I got the news this past weekend that one of the SOs (half of one of the couples) I interviewed for the book passed away this past Sunday, May 15th, after two years of battling breast cancer. She was 40 years old, only, and is survived by her husband (Heather) and two daughters.
I’ve been thinking and mourning for Minna, in some obvious ways, like just sitting here crying, reading old emails from/to her, but also in maybe atypical ways: by toasting her at our birthday party Friday night.
Minna was a gem. She was enthusiastic and willing to help with the book, and did her own kind of outreach – within the BDSM scene she & Heather belonged to.
So I thought, in her memory, I’d reprint her words here, because no one could explain Minna – except maybe herself.
I wish you could walk a mile in my shoes. See what I see the way I see it. See what I know and experience it. Taste what I taste and see how I enjoy it. My life is not the same as yours. My husband is a crossdresser. I am a dominantrix. I am a mother, a wife, a lover and a sadist. I am Republican. I am Wiccan. I am not the average person and thank the Goddess I am not.
You walk by me everyday and do not know any of this. I don’t stand out in a crowd. Well, yes I suppose my bright red hair does and the way I walk does, but I don’t look threatening. I look like an average woman with 2 kids.
You do not know what my double life entails. The frustration of not being able to let my husband walk out of our house dressed because we are a military family on a military post and that’s grounds for him being discharged from the service to his country that he loves. My kids can’t know about dad because my son is from a previous marriage and my ex-husband would take him from me in an instant if he knew.
I worry every time my husband goes out dressed without me that he will be hurt. It’s why I usually don’t allow it. Not because I don’t trust him, but because I don’t trust you.
I hear what others think about crossdressing and I really want to take interviewers like Jerry Springer out back and get a switch. The average crossdresser is not the one you see on TV talk shows. They are normal men and women who have a need to dress in the clothing of another gender.
My husband is not a child molester, a rapist, or some sick perverse serial killer. He isn’t morally loose and sleeping around with everyone and everything. He is a man whose internal gender does not match his external gender totally. That is the definition of a Transsexual, but he doesn’t want to be a woman full time either. It’s more complex than him just wanting to be a woman; he wants to be a man too. It’s not some sexual fetish either; he doesn’t need to dress in order to get sexually aroused.
I wish you could walk a mile in my shoes. In my friends’ shoes. In my husband’s shoes. See what we go through every day.
Maybe you’d be a bit more tolerant of those different than yourself.
Voices of New York
Last night I had the pleasure of reading with 7 other Lammy nominees at the Center, and it was a very cool event. (Aaron Krach, author of Half-Life, commented that he wished all readings had been like last night’s: five minutes, no Q&A, with a bunch of queer, friendly people in the audience.) I’m really thankful for Lambda Lit, because as I sat there listening to the readers, it occurred to me how stupid it is that there is so little room in mainstream publishing for GLBT writers. The stories were remarkable: one about an older man who’d fallen in love with a man with Downs Syndrome (Perry Brass, from Serendipity); another about a married man whose male lovers were being killed by a murderer (Gary Zebrun’s Someone You Know); another about a young Irish lad’s meeting with his priest at his mother’s behest (Damian McNicholl’s A Son Called Gabriel, and whose blog I just checked out); another a confrontation between a lesbian of color and her father (Laurinda D. Brown’s Fire & Brimstone).
They were all powerful stories, they were all stories that went beyond some definition of GLBT. They were about what stories are supposed to be about, the quiet little ways we suffer and rejoice in being our lovely, pathetic selves. But at the same time, without the Lammies, who would recognize a wife’s story of her trans husband’s beauty? Where else would I meet people who’d tell me about the tranny they knew, growing up?
It was a lovely night. I’m not 100% better, not yet, but I was damned glad I wasn’t still contagious, and could be there. I regret having missed the reading in DC even moreso now, but I am very much looking forward to the Awards Night at on June 2nd.
Please Donate
If you can, please donate this month to help keep the boards running.
I’m also still collecting money to help buy Lambda Lit Gala tickets for us and James Green and his partner Heidi.
Helen
Rape Crisis Center fights judge's order to talk about woman it counseled
Rape Crisis Center fights judge’s order to talk about woman it counseled
Last Update: 05/08/2005 2:46:35 PM
By: Associated Press
SANTA FE (AP) – A New Mexico judge has ordered two rape crisis center workers to reveal information about a woman they counseled. But rape crisis center operators say the order is alarming.
Operators say if they can’t guarantee confidentiality, victims won’t turn to them for help.
