Endocrinologist

 I love my "Endo" Doc. She is so nice and because of her I have been able to experience all the feminine changes I have been able to go through over the years. 

Of course it didn't hurt that before my visit (actually the night before) I washed my hair again and just let it go into it's natural wonderful waviness. You can see a bit of it in one of my profile pictures.

This picture was taken at only one of three times Liz and I have been out in the last year. As you can see in the picture, it was last summer. 

It doesn't hurt either I give my Endo the credit for my transgender transformations such as even less body hair (excluding my face of course) and increasing distribution of body fat to my hip areas. 

Now I wish my upcoming dental appointment could be as painless. Ha!!!

Changes

 It took me a lifetime of living to partially understand what we all should know. Life is but a series of changes. Once we quit changing we die. 

Years ago, due to financial considerations and other excuses, I put off needed dental work. My excuse was I didn't think I would outlive my teeth since everyone around me was passing away. Well, I proved myself wrong and now this week, I need to pay my dues and go to the dentist. I can't even speculate what will happen.

Interestingly, I am filling out the information forms ahead of time on line and quickly I came to the gender portion. I was given the usual binary choices of male and female and a third choice of "unspecified". I chuckled to myself thinking now I was unspecified? 

It's a big week for changes. Today I have a virtual appointment with my endocrinologist which is all about changes to my body. Hopefully, the visit will be all positive because I am pleased with all the feminine changes going on in my body. Even my breasts seem to be fuller these days. As mentioned, my dental appointment for dentures is tomorrow and my therapist virtual visit is Wednesday.

I haven't figured out yet if being older brings on a resentment towards change. Perhaps it's the idea I have already been through that before, why should I have to do it again?

When you consider the pain, suffering and fear which comes with gender dysphoria and being transgender, how can anything in life compare. 

Changing your gender has to be the most difficult process a human can attempt besides being born and passing away.

A Tangled Web of Deception

 Recently I have mentioned here in Cyrsti's Condo several times about how most of us were forced into extreme measures to protect and hide our gender dysphoria, way before we had any idea what the term even meant. Along the way I mentioned to all of you the lengths I went to hide my feminine cross dressing "stash". I wasn't blessed to have supportive parents, so I had to become very creative. 

Speaking of non supporting parents, read on and learn of Connie's problems:

"Fake" Mirror Image 2010

"My hiding place for my "stash" was inside the box springs of my mother's bed. I had discovered a tear in the bottom cover, and thought it would be the safest place because she would never think to look there. One night, though, while she was watching TV in the family room, I had the urge to retrieve my feminine accouterments to play with later in the night. I was totally surprised when she came into her bedroom and onto her bed. It felt like hours to me, as I hid very quietly under her bed, waiting for a chance to make my escape. Finally, I heard her snore and snuck out of her room. I changed my hiding place right after that, behind a panel I made removable in a basement wall. She eventually discovered that place, though, and I've told you the nightmarish story of how she'd laid all my stuff on the kitchen table, for me to see when I came home from school - and then made me load it into the car to take directly to the county dump. :-("

Wow! Connie's experience makes me happy my "stash" was never really discovered, to my knowledge. My Dad was very shy in discussing anything which became even remotely sexual in nature, so I often wondered if he discovered my "collection" of hose, women's undies and makeup in the garage. He may have thought it was a phase. 

Over the years though, like so many of us, I went through destructive purges when I decided to rid myself of all of my feminine items and thus live my life in the lie I desperately was trying to live. The process always seemed to work for a day or two before I was thinking about going back to my cross dressing ways. 

I wish I could reclaim a portion of the money I wasted on my purging efforts over the years and more importantly, the wasted time and energy I spent on the deception I tried to use to lead my life. 

Nice Summer Dress

 On Saturday Night Live last week, as I was nearly dozing off during the latter parts of the show, I was surprised to see a figure obviously in a full  dress on stage before the show cut away to a commercial break.

I was surprised to see the show's musical guest "Kid Cudi" in the dress and ready to perform as the break was over.  Reaction was swift, This is from the "Guardian" :

"The dress marked the anniversary of Kurt Cobain’s death, with Cudi saying that it was a tribute to the Nirvana frontman who had worn a similar dress on the cover of the Face magazine in 1993. While social media users praised the way Kid Cudi channeled Cobain’s gender non-conforming approach to fashion, they also pointed out a double standard.

On Instagram, model and activist Munroe Bergdorf wrote: “as fab as it is to see cis gender straight men embracing femininity through fashion … let’s remember that they also won’t face nearly as much hatred or the physical danger that visibly queer folk will when they do the exact same thing.”

