Living for the First Time, Again

A Question

2014-04-28T23:57:00.001-05:00

So, I've been doing this girl thing for a while now.

It's good, but there is some weirdness...

Has anyone else experienced this?

[Bumps into a doorjam, or wall, or some other solid object]: "Ow, my boob!"

"My boob?"

Weird.

A Quick Hello - Rated PG-13 for Mild Gore

2012-11-27T21:43:00.001-06:00

Hello friends!

(WARNING: some of this might be a little gross. If you are squeamish, proceed with caution!)

I know that I have been incredibly delinquent of late, but I can explain! Umm, okay, it is a pretty terrible explanation, honestly. Let us just say that I have been lazy. Between recovery and healing, keeping up with my school work, and a full time job; I have somehow let the blog slip. Mea culpa!

Things in the Katgirl universe are slinking right along, though. I am finally getting back to "full strength" after a longer than expected recovery. I will not go into much detail about the surgery or our experiences traveling to and from Mexico this time around, as I do not think I could fit it all in before I collapse for the evening. I will share more about it though, soon. I also promise, promise, promise to share some pictures soon!

I will share that, unfortunately, while our stay in Guadalajara was quite wonderful; the aftermath brought some rather icky consequences. The surgeries went well, generally, and I am pleased with the results so far. The bad news, though, was that somewhere between entering the O.R. and returning to Texas, I contracted an MRSA in my left breast.

About two weeks after we got home, my lovely wife had to rush me to the ER one fateful Wednesday evening, because the swelling and pain in my left breast had become too much to bear. In truth, I should have had it checked out about a week before I did. The ER was able to do very little for me. They were as helpful as the could possibly be; they performed an ultrasound and determined that there was significant fluid build up in the breast "pocket," and they prescribed some happy pills and referred me to a surgeon for follow up.

The surgeon recommended by the ER was not the right kind of surgeon, so a few days after our late night trip; I found myself on Google searching boob doctors. I was lucky enough to stumble across a surgeon very close by who just happened to have an opening that very day (and who happened to take our insurance!!). He took one look at my boob, noted the angry red colors that had only that morning started decorating my incision site, and announced that I had an infection. He prescribed an antibiotic regimen, said we would probably have to operate once the infection calmed down, and sent me away to let the next round of pills do their work. They had less time to do their job than we hoped, though.

The very next day after my doctor visit, I returned home from work (yes, I went back to work as soon as we got home from Mexico... just 10 days after my 6 hour surgery) feeling like crap and began to change into my pajamas. As I was slipping out of my bra, I noticed that the material was a little wet where it was covering my incision. I next felt an odd "trickle" running down my belly. The fluid that had been building up around my implant was now leaking out of my incision site. I called the surgeon and was back in to see him the very next day, and back in surgery the day after that.

He was able to clean out the pocket and re-insert the implant (he had warned there was a chance I might lose it... YIKES!), and later confirmed that I did have an MRSA, which meant that I spent the following two weeks sporting a drainage system and the following four weeks taking pills that made me sick. Thankfully, though, everything cleared up in the end, and I am finally starting to feel somewhat normal.

So, yes, in my entire adult life, prior to transition, I visited a doctor maybe six times. I had never once had any kind of procedure... operation or otherwise. Since September, I have been in surgery twice and worked on by four different surgeons. It has been such a fun fall season!

Oh, and I am also happy to report that everyone we dealt with throughout this whole infection episode has been completely courteous, respectful and super-duper nice... I could not be more pleased about that.

Okay, next time, actual MTF surgery stuff... I promise!

Bye for now, and many, many hugs.

Kate

See the World From Both Sides Now

2012-09-17T20:17:00.001-05:00

What is there to say? I am in tears. My longtime readers will remember my tragic experiences of coming out and attempting to transition with my previous employer. And what you read about my experiences was greatly summarized and diluted, because at the time; I was in fear of losing my job. Yes, my previous employer monitored my personal life with the specific intent of finding cause to terminate me. I would not be surprised if they are still monitoring me just out of the spiteful shrewish nature of the people who were tasked with “handling” me. All I can say to you if you are still out there is: hi… hope you’re having a great life. Boy, you sure taught me a lesson!

