It seemed to be triggered with some kind of emotional cycle I have now. I’ve had a cycle before, in my teens, it was a couple manic days every 28 days. This does not seem to have a mania. And the period (scientific term, not menstrual) is different this time – 21 days.

Every 21 days I seem to crash emotionally. At least since I started tracking, and it’s pretty exact. One was 22 days. but 4 in a row now. Usually it’s just being really emotional (for me this is saying something), and a bit depressed. It lasts a couple days, and I get better.

That didn’t happen this time.

On day 21, I woke up feeling crappy because I didn’t sleep well. That is normal enough for this cycle. I showered, and got dressed. Felt a bit better. I think we went and looked at an apartment open house, and went for coffee. That evening Teresa had wanted to get dressed up nice and go for dinner down by the ocean. I thought this would be a great way to get me to cheer up, I always like getting dolled up.

So, we headed home, got changed, and I put my hair up, put a flower hair clip in, did my makeup and that’s when things went south. I took a couple selfies because I thought I looked good, but none of the pics were looking flattering. I went to the kitchen for different lighting, and tried again. I sent one to Melissa who said I looked great. Teresa said I looked great. The more I looked at the photos, and then back to the mirror, the less great I thought I looked.

I began to hate how I looked. I eventually took the flower out, and let my hair down, which helped enough to get me out the door. The damage was done, a spiral had started. I was quiet on the drive, but was trying really hard to snap out of it. After all, I know I look somewhat attractive. People keep telling me this. I had been telling me this for the last 7 months or so. All that disappeared in a cloud of self doubt and even some self hate.

At one point I went to the bathroom in the restaurant and cried. After dinner we went and sat by the pier for close to an hour. Hundreds of people much have walked by, with no looks of disdain, or scorn, or hate. Just a few smiles, and mostly just people glancing over me, not singling me out for anything (even with purple hair).

It didn’t help how I felt at all. When we got home, I took my makeup off, and that actually eased the dysphoria a lot. I don’t know why. I had done it the way I usually do when I put a lot of effort in. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but it felt like it just accentuated all my masculine facial features.

The next day wasn’t much better. I put less makeup on, and that helped, but I was still only seeing ‘boy’. Talking with Melissa later, I figured it might have been from me being dehydrated a bit combined with non-uniform swelling from electrolysis. Subtle changes in skin can really affect how you look.

It took 5 more days until I finally saw me in the mirror again.

The makeup thing is still there though, I think. I feel way better about how my face looks with just mascara and lipstick and a touch of blush. If I start going overboard with eyeliner, or foundation, my brain is rejecting it. This is fine, but I’d like to know why or what changed.

On the flip side of this, is an amazing ability to go days without shaving, and not having dysphoria about that. My face, essentially, does not need shaving anymore. I don’t think I would be doing as well with it, if the stubble was on my face. But it isn’t on my face, it’s on my neck. And 99.5% white hair.

I’m a little worried about it in bright sunlight (white hairs tend to be fairly reflective), but so far, my feelings about it are pretty good. I’m ok with the stubble because it means less shaving (the act itself is dysphoria inducing) and it means the hairs are much easier to deal with at electrolysis.

So, just a wordy update that I wanted to get out there. Thanks, as always, for reading.

Hugs.

PS – I was able to hold off from any self harm even though the desire was super high.

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.

In the last 6 to 8 weeks, I have developed really good self esteem.

Never in my entire life did I think I would ever have this feeling. I was sure that every time I looked in a mirror, I would see all the things that are ‘wrong’ with my face and ‘wrong’ with my body, because that was how I always saw my reflection. I had even, cursorily, considered surgery to possibly correct a few things.

Granted, things had gotten better with my body feminization from hormones. I was really loving my body more than I ever had before. I think developing that definitely helped with this overall feeling. Of course, there’s still one thing I need to correct with that, but I know that will happen.

The main part of this high self esteem is coming from my face. I am simply not seeing my past at all in the mirror. None of my features look particularly masculine to me anymore. Yes, hormones have affected my face some, but I don’t think to the degree that I am seeing. I think this is just as much mental as it is physical.

When I have low self esteem, all the little things stand out as ‘wrong’ or ‘manly’ or ‘ugly’ etc… That’s not happening anymore. Instead, I’m seeing all the little things that stand out as ‘right’ or ‘womanly’ or ‘pretty’ and they are overriding the negative view.