The Albuquerque Rape Crisis Center is asking the state’s Supreme Court to overturn the order issued by state District Judge James Blackmer.
The woman says she was raped in January 2003 by a former boyfriend.
The man’s public defender, Sophie Cooper, says she wants conversations between the center workers and the woman disclosed.
She says the center workers played an important role in convincing the woman she had been raped.
The Supreme Court will hear arguments in the case Tuesday.
Reported by KOB-TV, and thanks to Lynne for bringing it to my attention.
Apologies Again
Apologies once again for not being where I was supposed to be; I’d been looking forward to being on a plenary panel this morning with Eli Clare, Yosenio Lewis, and Betsy Driver to talk about “Alliances, Umbrellas, Coalitions?” in the trans community. I had a lot to say, too – since there were no other workshops that discussed either crossdressers or partners in the rest of this weekend’s conference.
I’ll eventually put my thoughts together and post them here, since once I thought about the subject I realized I had quite a lot to say.
In the
meantime, I fear I’ve managed to get Betty sick as well, and we’re not sure either of us is going to make it to the scheduled party for the NCTE tonight; nor will I make (I doubt) the screening of Susan Stryker’s documentary Screaming Queens, which I was very much looking forward to seeing (as we’d seen a teaser cut of it at Fantasia Fair last year).
On top of everything else, I’ve gotten worse, not better, as my stomach is now in revolt (from all the painkillers, aspirin, and anti-biotics.) The cats, however, encourage me to nap, which is about the only time I don’t feel like hell.
(^ Me with the cats, on a day where I felt much better than I do today.)
Partners, Priorites, and Presentation
I seem to be cranky on Mondays.
I’ll admit upfront that Betty and I were interviewed for the spot on Oprah that Jennifer Finney Boylan and her wife got. Aside from my obvious question of weren’t two episodes of Oprah enough? – since there are so many of us who have written good books about trans issues, and get little to no mainstream publicity – I have a few thoughts on their appearance.
[/raise feminist hackles] I wonder first why it is that when “the media” want to know about transness they go to a transperson who’s written a book, but when they want to know about a partner’s experience, they go to the wife of the transperson who’s written a book, instead of to a partner who’s written a book herself. That is, if you’re going to give any writer credit for thinking about stuff in order to write a book, shouldn’t you give the same credit all around? For me, this was a not-so-subtle reminder that women are still more valued for who they’re married to than for what they’ve accomplished on their own. [/lower feminist hackles]
Of course I know that ultimately JFB and her wife were chosen because Jenny was on the show previously, and everyone wanted to know what this wife who initially refused to speak had to say. Even me.
I understand and thorougly appreciate her need to wait for a time when she wasn’t going to lose her shit on television. She was calm, she smiled, she came off as a sane woman who’s made the best of a bad situation. No Springer-esque accusations and tears, no melodrama, no rage through gritted teeth.
I’m happy for Jenny and Deirdre, that they’ve found whatever kind of peace they have. I know, without asking anyone, that Deirdre still has moments of anger and sadness so deep she probably doesn’t like to admit them even to herself. I know wives who have been with someone who transitioned who still admit to bad days. We saw a glimpse of Deirdre’s raw emotion when Jenny mentioned her expensive new vagina and her sexual interest in men. Just a glimpse, but enough for me to know there’s still something there, vitriol or bitterness or rage.
I get that. Betty and I have had very “successful” interviews turn into day-long arguments after the fact. In one case, we looked at our wedding album in order to provide one show with b-roll and ended up re-evaluating where we’d been, where we were, and where we were headed.
But despite that momentary glimpse into Deirdre’s “dark side,” I’ve already seen posts in the online support community from transpeople enquiring as to how Deirdre “got there.” She was angry, she mourned. We know the stages of grief and we know trans-partners go through them. At the end of the day, it’s what we can and what we cannot accept that determines the outcome of the relationship.
What Deirdre can accept – a celibate marriage – is something I could not. For others, it might be the loss of public heterosexuality. Still others, stubble or short hair. Every partner is different. For transpeople, there are the Standards of Care, which guide and instruct (and to some, gatekeep). There is no SOC for partners, no guidebook, no way of knowing what straw will break a camel’s back. All you can do is talk to her, ask her, keep talking, keep arguing, and understand that where she is in her own process might color her response.