In the comments, one user wrote "it feels insulting that cis hetro men get praised for what trans people get bullied and killed for. For them it’s a trend, a costume … for trans people it’s life and death.” Some 13 transgender people have been murdered in 2021 so far according to the Human Rights Campaign, which is a 333% increase from 2020 when three transgender people were killed."

Indeed the double standard runs deep. 

Back to College

 Recently I visited  regional universities twice  (virtually) to take part in LGBTQ discussions. The most recent was as a guest of a sociology professor at her masters degree class at Miami University of Ohio.  There were four of us there including another transgender elderly woman veteran and two cis gay men. 

Miami of Ohio

Along the way, the class provided us with a lively discussion. I had two questions directed specifically at me. The first of which asked what was "Crossport" which is the transgender - cross dresser support group I am involved with here in Cincinnati, Ohio. The only problem was, with a slip of the tongue, I undirectedly talked down to the cross dressing portion of our membership. With me, I have many "slips" so they are relatively common. Yesterday, I simply said the group dealt with transgender women and men all the way down to cross dressers. In no way shape or form did I mean it negatively but I am afraid it did. After all, I considered myself a cross dresser for over fifty years. 

At any rate, I apologized and went on to my second question from a student asking what to do if they encounter a negative situation  from a negative person in an assisted living situation. I of course replied it is one of my biggest paranoia's concerning my future. My only answer was just to be the best ally you can be and provide as much support as possible, 

Finally, I learned another fact I didn't know from the other trans woman who was in our group. As one of the students who had worked in a hospice last summer told her experience of a transgender woman losing her fight to have her authentic gender on her Ohio death certificate. It seems, here in the backwards Repuglican stranglehold of Ohio, whatever gender is on your birth certificate automatically is placed on your death certificate. Even though the courts have declared Ohio's refusal to change gender birth certificates to be illegal. Ohio so far has refused to abide by the ruling. Leading to yet another court case. 

So, as you can see, I was part of an interesting, fast paced class and the hour went quickly.

Since my Mom was a Miami graduate there was more than a little gender poetic justice!

In the Woods

 Recently here in Cyrsti's Condo, I posted about "Growing Up Trans"  and received a couple comments about my habit of hiding a feminine stash in an old hollowed out tree I knew of in the woods next to our house. 

One comment came from Jenny on WordPress and the other here from Connie: 

Connie

" Your hiding place in the woods made me think of a line from the old blues song: "I'd rather drink muddy water and sleep out in a hollow log."

The things we go through to find some relief and happiness sound utterly ridiculous, sometimes. In retrospect, I find some of my exploits to be humorous, even though I was very serious at the time I was carrying out my little deceptions. What I find so sad now, though, is that I had become as addicted and drawn to the deception as I was to the resulting euphoria I found in expressing my feminine-self. I'm not saying that "transgender" is an addiction, but I thought that of it that way for much of my life. After all, what I was "doing" exhibited most of the signs of an addiction:

*Spending the majority of your time engaging in the behavior, thinking
about or arranging to engage in the behavior, or recovering from the
effects.

*Becoming dependent on the behavior as a way to cope with emotions and
to “feel normal.”

*Continuing despite physical and/or mental harm.

*Having trouble cutting back despite wanting to stop.

*Neglecting work, school, or family to engage in the behavior more often.


*Experiencing symptoms of withdrawal (for example, depression or
irritability) when trying to stop.

*Minimizing or hiding the extent of the problem.

Of course, in my youth, I had no outside resource for learning what these symptoms were, let alone the yet-to-be-named "transgender." My own guilt and shame were my only references, which had the effect of a vicious circle of dysphoria and euphoria.

Now that I know better, and that my gender identity and expression go far beyond mere behavior, I live with the reality that it is who I am (and was, though unaware) far more than what I do (or did).

If you listen to the aforementioned song, and think of yourself as both the woman and the man, you might imagine why it rings for me. To have drunk muddy water and slept in a hollow log would have been easy, in comparison to what I actually did, in order to have kept that woman (me) from disappearing from my life.:

Along the way, I too considered my cross dressing to be more of an addiction more than anything else. Until I began to journey more and more out into a feminine world. The more natural I felt as an out transgender woman, the better I felt about making the full time gender transformation. 

Thanks for the comment!

It Makes me Sad

 Perhaps you have read about the demise of the lesbian bars around the country. This morning I read  a place in Columbus, Ohio where I used to frequent a bit is now the last remaining lesbian bar in the entire state of Ohio. According to the "Columbus Dispatch" article I read, Slammers is one of only fifteen lesbian bars left in the nation.