I keep mentioning to the people that I’ve talked about this with, that it is such a bizarre feeling. I’ve cried several times just walking in to the bathroom because the image in the mirror, to me, looks 100% acceptable and beautiful to me.

The opposite of dysphoria is euphoria. I do feel kind of euphoric. The only thing that has caused me any dysphoria lately has been shaving, and winding up with razor burn on my neck. It’s just weird I tell you. There’s no reason for me to have developed this feeling, other than from any actual changes that have occurred from hormones.

I’ve always had a confidence about myself since self-acceptance. This makes that confidence take a bit less effort to maintain. I’m glad for it, and to those that I keep mentioning this to, I’m sorry. I just need time to adapt I guess.

I went for a kidney ultrasound last week. A week before, when thinking about the appointment, I mulled over informing them I was trans before the test. Then I had 2 thoughts. First, it’s my kidneys, nothing much up there that is different for an XY vs an XX human. Second, they’ll obviously know I’m trans.

At my ultrasound, the tech informed me he was doing a bladder check too. So, I slipped my skirt a bit lower, lifted my shirt up, and he started. Pretty quickly he developed a confused look on his face. Then it seemed he was trying to find something – pressing harder, changing the area of search, etc… I really had to pee, and this was not helping as he was pressing all over my bladder.

He looks down at me and asks, “have you had any surgeries in this area?”

So, again, thinking he knows I’m trans, is asking if I’d had the vaginoplasty. I guess because things shift a bit during that surgery. So, I say, “no, no surgeries.”

He continues to examine me, looking more worried now than confused. Then it seems he finds something, and stops, and goes to my chart. Looks back at me, and looks at the chart, and says, “ermm… your chart says female….”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, but I could tell it was a question. I realized he had found my testicle in the inguinal canal. “Oh! I’m transgender,” I say, as a bit of relief comes over his face.

He was worried I was a ciswoman with no womb, ovaries, etc… and didn’t know how to deal with that, because he can’t disclose anything diagnostic. Then when he found a testicle, things started to become clearer.

It’s very difficult for transwomen to deal with the medical community. We ARE women, but we often have physically XY bodies. We don’t want to always be bringing it up because a lot of the time it’s unnecessary, yet in some instances it is helpful for the person we’re dealing with to know.

What I learned from this, is that I actually pass. Well enough to confuse a medical professional, anyway. I even had talked with him a bit before starting, and he still didn’t clue in.

At first, I was quite happy about this. It leads to being privileged. Something I gave up with transition. To regain some of that felt good. For a little bit. Then, as I thought more and more about it, I started to really hate that it had made me feel good.

We shouldn’t HAVE to pass ourselves off as ciswomen. We should just get to be ourselves and seen and interacted with accordingly. Why do ciswomen have to be the standard for what a ‘woman’ is supposed to look like, act, talk, etc…? (I’m not blaming ciswomen, definitely not)

I see each and every transwoman as a woman. No matter where they are in transition, or even if they are transitioning or not. None of that matters to how I see them. This of course goes the same for nonbinary identified people as well, and transmen. Granted, in order to see people as they want to be seen, communication is sometimes necessary. And is that such a bad thing? It’s not that hard to talk to someone without gendering them.

I’ve decided to stop trying to adhere to a cis-normative look. I’m going to go out as me. A woman. A woman who happens to be transgender, and has a receded hairline, and thinner hair on top. If I wear a hat, headscarf, or wig it will be because I want to! I already do this with every other aspect of myself.

I may cause myself dysphoria. I may get negative feedback. This may be damaging to my emotional state. On the other hand, this may be a great thing. I’ve never wanted to hide who I am since transition. I’m proudly transgender. This will be interesting. My life is always interesting.

Today, for the first time at work, I was audibly gendered correctly. This is big for me. It took just over 2 months to happen. I know without any doubt I do not look as female at work as I do outside of work. But I DO think I look female. ish. mostly.

Without hair framing my face, all the masculine features leap out. Granted, there aren’t a TON of them, but they are there. And even most of them are subtle, but add them all up, and people make assumptions. This really isn’t about passing, but it kind of is. If I passed, this would be a non-issue.

