Not the Man I Used to Be

 

Image from Ava Sol
on UnSplash.

Almost daily, I feel as though I am not the man I used to be, and it feels great!

In many ways, I was a man’s man as I went through life desperately attempting to survive in a male world. To do it, often I needed to bluster my way through life confronting other men I met. Although nearly all my confrontations fell way short of being physical, I still was able to win more than I lost. As I said, I hated the life I was living because deep down it did not feel right.

While being a man’s man took the life right out of me, it seemed being a transgender woman put it back. As I settled into my own woman’s arms, I instantly felt better, and I did not care if I was no longer the man I used to be. However, what was easy in the beginning became increasingly difficult as I went along up my gender path. It seemed like each wall I scaled on my path was a little higher as I stopped to look around to see if I still wanted to keep going.

By now you know I never stopped moving away from the man I used to be, and I had many lessons to learn. Particularly around personal security which I always took for granted as a man. I was always over average size, and people usually left me alone. It got to be so bad I couldn’t even scalp tickets to a football game I wanted to attend with my wife. The illegal scalpers thought I was a cop and would not sell to me. I had to let my wife approach them as the tickets were not illegal but where they were selling them were back in those days.

Other aspects of life I hated about being a man was always having to make the first move. All the way from being the one asking the woman out, all the way to where we were going for dinner. Then being told somehow my choice was wrong. Through it all, I could not wait until I was the one who did not make all the decisions. It was all I did at work, and I felt I shouldn’t have to at home which did not work well with my wife. On the other hand, I did learn always being the one who asked someone out was not the popular way to go with everyone. Just waiting around to have someone ask you was just as bad for the woman.

Finally, as I began to put all of that behind me and was beginning to put together a new life as a transgender woman, my life as a man began to fade in my rearview mirror of life. Not being the man, I used to be a welcome change and was where I was headed anyhow. I was trying to find specific small things I used to do as a man and change them over to feminine ones. Large examples included how I walked all the way down my gender path to learn how to better use the nonverbal communication women routinely use between each other. Very quickly I learned how one glance from an employee at a regular venue I went to meant I was in possible trouble if I stayed. In an instant, my gender world changed as I knew I could not stay and fight my way out or try to neutralize the situation with a male scowl. So, I picked up my purse, paid for my tab and left. Along with my male ego. 

Then there was the ultimate challenge to any remaining masculinity I had left. It came when I was approved for and started gender affirming hormones. Very rapidly, HRT caused what was left of my male strength to fade away. I used to put trucks away in my busy restaurants all the time and move very heavy beer kegs around with no help. Not a chance of that ever happening again since I was on the hormonal medications. As I learned I was not the man I used to be, my body started to change, and androgyny began to set in. All before I made the fateful decision to give away all my male clothes and live fulltime as a transgender woman.

For me, deciding to never go back to the man I used to be was a simple decision I should have made years before. Out of all the decisions I had to make as a man, I was unable to make the biggest one and set my life in the right decision…away from the man I never was.

You Make a Terrible Woman

 

JJ Hart on left. New wife Liz on right.

As I was initially coming out of my intensely lonely and dark gender shell, I dealt with quite a bit of guilt. Especially when my wife called me a terrible woman. I initially thought she was referring to my looks, which she told me she wasn’t.

My second wife was also fond of telling me coming out was all about me which as I look back on it, she was right. My transition was all about me, and I was completely immersed in it. Every time she even made the slightest move to interact with me, I shunned her as I was scared, she was just going to be negative. To be successful, I needed to do it alone it seemed.

I am sure the progress my wife saw in my overall presentation made her feel insecure about the future of our marriage. No matter how guilty I felt about the journey I was taking without her, deep down I knew I had to stay on my path if I was ever going to have a chance to achieve my dream of living as a transgender woman. Which my wife was dead set against.

As I progressed on and on the guilt grew, I was having. Here I was jeopardizing a good marriage, family and job just to wear women’s clothes and makeup. My problem was, I was still refusing to accept the truth about myself. In other words, my desire to be a woman in any sense of the word ran much deeper than just looking like one. When my wife told me I made a terrible woman because I hadn’t paid my dues past looking like one, I knew somehow, I needed to set out to learn what she was talking about, regardless of the guilt involved. To survive, my transition had to be just about me, and I stubbornly pushed forward.