Deirdre’s acceptance – placid now – is based on her giving up sexual intimacy, the love of a man, and the idea of having a husband. She has had to accept that her children will have to explain why they have two mothers – neither of whom is a lesbian. Sometimes women can make outrageously practical decisions. A woman’s generation, her upbringing, her maternal commitment, her sexuality, her unwillingness to be divorced, or single, or to do the dating scene again: all of these might contribute to what decision she makes.
But I don’t think a woman’s ability to make the best decisions she can – and to accept that what she wanted, and what she thought she had, is not what she’s going to get – should be a revelation to anyone. That there is no good answer when it comes to a married transperson’s dilemma shouldn’t shock anyone, either.
And while I think it’s wonderful that America has finally gotten to see one transwoman who’s not a huge mess screaming on Jerry Springer, I also wonder if the swing of the pendulum won’t whitewash trans experience. Normal, after all, also presented a picture of a wife who stayed – despite tears and protest – and who shared a bed with her partner. But counsellors who work with couples and partners tell me that’s rarely the case. Instead, partners are often fuelled by the kind of rage that births vengeful divorces and vicious custody battles. Sometimes the recently-transitioned woman starts spitting misogynist sentiments and unintentionally pointing out the obvious chasm between wives raised women and the women who used to be husbands.
As much as I once criticized the free-for-all bitch sessions of CDSO, I worry now about the impact of the self-sacrificing wife as a standard-bearer for other partners: put up or shut up isn’t a choice. Partners need a safe space for their anger and bitterness, to heal the sense of betrayal, to own their sadness.
I wonder if we, as a community, are so committed to getting positive representations of transfolk into the world’s eye that we might end up forgetting that the positive image is for them (those who know nothing of transness, who might react with fear, mockery, or violence) but that an accurate image is more useful and healing for those of us who are living it. I wonder who will provide safe spaces for partners’ uglier emotions, if conference organizers will prioritize our needs, or if the individual transpeople who are in charge would rather ignore that sound of the other shoe dropping.
It’s not just about every individual transperson paying attention to what’s going on with their own partner. It’s about all of us putting pressure on conferences to make sure there are workshops for partners – and not just the cheerleader ones, either – and finding other spaces where it’s okay to acknowledge that the survival of most MTF relationships depends greatly on the way women are socialized. Jude presented a scenario on the MHB message boards: what would happen if a heterosexual wife of a heterosexual man came out as an FTM? Would he stay? We know he wouldn’t. Why not? Why do we expect the wife to stay in the face of transness and not the husband?
Why – you might ask? Is perceived lesbianism less culturally problematic than perceived homosexuality in men? Is estrogen less feminizing in the case of MTF’s than testosterone is masculinizing for FTM’s? Are women just more accepting? Do women tend to value family and stability a bit more? (yes, yes, yes, and yes, in my opinion)
All of these surely play into it – but in my eyes, the biggest reason is PRIVILEGE. Women are much less likely to have the life skills, confidence, earning power, and education to support themselves (and their kids, as Steve has said). So they hang onto the ship.
Women make their own decisions. As much as transwomen can’t go back and be socialized as the women they were meant to be, those of us raised female can’t undo that we were. And until we have a conversation about why women are raised the way they are, and why men aren’t raised the same way, all of those transwomen who are hoping to make it through transition with a happy partner haven’t got a snowball’s chance in hell.
Ladies' Room?
There are many meaningful things said about the gender divide vis a vis bathrooms, but I didn’t expect to be blogging about it. Still, a couple of recent articles – one in The New York Times, and the other in The NY Post – have brought up all the usual issues and complaints.
If we allow crossdressed men to go into a ladies room, the end of civilization is upon us. Pedophilia will occur at mind-boggling rates. Women will no longer feel safe.
- A few things have occurred to me.
1) The reason women already go to the bathroom in pairs (other than a chance to gossip) is safety. So it’s apparent they already don’t feel safe going alone to the ladies’ room, trannies or not.
2) One of our loyal bloggers actually did some research on the incidence of men crossdressing in order to assault children in bathrooms, and after an evening of making himself heartsick with horrible stories, found only one incidence – which turned out, after all, to be a mistake.
3) It strikes me that the easy answer to this problem is to legislate that new buildings need to include one single-occupancy bathroom. Period. So that the transperson, or woman-raised-female, or child-and-parent (fathers take their kids to the bathroom, too) can use a room that is lockable and private. Other buildings could be required over a period of time to retrofit their own bathrooms for similar use.
4) I wonder often at the people who spew such fear and hatred of strangers, or the unknown. I wonder how they ever feel safe in their worlds.