It’s about presentation and reaction. If I present properly as female, I should get reacted to that way. A lot of my problem in my work environment is my fault. How I view myself affects greatly how I present myself, and vice versa. It’s a vicious cycle. I know I don’t look the way I know I can look, so that gets projected. Muscle memory is a great thing a lot of the time, but not so much for a transwoman in my job. When I’m at work, I have to do a lot of things that rely on muscle memory. A lot of things I don’t need to rely on muscle memory for, come along for the ride, unfortunately.

So, this is what happened:

Having lunch in the truck, an Indian fellow (about 55 years old) walks up to the truck (I believe he is a shop owner in the strata mall we’re pruning at). He says hi, and then asks how he can make his plants grow, with all this sunshine, his aren’t growing.

I get a few words out to find out what kind of plants, as he spots my uncle on the other side of the truck. “Oh, I will talk to the boss,” he says, and walks around to the other side of the truck. My immediate reaction is great, I don’t have to deal with this. Then my second reaction is, wait a sec, I’m the crew chief.

My uncle proceeds to find out it’s vegetable plants this guy wants help with. Neither of us are that familiar with growing veggies. I kind of zone out of the conversation at this point. Until I hear, “How much does she work for?”

Wait. What? She? Holy fuck. He said it completely matter of factly, not questioningly as I envisioned the first time being. He KNEW I was a she.

“I could hire her to look after my tomatoes,” or something like that. “$25 an hour for her to do that,” again he says. Then he said something about she should work for nothing, but I didn’t catch why.

It was over and over again, “she” and “her”. I was flabbergasted. I, in my opinion at least, did not look my best today. I’ve had other days where I could have sworn I was very cute and rocking my head scarf and still got called sir/he/him. I had minimal makeup on today – foundation (to hide electrolysis redness), eyebrows, blue eyeliner. That is it. Not even mascara today.

As he went back to the store, he offered us drinks (because of the heat) which we declined – we had lots of water anyway.

For the next while I was over the moon happy about this. Then I started thinking more about it. Was that a little bit sexist? Was I just a victim (albeit a minor one) of sexism? First thought; yay! Second though; that’s a completely inappropriate response.

I am completely of two minds over this. Sexism of any kind is horrible, and here I am happy it happened to me. wtf? I guess I kind of have to live with the fact that I’m happy about this one time. If it wasn’t the first time ever getting correctly gendered at work, I would NOT be happy about it. And it was relatively minor, could even just be ageism. I can’t discolour my first time with negativity. So, I’ll try and forget the ‘isms’ of it, and just recount the happy.

So yeah, ultimately – Happy.

Hugs,
Jess

Saturday, May 2nd, 2015 is the day I officially started living full time as myself. No more ‘work/James/boy’ mode. There is now only one mode. Me.

Today, Monday, May 4th, 2015 marked my first day at work. This day was supposed to be in early winter, or late fall 2015. Then I pushed that up to late summer. Then I changed it to next month, after I’d done changing all my documents. Then on Friday it became, “this is it. Can’t do this anymore. It needs to be now.” And so it was.

I had planned on writing letters to various clients and vendors that we deal with on a regular basis. I dreaded the ‘just show up’ approach. I never wrote those letters. Apparently I’m still quite good at procrastination for some things.

I emailed the owners of our company Friday night, and told them my intention for Monday. Asking if there was anything they needed me to do, or if they needed more time. I got a reply Sunday that eased my worries about a few things, and that it was all good to go ahead with Monday.

Monday morning. This morning. I got up at 6am, about 4 hours after going to bed. I showered and shaved, then got dressed in my new work duds. Which are helping immensely with my self image. I may be in landscaping, but damnit, I want to be as cute as I can. I then ate breakfast, and tooled around on Facebook a bit. Letting everyone know how I was doing in the morning. Then I went and put a bit of makeup on, and said goodbye to Teresa.

I hadn’t told my uncle of my intention, and he’s my ride to work. So, I went outside, locked my door, and headed to his car, which was waiting for me. I put my stuff in the back seat, and then got in the front seat. I said something akin to, “I’ve decided that today is when I transition at work.” To which he responded with, “oh yeah.”

The drive was otherwise the same as every other drive in to work. I wasn’t expecting any awkwardness here. That expectation was for work. No one was around, and I got a phone call of what to do first thing. We needed to go pick a tree up at a nursery we deal with. With people that I’ve known for about 20 years. I emailed ahead the tree we needed, and a quick breakdown of me being transgender, and please use female pronouns. Then I just busied myself with getting ready, and we finally headed out in the work truck.

