The Slippery Slope

Image from the Jessie
Hart Archives

I can't imagine the freedom some younger transgender youth have when their parents approve of and actually help with their gender transition.

I can use the example of my own grandchild who benefited completely from having the support of both of their parents. (It is the grandchild's choice to be referred to as they.) Of course how I grew up was totally on the opposite side of the acceptance spectrum. I was expected to be the best boy I could be and if I wasn't. I was always expected to do better. As much as I resented being put through all of that, the process probably set me up for success later in life. When I faced difficult situations, I just kept trying until on occasion I found success. 

Finding success as I sought out what to do concerning my increasingly serious gender issues proved to be my greatest win but it did not come easily. I compare it to being on a very slippery gender slope and finding yourself losing control the perceived damage. I was very scared on what could happen if I completed my male to female gender transgender transition I could lose everything I worked for in my semi-successful male life such as family, friends and finances to name a few of the major ones. 

Once the sliding began and I started to slide down the slope, I couldn't stop. The biggest problem was I didn't really care because for the first time in my life I felt natural in my own skin. I didn't have to put up feeling just a little all the way to being completely foreign when I was successful as a man. Nothing seems to have been enough until it came time to being a success as a transgender woman. The biggest move came when I made the decision to slide further down the slope and commit to being fully trans and away from being a highly active cross dresser. I was becoming more and more convinced I was doing the right thing by throwing my male life away and living a feminine one. 

What became increasingly obvious, it was time for me to lose my grip and tumble the remainder of the way down my gender slope. I finally could take the effort to jump the gender border before it killed me. I was trying my best to live equally between the two binary genders. Male for three days a week and female for the rest of the time. The resultant ripping and tearing led me to a major mental health breakdown with a suicide attempt. I saw the writing on the wall and finally decided to slide off my slippery gender slope. When I did not know was how my new circle of friends would be around for me to soften my landing.

Not only did my circle of cis-women friends accept me, they unknowingly helped me understand the basics of surviving in the feminine world. I call it being able to play in the girls sandbox.

Surprisingly, I survived the slippery slope much easier than I thought I would. Sure I had a few scratches and scrapes on the way down. Overall, as I said, I was the fortunate survivor of a very difficult gender struggle. Hopefully, in their own way my grandchild will not have to endure such a slippery slope.

We Met in a Mirror

Image from Laura Chouette 
on UnSplash

Along the way I have vivid recollections of how I met most of the memorable cis (or natural born) women in my life. As it turned out, I married several of them. 

Perhaps the most important woman I met was myself when I glimpsed her for the first time in a full length mirror we had at home when I was growing up. All I really remember is the feeling of gender euphoria I felt. Something clicked mentally and I knew somehow, someway I needed to try to cross dress again and even do my best to perfect the image staring back at me. 

Over the years, the problem became I became too addicted to what the mirror was showing me. For as much as I loved playing in the mirror, I was to learn the hard way the whole process was a one way street. As I broke out of my gender closet and into the world, the public did not see me the same as the mirror did. Stares and laughter all too often followed me around during my earliest gender adventures as a novice cross dresser. 

Still I persisted and learned without the help of the women in my life. The only one who tried turned out to be a dismal failure. She was my fiancé from my college days and I talked her into dressing me head to toe as a woman. I say failure because after she was done, I did not see much improvement over my efforts. Plus, over time, she held my gender issues against me and even wanted me to tell the military I was gay to stay out of the Vietnam War. Something I never did and went off to serve my three years, away from her. Which was a real blessing from many angles. 

From there I stayed mostly single until my last year in the Army when I met my first wife who was in the Women's Army Corps, also stationed where I was in Germany. We stayed together after both of us discharged all the way to when we had my only child, a daughter. My first wife knew of and mostly accepted the fact I was a cross dresser before we were married and was never really bothered about it. During this time I was beginning to learn my new life was everything but living in a mirror. I was beginning to take on the world as my authentic self when I met my second wife.

I was working at a radio station in Ohio where we met and I just knew I had to divorce my first wife and be with her. She was so full of life and strong willed, I thought she might do me good and went all out to be with her. Through it all, she as my first wife knew I was a cross dresser and accepted it also. We were married for twenty five years until she passed away from a massive heart attack at the age of fifty. Till the day she died nothing changed about how she viewed my cross dressing but she firmly drew the line at no HRT hormones or for me going towards being a transgender woman at all. 

As I wrote in my post yesterday, I was between the rock and the hard place when if came to my transgender issues. I had taken the steps to firmly move out of the mirror and into the world. The mirror became the place where I just checked myself out every morning to see if I looked masculine or the least bit feminine. Most of the time setting off my gender dysphoria or despair. I finally came to the conclusion nothing was as bad as it seemed or as good as the mirror tried to tell me. I had come to the middle point I needed to meet in the mirror.   

Emotional Blackmail

Image from Callum
Skelton on UnSplash

Emotional blackmail is another of those terms or labels which is difficult to describe or understand.

The way I look at it is, the blackmail describes the portion of my life I lived with my second wife when we constantly battled over my increasingly feminine gender identity. In fact, now, in hindsight I look at the time when two strong women were clashing with each other. My wife and the other was me. Every time I was successful when I went out as a transgender woman, the bigger our fights became. Examples included the time when I went to a transvestite or cross dresser mixer when we lived in New York. The gatekeepers who were placed to keep cis-women out made me show my identification to prove I really was a guy. The entire incident put me on cloud nine for days following but on the other hand, made me very difficult to live with. Predictably, my wife and I clashed and my inner woman felt who was my wife anyway. 

As life went on, the emotional blackmail continued and even worsened. Our sex life worsened because I insisted on making love as two women. She hated the idea and all activity ground to a halt until she passed away. It was during this time also when I was sneaking out more behind her back and meeting new people for the first time. Ironically, I was approached by way more women than men and primarily became friends with lesbians for some reason. Whatever the reason was, I was enjoying the new company I had found and was able to learn so many things from them. One night on one of my gender parties I went to I ended up leaving with a single lesbian woman and going to a dance club in Columbus, Ohio. Nothing physical happened so I considered it another case of emotional cheating I was doing to my wife of twenty five years.

Sometimes I wondered if the emotional blackmail I was subjecting my wife to was worse than any other form of abuse. Sadly or not, I couldn't do anything about my quest to understand and be a better woman. Probably, what was left of my old male self who loved my wife dearly and on occasion had enjoyed our life together was the biggest obstacle to changing it all and coming out fulltime. He kept screaming at me to not give up and the ripping and tearing of living between two genders nearly killed me. Plus, after or during one of our biggest fights, my wife told me something to the tune of why didn't I be enough of a man to be a woman. It would have certainly have been the best way out of the torment if I had only listened. Of course I didn't. 

I was one of the fortunate transgender women as I found a soft landing spot with plenty of assistance when I transitioned. I learned to rely on my feminine instincts which had been ignored for so long as my new life began to take shape. And most importantly emotional blackmail faded into my past as something which never really happened. We all know it did. It wasn't right and I wasn't a strong enough person to do anything about it.