5) The first time I shared a ladies’ room with a drag queen the only thing that upset me was that she’d remembered to stop at a mirror to freshen her lipstick and I hadn’t.
Not to make light of the situation: women are vulnerable to unprotected spaces, and getting stuck behind a locked door. But I don’t think crossdressers are the men who are going to be assaulting them, and I don’t think the average sex assailant would be willing to emasculate himself to that degree in order to assault women. Transpeople are usually just as scared as women are of assault from men.
Since stalls create the privacy, why aren’t ladies’ room doors transparent? I don’t have a problem with someone watching me put on lipstick or make sure there’s no toilet paper stuck on my shoe (and maybe the clear doors would shame more people into washing their hands – like they’re supposed to). Extra eyes help cut down on violence.
So the real issue is: why don’t women feel safe in restrooms?
My guess is that it’s because we don’t take crimes against women seriously enough – no matter who perpetrates them. They say you can judge a society by how well it treats its women and children, and by those standards, we’re not getting a passing grade. ABC reports an increase in child abuse that’s ‘epidemic’ and the stats on violence against women stay the same year after year. If women don’t feel safe in their own homes, why on earth would they feel safe in a public bathroom? And while you might say these are two different issues, the late Andrea Dworkin said:
By the time we are women, fear is as familiar to us as air; it is our element. We live in it, we inhale it, we exhale it, and most of the time we do not even notice it. Instead of “I am afraid,” we say, “I don’t want to,” or “I don’t know how,” or “I can’t.”
So why are women afraid of transfolks in restrooms? Because women are afraid. While they may not understand that transpeople are not the ones who will assault them, they don’t expect their boyfriends and husbands to assault them, either. And they do. They do. And as usual, what can be feared (because it is unknown, sometimes unknowable, and new) will be feared instead. Their fear is legitimate. Transpeople’s need for accomodation is legitimate. But once again, we’ve got this tiny sliver of pie, and no one’s getting enough to eat. The issue again is male violence – male violence against gay men, transpeople, and women. When we all realize that we’re in this together, maybe, maybe, we’ll take back the night.
Resources: The NY Post and NY Times articles can be found on the MHB Boards, and there’s some sensible legal consideration given to the issue by Michael C. Dore of FindLaw.com.
On Being a Partner
One of our MHB board regulars mentioned that she feels she might be rationalizing away that her wife won’t stay with her through, and post-transition. The idea of it alarmed me, because I think a lot of transwomen want to transition so badly that they kind of glaze over a lot of the realities that might be coming: like a wife who leaves, children who are angry, job loss, etc.
This was my response:
It’s entirely possible for someone to rationalize that she’s going to stick with you through transition, even if you don’t think she will, or if she’s stated she won’t.
That would be a very huge mistake, imho.
I talk to gender therapists sometimes (y’know, for fun) and the cases of wives going ballistic/vengeful are out there. Plenty of them. & While I know you are certain that your wife is an angel of goodness (as am I & all the other partners on here, ahem), you really never know.
Hell hath no fury like a woman whose partner transitions.
But you might replace ‘fury’ with sadness, desperation, frustration, anger, rage, bottomless sorrow.
When I’m feeling coldly rational I think – if Betty transitions, well – I’m only 35 & we have no children. We’re both young enough to find others to love and who love us, & Betty would be better off with a lesbian who loves having a tall, gorgeous woman for a partner instead of me, who really does love & is turned on by her guy self.
And then I think of my wedding pictures, or of the time we went to Scotland when we got engaged, or of when we first met & made a game of making each other guess the name of obscure new wave records, or of how last night she helped me changed the default colors on the new site, or of… many other million things.
& Then I feel angry, & sad, & frustrated, & I want to kick the universe back for the kick it’s given me in the teeth.
Some days, I kick betty instead, when I don’t mean to, but I don’t know what to do with my anger at feeling like I’ve had a really dirty trick played on me, what I was calling for a while ‘the smoothest bait & switch ever perpetrated.’ I mean, I meet the boy of my dreams and it turns out… well you all know how it turns out. The boy of my dreams wants to be 1) the person of my dreams, while also being 2) a woman.
& I don’t see any way out of this that makes any sense. Either he gets what he wants (to be a woman & to be with me) or I get what I want (for him to be something like male, & to be with me). We’ve been traipsing around a middle ground where Betty is sometimes a boy and more often now a girl (even when she thinks she’s passing as a boy, in fact) and right now – it’s like we’re kinda happy. Neither of us is thrilled.