Making a pit stop to fuel the truck, I quickly ducked into McDonald’s to supplement my breakfast, and use the loo. No problem mentally just going into the women’s restroom. I think I got a strange look from one customer, but that was it.

Feeling nervous about the nursery. There is a tenancy for my emails to wind up in the spam folder, or just not get read. It was the latter. The office manager didn’t give me any strange looks, but I don’t think she fully realized who I was (she deals with a lot of people). I asked if she got the email, she said no. But then found it. And read it. Then just focused on the tree. In phoning the staff about the tree I needed, she misgendered me twice.

Not the best start to my first day. I figured if she’d just read the email, it would’ve been fresh in her mind, but apparently not. I was only mildly annoyed, and not dysphoric at all, so that was good. We drive to the back of the property and wait for the tree to be loaded on the truck. While we’re waiting the owner of the nursery comes up. I had no idea what to expect. He asked, “And who is this person?” in a light hearted way. And we chatted a bit. He asked, again light hearted if I was in mid life crisis. I responded that it was more of an identity crisis, but that it’s fixed. He asked if I was happy. That was NOT a question I was expecting. I said, yes, very (about transition I am very happy). And he left on business, but both of us were smiling after the brief conversation. He even offered me a job at the nursery if landscaping as too tough for frail Jess. (my words not his).

So, THAT basically made my morning. That he was so utterly accepting of the whole thing. And that’s kinda how the rest of the day went. No weird looks. Maybe the odd second glance. It didn’t feel like I was passing though, it felt more like everyone was just totally ok for there to be a man in makeup and women’s clothing. That’s possibly my negativity creeping in, but it was what it felt like.

It’s quite probable that that feeling is stemming from the two times I conversed with strangers today. I find it odd that people can just come up to me and have normal conversations. It’s happened many times. It’s like they just see a person, who is approachable, not a transwoman. Which is cool and all, but how do I know if they’re seeing me as a woman? Or if they understand it all enough to just know that’s how to treat me? Or if they don’t get any of it? ugh. It feels incredibly odd to have someone a foot away, who plainly sees I’m wearing makeup, earrings, have breasts, etc… and just doesn’t react at all to that. I’m good at reading people when I can look them in the eye, and I did that, and it just feels ‘normal’.

I guess that’s what passing feels like, but I have an incredibly hard time buying that I pass yet. I think in certain situations, I may. At a distance. And I think I may actually get there as the hormones do their work. But without a wig? Without fully covering my beard shadow? My eyebrows need work too. lol.

It was still a very good day. I just don’t know what to do about this feeling normal crap.

A large part of me being able to feel this way, last night, was simply the people I was surrounded by. The friend, whose birthday party it was, has an amazing group of family of friends, and it didn’t even feel like I was ‘accepted’ because that seemed like a step that wasn’t even necessary. It was beyond that. Transcendent, you could say.

Even around my closest allies, I still am very aware of being trans. These people have known me a certain way for so long, and I them, that it’s very hard not to feel it. There is a change that is palpable. I don’t hate the feeling, as I’m quite proud to be transgender, but it isn’t all of who I am. It’s a big part of me currently, and will be during my transition. Yet, after I transition, I see it fading to a background as much as my left handedness (something else I’m proud of lol).

I’d been feeling a bit of my confidence eroded lately. I believe this is largely due to going to work as ‘James’. It’s not so much that I dress like James when I go to work, it’s that I think like James there. Granted, it’s not the same as before, but I still have my defenses up so that I pass as male. So, trying to be male for 10 hours a day on weekdays definitely has its impact on me. It is still an emotionally draining thing to do, even if I’m aware I’m doing it now. And it starts to muddle up how I present as female.

I got a lot of my confidence back last night. It was the most unguarded I’ve been to date, I think. Strange how letting my defenses down builds up my inner strength.

Teresa did very well in this social arena as well. Being introverted (we think she might have some extroverted qualities now though) she finds parties draining. Apparently, last night was not draining, and we were at the party for over 5 hours. We talked to some people we knew for the first while, but then started talking to people we didn’t know previously.