The problem was, the more guilt I felt, the worse my mental health became. I did not know who to listen to, the world at large or the person I was closest to. The world at large was slowly coming to accept me as a transfeminine person while my wife was as standoffish as always about my progress. What she did not know was I was making the strides needed to prove I was not a terrible woman and in reality, a fairly likeable one. Or at least I was trying to.

Time marched on, and my guilt increased to the point where I committed suicide or tried to. When I failed, the entire self-harming episode left me with further problems with my guilt and mental health, so I sought out therapy. Fortunately, I found a good therapist who understood depression and the transgender community, and my life began to improve again. My therapist told me it was alright to feel guilt about the gender transition process and sometimes you must leave loved ones behind so you can live. Beyond all of that, she taught me extreme gender dysphoria was difficult to deal with and before long, our in-person meetings at the Veteran’s Administration were between her and my authentic self. What a relief!

My guilt subsided as my joy increased in my life. Sure, I still had rough spots to contend with, but with my overall knowledge of the world and what to expect, I knew I had finally overcome my fear of actually “making” a terrible woman. In reality what happened was I had the chance to live my way through what my wife told me and in addition. I was not making anything. I already was a transgender woman and had always been. I was just guilty of trying to hide it and internalize it too long. Surely, it was all my fault, and I never had the chance to apologize to her because of her untimely death from a massive heart attack at the age of fifty. I wanted to show her I had paid my dues in the world, and, at the least, I hoped we could be friends. Actions speak louder than words and I know she would never back off from saying I made a terrible woman and in turn at least like the new me.

In life, we rarely have a chance to make a second impression, and it has been nearly an impossible one for me since most of the people I knew as a man (that mattered) had passed away. I needed to concentrate on the new acquaintances I met as a trans woman who never knew my old male self who in his own way had passed on also. Since I did not have a difficult time making and keeping friends in my new life, I must not have been a terrible woman after all.

Out in the Testosterone World

Hair by JJ Hart, Beret hand beaded
by "Liz T Designs" 

Just a short post today as I just returned from braving a testosterone heavy environment. More precisely, it was time to get the oil changed in our car, which was slightly overdue. By the time I was done, I wished I had a dime for every tattoo I saw on the completely male staff.

For some reason, any trip to a male dominated (such as auto workplace) has always caused my gender dysphoria to flare up. Even after all these years that I have been out as a transgender woman, I still feel the same trepidation. Which makes me feel even more frustrated with myself.

This morning, as I pulled the car into the next available bay to be serviced, I cannot be sure, but I think the manager called me the dreaded “Sir”. But, as the work progressed, he became increasingly nice to me. I never know if it is the result of age privilege but at least he never called me “Sir” again. Very soon I was on my way to my next stop which was the coffee drive thru for wake-up drinks for my wife Liz and I encountered yet another young man at the drive thru window who was at least honest with me. I asked him how he was doing, and he said he was looking for a cot to lay down on to take a nap. I just looked at him and before I could say anything, he quickly said what I was thinking. He was working in a coffee shop, stop and get a cup to wake up.

One way or another, we made small talk, and I was again on my way, this time back home and he had acted as if nothing was wrong with how I was presenting as a transgender woman.

At least, the short trip out this morning into a potentially difficult world built my confidence up that I could do it again when my wife Liz and I go on an extended vacation to New England in approximately a month. A vacation which will challenge me in many ways including restroom privileges.

The end result of this morning was, I need more public adventures into potentially difficult situations to enable me to build the all important confidence I used to have when I was spending more time in the world.

  

Deadly Serious

 

Image from Nicholas COMTE
on UnSplash

Looking back at my long (50 year) gender journey, I wonder now how I became so deadly serious as I considered myself more than a casual cross dresser.

I came a long way from just experimenting with my mom’s clothing to where I am today. As I live fulltime as a transgender woman. Many days, if I have the time to even think about it, I wonder how I went about connecting my dots during my travel from the male to female gender. But, before I go any farther, I should mention two things. First of all, I have nothing against cross dressers, as I spent too many years being one to attempt to put myself up on any sort of gender pedestal. Secondly, I don’t consider myself a female in the strictest sense of the word. That is why you might notice I use the transgender or transfeminine word more frequently. In addition, I strongly feel the woman word (and man) are both socialized terms as many females or males never make it to being true women or men. Now, since I got all of that out of the way, what does that have to do with being deadly serious about anything. Not much, but I always like to clear the air.

In my life, I can only remember being deadly serious about two things, the first was following an often-vague path to my own version of womanhood and the other was Army basic training. In the Army, your secondary MOS or job classification is infantry which means I received the same training as everyone else who were going to Vietnam for a very uncertain future. So, the bottom line was, I took my military training deadly seriously. Just in case I needed it later. Fortunately, I never did. Naturally, pursuing my feminine path was destined to be just the opposite.

