No Body Cares

 In response to my Amish post about Liz and I's trip to one of the Amish centers of Southern Ohio,  I received several wonderful comments. 

The first comes from Paula over in the UK:

Photo Courtesy Paula Godwin

"In my experience here in Europe most people simply do not care a fig whether somebody is trans or not, inevitably on occasion some of us may get a little more attention than many cis women, simply because of our size. However this does remind me of a couple of things, like the occasion when in total exasperation my wife exclaimed "Not everything is about gender" ~ only now am I really beginning to believe this, as for several years pretty much everything in my life was about gender.

The other occasion was one of those "out of the mouths of babes" moments ~ back in the day when the world was experiencing me as a man, but y internal identity didn't match I was experimenting with androgyny, presenting, I thought, pretty much non binary. I was walking around one of my favorite gardens when I heard a little girl ask her mother (Mummy, why has that lady got a beard" I took this as a sign that I had to make some changes!"

Yes, Paula, a beard may not be a preferred fashion touch! Thanks for the comment! 

The second came from Angel Amore:

"Similar to the first time I went into a Cracker Barrel in rural Missouri dressed as my dollicious self. Anyway, the sky didn't fall and nobody cared. So I now go back every once in a while. Always overdressed compared to the natives, except on Sunday, when you can dress like a church lady."

Thanks Angel. I too have eaten in several rural Cracker Barrels with very little negative feedback. Perhaps the most interesting was when our tour bus stopped at one. Of course then they were so busy no one had a chance to notice me. Even when I had to use the woman's room. 

Do the Amish Care?

Ohio has several areas dominated by the Amish culture and one happens to be within a day trip of our home in Cincinnati. 

Photo Credit: JJ Hart

Since the weather was actually becoming more hospitable, Liz and I decided to make the trip to one of the major Amish stores in the area. If it sounds like a contradiction in terms it isn't. After driving miles off the Appalachian Highway in the less than liberal rural Ohio, we reached our destination. Out of nowhere near "Dunkinsville" (true story) in a farm field was a layout of what amounted to an Amish Mall. It had three major shops plus a big workshop building where they built everything from furniture to chicken coups. 

By now I was wondering what I had gotten myself into. Here I was in decidedly tRumpt country heading into an Amish store. I felt as if I was the only transgender woman within a hundred miles. As it normally does for me, time slowed to a crawl as we went in the front doors. Once I did, we found ourselves in a wonderful store with one side devoted to everyday housing needs and the other half to what we came for. All sorts of different delicious jellies, candies and too many pickled products to mention. 

As we browsed the shelves any thoughts I had of being mis-gendered went away. Everyone was too immersed in their own shopping to care about me. It was true. My deceased wife once told me "it's not always about you." Later on though it did become all about me. 

The store also had a mini deli where you could buy bulk meat and cheeses or a place where you could order a sandwich and various sides. As Liz and I chose of of the few remaining seats, we ended up sitting next to a rather rough looking family with several teen boys who couldn't stop glancing at me. About that time I braced myself for the comments to follow since I was sitting close enough to them to hear everything they said. 

Finally, I survived and heard no ugly gender comments and was able to enjoy one of favorite treats, a garlic bologna sandwiches on big slices of sourdough bread. The family finally left ahead of us. leaving my last interaction with the Amish themselves at the checkout counter. 

The Amish man at the check out register didn't give me a second glance but his daughter did. I approximated her age to be around seven or eight and she paid me quite a bit of attention. When she looked at me it brought back memories of an encounter I had in a clothing store when I was shopping. As I was checking the blouses, I abruptly came across a young girl. She promptly announced to her Mother look at the big woman. I thought at the least she perceived me as feminine and then she said a big mean woman. From then on, I resolved to change the old male scowl on my face and I did the same thing with the young Amish girl. I looked at her and smiled. When I did, she turned away and went back to whatever she was doing.

Looking back at the day, of course the Amish wouldn't care if I was transgender or stare. After all , I would imagine they go through the same problem if they journey outside of their home base. Plus, we were spending money with them. 

We paid and headed back to civilization.

Crossing the Cross Dresser

 Recently I think it was Mark who was confused by a few of my comments about me transitioning from a cross dresser all the way to a full time out (and proud) transgender woman.  Finally, I got it through my thick noggin not all people understand what I am writing about.

Over the years too, I have tried not to be condescending to all cross dressers by appearing to take a "transer than thou" attitude. Most of the time I tried to add a sentence alluding to the fact, in many ways I spent nearly a half a century trying to decide or gather the courage to face head on my reality...I was always destined to live in a feminine world. Completely. 

Finally I came to the conclusion my life was a series of gender transitions. From innocent explorer into my Mom's clothes to a full fledged exploration of girl's fashion all the way to hormone replacement therapy and living full time as my authentic self. All of them sandwiched in between life's normal transitions as we age.

If I had been true to myself I would have understood years ago I was more into being a girl than I was looking like one.

As I wrote in a recent post, there are very few people who knew me at all in my cross dressing days and Connie was one. Here is her comment:

Cross Dressing Photo
JJ Hart

"I guess, technically, I met you (online) when you were still considering yourself to be a cross dresser. I remember expressing my doubt to you when you told me you were content balancing your male and female lives. Of course, I never knew the "before you," even if you were showing that to others. It didn't feel to me as though your transition was anything other than inevitable - even as hard as you were trying to make a cross dresser's life work. I knew it because I had realized it of myself. I think that I even asked you if you thought you were cross dressing as a female or a male. ;-)"

Thanks for the insightful comment. Again it wasn't until I started to live as my authentic gender self, did I realize I was viewing life the entirely wrong way. All those years I was pretending  to be a macho man, all I was doing was cross dressing as a man.

So, as you can tell, I believe there are many levels of cross dressing to consider and the bottom line is if you feel good doing it you should.

Life is too short to go at it any other way.  Only you can determine how supposedly selfish it is to involve your gender pursuits with others. I have been amazed over the years how some cross dressers either are able to stay in the closet. In many ways they could be a better person than I. Straddling both sides of the binary gender spectrum nearly killed me.

Crossing the cross dresser was the only way I could go.