Sorry it’s been a while. I’ll do an update post soon, but this is going to be a pretty specific post.

I went to see my therapist last week, as mostly a catch up session; it’d been almost a year since we’d last spoken, and I’d gone through a relationship breakup, losing friends, blood clots, surgery approval, a new relationship, changes in self image, etc…

At the end of the session, I made another appointment, and told her a few things I wanted to discuss. One was about mourning the life I never had – much in the same way I’ve mourned the child I’ll never have. This is turning into a more complicated issue.

In a discussion with my girlfriend, or actually one of her alters, I found some startling similarities with how my mind worked in that regard as well. While I don’t believe I have Dissociative Identity Disorder (I lack a few diagnostic criteria), the mechanism that my brain used is quite relatable.

I essentially created James. He (as I’ve mentioned previously, James was as close to male as I could make him) wasn’t created over night. He evolved from a need, or desire, to conform to my world. In an act of protectionism, I created this persona to present to the outside world.

That persona allowed me to:

avoid being bullied
avoid being alienated
feel less abnormal
hide and/or fit in
disguise myself
have a life

Of course it wasn’t perfect. In situations like this it never is. I was drawing on those around me to base this persona on, because as I’ve found out, it certainly was not me.

So anyway, I was chatting with her alter, and recalled that my therapist had me try and manifest James and myself in a session, to see what they might say to each other. It was more meta than actually thinking I had 2 distinct personalities (and the reason I don’t think I have D.I.D. is that they are not separate identities).

When that happened, I had a rather profound moment of James apologizing to me. I’ve written about this in the past. But we didn’t really explore more beyond that. I got really emotional, and that kind of ended the moment. Now I’m exploring that a bit deeper.

The apology was, essentially, for keeping me locked up deep down, underneath all the shit that he couldn’t deal with (which included me – he didn’t really know how to deal with me). He tried letting me out in controlled environments. But I was still caged, and I don’t just mean by location. He would not give up control, he’d just enlarge the prison a bit. This is what my ‘crossdressing’ was, and why I always had trouble moving or expressing naturally until I got rid of the James part.

In my talk with Melissa the next day, I was saying that i didn’t really forgive James for what he had done to me, even though I know he was trying to protect me (that was why I built him). She then asked if things would have been better if I had been out 10, 15, 20 years ago. No. I would have been in a lot more pain, a lot more depression, WAY more acute dysphoria, and very likely suicidal.

So, James actually did save me. I can admit that. So, I can, and do, forgive him. The real issue is that I don’t forgive myself yet. I didn’t even try to unbury myself. I never tried to wrest control from him. The one time cracks did form in his protective bubble, I tried to kill myself. I needed him for sure – he kept me alive. But where was I? The real me? I can’t blame James for me not trying to exist.

In fact, it likely was me helping keep the self denial in full effect. I whispered that I was fine with existing in private situations. Why was I okay with this for so long? Why, when I did sense freedom, did I just want to end everything? (yes, there were other circumstances in play, but still).

Early in transition, I just attributed this to being so deep under everything, that I wasn’t able to exert in any way. I don’t think that’s true. I think it was fear. I was afraid of all the things I built James to protect me from. I never faced ANY of those fears though. They MAY have been true, real fears, but not once (to my recollection anyway) had I ever been threatened with any of that.

I had been able to live without any real gendered oppression early in life. I played with wigs and skirts and stuffed animals and cars and action figures. When I saw dozens more children, eventually, in kindergarten (or maybe it even started before that, and just accelerated in K) I decided to emulate those I looked like. I know I got asked often if I was a boy or a girl. Maybe someone said something about my long hair? I don’t know.

I’m rambling. The issue is why didn’t I at least try and face my fears. Why was I so content to go the route I went. I was a fairly extroverted kid until about age 5. I distinctly remember switching from outgoing to shy. That was the point James took over. What was I hiding from so early? It’s infuriating that I don’t have a ton of memories from this stage in my life. I have vivid memories from before this. Then things are muddy for a few years. Around age 8 I start remembering things again.

So, what do I need to do to forgive myself? I can’t change the past. It’d be nice if I could remember more of my mental state back then. By the time I start remembering again I’m in full self denial. There must have been a transition stage for that. Maybe I’m putting too much responsibility on a very young mind.