My previous employer, among other things, compelled me to provide all of the logistics of how to manage my transition (as I was the expert – I have reason to believe the people who laid out that expectation never even opened my painstakingly prepared “plan”). I was asked how I would dress, what restrooms I expected to use, how my employer was supposed to handle it “when” other people in the office had a problem with me and “if” they decided to benevolently support my transition. In short, I was asked to defend my right to have a job. I was “asked” to segregate myself from all external contact with fellow employees; I had to remove people from my “friends lists” on all of my personal social network accounts. I even had to relocate this blog (I was actually “asked” to stop writing, if you can believe that). Of course, it took very little time for my “handlers” to figure out that I had just moved elsewhere, but there was little they could do as I had obeyed “the letter of the law.” Still, I knew they were watching.

Given everything that happened (and this is not even including the changes in day to day relationships), it should be pretty obvious just how litigious of a person I am not. The truth is, as is probably true of most women like me, I just wanted to be able to live my life in harmony with how I felt inside. I had no interest in stirring the pot, in making a federal case, or of pushing the boundaries of gender law. I just wanted to live. So, I quit. I started with a new company barely three weeks later (I am not stupid) for the same salary, better benefits, and far less responsibility. And I repeat… boy, they sure taught me a lesson.

Fast forward six or so months to present day. I told my boss a few weeks ago why he was giving me vacation at the beginning of September. If you have been living under a rock for the last six months, you may not know that I just completed FFS and a few other procedures to facilitate my transition. I told him that I was transitioning to female, that everywhere outside of work, I had been living as Kate for a very long time, and that the surgery I was about to have would make permanent my transition. His response? He started walking through the things we would need to take care of – changing my email account, my badge, my name plate, etc. His one comment was that “if you’ve managed to perform like you have so far while going through all of that, it has nothing but good things to suggest about your future. I have only ever known one you, and I support you 100%.”

Two days later, I met with HR. I had only met this woman one time before. Upon entering her office, the first thing she said was “I have never dealt with anything like this before. You are a first for me.” I heard a similar statement from my previous “HR” rep right before being raked over the coals for several weeks. But what she said next set the tone for everything that has happened since: “But I have been doing a little research.” She proceeded to ask me how my name would be spelled, whether I knew when the legal changes would be final, and what she could do to help me. She stated her plan, asked if I could review the communications she was putting together to make sure I was comfortable with them, and proceeded to engage in an entirely cordial conversation about a whole slew of completely other things. I was never asked what I would wear or what restroom I would be using.

The communication she sent to our executive team, which was then cascaded throughout the organization, stated in very plain terms what was happening, what was expected of everyone (that I would be treated with respect, that correct names and pronouns would be used in reference to me, and that I would be using the appropriate facilities for my gender, etc.). With the exception of my employee records (which understandably cannot be changed until the legal changes occur), the company actually updated everything from my email address to the nameplate on my office with my correct name. All this happened while I was off lying around in Mexico.

I returned to work today. You will not believe what happened. As I entered the building, I passed a coworker. She looked at me, smiling, and said… “Good morning.” A short time later, I passed another colleague as I walked to my office. Readers, you will not believe what he said. He said… “Good morning,” and then proceeded to talk about operations with me for a few seconds. I next passed one of the most religious people I have met there, and what she said to me was… it was just… um well… you be the judge. She said “Good morning.” Before I made it to my desk, I passed her a second time. We laughed at the coincidence.

What followed over the next two or so hours was a string of coworkers and office neighbors stopping by to welcome me back and to chat about my surgery, or to catch me up on what happened while I was out. I heard everything from, “Wow, you look great,” to “How did it go?” And regarding emails received bearing my new account name; you will not believe the responses I got. I heard everything from… a response to my email, to… a “welcome back” and response to my email. The horror!

Two of our directors in sales stopped by my desk to welcome me back… what nerve! One even had the audacity to suggest I should take it easy and not overdo it so soon after surgery. Can you imagine?

My boss sent me an email. It said, “Welcome back.” And that HR person: she sent me two notes today. She actually had the gall to ask how I was doing and to echo the director’s admonition not to over exert myself. Unbelievable.

