Plan B

Image Courtesy 
Jessie Hart
Collection

On occasion I think my writings here on the blog make it seem as if I had too many good times and too few mentions of the dark moments I experienced.  The truth of the matter was I experienced many, many dark days when I desperately needed a "Plan B" to get by. 

In addition to desperately hiding my secret wardrobe of feminine items, I needed to figure a way to work with my collection to practice the only way I knew being a girl. All my sneaking around led me to many close calls with my slightly younger brother and my parents who unexpectedly came home early. The only positive which came from those experiences was I learned the process well of quickly removing makeup. The thought of being caught was always on my mind and often ruined the whole experience. At the time, the only ultimate "Plan B" I could ever consider was a purge of all my girl clothes and accessories and go back to the very unsavory idea of being in a male life fulltime.

Even though I managed to go through very few purges in my life, I did put myself in other various potentially devastating situations. The earliest I write about often. Those were the nights of severe fashion mistakes which  led me to scurry back to my home through teary eyes from strangers laughing or staring at me. At that point "Plan B" amounted to going back to the drawing board many times before common fashion sense kicked in. I needed to style myself to present well and then blend in with the community at large. Even though I was finally learning how to conduct myself, I found there were many other ways to prove I needed a "Plan B" to get by. Perhaps one of most embarrassing moments I went through since one of my heels became stuck in a sidewalk crack and I nearly broke an ankle was when one of the water balloons I was using as a breast form exploded in a popular sports bar I was a regular in. Back in those days I couldn't afford good silicone forms so I made the ill fated decision to fill balloons with warm water because I thought the feel approximated having real breasts.  I know you are thinking now. how did that work out for you?

How it worked out was one night I made one hell of a mess on the floor on the way to the bathroom. Luckily no one else was around and I was able to pay and leave before anyone else attributed the mess to me. I thought at the time the best excuse I could have come up with was I was pregnant and my water just broke. Other times I wasn't so lucky with being alone when I needed a "Plan B." There was the time I was wearing my new high heeled boots to my regular venue on a snowy night. After a drink or two I got up to go to the rest room and promptly slipped and fell on a wet floor under my bar stool. The bar was packed and I was very embarrassed needless to say. After I got back up, I reassured everyone I was alright and finished my restroom trip and then left. With a new found respect of dealing with wet floors in my new boots. I made it home without any further problems. 

As I remember now, most of my other embarrassments were relatively minor and I was able to learn from each one. Such as carrying extra toilet paper and/or an extra tampon in my purse. This all came because of other women surprising me with questions in restrooms mainly when their stall ran out of toilet paper or they needed an emergency feminine hygiene product. 

The moral to the story is my "Plan B" was a huge learning experience and a necessary evil, as I pursued  my path to achieving my desire to live as a full time transgender woman.  I really made many mistakes. 

Pleasing Your Parents as a Transgender Woman

 

Photo from the Jessie Hart
Collection

Growing up it was extremely difficult to please my WWII era/Great Depression generation parents. It seemed to me whatever I did well, they always thought I could do it better. I am fond of saying they were long on being great providers but extremely short on providing any sort of emotional support.  As you can guess, or possibly went through, the whole parental process was complicated by gender issues. Especially when a well meaning adult would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up. Even back then, I knew the true answer and I also knew I couldn't tell anyone. The main thing I wanted to do was to grow into a woman. With the complete lack of outside interaction with anyone who may have felt the same, I felt completely alone in the world. My gender closet was very dark and lonely.

In the meantime, life went on and my parents made it very clear what they expected of me as I grew up.  Short term they expected me to attend some sort of at least a mid level prestigious university and/or college. In no way did they ever let on they knew anything at all about my desire to change my gender. I always thought my Mom just had to know I was exploring with her clothes and makeup but never said anything. Until I finally came out to her after I was honorably discharged from the Army, we never discussed me being a transvestite (as it was called then) and I found I shouldn't have discussed  my needs then.  She only volunteered drastic psychological interference in my life. We never discussed my primary issue again.