Hmm, maybe that’s the problem. Ok, this kind of makes sense. Because I, buried under everything, was not always super present, maybe it took me a while to grow up. Everything was coming in under a heavily processed filter. This could explain a few other things too (such as my inner child). I shouldn’t expect that I was as hyper self aware as I am now. Of course I wasn’t. I was just a kid. We don’t know why some children self assimilate, they just do. It could even be instinctual.

I know I’m not weak. I consider myself to be very strong. I feel I’ve been thinking about this all wrong. I’ve always been driven by frustration. Every major change or decision in my life is driven by frustration. For good or bad. Maybe this was true of myself even back then. Something about how life was going at that time was frustrating me. Something I didn’t know how to even process – maybe it was, in all likelihood, dysphoria. Seems like a good enough scapegoat.

Maybe THAT was what scared me, or frustrated me at least, to bring about ‘James’. If it was something that was rational like that, I can’t even blame myself. I survived as best I could. And I DID survive. Ultimately, that’s the most important part. I am finally out from my prison. James has been integrated and no longer exists as a semi-separate entity. I’ll go into that in another post.

I’m going to process this some more, but I think I’m on a good track. It’s something that makes sense. It may not be accurate, but I don’t think I’ll ever know exactly.

*******

A brief exposition on my personalities. I have a few. Most of us do. The extent of their separation varies from person to person. People who put on their ‘game face’, or inner child, or the salesman, the teacher, the domme etc…

My personalities have a bit more separation and distinction between them.

James – The protector. The outward male persona that developed over 30+ years of hiding myself. Also the athlete and the gamer. The one that did not like eating mushrooms, raw fish, squash, food on the bone. An introvert by necessity. The filter. James doesn’t really exist as a separate persona anymore. He’s been integrated. He’s part of why I ultimately identify as non-binary. I’ve tossed aside his ridiculous parts – the filter, the strange eating rituals, the introvert. But I’ve kept the protector, the athlete, the gamer, and a bit of the masculinity (which used to worry me, but I’m cool with it now).

Jessica – me. The totality of me. Including ALL my personalities. I grew up without really having a name except maybe Jamie when I was young, but then James co-opted that. It wasn’t until I was in my 30s that I got a new name. Part of me was allowed to express in total secrecy (Starting at age 8), and then my prison got larger as friends were allowed to see some of me. They were never getting all of me though, because James (as the filter) was still there. I am VERY strong. Extroverted. Talkative. Loving. Emotional as hell.

Lyrren – my inner child. I have claimed this name for this part of me. I express my inner child at times for many different reasons. I never want to lose my ability to play, and be silly. But also this part of me is ULTRA vulnerable. Lyrren isn’t seen directly by many, except a close knit group of friends. She’s the one that does Lego, does jig-saw puzzles even after saying I don’t like puzzles, and demands I get certain stuffies. Lyrren also serves as a way for me to recapture something that was lost to me. MY childhood. I grew up fairly fast, and from age 5 up, it was more James’ childhood than mine.

There are other nameless personalities too, more like what everyone else has.

I said this recently to someone I was chatting with…

“The thing with self denial is if you know you’re denying at some level, you also know it’s true on another level.”

The more I think about this, the more I think it must be true. All the signs I found when looking back at my life, and wondering why I didn’t realize I was trans. I didn’t realize it because I already knew. Wanting to wake up as a girl because I didn’t want to have to transition, etc… I knew all along that I was a girl and then a woman. I just wasn’t allowing myself to believe it.

I think this had a divisive effect on my personality, or id. I split into 2 parts, denying myself, and accepting myself. The denying part won control for most of my life. Suffocating the other part. The denying part made me want to hide, keep my inner most thoughts only to myself, put a bubble around me that kept me safe. My denying side’s interpretation of safe anyway. Pretty sure my accepting side would have felt safer existing outwardly.

