Knock Knock

 Recently I read a post describing a person's battle with gender dysphoria in their younger years. I wish I could contribute it to a certain person but for the most part I can't remember details from last week. So I just can't.

What I do remember from the post really hit home to me when the author described the torment they went through growing up trying to figure out if they were a boy or a girl. Way before the term gender dysphoric was even used. Or knock knock was I a boy or a girl.

As many of you probably remember also, the pain and torment of the two binary genders was very real. I describe it as being the round peg being pounded into the square hole. I know I would wake up on more than a few mornings deeply disappointed I was still a boy. Especially after having a dream I was a girl. 

Another example was one of the vacation trips we went on to Canada from our native Ohio. Along the way there is a very boring stretch of highway between Detroit and Toronto. Normally about this time my younger brother and I were about ready to harm each other but on this particular trip I still remember the young girl who was probably close to my age that we kept passing on the four lane road.  Initially I was fascinated with her then completely jealous. Why couldn't it be me with all that hair and pretty face? Finally we passed their car for the final time and she was out of my life forever. I ended up putting my pillow over my head and tried to sleep my frustration away.

         

Photo from Unsplash

My "knock-knock" which gender am I didn't become obvious until many years later. Sadly, or even tragically, I spent years denying my authentic feminine self. One night when I went out to be alone, I sat and pondered my future. By this time, my wife of twenty five years plus three of my best friends had all passed away. As I sat there in my makeup, wig and clothes I felt so natural that I finally said to myself why not transition. What else is there to lose. So I did. 

I finally followed my instincts at the age of 61 and set out to discover the true me.

What I found was terrifying yet thrilling. Here I was with a chance to reinvent myself. Plus, have a chance to do it as my authentic self. The person I was destined to become all along. Deep down inside I knew it but was so afraid,

 Knock Knock! I'm home. A fully out and proud transgender woman. The wait was worth it. I didn't do it alone though. Thanks to all of you who helped!

Therapy Day

 As luck would have it, today was another of my twice a month therapy sessions at the Dayton, Ohio Veterans Administration. 

I put it that way because in some ways I needed therapy after last night's Cincinnati Bengals Super Bowl defeat. Oddly, outside of Connie and Paula here on the blog, the only long time acquaintances I heard from were Pittsburgh Steelers fans. One almost wished me good luck and the other was rooting for the Los Angeles Rams. Which I found odd after all those years of beatings the Steelers had laid on the Bengals. 

As far therapy went, I think my therapist "studies" up on certain sporting events because we will undoubtedly be discussing them. 

All went as expected as we talked about the usual suspects...mood swings etc. Today though was different in that I had time to take the usual infamous test/survey they give about your mental health. Questions include how is your concentration, how much sleep are you getting all the way to have you thought about self harm to yourself or others.

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

For once, the question concerning self harm became specific. She asked if I ever tried to commit suicide. When I said yes, the overall tone of the session became much more serious. I told her the experience I had with a bottle of Jägermeister I used to wash down a whole months supply of anti depressants. Needless to say I am happy it didn't work. 

Sometimes I think self harm is just something which comes hand in hand with extreme gender dysphoria. When I think of all the crazy self destructive actions I did behind a wheel of a car, I feel I must have had some sort of guardian angel riding with me. I call those incidents passive attempts at self harm.

The ironic part of all this is, I grew up around suicide. My one uncle, my father in law and a couple other acquaintances committed suicide. You would think I would realize the loss to all of the others left behind. These days I do. On the brighter side also, years ago I tried to call the Veterans Suicide Hotline and got essentially nowhere. I hope today that is not the case and I don't think it is. Plus, my therapist and I have been together so long, I can quickly get ahold of her and use her as a resource.

Looking back at how this post started, I didn't mean to connect the dots between a football game and self harm but here we are. 

I am aware also of the exorbitant number of transgender women and men who try self harm as a coping mechanism. Back in my dark days before I developed a new group of supporting friends it seemed my only real friend was my dog. During my dark periods she would sense a problem and come up to me. 

I don't know if therapy helps to dredge up all of these dark moments but it does help me to see again life is but a circle. If you can live long enough to see it. 

Another First

Not that I really do much of it, this won't be a post revolving around frilly heels and hose, Today kids we will be writing a short post about sports and this transgender woman.  Probably many of you know I used to play football instead of being a cheerleader like I always envied. However, I was never very good and took solace in the fact I really wanted to be a girl anyhow. But, to the topic at hand...

 Today is Super Bowl Sunday, the pinnacle of American football. 

Being a long suffering Cincinnati, Ohio sports fan, I have been through more years than not following teams that do nothing but lose. The only exception was The Ohio State Buckeyes. For years the standing joke was, the Buckeyes were the best professional team in Ohio. Better than the Bengals or the Cleveland Browns. 

This year times have changed and Bengal fans everywhere are super excited to be playing in only the third Super Bowl in the team's history.  

By now you are probably thinking so what? 

The biggest difference is I am now a fully out transgender woman.  So, I count this as my first Super Bowl. Even though the power of estrogen has leveled out my competitive edge, I am sure I still have enough edge to me to more than interested in the game.

However my authentic self still wants a Super Bowl trophy in Cincinnati! 

Who Dey think gonna beat dem Bengals!!!!