As my life progressed, I did my best to seek the approval from my parents as a faux man. I worked hard at my two careers, had a child and even completed my military duty. In the meantime I tried to duplicate my Dad's success in building his own house by restoring an 1860's era house of my own. Through it all, two things sadly happened. The first of which was I never heard the words they were proud of me and secondly my desire to be a woman never went away. In fact, the desire just became stronger the older I became. To make matters worse, the more successful I thought I had become in my parents eyes made my desire to transition to a full time transgender woman  even more complex. I had a successful job and a loving marriage at stake if I attempted any radical changes to my life. The whole process caused me to push many people away from me which resulted in having fewer and fewer close friends.

I seriously doubt if I pleased my parents. I was just stubborn enough or selfish enough in some eyes to please myself.  My parents passed on without ever having an impact on my gender issues, so they became a non factor. I was fortunate in that my most important immediate family accepted the true me and the rest who didn't just didn't matter. Plus I was able to locate a whole new set of friends who again accepted the new me without ever knowing my old male self. 

A part of me wants to think all my parents really wanted for me was to have a happy life. Which is what I hope for my daughter and grandchildren. Perhaps being a part of their so called "greatest generation" precluded me ever achieving my goal of pleasing them. Just like being transgender, the deck of life was stacked against me.  I just had to overcome it. 

A Day at the Salon

 

From the 
Jessie Hart 
Collection:
My first Salon
Visit.

My first visit to an all woman beauty salon was an unforgettable experience. It happened shortly after I transitioned into a fulltime feminine life when I decided I was transgender. At first, when I came out to her, she responded overwhelmingly positively and volunteered to take me out shopping. Seeing as how my wardrobe wasn't in too bad of a shape, I politely turned her down.

As it turned out, my birthday wasn't too far in the future and my daughter made me an offer I couldn't refuse. She asked if she could make me an appointment to her upscale hair salon for a cut and color of my hair which thankfully was reaching the length to actually do it. It became the best birthday present I ever received except when she was born. Which happened exactly a month before my birthday. So I accepted the gift not fully realizing what I was getting myself into.

As the day of my appointment approached, I rapidly became more terrified of the unknown which awaited me. I was so new to the opportunity coming up, I wondered what I would even ask for as far as a style when I arrived at the salon. It turned out I didn't have anything to worry about other than containing my fear. When I arrived, my daughter was waiting for me to guide me through the process which both embarrassed me but at the same time relived me because I had at least one friendly face to fall back on if I needed it.

I found most of my fears would unfounded because everyone, starting with the receptionist was very nice and even asked if she could help me to a glass of wine or coffee. I wanted to say, just leave me the bottle of wine but settled for a cup of coffee. As I nervously sipped my coffee my daughter arrived  and I found it was time for me to walk the "gauntlet". In other words, the salon seemed to be a huge line of stylists and chairs which reached out to the front door. In order to meet my stylist I would have to walk clear down the aisle of other women in chairs who had nothing better to do than stare at me. To say I was uneasy was an understatement. Once I was seated I began to relax and enjoy what would become one of the most unique experiences of my gender life up to that point. It turned out I had plenty of input into the color and style of my new hair. Since I had always admired red heads, I decided on a reddish streaked coloring with very little of my hair length taken off. 

Before I knew it, my hair was full of aluminum foil and my body was reacting to an overdose of estrogen in the room. Once I fully settled down, I felt I had as much of a reason as any other woman to be there.  Immediately I knew why cis women spend so much time and money on their hair in salons. It was truly a feminine reinvigorating experience. I felt bad about all the times in my male days when I didn't notice my wives' hair following their salon visits. Once I had gone through the hair pampering the first time, I couldn't wait to go back. The problem was affording it on my limited finances. In no way could I pay the bill my daughter gifted me on a regular basis. It wouldn't matter anyway because shortly I would be moving away from the area and in with Liz in Cincinnati. 

Once I settled in, it took me awhile to find another local stylist. Ironically I found her at one of my transgender-cross dresser support meetings I was going to.  The group brought in a stylist with a transgender son and I ended up making the first of many appointments. Sadly, she retired from the business not long ago and I have relied upon my wife Liz to trim my long hair. One thing for sure is, even though others continue to do a great job with my hair, nothing will ever match the wonderful first salon visit I experienced. As I said, I could have skipped a weekly dose of estrogen after going.