I’m finding now that I’ve shed that denial that a whole new me has emerged. I also commented recently to a friend that I never understood how girls could just be so casual about having their breasts stand out so much when all I wanted was to not have a bulge in my pants at all. Now I understand. I wasn’t having the ‘right’ feeling about my self image, and now that I do, I proudly have my own breasts standing out from my chest without so much as the smallest amount of shame. I’m proud to be me. (bit of a pun there for those who get it)

I can tell a complete stranger some of my most intimate thoughts, and I find it hard to keep things secret about myself. Discretion is called for, for a few things, but I hate doing it. I wish our society was more advanced. I want to just divulge everything. And I do to certain friends at least, which is such an amazing thing to finally be able to do.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to do self denial about anything anymore. Not that I think there’s anything left to need it. I don’t regret going through it, because it has led me to where I am right now, and I like where I am right now. The people that I have in my life, new friends and old, family, and the internet readers of this blog mean so much to me now.

Now that my personality is no longer split in this way, it makes it so easy to connect with people in a way I was never able to before. And that is probably the greatest gift to myself in my transition: connection.

I’ve had a lot of people ask if I was, or assume I was nervous about the whole thing. I was, but not for the reason most people would think. The vast majority of my grad peers are supportive and accepting of me already. I had come out to as many of them as I had contact information for. So, that wasn’t an issue. I also was fairly certain, anyone that did not know about my transition, would have been ok with me anyway. Our grad class is just like that. 25 years on, and we almost all still stay in touch. It is awesome.

What I was nervous about, was how I would handle being misgendered, and reminiscing, and remembering times from that part of my life. After all, there were going to be people there that hadn’t interacted with me in person since I began transition, and there was going to be alcohol which would probably increase the number of slip ups.

I don’t remember how many times I got called James, or how many times I was referred to as he/him. And it doesn’t matter, because it didn’t bother me in the least. These were and are my friends. There was zero ill intent behind any of it. If anything, they were enthusiastic to talk with me, and reminisce.

And that’s where things went weird for me. It was the memories that I was most nervous about. I figured I’d be good with the misgendering because I am very forgiving of friends and family that do it. It’s when complete strangers do it to me that it’s a problem.

When people started bringing up the past, my memories were rewriting themselves in real time. I was picturing everything as if I’d been Jessica my entire life. Sometimes those memories made no sense, like seeing myself as Jessica on the boys basketball team. But that is really how I was seeing it, in my mind. I had heard from a friend that this is something that happens in transition. Our brain works to make our life seem coherent to us. It reworks memories so that we see ourselves as we view our true selves. It has to do with our self image, and the way that works in the brain. I figured it’d happen at some point, but I was not expecting to actually be witness to it happening in real time.

Besides the coolness of memory rewrites, the rest of the evening was spectacular. Of course there was not enough time to talk to everyone. There never is, but this is the first of the 3 reunions where I wanted to talk to practically everyone there. I talked almost non stop for 6 or 7 hours. By the end, my throat and my voice were shot. But I was on such an emotional high. The food was incredible as well. There was plate after plate of amuse bouches, meat platters, fruit platters, and then dessert.

I had a few drinks, but I really didn’t need anything to loosen my tongue. The conversations I had were better than I expected.

The stand-out conversations and events were:

one friend, who had no foreknowledge of my transition, chatting with me about about his niece who transitioned.

another friend chatting about seeing a friend of mine perform slam poetry.

a brilliant conversation with my LAPD friend.

one of my best friends from high school getting in cab and heading off to the casino to play poker.

that same friend earlier, saying too bad I didn’t know in high school, I would have dominated the girls’ sports teams. To which, I said, I did pretty damn good on the boys’ teams for a girl.

getting bought a drink by a guy for the first time ever.

hearing that some people were asking who the tall woman was, because they couldn’t remember any girls that tall in school.

getting a lot of hugs.

being told by one peer how much he admired me and respected me, even though he didn’t really remember me from high school. It was so genuine, I almost cried. I’m hoping to chat more with him.

and just overall the feeling of being accepted. It’s one thing to have it in writing from everyone, but to be in a room with 40-odd people and not feeling the slightest bit out of place, in fact, feeling a greater sense of belonging to this group of people than I ever have in the last 25-28 years.

Cheers to all of NSSS class of 1990. Love you all, and thank you.

Jess

I ordered some pizza from a food court outlet, and when I was handed the pizza I got a, “here ya go, sir.”

It even took me a moment to register that it happened. I didn’t bother saying anything because the chances of me ever seeing this person again are very slim.

At first, I thought it was no big deal. Didn’t really seem to bother me. I told a couple people close to me about it, and got some reassurances.