The "Capable" Transgender Woman

 I received several wonderful comments on a recent post concerning an ill advised attempt to clean an ice covered car. By doing it I subjected myself to several days of pain filled life including today. What I liked about the comments was both of them went into the influence of their Mothers on their lives.

The first comes from Georgette:

Photo Courtesy Georgette 

"

I think some of that gets to ones background and at what the times were like when one transitioned, 

In the 70s there was the new idea of TG instead of TS started to be used by some, Some used it to divide rather than unite us together. TG was used by some that wanted no part of the medical and surgical that most TS did,

So maybe it does give me a certain idea on that "transer" than others, But I am working on that,

When I transitioned at work I would get from the guys of why would I want to become a "2nd Class Person" as many women were treated.

I can't recall many that would want to hear about the physical part, Men get weird when I would describe what the surgical meant.I guess I was a "Feminist" that I learned from my mother that I refused the idea that a women was somehow less than a man.I have always been a very affirmative women, Maybe that is a little leftover "man" except I was never an affirmative "man".

As I never went completely "stealth", Also never used those image filters and such back than, I see no point in using them, As I have learned to accept myself as I am."

The second comes from Connie:

"One of the unspoken conditions of the new relationship my wife and I have had since the onset of my transition is that I continue to perform some of the more-manly chores around the house. I can still take some pride in the fact that I have managed to keep the house in working order, without ever having to call a professional (except for a total roof replacement). I can’t say that I ever really enjoyed being Mr. Fixit in the past, and I dislike, even more, being Mrs. Fixit. Nevertheless, I do it because we can’t afford to pay professionals, anyway. Rather than Mrs. Fixit, then, I prefer the monikers of either “Connie Can-do” or “Capable Woman.” I’ve found that, although I don’t feel overly feminine while doing these tasks, I certainly don’t feel manly, either.

Photo Courtesy Connie Malone

My father died of cancer when I was eight-years-old, and my mother learned how to do many of the maintenance jobs around the house. I suppose I learned from watching her that a woman can be feminine and capable at the same time. I also learned from her how to live comfortably on a limited budget, so why call a professional when one can do it herself? These days, though, it is not unusual to see women doing some things that were deemed to be a man’s job in the ‘50s and ‘60s.

I think that age has more to do with limiting activities than anything else. I know that I had beaten my body up quite a bit in the past, endeavoring to prove my physical and masculine prowess – so as to hide my underlying femininity. My feminine-self is much wiser than was my masculine-self, however, so I now know to pace myself. Old injuries seem to pop up just about every morning, whether I did anything the day before or not, so I don’t need the added residual pain from having overdone some chore the day before. I am “Capable Woman,” but I don’t want to end up being “Incapacitated Woman.” :-)"

My Mom was also very assertive and worked for years outside of the home as a high school teacher. I suppose I learned from her a woman could be strong and independent . Little did she know it but I learned the same lessons from my second wife. Even though we fought continually about the type of woman I was becoming. My Dad entered the picture when he built his own house in the 1950's. In my younger years I tried to measure up to him by restoring our vintage 1860's brick building. 

I suppose both of my parents contributed to me being a "capable" transgender woman when my brain catches up with my body...as Paula wrote.

Not the Man I used to Be

 Recently we had to endure a portion of the massive winter storm which blanketed the middle and eastern part of the country. We received over six inches of ice, sleet and snow. Following all of that temperatures plummeted courtesy of an Artic blast. Due to lack of planning we weren't part of the hoard hitting all the grocery stores, so we were quickly running out of something to eat. 

"Attitude" Photo
Courtesy JJ Hart

Not so long ago (it seemed) I would have had no problem scraping and cleaning the car. It seems forgetting all the years of aging combined with estrogen and testosterone reduction  has taken it's toll. Seemingly when I finished the task of cleaning the car, I was feeling good about the whole process. Even to the point of telling Liz who was against me doing it. She is fond of telling me my mind has not accepted the fact I am physically not the man I used to be. 

She was completely right in this case. After throwing caution to the wind and cleaning the car, I found and/or felt the pain in my back. In other words, I spent yesterday in pain and am not much better today. 

The whole deal proves once again how truly stubborn I really am. During the majority of my life, my perseverance has served me well. Of course the major example is my cross dressing past, building to me becoming a novice transgender woman. I have written many times of the error more than trial which went into my ever so slow progression into fulfilling my dream of being  able to live full time as a transgender woman. 

Then there was my time in the military. Since I was being drafted into the service, I chose the three year enlistment plan which helped me to be able to work in a job field of my choosing. No body told me how difficult the process would be and I went for it anyhow. I became one of just sixty persons in the entire Army doing my job as a radio broadcaster/DJ. That in turn led me to meeting and later marrying the mother of my only child. A very accepting daughter who I cherish more and more as time goes by. The military even provided me my first chance to "come out" to friends about being a transvestite. Through it all, no one tried to tell me any of what I accomplished was impossible. Not that I would have listened anyhow.

Coming full circle and having a hard time even moving with no pain, I at least wish I had listened to Liz and left the car alone. 

My back is telling me I am not the man I used to be.  Or then again, the man I never wanted to be anyhow. I just need to get past the remaining vestiges of what a much younger man is telling me to be. It's difficult because I dislike feeling worthless.  Whose to say also I have learned my lesson the next time a big snowfall hits. I feel like now I have.