And I consider options: finding a man I could have sex with (but then I realize it’s not about sex). or deciding that having a partner – but maybe not a romantic partner exactly – isn’t so bad (but then I realize I would have ‘married’ one of my gay friends years ago if that was all I wanted). sometimes I think I can live with the burden of being “the reason betty never transitioned” and other days I realize I might, at the end of my days, decide I’ve been a silly, stubborn wretch of a person who put my happiness before betty’s, & how I would regret having done that. some days I think we’re stuck in an O. Henry story with a happy ending, and other days I think we’re stuck in an O. Henry story that has no happy ending, & that – at the end of the day – love & self-sacrifice will not be enough, and that self-sacrifice is just a story, a mug’s game, & just one of the ways we rationalize not making hard decisions about ‘mutual incompatibility’ and all those other things divorce lawyers turn into legalese.
I’m on a partners’ list where a woman who had a hard time supporting her partner’s transition was just told – post-transition – that her partner discovered a desire for men. She will not be the first (or the last) transwoman to discover such a thing, & I’m sure there’s a thread on here somewhere where Dana talks about how that happens (since it happened to her). & when I think about the fact that I might manage going through transition with betty, only to realize that would never happen, I realize too that betty has also told me 1) she didn’t want to be a woman, and 2) that she’d never transition, and 3) well you get the idea. Being with a transperson is all about not knowing what they might figure out next.
So the only way around it, as far as I can figure, is telling Betty that I love her, and trying to dissect what it is that makes me unhappy about having a female partner. There’s the sexual issue. There’s the public identity issue. There’s the “she’s a skinny bitch” issue. There’s the “this brings her so much joy & I only feel sorrow” issue. There’s the feminist issue (because I really don’t see any male partners sticking through transition, no husbands on here wondering what to do when their female wives start taking T.) there’s a lot of compromises I’ve already made & I hate making more. There’s wondering if dealing with this shit is just another version (new & improved & updated for ’05!) of being a doormat.
There’s the fact that often, I feel like with writing the book & making plans to write another, I’ve simply made lemonade out of the lemon I was handed.
& What Dana says – about lies – is all true. You all did lie, maybe to yourselves first & well, & then to us. & to everyone else you know. & though I can forgive that, I don’t know how to not be mad about it.
My goal, you see, is to be able to look at our wedding photos after Betty transitions (if she does) and still be able to say, “That was the best day of my life.” I can’t yet. Right now, I’m going through a period of feeling like it was a sham of sorts. Because Betty’s “self” was. & as a result, I’m not sure who I married.
There is nothing selfish about wanting to be whole. There is nothing wrong, either, with self-expression (though you seemed to take that as my belittling the ‘why’ behind transition, which it wasn’t). what the problem is, is expecting to have the rest of the people in your life be okay with this, to accept your new “self” as having been the only “self” all along. Because we – your partners, your friends – we really liked the old “self.” we fell in love with the old self. We made a commitment to the old self.
& We don’t like being told that there’s a (wo)man behind the curtain, because we feel foolish, tricked, and stupid for having believed the lie.
The only way I live with Betty not transitioning for my sake is to realize that it is, ultimately, her decision. She could gamble & lose. She could gamble & win. But it’s her decision.
Mine is to stay, or to go, to be generous or vindictive. But I can’t change what I’ve been handed at all. Neither can you. & most days, that’s what helps us: is knowing that neither of us wanted this, that both of us would rather have it otherwise, & that all we can do, at the end of the day, is try to find our love somewhere in the shared difficulty of knowing we have to deal with this.
Helen
The entire thread is proving to be one of the most thought-provoking to show up on the boards for a while.
Guest Author: Diana
In the Femme Fever group, Karen asked crossdressers to write something about crossdressing, and asked transsexuals to comment on their own decisions to transition. One of the first responses was this articulate piece by a transsexual who for many years identified as a crossdresser. I thought its reverse chronology helped illuminate how someone who has crossdressed for years realizes their transsexualism. Thanks to Diana for her permission to share it.
For about the first forty-years of life, I thought of myself as a crossdresser. Opportunities to dress were extremely infrequent. When an occasion did arise, I was tremendously disheartened when my appearance didn’t come anywhere close to what I both wanted and expected. Purging would then be an immediate action. “That’s it,” I’d tell myself. “This is crazy–I’m crazy–never again will I give-in to this idiotic fantasy!”
But, as the years passed, I continued the buy-dress-purge cycle. Might still be doing that had I not changed jobs. My new employer was very big on training. Their “academy” is located in America’s heartland–far from where I lived in New York. Since training classes can run anywhere from two-weeks to three-months in length, there was lotsa time spent away from home–away from my wife, kids, and all the other responsibilities that seemed to complicate crossdressing.
