My Moral Compass

 As probably with  many transgender women and/or men of any age, our moral compasses have been tested. Of course I am no different. As I look back, there were so many chances I had to ignore my personal compass and set a vastly different course in my life. 

Photo by Ahmed Zayan on Unsplash

I learned the hard way my compass had several different settings other than the North, South, East and West. I found I could easily add an N" for no and a "M" for maybe. Very early in my feminine development I learned also how many others were crossing the line as far as their compasses were concerned. My first example was from the so called hetero cross dresser mixers. It seemed odd to me the number of attendees would pair off in couples and disappear to one of their rooms. My evil mind considered the "hetero" part of attendance was  not mandatory after all.

As it happened, I had a chance at my own encounter with a guy after one of the mixers when I had begged my way along with the group I called the "A" listers.  To make a long story short, we all ended up in this local neighborhood tavern  and I was the only one who was approached by a stranger and asked tf he could buy me a drink. My moral compass wavered quickly in the second I had to react and said no thank you. Of course I was married at the time and as my compass wavered to "M" for maybe.

Over all years it turned out I had plenty of chances to use my compass. Most of them turned out positive. You notice I said most. 

My biggest problem came when I really started to explore my possible life in a feminine world when I was still married to my second wife who passed away. Very quickly  I started to break the agreements we had concerning ne going out in the world as a woman. She always knew I was a cross dresser but was completely against any suggestion of being transgender. So, I used any time that I could to get out of the house and learn if I could indeed cross the gender border. Fairly quickly I learned I could and the whole process felt so natural. 

The problem became my moral compass told me I was cheating on her with myself and I felt terrible. The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt her and ruin our relationship but I had gone too far to turn back.

This was also the time I could have changed what the "S meant on my compass from South to Self Harm. The guilt I felt was so intense I felt the only way out was suicide. 

These days of course I have had plenty of time to reset my internal compass and live my authentic life as a transgender woman. It certainly wasn't easy.  

Playing in the Girls Sandbox

Very early in my transition into a feminine world. I discovered all was not all it seemed behind the scenes, Or what I called playing in the girls sandbox. In the beginning all seemed rosy. Sales clerks eager for my money met me with a smile. Plus, the servers where I went to eat and drink were happy to see me because I was nice and tipped well.

The deeper I went into how the sandbox really worked, I found flaws in the system. For example, it was re-enforced with me how women work in cliques while on the other hand, men form teams. Taking the example a step further, I found how I dressed could help me to fit in with a certain group of women.

Before I drifted into the Boho fashion craze, I found I could present convincingly as a professional woman. In fact, one of the first nights out I ever had was when I dressed in a professional woman's attire and went to an upscale bar frequented by other similarly dressed women. Looking back, I consider the night as the tipping point on my journey from being a cross dresser all the way towards being a novice transgender woman. Also I should point out I was terrified and sat in the parking lot for nearly a half hour before going in. I guess something was telling me this was going to be a key moment in my life.

Photo by Marcus Spiske
On Unsplash.

As it turned out, it was only a civilized introduction to the sandbox. As I drifted away from the upscale bar, I drifted into sports bars where I was often the only single woman at the bar watching sports or participating in games such as trivia. All went fairly well until I met up with several couples I began to be on a first name basis with. I learned the hard way to reject even the smallest amounts of acceptance from the men. When I did the smiles were replaced by claws or worse yet, knives in my back. Very quickly I learned where my place in the sandbox was.

As I did all of this, I was drinking copious amounts of beer which led me of course to needing to use the women's room. Or should I say, the litter box. The amount of alcohol I was drinking had the effect of being a double edged sword. On one hand it emboldened me to try to explore living as my authentic self but on the other hand, forced me into using restrooms I wasn't welcomed in. 

Of course I have written before about some of the more unpleasant experiences I had in the restroom. Overall, I was amazed how I could be seemingly accepted and socialized with until I had to use the litter box.

I was fortunate in  that I survived my early days in the girl's sandbox relatively unclawed. Perhaps it was becuase the feminine clique I landed in was unthreatening to most women. I didn't fit in with the cheerleading types. I tried my best just to be social and it must have worked.

From Both Sides

 Fairly recently I wrote yet another rest room post. This time though I sought out experiences from Transgender men. I often wondered if trans men felt the same anxiety as many transgender women when using the restroom which fits their authentic self. From several comments on my Medium writers format I found out they did. 

Here is the first comment from Jamison :

"I started at a new school, I'm a teacher, this past fall. Only 3 people knew I was a trans man. No one knew any different. In fact, there was this one teacher that was on my college softball team. Even with my same, rarely seen last name, had no clue I was AFAB!

Photo from Unsplash 

The first time I used a public restroom. I was terrified. I was so sure I was going to get clocked, because I had read where urinating sitting down from a vagina sounds different hitting the water than from a penis. Therefore, I would only pee when someone either flushed or washed their hands. When I would walk into the RR, I would take a quick look around to find the stalls. Once they were located, my line of sight went back down to about 6 foot in front of me while I made my way to the toilet. One of my worst fears was the possibility of my packer falling onto the floor. It actually happened once, at an airport. Luckily, the stalls next to me were empty!!"

And all this time I thought I was the only one paranoid about how my urine hit the water when I peed! Thanks for the comment. The second comes from Norm:

"On the whole, I would say that the transgender male experience is far less socially difficult than I thought (although my self-esteem loves to remind me otherwise), though I am also autistic and may not be picking up on negative nonverbal signals about how I move through the world. I don't perceive (so far) much change in how I am treated at work (I am a software engineer who came out and stayed at the same company), but I would be very interested in how I would be perceived as a stealth man elsewhere, should my career ever take me elsewhere. I theorize that right now, since most coworkers knew me as female for almost a year (and likewise know me as openly autistic, which opens the ableism can of worms), they just don't subconsciously read me as a 'real' man and hence don't subconsciously treat me like one."

Again, thanks to both of you for bringing another aspect of what should be a very simple aspect of our lives (the rest room) into focus.

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.

Wednesday Hump Day

 Or should I say ""dey" in support of the Super Bowl bound Cincinnati Bengals whose rallying cry is "Who Dey think is going to beat those Bengals! More on the game for later this week.

In the meantime, hump day can mean a certain tipping point for any transgender women and men. Or how far do you go in your gender transition before there is no turning back. You have discovered how natural it feels to be your authentic self and want to live it full time.

I spent years researching my life to see if I could cross the gender frontier. In fact, if the truth be known, I spent too long trying to live as both binary genders. One week I would spend as much as three days experiencing life in a feminine world before I went back to my boring daily world doing my best to act like a macho man. 

I was stubborn and seemingly thought out every angle such as telling family and friends and of course

considered the all important financial aspect of transitioning, The entire process to me was similar to a  gender teeter-totter. Up and feminine one day, down and male the next.

I also considered the process as slipping down a slope which became increasingly steep and slippery. Finally what happened was I couldn't take the stress any longer and decided to make the jump, transition, and live as my more natural feminine self. 

What turned out to be one of the most momentous decisions in my life was not to be undertaken alone. Over a relatively short amount of time I developed a small group of women friends who helped to make my landing softer and tip the teeter totter permanently in the feminine direction. They all mean more to me than I can ever say. 

On this "Hump Dey" I hope all of you still locked in a dark gender closet find a light at the end of the tunnel which is not the train. Whatever seems permanent today, can change quickly tomorrow.