I was stopped by security on my way out. She wanted to tell me how proud she was for me, and what an awesome thing I was doing. Can you believe that?

Seriously, I could not be more touched or more impressed by my company and its people. One might almost think they value people and understand what is truly important in a business… results.

To my former employer: Boy, you sure taught me a lesson!

And those tears? They are tears of joy.

Happy Monday, Friends! Next time, I will fill you in on the surgery experience.

Peace and hippy talk,

Kate

Not In A Shy Way - The Way Is Mine

2012-09-05T00:41:00.001-05:00

How did I get here? How did I ever make it to this point in my life? Just two nights from tonight, I will be lying in a hospital bed thinking ahead to the morning. I will be facing the biggest step I have ever taken toward living my own truth. There are so many thoughts flowing through my mind tonight, so many dreams, so many feelings looking for expression; and I am not sure how to put any of them into words.

As I have reflected over the last few days on the events that have led to this summit, I cannot help to think about the people who have been a part of the journey. I am so, so blessed. Making this pilgrimage is a nearly impossible undertaking; indeed, without the support of many wonderful people, I could never have hoped to make it this far. I used to wish that I could have made the change sooner; that I never would have had to live in the prison of myself. I used to lament my past.

As I looked this weekend at all of the people I love so much, I realized just how misguided those thoughts were. I worship every moment of the life I have lived. I relish every experience I have enjoyed, encountered, and endured (well, not the electrolysis. I’m sorry Heidi, but that just plain sucks); because it was through each of those moments that I found each of you.

Trudi, Lisa, Kim, Tambra, Jen, J.T., Angela, Donna, Parker, Dee, Tawana, Tara, Sam, Henry, Paul, Jase, Michael; you are more than friends. You have been the family I needed, and I hope we will always be together and always be family and always be friends. Your support has been the bedrock of my / our transition and the source of great joy. If one day, I can be there for you in even close to the capacity you all have been there for me; I will count myself lucky. And Trudi and LIsa: I would be remiss if I did not add a special thank you to you two for being who you are, for allowing all of us space in your hearts and in your home. Together, you are godfather and mother hen to us all... I won't tell who is whom. :)

Kendra, Jessica, Julie; what can I write that could ever express how important you are to me? Julie, you have been a great friend, and your support has meant the world. Kendra and Jessica, you girls are my everything. I want you to know that no matter what may happen, no matter where we all go; you will always be my daughters, and you will always be first in my heart. You have given me so much, and I look forward to you both growing into confident and happy women who get everything from life that you truly want and deserve. I love you both so much.

And most importantly, Jamie: I would never have believed that one person could be so much to me. You have stood strong and have unflinchingly believed in me and believed in our future, even when I had given up. You held me up when all I thought I wanted was to lie down. You were my footprints in the sand. You have carried me when I could not or would not carry myself. You belligerently showed me hope when all I saw was gray sky. If we live another thousand years, I can never be all the things you have been to me in just a few. But for as long as we live from this day forward, I will be living for you… for us. It was not my strength that got us here; it was yours. I love you. And I will keep on loving you forever and ever on.

We are two days from history. We are two days from a new chapter – the next great installment. I will not hope to hurry those days away. Life has taught me that every day is a day to celebrate, and a memory to be made. And how lucky am I to have already amassed such amazing reflections? And how lucky am I to have such a wonderful and loving group of friends and family with whom to share an entirely new set of memories?

And boobs... an entirely new set of boobs.

I would like to thank the academy... and to my manager and producers...

See you all on the other side!

Peace and chopsticks,

Katherine Lynn DeLong

A Political Rant

2012-09-01T00:11:00.002-05:00

I avoid politics much the way I avoid news media. I don't like people who think I should accept what they say without scrutiny. I don't like being lied to (grammar apology). I tried to watch Clint Eastwood's contribution to the RNC. I got to the part when he implied culpability by the Obama administration for the fact that there are 23 million unemployed in America. I don't know if that's a real number, or just a fancy statistical amalgamation. I suspect the latter.