Although I would have denied it, in retrospect, my “crossdressing” behaviors became very much a compulsion. From 7:30 a.m. to 4 p.m., on Mondays through Fridays, I was just another of the thousand (or so) students attending various “academy” training classes. At all other moments I was “Diana.” Over time, I became better at achieving a more acceptable (to me) appearance. After a while, I began going out to clubs. One probably wouldn’t expect a well-developed gay community in what’s definitely Bible Belt country, but there were places to go seven-nights-a-week. The club scene was hopping–and I was a VERY active participant.
After a couple of years, I became aware of some rather (at that time) unsettling facts: It was getting harder and harder to go back to the male appearance. I also realized that happiness only existed when I was “Diana.” As a women there was (and still is) a comfort and self-satisfaction. That just did not happen when I was in “male” mode.
The actual turning point occurred somewhere around the year 1999. My class was ending but I didn’t wanna go back home. Lied to my spouse and told her that they’d added another two-week course. The “male” me didn’t make a single appearance during those two weeks. Finally, there was no other choice but to start driving back home. This time, though, instead of leaving all of Diana’s things in a storage facility, they were either packed in my car or shipped via U.P.S. to my home address. Although my spouse was aware of the “crossdressing,” she didn’t have a clue that it’d become much more than simply a part-time activity.
I remained “Diana” for the first four days of the cross-country drive. At a motel, about a day distant from my home, I sadly undressed, removed the acrylic fingernails, and promised myself that, one day, “Diana” would reappear as her true self–never again to be relegated to suitcases and packing boxes.
Fulfilling that promise turned out to be the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. (Y’all are just gonna hafta wait for my book to learn the details.)
The decision to transition has affected me on the inside in many ways–some expected and some that I never could have predicted. Most significantly, is a sense of serenity that says all’s right in my world. I’ve now come to realize that pretending to be someone who I really wasn’t–and living-up to society’s expectations for that person–took a tremendous amount of effort. Today, being myself is virtually effortless. Please don’t misunderstand that statement. I strive to be feminine, and this does indeed require quite a bit of effort. Yet, it’s an effort which is in-accord with how I truly see myself. In the past, I worked to achieve something that was totally at-odds with my real inner-self. The difference between these two, types of effort is absolutely amazing. Achieving my feminine best invigorates; working at trying to be a male took everything I had–leaving me physically and psychologically drained.
Because I decided to follow the S.O.C., my journey included countless sessions with gender therapists. This process helped to refine not only my perceptions of self, but it also brought about changes in how I felt about those with whom I share this world. A biggie here revolves around my new ability not to take the slightest degree of ownership in any “problems” others may have with me. That’s critical during the transition–and pretty neat thereafter. Alas, there are always going to be those who view the entire transgender community as subjects worthy of ridicule and abasement. This is also sometimes/often true when it comes to our families. Buying into such “problems” held by others–including family–has derailed any number of transition plans.
Another thing I learned during therapy was that it’s perfectly acceptable to think of myself in a positive light. I’m not a bad person–although I useta believe otherwise–and it’s quite healthy to focus on assets. Of course, one should also be aware of the not-so-good stuff if there’s to be any degree of self-improvement.
In preparing for transitioning I needed to squarely address the issue of guilt. It took a good year before I could “talk the talk,” and almost another year until I was able to also “walk the walk.” In other words, I learned to accept that guilt can not exist when being transgendered is totally beyond one’s ability to control. This ties directly to self-acceptance. The transitioning process is very much one in which we must come-to-terms with the “who” and “what” of our essential being. I accept that “who” and “what” without qualifications.
It’s said that when someone transitions, the inner person doesn’t change. Although my basic tenets and ethos are still firmly in-place, I have indeed changed. Mostly, however, those changes have resulted from the new-found freedom to be myself, 24/7, without any pretense or other constraints arising from unrealistic attempts at conforming to society’s expectation(s) for a man. I’m plainly a woman and, as such, there’s absolutely no expectation(s) that I act otherwise. Hooray!
Please Donate
If you can, please donate this month to help keep the boards running and Helen from pulling her hair out. Also needed: someone to help Helen & Betty buy tickets to the Lambda Literary Gala in June. (From what I know, Jamison Green and his partner Heidi need help going as well, so if you want to donate to me so I can help James buy their tickets, let me know!)
Helen