But as the afternoon went on, I noticed I was getting extremely frustrated with things. If something was in my way, it got kicked, or thrown out of the way. The level went from nothing to sky high in seconds. It has to be from this incident. Nothing else happened today other than my spork broke in half and is now a really short spoon and a really short fork.

To help alleviate things I reached out to a friend that suggested listening to music, or humming. I finally settled on a short walk away from ‘things’ while humming some My Little Ponies song. It helped. Until I started the next task at the job site. Removing a, roughly, 20 year old pampas grass. By shovel. It was going well enough cutting the top off with hedge trimmers, but when I got to the part of actually trying to get the roots out – *poof* back to frustrated.

I started violently digging at the roots, actually hoping that my bad elbow (which has been mending finally) would give out and I’d have to go to the hospital. Hoping that something would tear or let go, or pop out of place. I stopped that pretty quickly when I realized what I was doing. Took an early coffee break at that point.

Things seemed a bit better after that break. Got it done without breaking anything or anyone.

Today’s afternoon has led me to start thinking that maybe all my build ups of frustration throughout my life, have actually been my way of interpreting my dysphoria. It puts a bit of a new spin on the whole idea. I always thought I merely felt resigned to be male, and that it was a background kind of thing. Muted. Distant. But if all my bouts of frustration, where I’d wind up punching things, or being self destructive, if they were from my dysphoria then that would make a lot of sense.

So, now that I possibly know (it feels kinda right) where it’s coming from… the next step is to work on releasing the pressure before it builds to me trying to rip my elbow apart again. And that was from one misgender. One. And I KNEW it was going to happen. I also now know I was not as prepared as I told myself I was.

Hugs,
Jess

Sports allowed my mind to focus. I’m sure this is a testosterone based ability, evolved from hunting. All periphery thoughts fade into a fog until there’s nothing but you, and the sport. You don’t even really hear the crowd, or the squeak of running shoes on wood. You remember them later, but in the moment, there’s just the game.

For me, it was good to have that focus as much as I could. It was like a distraction, but more intense. There were no thoughts of who I was, or what I was, or why I was. I remember playing ball hockey in the school parking lot for hours and hours after school almost every day that didn’t rain. Exhausting myself, and thinking back on it, actually revelling in any hurts that I accumulated. I never wore shin guards, and got hacked on my shins constantly. I liked it. Maybe it was like a subconscious penance for all my guilt. I never even felt the pain until much later. My shins are riddled with barely noticeable scars.

Organized sports were just as distracting. School teams meant I was playing for something. I subscribed whole heartedly to the team mentality. Something I learned from playing soccer when I was 7. I think I was also viewing it as a way of making my Dad proud of me. And it definitely was something that disguised my inner turmoil. Not that I didn’t enjoy the competition, but it was definitely that focus that I craved more than anything. I was even aware of it to a certain extent, because I could see that I was using the distraction to cope (hide/bury) with other things that were bothering me.

Education wise, I was a fairly good student. I sucked at doing homework. I lucked out in my life by having several really good teachers. They could actually ‘teach’. When I was taught something, I picked it up. It seemed redundant to then do homework to me. Drove several teachers nuts with that. lol. Unfortunately, that practice did little good at preparing me for university, where there were no teachers, just professors. I could almost lose myself as easily in school work (if it was something I wanted to learn) as I could with the sports.

Reading was a big thing for me growing up as well. All escapist fantasy fiction. Losing myself in the fictitious worlds. I also played a lot of role playing games, like Dungeons and Dragons. I see a trend here. Everything I did was to escape. I’m only realizing this as I’m typing. I never even thought about it when I made my personal discovery in December.

My feminine side was also around a lot during high school. Any time I wasn’t escaping, I was probably dressed up somewhat at home. There were no ‘outfits’ or makeup, there were just various pieces of clothing. I loved pantyhose and tights. Still do, if I’m honest. I was in my bedroom a lot. That’s not so uncommon for teenage boys I don’t think. Most of my clothing was salvaged from laundry room leftovers. I did manage to buy the occasional thing from a store, but that was very rare, and very nerve racking. On one occasion, I managed to snag some clothes from a donation bag.

I never got into the wearing of girls clothes under my ‘normal’ clothes during high school, that came much later in life. Was too worried about someone seeing something – as if people looked that closely at my butt. lol.