It seemed, the more I tried to do as a novice cross dresser or transgender woman, the more I wanted to do. I forced myself away from the easy gender experiences I was trying, into a true interaction with the world and my challenges became much more serious but not quite to the deadly stage. I think the reason was, I was still experimenting with people as strangers. Not like somebody I would see more than once. I was naïve and thought people would not remember me for what I was, a man in drag or a dress. When other people began to see me repeatedly it was good for both of us because I needed to up my presentation game and quit changing wigs every time I went out. To succeed in the new world I was creating, people needed to see I was deadly serious about being accepted in the new mainstream venues I was going to when I gave up on going to the gay venues I tried.

More importantly, I lived through all the bumps and bruises I suffered as I silently fought back against the gender bigots I faced. Some of which were not so silent as I attempted to enter the so-called women only spaces such as restrooms. One night, I was called a pervert by an irate cisgender woman before I backed her down. She was the one I had to threaten with LGBTQ sanctions on her business if she did not leave me alone. Which she did.

The more comfortable I became in my transgender world, the more deadly serious I became about doing more. Soon I was to the point where I was like a runaway train heading down a one-way track as my manhood was coming to an end. One of the final acts of severing what was left of him came when I was approved for and started gender affirming hormones or HRT. My body took to the new hormones flawlessly to the point when I wondered why I hadn’t been on them all along.

The reason was relatively simple, as the changes from the HRT would preclude me from going back to the male life I had worked so hard to establish. Would I be deadly serious enough to risk all I had built up such as a long-term marriage, a family and friends plus a very good job which I could have never transitioned on.

Finally, after years of introspection, I made the decision to go as far as I could without surgery into a transgender life. With all I had to lose at the age of sixty, I decided “playtime” was over, and it was time to be deadly serious again and never look back as I had reached my dream of living in a transfeminine world.

 

Buckle Up!

 

Alpha Gatekeeper Hope
Who Let Me In!

If you are a transgender woman or trans man and you have been transitioning along your gender path for any length of time, you know there are plenty of highs and lows to prepare for.

I know on my gender journey; I have had to buckle up for many rough roads ahead. I have many examples I write about often such as being told to leave one venue I started to go to when I decided to leave the gay bars behind and go to mainstream straight venues. I went home in tears like when I was laughed out of malls by groups of teenaged girls when I first attempted to go out in public. For a long time, I never thought I had a chance of living my transgender dreams at all.

Deep down, something told me to fasten my seat belt and keep trying to succeed. You see, the problem was all along in my life, if something went wrong, I ran to my skirts and put on makeup to make it go away. In these cases, I had nowhere to run, so I had to get it right. I was in a corner, and I couldn't get out without a lot of work. It turned out to me, the whole process was a labor of love, and I felt good going forward on my gender path. The problem was I was still quite naïve about what I was facing and thought success could be found if I just was able to present properly as a woman. To try the new world out I was in, I went to all sorts of different situations. Examples were when I went to a downtown festival and an outdoor concert just to see if I could. Following painstakingly applying my makeup and choosing just the right clothes, I managed to be successful at both, and my confidence soared.

When I did, my frail confidence was shattered again when I learned the world was curious about me as a transfeminine person. It meant I would have to really buckle up and do more than trying just to look like a woman, I needed to communicate like a woman. All of that turned out to be harder than it sounds (no pun intended). I found out quickly that women operate on a different wavelength than men. Men use a more simplified straight forward approach to communicating with each other and other women. On the other hand, I discovered I better refine my listening skills, plus be aware women communicate with each other on non-verbal wavelengths. Also, eye contact with other women became very important too, if I was ever going to be allowed to play in the girl’s sandbox by the alpha female gatekeepers.

As with anything else, I needed to allow practice to become perfect if I was ever going to succeed at reaching my goal of living as a transgender woman. To do it, I needed to forget my unreachable dream of being able to present so well as a woman that anyone would ever think I was cisgender. To begin with, testosterone poisoning had taken all of that idea away from me. I needed to re-buckle up my expectations and know the best I could do was follow my path as a woman from a different background. To succeed, I needed invitations from cis-gender women to their girls’ nights out so I could observe and learn how other women acted when men were not around. Naturally, I needed to put what was left of my male ego behind me when I had to buckle up and attend several of these meetups. My primary example came one night when I was invited along with a group of servers where I went to, to another upscale venue to party. They were all young and attractive and immediately were surrounded by attentive males, leaving me by myself and my drink. I learned a powerful lesson that night why certain attractive women tend to hang out together.