Allow me to pause. I am not an Obama fan. I am not a democrat. I do not think he is any better for this country or for my needs than any other president I have witnessed (why else is it still "illegal" for my wonderful friends to wed?). I also know better than to fall for yet another pack of lies. I would agree he didn't fix it, but can you really expect me to believe that he caused it? Come on. And as for how you plan to fix it...

Seriously? You whine about the abuses of government, about overspending, about medicare fraud, and welfare dependency. You complain that 23 million people are unemployed. You claim we need to start over. And what is the cure? What is your master plan?

Fill the nation with even more unwanted children and keep the families who actually want to be from becoming.

That is right, stop abortion and gay marriage, and with a simple praise jesus you wipe out the welfare problem, unemployment, national debt, AND the piteous lack of state sponsored school prayer. Yup, by filling the country with accidental infants, smiting those nasty queers, and throwing in a couple new tax breaks for your cronies, you've solved all our problems.

Break out the bubbly boys.

And, oh by the way, I am sick and fucking tired of this attack on religion bullshit. This god responding "I am not allowed in school" nonsense. Because the constitution provides adequate protections for people of all (and no) faiths to coexist without persecution, and because "We the People" do not recognize an official state religion; that does not mean your god is under attack. That does not mean your religion is being persecuted. At most it means you are being prevented from persecuting others. It seems awfully pathetic of a god, that the lack of school board endorsement would keep him from entering a building. No one has suggested that your god is not allowed in school. We have simply stated, as is consistent with our constitutional mandate, that we will not force your god on anyone through official endorsement, i.e. state sponsored worship. Grow up.

I believe in limited government. I believe that "limited government" means that people stay out of my shit. In return, I believe I should stay out of other people's shit. I do not believe in welfare, corporate or otherwise. I have had to survive on my own under circumstances that would cause most to surrender. I won't ask you to walk a mile in my shoes; I don't believe you could even put them on. You question my resolve while I live despite your condemnations. You may be louder, but I will always be stronger. I believe in two things: live, and let live.

When a government's aim is to legislate morality and perpetuate it's own necessity; that government is wrong for the people.

This nonsensical rant is brought to you by 100 proof Vodka, dark cherry Fresca, and HuluPlus clips.

And saltines.

I like those.

Peace.

Katgirl

Six Times Three Makes Female Me

2012-08-20T20:57:00.001-05:00

Or something like that.

Hello friends. No big speeches tonight, no soap box, no rousing battle cries, not even a specific opinion about anything: that leaves me very little to discuss I am afraid.

I wanted only to share that I am just eighteen days away from the single most significant event to date in my transition (get it... six times three? I knew you would). In sixteen days, I am getting on a plane with my partner and flying to Mexico. In eighteen days, I will undergo several surgical procedures, stopping just short of "the big one," that will affect a permanent shift from male to female. In about twenty five days, I will return to the United States (I hope) in an entirely new form... a bruised and battered form, no doubt; but a form that will be more closely me than any I have ever before embodied. The thought brings tears to my eyes (or is that the fan blowing in my face?).

This is the last house Kyle will ever live in. This is the last job Kyle will ever have. It is the last time I will ever look in the mirror and be reminded, even if only for a moment, that things are not completely right (well... we'll overlook that one, little thing). When I step onto that plane, it will be the last time Kyle will ever stand on U.S. soil.

When I finally get my college diploma (twenty years late... shut up), the name of that graduate - of that soon to be psychologist (or environmental activist, or art critic... the jury is still out) will be Katherine Lynn DeLong. The next time I buy a house - or rent a mobile home, I guess I cannot get too far ahead of myself - Katherine Lynn DeLong will sign the mortgage agreement. The next time I buy a car, Katherine Lynn DeLong will sign the loan papers. The next time I send a Christmas card, it will legally be signed by Katherine Lynn DeLong. Okay, that would be the first time I have sent a Christmas card, but you know what? This year, I just might.

Wow. 43.7 years. 43.7 years in the wrong body. In the U.S., the average prisoner serving a life sentence spends only 29 years in jail. I have more than served my time. I think I deserve a little happiness. I think we all deserve a little happiness, and maybe, just maybe a little peace as well.