On to friends. I think I had a decent amount of friends. Some close, some just good acquaintances, and some that I’d just say, “hi,” to everyday. Yet, I was very lonely growing up. As I just wrote, I was escaping as often as I could. Some of those friends were doing the same things as me, maybe not for the same reasons, but teammates were great friends, as were my role playing game friends.

Because I was so closed off, I can’t recall having one deep, meaningful conversation through high school at all. It’s not like we just talked about the weather, but there was never any talk of feelings. Mind you, I guess guys don’t really do that, but I had female friends too. I had no idea what was wrong with me (not that I view it as a wrongness now, but I did then) and couldn’t think of anyway that I could tell anyone and have them still talking to me after I told them.

I can’t say I hated high school. I have some really fond memories, and even if there wasn’t meaningful conversations, I miss the social aspect that we had. I was so happy when Facebook came around, and I could have all those high school friends on my friends list. I could keep in touch with them all (except for a few that I’m still missing). Having them all be part of my transition now is such an incredible turn around from those times in school. I feel connected to them all (or at least the ones that have replied, or commented, or ‘liked’) for the first time.

Love you all, high school peeps (I never say peeps)!
Jess

I can’t recall ever actually being happy about the way I looked as James. Thinking about it in a new perspective, I can see my gender dysphoria having a lot to do with that, if not even it being the root cause. Every time someone called me ‘handsome’ I would instantly discredit the compliment internally. I never wanted to be handsome anyway, I wanted to be cute.

My first girlfriend was at age 26. I had a lot of crushes from grade 6 until then. I spent an entire year going to the local mall as many nights as I could to hang out and talk to a particular girl that worked in a clothing store there. Even taking her lunch break with her. I never got the nerve to even ask her out. This was pretty much normal for me.

There was even one time where a girl asked me out via a note, and she was even a redhead (I’m partial to redheads) and I couldn’t call her. I was so socially awkward in that respect. I could have girls as friends – I was just unable to move beyond that. I had a hard time even thinking of what a relationship would look like, since I liked wearing girls’ clothes. Surely, I couldn’t tell them, so I’d have to hide the clothes, and then be extra sure not to say anything that would give me away.

I remember trying to compliment a girl in high school about some clothing she was wearing. I got the oddest looks from her and her friend. That immediately stopped that. It’s not that they laughed at me, but there was no real acceptance of the compliment either. It was just very very awkward.

The first girlfriend came about because she worked with a close friend, and we (all parties) wound up at this friend’s parents house for a bit and chatted briefly. Later I was told she thought I was cute. That was the key word. I wonder, now, if I would have gone through with dating her if she had said I was handsome.

No one knew I was inept and VERY inexperienced at relationships. I did tell her on our first date, that I hadn’t had any girlfriends before. She was from a religious upbringing, and was a virgin (as well) and hadn’t had many boyfriends, so it was almost an even playing field. We dated for about 3 months, and it ended poorly. Not with acrimony or anything like that, but it seemed like things were going really well – it was almost love at first sight for me. But, I think things were going too fast for her (most of you will laugh at that I think – 3 months no sex doesn’t sound very fast compared to other relationships I’ve had since this one).

She broke up with me. She had the decency to do it in person. She told me that she had had a dream the other night, and in this dream, we were getting married. At the altar she wound up running away from the wedding, and then the dream shifted. Next she was on a swing, swinging higher and higher, until she fell off and woke up as she hit the ground. This dream, I was told, was pretty much her reason for breaking up with me.

I was a mess for 2 weeks. Never having had this kind of rejection before, I was so ill prepared for it. I kept to myself while at home, worrying my roommates greatly. At work I was there but not there. My one co-worker even joked, “What’s wrong? Girlfriend break up with you?” Me, “Yep.” Him, “Oh. Sorry.”

During the 3 months of dating her, I was constantly worried about being found out. Worried that she’d see something at my place, or I’d say something wrong. I tried to figure out how to tell her, but the idea seemed pretty much preposterous. I had the feeling during the entire relationship that I wasn’t giving her all of me. This was the catalyst for me to need to tell someone.