My other breakthrough, was that I took zero selfies. I didn’t ask Teresa to take any photos either. I finally went a day without taking a damn photo. I’m very proud of this fact. Proud that it wasn’t particularly hard to do too. Finally, in my mind, I was just going out to a party. It was part of the whole ‘not feeling trans’ last night.

It was a karaoke party, so people were trying to get us to sing. They were unsuccessful, but I did promise to sing next year. So, now I really need to work on my voice. Screw doing it for passability, I need to learn how to sing. lol.

– Jess

For transgender individuals, it is often a mental necessity to pass. In some areas of the world, it is a vitally important survival tactic.

It can become an unhealthy obsession, leading to multitudes of plastic surgeries that never leave the individual satisfied. It can lead to severe depression, and it can definitely impact a life greatly.

Not all of us feel a need to pass. Some don’t even want to. It’s as varied as humanity itself can be. Self image is something almost everyone struggles with every day, but couple that with dysphoria and it can become a monster. I’m constantly seeing trans people doubt themselves, get down on themselves, and seek validation. It’s why support groups are so important to us. We need to rely on our allies to help build us up as we break ourselves down.

I think I’m one of the lucky ones in that I don’t feel a ‘need’ to pass. This is partly due to where I live being very accepting as a whole, and partly because I’ve taken ownership of the things that used to own me (height, hands, feet, nose [to a lesser extent], chin).

That being said, I would still love to pass. I would love to not second guess the looks that people give me. To just accept someone looking me up and down as a normal day to day occurrence instead of seeing it as being ‘read’ (or ‘clocked’ or seeing the wrong gender coming through).

I still find myself constantly asking Teresa if my hair looks alright, or if my beard shadow is showing, or if my clothes look okay, etc… I don’t have a problem with being noticed, but I want that notice to be because of things I’m doing right, not things I’m doing wrong. So, even with all my confidence that I present well as a woman,  I still have lots of lingering self doubt. I’ve only been told by a couple people that I pass, but then I’ve never outright asked either.

My voice is one area I have a bigger issue with. For the most part it’s a personal issue, since no one I’ve actually talked to in public has reacted in any way at all to my voice. Teresa has, on occasion, suggested I really need to work on my voice though. Especially when it sounds too much like ‘James’. Currently, all I’m doing is taking the base out of my regular voice, and raising the pitch VERY slightly. It still sounds like me, but more androgynous you could say. And sometimes at home, I forget to do it. It’s still a very conscious thing to do, and takes effort.

I mentioned it to my therapist, and she said she hadn’t even thought of my voice as an issue, just thought of it as my voice. It is something I want to get right by the time I’m full time, but I also don’t want it to be so different as being unrecognizable as me.

I’m hopeful hormones (starting in March) will help with feminizing my face a bit, to get rid of some of the masculine hard edges. They can have an affect, but they work differently for everyone. Some get very little, others react to it like they were born for it. I’m hoping to be in that latter group.

– Jess

The biggest trigger of my dysphoria has always been my facial hair, and more directly, the shadow that remains even after shaving as close as is humanly possible. The only times I haven’t felt this is when I’ve pulled all the dark facial hairs out. Then there’s the stubble that’s left behind by the white hairs, that aren’t a visual trigger, but a touch trigger.

I was never one that looked forward to shaving for the first time (excepting maybe my legs). Once I did start, my face did not like being shaved. It complained often with blood or painful irritation if I tried to get too close, or shave more often than once every few days. Eventually I wound up in a routine where I’d shave once a week. I even grew goatees and van dykes. Those would last a few weeks and then get shaved. I will be so relieved when this source of dysphoria is gone.

My eyebrows were a source of dysphoria before I had Teresa pluck them about 8 years ago. We did it slowly over a few weeks, but everyone noticed, they just didn’t say anything. We were trying for metrosexual, but actually wound up with feminine at first. Which I loved, but it was not what I wanted at the time, I was not out. We moved them back into metrosexual range as they grew back. I’ve pretty much left them alone since that point. They need a bit of fixing once I go 100% full time, but for now, I’m happy with them.

My second biggest trigger is my body hair. I remember the first time I got chest hair, I shaved it off for a few months before it got to be too much. I’d already succumbed to the despair of arm and leg hair. And, thanks to my lineage, there was ample hair. And lets not forget the back hair.