Slammers/Columbus

I liked Slammers for any number of reasons including it was a "safe" place for me to go. Unlike the male gay bars I tried to go to. in lesbian bars I enjoyed the music and the fact I wasn't treated as if I was a drag queen. 

Then again too, as I have written about before, lesbian bars played a strong role as I sought to develop myself as a transgender woman. Along the way, I was asked to sing karaoke (or told) by a super butch woman in a cowboy hat who I was never sure if she knew I was trans all the way to being asked to be a "wing person" for a lesbian friend of mine trying to pick up a date.   

It all was a simple choice for me. I felt natural and at home in the bars I went too, except for one lesbian biker bar I went to where they hated me. Plus "Wall Street" in Columbus was my first foray into leaving the friendly confines of the cross dresser mixer I went to. I joined the more ambitious "A" listers for trips to  the lesbian orientated dance club. 

Unfortunately, even then I could feel the demise of the women's bar spaces as the two I went to in Dayton, Ohio closed. Competition proved to be too great from other venues who began to accept a more diverse clientele. 

Covid complications of course have played a role in many closings around the country.  But there is also a venue in Northern Kentucky across the Ohio River from Cincinnati which partially bills itself as a lesbian which is still open.

Still, a part of my transgender youth is missing and I am sad.

 

Finally!

Old Picture with Fake Curves and Hair.

 As I rapidly approach my upcoming endocrinologist appointment early next week, I happened to  observe a real improvement in my bodies' feminine development.  My hormone replacement therapy path has been slower than most I feel because of an abundance of caution due to my age.

After starting HRT New Years Eve 2013, I was taken off hormones for six months shortly after and was allowed to resume my minimum dosage. Through it all, I still felt the changes were occurring. It wasn't until recently I began to feel somewhat impatient with my changes. My Doc responded with increasing my Estradiol patch dosage. All of a sudden, changes began again. 

Most noticeable to me was the pesky hair on my arms began to finally thin out. Before it did, routinely I had to shave my arms which I am aware can make the problem worse over time. 

Circling back to yesterday, the weather around here in Cincinnati turned warm again and I had a chance to dress appropriately. I found my patterned light weight leggings and paired them with a three quarter sleeve tunic top which falls softly over my hips. Yes, I said hips. Hiding from me the last several months was how developed my hips were becoming.

For once, my transgender gender dysphoria took a break as I checked out a glimpse of the femininized  person I was becoming. 

Even though I know my dysphoria is a powerful foe, I take any small victories I can get and cherish them.

At the least my relief will last a couple days, at least until my Doc visit and go from there.  As you Cyrsti's Condo regulars know, I was considering requesting injections to hopefully kickstart more progress but now I think I am content to continue the path I am on.   

Growing up Transgender

This post could easily stretch  out  into multi posts but I am going to try not to. For no specific reason. 

Similar to so many other transgender folk in my age bracket (70 ish), I grew up in a very isolated world where I felt my gender issues  were mine alone. In my patriarchal family it did not take me long to build a very dark closet. 

My closet had rooms though where I stashed my feminine articles which became so dear to me. I was able to purchase my own select feminization items through meager earnings from a paper route and allowance for completing household chores. Successfully,  I managed to summon my courage to find my way to a couple of the long gone "five and dime" stores. I bought my own makeup and even found a pair of shoes I found which fit. Plus I could buy my own hose and quit running my Mom's.

Once I managed to buy my items, I had to find a place to put them which no one else in the family would find. One of my places was in an old box above the cars in the garage. To my knowledge, my Dad never found my "treasures", or never mentioned it. 

My second space was way more inventive. We lived in a very rural area and the property next to our house was a fairly dense uninhabited woods which we explored all the time. One of my favorite things to do was to go down into the woods, uncover my stash hidden in protective plastic in an hollowed out tree, and get dressed up in a dress, hose and shoes I had purchased.  

Between the garage and the woods I was able to learn the basics of dressing like a girl and at least for a while, relieving my gender duress. It would take years for the term transgender to even be invented and for me to understand how well it fit me and my gender dysphoria. 

As I look back on my formative cross dressing days, I wonder how successful I was at hiding my behavior from my close knit family and friends. Outside of a couple times I tried to involve a neighbor guy friend in my cross dressing, my big experiments involved in taking the long walk to our mailbox while dressed in my not so fashionable mini skirt, hose, makeup and blouse. 

I suppose at the least, growing up transgender enabled me to become more creative and resilient.