I was fortunate as I traveled my gender journey, I had key alpha females to help me with my seatbelt. As an example, I have added the picture of “Hope” who ironically gave me hope for my future dreams. She was the first bartender I ever met who went out of her way to be kind to me, all the way to introducing me to her lesbian mother who I stay in touch with to this day. Hope led the way for me to be accepted by others and thrive in the girls’ sandbox, and I will never forget her for it.

My main message is, no matter how many bumps and bruises you may suffer along your own gender journey, just try to securely fasten your seatbelt and make the trip as interesting as possible. Just remember, not many are able to make the same journey and achieve their dreams of living as a transgender woman.

 

 

 

Low Risk...High Reward?

 

Image from Jayson 
Hinrichsen on UnSplash.

There are many things we do in the gender universe which represent a low risk, high reward effort.

For example, under the cross-dresser umbrella, we have the far-ranging participants who go from wearing panties under their male clothes, all the way to those who fully dress as transfeminine women in their spare time. At the least, there is more risk to the cross dresser who is fully dressing in feminine fashion and makeup than the person who simply needs to pull his pants up to cover his panties. At some point too, one must consider if wearing women’s clothes is simply a fetish or is there more to it. Which carries even further into the world of sissies and such which involves men who fantasize about forced femininization.

In my case, even though I deeply felt the pleasure of hose on my shaved legs, or other beginning thrills such as looking at myself in the mirror, deep down I knew there was so much more to what I was doing about my developing gender issues. I knew too, if I was ever caught with my clothes and makeup on, there would be no rewards, just risks, so I needed to be very careful. All the way to the point of never wearing panties under my male pants at school and on rare occasions dreaming about a woman forcing me to cross dress at all. Ironically, I talked a woman into dressing me head to toe as a woman only one time and I ended up thinking I could have done it better myself. The risk of telling her did not equal any reward at all.

The risks and rewards proportionally grew greater together as I grew older and my male life began to grow. Many times, without my feminine one who was still stuck in her mirror. It was in the Army of all places, when I first came out to a small group of friends that I was a transvestite and much more than the fully cross-dressed woman they were able to see at a Halloween party. Naturally, it was a huge risk to take because the Army could have taken measures to discharge me. The reward did come when I was able to finally feel the relief of telling someone else my deepest secret and no one cared.

The further reward of coming out of gender shell was the fact my first wife was in the group of friends I came out to. Our marriage then led to the greatest reward of my life…the birth of my daughter who supports me to this day.

As my male world kept expanding and threatened to take over my transfeminine experience, I was going through a wonderful period of great discoveries in my life. Those were the days when I first discovered the transgender term and what it meant to me. For the first time in my life, I found a community which I belonged in. I was too much woman for the average low risk cross dresser and too little for the risk it all world of the transsexuals who were headed for gender realignment surgery.

I was so comfortable in my new place in the world, I was prepared to take bigger and bigger risks. Much to the chagrin of my second wife who had no problem with my cross dressing but was totally against any thoughts of starting gender affirming hormones and living increasingly as a woman. Every time I went out to explore the new feminine world I was creating, I was risking my twenty-five-year marriage. Because I chose to lie to myself for many years of denying who I really was, I ended up making us both miserable.

My excuse was I knew I would be losing a great marriage, a substantial job and many hard-earned male privileges if I threw all my cards into the middle of the table and came out into the world as the person I was always meant to be. Finally, the choice ceased to be mine as I embraced my new feminine self. My wife had passed away, I reached the point where I could retire from my job, and I was eager to check out the world of female privilege. It was all a huge risk, but I had to take it as I was nearing the age of sixty and I figured I was near a now or never moment in my life.

I had never been a gambler of any sort, but I wished I had the courage to make the move I made earlier. One thing is for certain; you can never rewind your life to make up for past mistakes. You just have to do the best that you can of your past to plan ahead for the future risks you will have to take.

 

 

No Easy Way Out.

 

Image from Peter Fogden
on UnSplash.

When I had grown used to escaping my male problems by dressing in front of the mirror in my small stash of girl’s clothes and makeup the best I could, then I forgot my problems. It was an effective way to find a way out.