The first time I shaved my legs was in high school. I somehow got up the nerve to do it, and no one but me ever saw. I wore sweat pants for 2 weeks until it grew back. It was the most amazing feeling to have that hair gone. Not just the physical sensation, but the emotional sensation as well. I would intermittently shave my legs until about 12-14 years ago where I just started doing it all the time. Then I started doing my arms – first just trimming them really short, then finally shaving them.

I told people it was because I hated the hair. And it was cooler in the summer heat. Both are true. I never realized why I hated it so much until recently though. I thought it was just an inconvenience to being a cross dresser. But, no, it was incongruous with how I really saw myself. And, as I was hiding that part of me away, it wasn’t a connection I was making.

To a lesser extent, my shoulders and my biceps cause some issues with me. If I have them covered by a shirt or a shrug, I really don’t mind my physical outline. If my shoulders and biceps are bared though, that’s a different story. I only see male arms at that point. Not sure if that’s something that will ever go away. It may, if I lose some upper body strength with hormones, diminish my shoulders a bit. Or I may just have to learn to accept them as is. I’ve managed to do that with other things I have no control over, so I’m sure I’ll figure it out.

My hands are big. I may have a female digit ratio, but my hands are big regardless. Longer sleeves help to a certain extent, as do big clunky jewellery.

I used to think my feet were big, but for my height, they really aren’t. Teresa is 5’6″ and wears a size 10. I’m 6’5″ and wear a 13 or 13 Wide (in most styles). I think my feet actually look pretty feminine as long as they have socks or shoes on them.

So, after spending so many years hating certain things about my appearance, I now know why I hate them. They don’t fit. My internal view of self is not in line with my external image. I’ve made some progress is fixing that, and more is to come.

There are other sources of dysphoria I’m noticing as well. They’ve become much more pronounced now that I’m where I am in transition. Mostly this is happening at work where I’m still presenting as male. Just being interacted with and reacting as male is bothersome. It is so ingrained in me that when presenting as ‘James’ I find it difficult to let me show through. I do try though. I’ve made some progress de-masculinizing my male persona. But all the old mannerisms are still there (luckily not when I’m not at work) and speech patterns.

When I’m having a particularly bad day, I just find a reflection (mirror or window) and focus on my eyes for a bit. I can always see ‘me’ in my eyes.

– Jess

Addendum:

Wearing a wig right now I forgot about another source of dysphoria. I also keep it under wraps at work, because it bugs me that much. My head hair. When Teresa and I met, my hair was thinning but I had it combed back (used to be parted on the side), and was trying various products to make it look thicker. The back and sides were normal, but the top, and temples were thinning badly.

Teresa talked me into shaving it. Which I did begrudgingly. I loved my hair. Losing it to thinning was horrible. Shaving it off traded one sense of dysphoria for another. It was an equal trade in that regard. It looked less thin being really really short, but on the other hand, it was really really short.

Even though it’s still thin, and missing completely at the temples, my decision to grow it back out has made me happier. The hormones will help it fill in a bit, and I’m curious to see where it can get to. It may be a failed experiment, but to not try seems counter productive.

It’s interesting how, her insecurities, have led her to withdraw and close off in the past, much the same way my being transgender did for me. Being true to yourself is not something the LGBT community has exclusive rights to. Everyone can feel judged, or rejected – but likewise, those same people can feel accepted and supported.

The comment Teresa received earlier in life, when she had lost weight, and gotten healthier, totally destroyed the positive impact. That one comment has echoed in her mind for  20-odd years. It has made any efforts on her part to get healthier again, a huge uphill struggle (of which she gets no bonus calories burnt). It can turn into self-sabotage when she does make progress as well.

The comment, “Turn around and you’ll find it,” about lost weight, probably sounded very funny in the mind of the person that said it. I’m sure it wasn’t meant in a negative way. But, this is one of those cases where meaning and perception are very different.

Teresa, in turn, has had problems coping with her insecurities, and not taking them out on me. As others have done to her. Sometimes, when I’m looking for reassurance about my appearance (I’m not always very confident about how I look) she’ll throw jokes back at me. This is a hard habit to break, as she grew up having this done to her. I’m sure I’ve even done the same on some occasions.

It’d be nice, if we could all, collectively, stop putting other people down – whether it be on purpose or inadvertently. Let people be happy.

Cheers,
Jess