I love you all,

Good night.

Kat Girl

LGBT Me: Your Everyday is My Secret Life

2012-07-27T22:50:00.003-05:00

I invest a significant amount of the space on this blog to my life as a trans woman. Indeed, I invest a significant amount of my life dealing with issues of being a trans woman. I think this in some ways overshadows the fact that I am also gay. You may split hairs if you like, people often do. Yes, I am genetically of the male sex, and that fact makes my relationship with a woman “perfectly normal.” Thank you Doctor Ruth. The truth is, whether you think of me as male or female (I greatly appreciate if you would NOT think of me as male, but I do not control your brain… yet), I am still gay… or some clever version on the spectrum. I am attracted, somewhat equally, to both men and women. And because I have acted at various times in my life on both of those attractions, considering me gay is technically accurate.

More importantly, that I am (regardless of my birth sex) a woman, and because I am legally married to a woman, I am gay. Yes, we were legally married BY the state of Texas. We found a tiny loophole… well… not tiny. As a gay person, it has been impossible to overlook all of the recent discussions about the rights of gay people, of what constitutes equality under the law, and on what basis the law of the land should exist. I find the discussion, and the vast majority of the arguments in the debate repugnant, honestly, and I would like very much not to have to think about it anymore. The thing is, we cannot stop thinking about it. It is not possible. The reality struck me especially firmly this morning in the course of a casual conversation with a coworker.

One of the big criticisms I hear coming from the hetero-community is the notion that any sign of affection between gay people is “throwing our sexuality in people’s faces.” Do not panic, I have no plan to start whipping out research data or statistics; I intend only to speak from personal experiences. If you choose to criticize my lack of a scientific approach, that is your right. I spend enough time on that crap doing schoolwork – I write here for catharsis, not scholarly recognition. And now back to our featured program. Another sweeping generalization that just goads me is this rhetoric about how our rights are somehow trampling the rights of decent (christian) Americans.

I walked into my place of work this morning at the same time as a coworker who sits near me. We are friendly, but we have never had a conversation. That changed this morning, briefly, when we exchanged casual pleasantries and a little small talk, which led to her discussing an anecdote involving her husband. The complete ease with which her marital status was revealed and the underlying assumption that this was a completely normal and acceptable part of life completely set me back. I tried to envision so casually referring to my partner in a similar way with someone I knew equally as little about as she about me. The thought is unfathomable.

That is not to say I am ashamed, or that I have any particular hang ups about who I am; it is just a very different reality. A straight person can discuss her marriage, her relationships, and even her relationship adversities without any thought of how it may impact someone’s views of her. Imagine knowing that revealing details about your relationship to someone you just met could lead to awkwardness, or worse, to mistreatment or discrimination… or worse still, to some physical danger. People in mixed race relationships, I am sure also share this reality – or at least once did. For a straight person, this thought must be completely foreign, but for those of my readers who are straight; try for a moment to imagine living in that reality.

This is not a matter of being concerned about how people see me, or about whether or not I am liked; this is a concern for how people will affect my life based on their beliefs. That is a real problem. So, I ask, who's rights are really being marginalized here, and who is truly “throwing their sexuality in people’s faces?” I have to watch opposite sex couples engage in public displays of affection almost every day. I listen to heterosexual people discuss their relationships every day. And on top of it all, I also have to listen to those same individuals discuss whether or not they believe they should bestow some gift of equality upon people like me, as if the right is theirs to grant in the first place.

I have done a lot of thinking about this whole equality question, and I have decided to start a different campaign – a campaign that is laughable and ridiculous, but a campaign that by its very ridiculousness highlights the absurdity of this whole debate. I think the federal government should pass a constitutional amendment eradicating legal recognition of married status on the grounds that it is a discriminatory practice founded on religious doctrine, which by definition cannot be recognized or endorsed by the government.

If legal marriage is not equally applicable to all American citizens, it should be applicable to none. And that is enough of my rambling for one evening.

Please remember to tip your bartenders and waitresses. Thank you and good night!

Peace and Smooches,

Kate

What the Hell?

