you go to a therapist you don't particularly like. One size does not fit all as far as therapists are concerned. Plus, more and more these days you have a better chance of finding gender help from someone who at the least has some sort of understanding about your issues.

You just have to understand you are a complex human being with very complex issues! 

Changing Closets

Yesterday's Cyrsti Condo's post concerning You Tube make up star Nikki de Jager as well as a couple of well read posts on my Facebook feed led me to think again how difficult the changing of one's gender can be. 

First of all, it needs to be pointed out Nikki de Jager was essentially forced out of her closet by a threatened blackmailer or blackmailers. How sad is it has to happen in this way. Here is a closer look at Nikki's background from Wikipedia:

"Nikkie de Jager, better known by her YouTube channel name NikkieTutorials, is a Dutch makeup artist and beauty vlogger. She gained online popularity in 2015 after her YouTube video, "The Power of Makeup", went viral and inspired many other videos of people showing their faces with and without makeup."

Her story led me to think about some acquaintances I have encountered on Facebook. It seems the more festive smiling party pictures they post, the sadder they become. In fact, one of them just said the exact same thing. Changing closets had become too brutal for her and she felt she had to go one way or the other.

I remember vividly how terrible it was for me when I was splitting my life down the middle between genders. Finally, when my wife passed away and I could actually look at beginning HRT, I could see which way I could go and live my life full time as a transgender woman. 

It was quite the slippery slope and until Liz came along and we found each other, I couldn't see another solid relationship in my future. I viewed myself as slipping down on long hard road towards a cliff. At the bottom of the cliff I changed my male closet for a feminine closet. 

It all worked for me although I needed to lose almost everything in my life when I did it. Fortunately, I was able to sneak back into my male closet and bring former interests with me (like sports) and family members such as my daughter came with me.

Leaving all the male clutter behind though never really bothered me. After all, how many humans really get the chance to start over?

Out She Comes!

Cyrsti's Condo "Quote of the Day"

From transgender model and activist Billie Lee:

"The journey to self love brings you down a dark alley of emotional shame, guilt and abandonment. If I want to fully love myself, I must begin where it all started."

Daniela Lourdes Falanga

Daniela Lourdes Falanga was the first trans woman to be elected president of a section of Arcigay, an Italian group defending LGBT + rights (Instagram / @ danylourdes)

The eldest child of a mafia boss overcame his strict family education to become a transgender woman and one of the main LGBT + activists in Italy.

When Daniela Lourdes Falanga was born, it was believed that she was the first male heir to the Camorra clan and was to take over “the family business”.

She proved them wrong!

What's Next?

Seemingly, the more I think about my past, the more I consider the future. Realistically speaking, most of my life lies behind me and I have written many times here in Cyrsti's Condo concerning my fear of being "cared" for in a nursing home with a very transphobic staff. Hopefully society will continue to inch forward in it's knowledge and support of transgender women and men.

Then quickly my mind returns to thinking about my past experiences I can put in the book. Many are buried deeply in my mind to a point where I can barely remember them.

Currently, I am writing about the very few men in my life including the first one. My meeting with him was brief and happened the night of my first professional make over at one of the transvestite mixers I went to. I guess I could say I had interactions with two guys that night since the make up expert who worked his magic on me was the first. Indirectly leading to the second.

During these mixers, I loosely tagged along with the "A" crowd or as I also called them, "The Mean Girls."  Approximately five or six of them always formed a clique which very few others were ever welcomed into. It turned out on that magical night, not even did I tag along, I crashed the clique.

Perhaps you noticed I said "crashed" and not joined. No matter how popular I became for one night, there was no way I ever wanted to become a permanent part of their exclusive group.

Now, back to the evening.  As I said, the make up expert did a wonderful job on me and even I was amazed. It was my first experience with someone else (who knew what they were doing) doing my makeup.

As I have written about before, the clique of the most attractive cross dressers or transgender women (before there was such a word) went out to party at gay venues after the mixer. Early in the evening I had the usual unremarkable time tagging along. It was later on when I was approached by a guy in the last venue we went to. He asked me to stay and he would by me a drink. Since I was dependent on the clique to get me back to the hotel, I declined.

More importantly though, the clique was dazzled I was approached and none of them were.

Sadly, the next day I had to go back to my usual male boring existence.

Mixed Emotions

Thanks to the wonderful people at Facebook, recently they pulled up this ancient picture of me in the summer of 2014.

I like the picture on a few levels and on the other hand don't like.

In many ways I consider this a transition photo. I was moving away from being a blond and closer to wearing my own hair.

What you may not see in the picture is the torment I suffered from the wig's hairline. It's one of the few wigs I ever owned I even took a pair of scissors to. It's a wig though which brings back fond memories.

I wore it to my first "girl's night out" when I was invited by a group of young women I had met at one of the venues I frequented many times. Even though I was scared to go, I also was excited to tag along also. I put together one of my black outfits with a tank top and a long black skirt with a slit up the side. It turned out not to matter much as the younger more attractive women received most of the attention anyhow.

I had more luck when I wore the same outfit (and wig) to a big gay venue one night to meet a couple of friends. One was a trans man and the other a lesbian. I ended up having a fun evening and asking them to accompany me to my car when I was leaving. I had learned the hard way not to walk around the venue by myself.

Now, back to the picture. What I do like is my expression. I feel as if it gave me an impression of strength. The breasts of course were not natural. They were mine only in a sense they were given to me as a gift years earlier from a cross dresser who was purging his storage shed. Plus the way I was sitting only gives a slight indication of how over weight I was at the time.

I am sure you have to be transgender to put so much effort into breaking down an old picture.