Before I knew it, I was digging myself a hole I would have a difficult time getting out of. As always, my main problems came from my refusal to accept my gender issues. I would cycle through the same old issues such as cross dressing until I relieved all the pressure I was under as my male self. Then knowing the relief would only last a couple of days.

Occasionally, I thought I would find the way out of my gender shell by trying the infamous “purge” which would finally do away with my feminine self altogether. Of course, we all know purging was no escape either as in a very short time, my urge to cross dress would flood back in again. All of this resulted in depression I struggled to control.  Years flew by before I was diagnosed as being bi-polar by a gender therapist I was going to. The diagnosis helped me to understand why I would sometimes want to do nothing but stay in bed. Fortunately, I was able to find a medication to help me that I was able to tolerate, and to this day, my depression is under control. Plus, having my bi-polar under control allowed me to separate it from my gender issues.

It became extremely important when I was matched up with a therapist from the Veteran’s Administration who controlled my gender affirming hormones. One thing I did not need was a therapist who connected my dots wrong and left me no escape. What I mean is, if I was matched with a therapist who thought my depression and gender issues were connected in any way. As with other things I excessively worried about, the therapist I ended up being matched up with never connected my dots wrong, and my HRT and depression medications were always kept separate.

Escape finally came slowly when I began to take control of my own life. I went down a huge rabbit hole I had been ignoring. As I left my old gender closet and explored the rabbit hole as a whole new person, I discovered the world I had only dreamed of as I began to live as a transgender woman. I also found many new layers of a feminine life I knew nothing about. I went from creating a fictional trans woman to a real person as I explored the world. The real person I became had to be able to communicate with the world at large. As with any other worlds I ever discovered (such as the military) being a transgender woman came with a whole new set of rules I could not escape.  

As my confidence increased, so did my success in building a new life. I so badly did not want to escape at any costs, I risked all my male life such as family, friends, and employment to live as a transfeminine person. I was putting on the line such as the benefits of hard-earned male privileges, a long-term marriage and a good job. All to follow my feminine dreams. It turned out, I learned many lessons when I was attempting to escape the rabbit hole I was making for myself.

Some would say it took a lot of courage to do what I did. While others would think I was nothing but a fool. I would say neither is the case because in order to live in this world at all, I knew I would have to make changes to escape. By the time I needed to make the final transition decision, I was nearly sixty and it had been weighing heavily on my shoulders for years. By then, I took all my so called “practice” time and became a transgender woman on a mission.

I escaped all excuses and rabbit holes I explored on my way to living my dream. Becoming my true self in a woman’s world was incredibly difficult to do. Just when I thought I was conquering the road I was on was being successful, I learned I was only just beginning and there were many obstacles to come. I was lucky enough to be able to negotiate everything by having wives to women friends to help me on the way.

If I had given up the fight and given in to the true desires I was having, I would have never had to think I had no way out.

 

Hormones in my Life

 

Image from Mitch
on UnSplash.

This morning, as I changed out my Estradiol hormonal patches, I briefly paused to consider the magical changes HRT has meant for me.

My thoughts were formed yesterday when I wrote a short chapter in my book I was writing on my life that my daughter bought for me. As I remember, the question of the week for me was how I responded to changes to my body over my life. I started by writing about how bad I felt when my body began to form angles when I went through male puberty. It was long ago, but I still remember my disappointment. This was way before the time of puberty blockers for young transgender boys and girls. Not that my parents would have approved of blockers for me anyhow.

I followed up my ideas on male puberty with what had happened to me since I was fortunate enough to be approved for gender affirming hormones and I could experience a second puberty in my life, this time, one I wanted. Even though I was attempting to overcome all the damage testosterone did to my body, I could not fix most of it. I was stuck with broad shoulders and a big male torso which served me well to keep bullies away but did little to help me to present well as a transgender woman.

On the positive side, the new HRT meds were able to soften the harsh angles of my face and soften my skin, so I could use less makeup. I also found I had no male pattern baldness, so my hair grew so well one of the first things my daughter did was treat me to a hair styling and color at her upscale women’s beauty salon. Another case of being totally out of my old male environment and loving it. After my fear went away. At that point, I was loving my new life.

My new life as a transfeminine woman took on a new meaning as I adjusted to my new body. Gone were the old days of blustering my way through life with my male body. In were the days of being more in tune what was my body telling me from newly sensitive breasts to a developing transgender woman’s’ intuition, I was really changing. By intuition, I mean I needed to develop a sense of anyone who was going to potentially threaten me with any harm. Much of the new development was not much of a problem because I was going through so many other internal changes anyhow. The easiest way to explain it is, my world went from the harsh realities of being male, all the way to the softening universe of being a woman.