As a crossdresser (which is how I was identifying back then) I went through what most do: purges. This is where the shame and guilt of what we’re doing builds up so much that we throw out all of our female attire and swear off dressing up ever again. I believe I did this 4 times. It’s a behaviour that I think was also involved when I got rid of my stuffed animals. It’s an effort to be what we’re not. And if my last month has proven anything, it’s that this is the stupidest thing transgender people do. (The smartest thing being accepting who we are whole heartedly)

A purge would basically involve me rounding up everything I had – pantyhose, panties, bras, blouses, skirts, dresses – putting them in garbage bags, and throwing them in the trash. A complete removal of everything. No tempting things left behind. I think the longest I went without rebuilding my collection was about a week. It’s stupid on so many levels. It’s expensive, mentally and emotionally damaging, and you always wind up letting yourself down at the end.

There was just no way to deal with that shame and guilt. It felt so good to wear the clothes, and then after you’d think about how ‘wrong’ it was to get enjoyment from that. And you’d dwell on that. Every single time. There was never once where I didn’t feel that. It’s very hard to think of yourself in a good light when you are stuck in this vicious cycle. And on top of that, having no one to talk to about it. Thinking you’re the only one that is this way (only to find out later that practically every transgender person of my generation went through the same exact thing). Then, finding shows like Donahue, and Sally, and Jerry – only to see transgender people portrayed as fetishists, or perverts, or mentally ill.

Even now, there is so little positive transgender message in mass media. There is some, and it is getting better, but there are still portrayals of transgender people being criminals in shows like CSI (which has shown transgender people in good light too).

I wound up being a virgin until I was 29. At 29 I was dating a woman who was very much into me, and I was only somewhat into her. I basically surrendered my virginity to avoid being a 30 year old virgin. Up until this point, this wasn’t something a lot of people knew about me. I never lied about it, but I would always be very vague. I don’t care to hide things anymore, or be vague. It’s not helpful.

I actually think that my losing my virginity at that point was detrimental to my self esteem. It was probably very close to date rape. It was our second date, and she had tried on the first date. Funny how I don’t even equate her wanting to have sex with me that badly as a self esteem boost. This is not a relationship that I did well in. It’s the one where I tuned out and essentially made her break up with me. So, the whole thing kind of makes me feel worse about myself.

Skip ahead to now and things are very different. It’s probably apparent to some of you or most of you, but my self esteem is miles ahead of where it was. Even if I’m not the most feminine looking woman facially (and that may [hopefully] change with hormones) I can look in the mirror and see a cute woman. I can walk with my head held high and look people in the eye when I’m out now. Before I allowed myself to be authentic, if I went out dressed as a woman, I was always looking down, trying to draw the least attention to myself. Now, I value that attention.

Yes, I get ‘read’ often, but probably not even as often as I think I do. I blend in, but I don’t do it by retreating. I do it by being confident in myself. I don’t purposefully do any specific feminine mannerisms, I let it all come out naturally. There’s a spring in my step when I walk, I smile for no reason. The rigidity of masculinity is gone, I’m way more fluid. I don’t care that I’m 6’5″, or that my hands are big, or that my feet are large. Instead, I am proud that I’m tall, and can be seen from across a crowded room. My fingers are long and slender, so while not the prettiest, they aren’t grossly masculine hands. My feet are also not that wide, and I have found wonderful boots and shoes that look good and proportional on me (as long as people don’t see my feet without socks or stockings, I’m fine lol).

There are steps to go yet in my transition that will aid my self esteem even more. And I am very much looking forward to them.

– Jess

Addendum (January 11, 2015):

Teresa pointed out that I skipped over our marriage. It wasn’t a conscious decision. I definitely had issues of poor self esteem over the last 10 years. My infertility being the biggest blow. At that time I was still identifying as a male, and it’s a pretty big hit to your view of self when you fail at being a male. That was how I viewed my infertility; a failure. Obviously it was nothing I had done, but it was part of me nonetheless.

Another thing I had issues with was loss of hair due to testosterone and DHT. It was a gradual loss, but I never realized how much it was affecting me until much later. Luckily Teresa managed to convince me to shave my head early on into our marriage. It made it bearable, but I’ve never been able to take ownership of my hair loss. It affects me to this day. I can make jokes about it, but I prefer to hide it beneath wigs, or bandanas, or hats, or even a wig cap. As long as I can’t see my scalp, it doesn’t bother me (as much).