2012-07-18T22:25:00.000-05:00

So, why am I getting a steady stream of SPAM comments all of a sudden? I hear nothing from anyone except for fucking bots... excuse my language. I have pretty much had it with this whole "cyber" experience. So frustrating.

Is anyone else seeing this issue? Is anyone out there?

Peace,
Kate

Trans-Vacational Paradox

2012-07-15T20:08:00.001-05:00

Fair warning: I just completed and submitted a ten page English Lit paper, so there is no foretelling the outcome of this post. I am beyond loopy.

We just returned from a pseudo-family vacation trip to Branson, Missouri, the (as I have dubbed it) Knock-Off Capital of the Midwest. It was not an entirely bad trip. But pack two women, a precocious ten (going on twenty seven) year old girl, and a behaviorally challenged puberty riddled fourteen year old boy into a single hotel room for several days, and you may just unlock the mystery behind the disappearance of the Mayan empire. You at least have the basis of an excellent murder mystery novel, but we will avoid those stories for today. I would mention that if you ever need to feel humble, try spending an extended period of time in close proximity to someone who’s only predictable trait is that he will consistently do exactly what you tell him not to do. That will knock you down a peg or two (and convince you that military schools might just have their merits)!

The trip was not without some very pleasant moments and was generally a good one. We saw some really great shows, took a very interesting tour (more on this in a moment), ate awesome food, and saw some new and beautiful sites. We also saw some very authentic human unpleasantness. Peace and pleasant human interaction are never a guarantee in my situation, of course, but when one is a trans woman surrounded by red necks, blue hair, and bible churches; discomfort and discord take on feud-like proportions! There is no question that I was well behind enemy lines at the very least. I know that some of you are saying to yourself, (or possibly out loud, there’s no telling with this bunch) “well she put herself in that situation... what did she expect?”

You know what? You are right. I did put myself in that situation. I have repeatedly put myself in that situation, and I will continue to put myself in that situation; because I do not believe I should have to voluntarily segregate myself from mainstream society in order to secure my own rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Further, I repeatedly put myself in that situation, because more often than not, the result is positive. Indeed, even on this trip, I enjoyed a few very positive (or at least not negative) interactions. The unfortunate truth, though, is that this time the odds played out on the side of the negative.

Between angry onlookers, blatant oglers, and disrespectful hotel staff; I got the very distinct impression that there a lot of people in Branson who do not believe I deserve to enjoy any of the rights I mentioned above. Possibly the worst offense was my very first interaction in Branson at the front desk of a Baymont Hotel (who, by the way, will be hearing exactly what I thought of my experience there), which started out very pleasantly. The gentleman (and I use that term sarcastically) behind the desk was exceedingly friendly and joked smilingly with both my partner and I right up to the moment he looked at my ID (and the incriminating “M”). In an instant, his entire demeanor changed. The smile quickly disappeared from his face, he stopped making eye contact, and his voice affected what I can only compare to a growl as he as hurriedly as possible completed his dealings with me and turned away. From that point, the worst encounters were little more than angry or baffled stares from overstuffed redneck men and angry old ladies, the latter of which I am used to... old women are the worst and most blatant offenders when it comes to human sensitivity... and you can quote me on that.

This is the screwy part. Aside from the first night there, every negative encounter happened during the day when I was out and about (and sweating my ass off... sorry... glowing my ass off), and every experience was either with passers by or other patrons in establishments we visited. The worst were restaurant visits, during which I spent my entire lunch being stared at from every direction. I will say that with the exception of the hotel dude, every other “employee” I encountered in the businesses of Branson was perfectly courteous, even when an ID check was involved... so that was good. What makes this interesting is that when we dressed up and fixed up to go out at night, whether to a show or a restaurant, I was treated with the utmost respect and courtesy. Every interaction from friendly conversation to flirtatious banter was a positive one. That was good. But the whole experience really made me think.