Also gone were the days of me attempting to macho my way through any situation. From being able to admit when I was cold, all the way to planning ahead to any potentially dangerous situations, it all presented me with a new world to consider. All because of two little Estradiol patches I applied twice a week. It was magic to me how well and how fast they worked. It was as if my body was waiting for the HRT meds my entire life.

It is not often that I have the opportunity to slow down my everyday life and consider the benefits of being approved for gender affirming hormones. I needed to go to a physician back in those days which were relatively difficult to find. On one hand I had seen the health problems other transgender women had gone through when they went the route of unsupervised hormones. Since I was near the age of sixty at the time, I did not want to risk any health issues and fortunately, there weren’t any. Even though I do not remember the exact year I started HRT, I remember I took my first dosage which were pills with my future wife Liz on New Year's Eve. From there, I progressed to higher dosages and eventually to the patches I am on today.

Which brings me full circle to the meaning of this post. With or without the hormonal medication I am on, I would still identify as transgender. HRT just helped my external presentation in the public’s eye. And, if you are considering hormones, you don’t need them to be you either. If you do, make sure you seek out a doctor to help you to know all is well before you make the jump.

For me, the HRT process was the final point of knowing I was doing the right thing by jumping off the gender cliff I was on. It sure made the landing softer.  

Jocks and Dresses

 

Image from Norbert Toth
on UnSplash. 

As a youth growing up, I found myself embracing the world of sports to cover up any lingering feelings of wanting to be a girl. Plus, being a jock of any kind helped keep the bullies away when I needed it the most. Why would they think a defensive end on the football team would ever want to be feminine in any way?

Little did they know, the time I spent longingly looking over to watch the cheerleaders practice was much more than admiring their short skirts and tight tops. My desire was in no way sexual; I did not desire any of the cheerleaders that way, I just wanted to be them. Happily, my cover worked and to the outside world I appeared to be a “normal” boy with normal hobbies such as sports and cars.  

It was my rendition of having my own gay beard as described here on “Wikipedia”: “Often, the term was used in the early to mid-20th century, used by homosexual individuals to conceal one's sexual orientation through the disguise of a heterosexual relationship.” I was not gay but needed sports to conceal the fact I was a cross dresser. My “beard” worked and got me through school very much unscathed. My gender closet was secured.

I was able to play football until I was hurt twice in my junior year and there was no place on the team for an injured slow defensive end and no matter how much dreaming I did, I could never make it as a cheerleader either.

Along the way, my love of sports became ingrained in me as much as the desire to be a transgender woman. If I can describe the love of sports I had, it was like a big set of luggage I was carrying from one gender to another when I needed to figure out what I could take with me.

It was about that time in my life when I was leaving my gender closet and looking around, that I began to see other women who shared my passion for sports. Just maybe, I could drop my beard and bring along what could be one of the most important pieces of baggage I had in life. If I was careful, and set myself up of success, it could quite conceivably be me as the woman at the bar watching her favorite team on one of the big screens. While I would not be a jock in a dress, I could be one in a football jersey.

Even better was when I was able to befriend a couple other cisgender women who were sports fanatics like me. We would get together often to watch games and harass each other when our team lost. It all led me to one of my proudest moments when I was invited to a NFL Monday Night football game in Cincinnati. I was still quite new to the world as a transfeminine person, so I was very scared, but I accepted her invitation to go. I had made the big time in my quest to have brought my passion for sports with me into my transgender world. Except for my team losing, I ended up having a great time and the whole experience really built my confidence in my new life.

While I never became exactly a jock in a dress, I did become one in makeup, leggings and boots. All along, I had my doubts about where my journey would take me and how I could get there. But I never missed most of the male baggage I needed to leave behind as I embraced the transgender future I was looking at. Maybe I was fortunate in that the world around me was catching up to an expanded role for women in the world as I was entering it. Whatever the case, it made my transition so much easier.

Also, I did not do it by myself, I had women friends to show me the way. They just happened to share many of the same interests I did. I mention them a lot, but I would feel bad if I didn’t give credit where credit is due.

Plus, from the comments I receive, I know I am not alone in utilizing sports to use as a “beard” in your life to cover up your gender issues. I remember one comment from a reader saying she used football shoulder pads to cover up the gynecomastia breast growth they went through early in life. Proving for many of us experiencing gender issues, hiding them can take many paths.