What a strange paradox it is that in the space of a few hours and with a simple change of clothing, I can go from vile specter to lovely patron (and in some cases, "hit on" material). I worry about that. What if it never changes? What if those awkward moments continue to happen? I am about to spend an entire barrel full of money to fix most of the remaining features that “call me out,” but I will always be a tall girl with broad shoulders... a beautiful and sexy one, for sure, but the fact is I will always stand out. What if in always standing out, the added attention continues to cast doubt? Am I being foolish to even try to correct my non-feminine features? I know what some of you are saying to yourselves (and at least one of you out loud, you know who you are): “So what?! Fuck them all. Be proud of who you are.”

Thank you for that, and you know, most of the time that is easy enough. One thing many of you know about me is that I look at all things with a certain amount of skepticism. I never fully relinquish doubts. It is one of the things that made me a pretty crappy christian (never mind the whole divorced gay transgender thing). This trait has honestly served me well over the years, and I frankly consider it a strength. I bring this up, because I want to assure everyone that I am not changing course, and I am not considering backing out. It is important to me, though, to continue to recognize what is going on in my head. And over the last week, I have worried a little about what will come after surgery.

There is only one way to find out of course, so anchors away boys!

Remind me next time to tell you about the “Sixty Six Million Dollar Man’s Problem: Nature,” Or, “Why should I move off this flood plain? You fix it.”

Also, I have to tell you about a hilarious battle of wits between a ten year old girl and a zipline tour guide. Spoiler alert: girls rule!

Peace friends,
Kate

Trans Woman Down: MIA or Something

2012-07-09T23:28:00.001-05:00

I know that I start a lot of posts this way (sorry), but I apologize for my prolonged absences from this blog. I vowed to myself that I was not going to be one of those transwomen who flooded the blogosphere with melodramatic crap all through transition only to disappear once I had it all figured out. I figured on continuing the melodramatic crap indefinitely. Okay, I promised myself that I would be there to support others, and yet, I gradually fade from the blog anyway. The catch is, I do not have anything figured out yet... so nyah! =P

Seriously though, things are moving along. I am still struggling emotionally, I will not deny that; but please allow me to rationalize for a moment (shut up, this is my blog, and I can have any delusions I like). My entire world is upside down. Certainly, I am making the changes and beginning to live the life I always dreamed I might, but it is all a futures game right now. Lately, my weeks consist of pain and bills. If I am not spending my free time playing Frankenstein’s monster meets Pinhead, I am frantically scrambling to finish schoolwork, or trying to maintain a household (something I have utterly failed at since taking on a new job, and school, and electrolysis, and doctors, and... well, you get the idea): all on the promise of eventually being whole. And can I just say this? For all you nuts and zealots out there who think this is a choice: I challenge you to sit for just five minutes of an electrolysis session (something I endure an average of three to four hours weekly), and then try to tell me that anyone anywhere would choose that. Sorry, I digress.

The point - is it any wonder that I am a little down? I am putting my body through hell, I am almost always in pain, and I am spending a fortune for the privilege. Yes, it will all be worth it soon; but some days, it is just a little hard to “keep my chin up,” especially when my chin is swollen to roughly the size of Rhode Island. I am not asking for understanding per se; I am asking that we do not further burden the situation with a lot of feel good crap, because, well... right now, it does not feel very good. Just let me make it through the next couple months. The big show happens on September 7. I fully expect to be in pain to that point, and to experience a whole new level of misery for a couple months after that. But then... then, my friends... look out!

In recent news, school is going well; but it is also a driving factor in my absence here. I am currently turning out a few thousand words per week in school work; writing blog posts after all that is just a little too much. I have made the physical transition (well, ninety percent of it) at work. I still need to have the big talk, but that will come soon enough. Until then, I have the satisfaction of not perpetuating any illusions. Oh, and did I mention that I have a surgery date? How could I have neglected that? I have booked three fourths of the procedures for September 7. Yes, I did. I am a little bit excited about that.

Anyway, I hope everyone is doing well. Take care!

Peace and love,Kate

Family and the Trans Woman

2012-06-12T22:13:00.000-05:00

I have been thinking a lot about this (I think a lot about a lot of things, some would suggest I think about things too much). Here is why it hurts, and here is what is missing.

In every life there are relationships. There are a few distinct types of relationships that are important for a person's mental health. In a startlingly excellent book on the subject of belonging, Joseph Myers writes about some of these. He breaks relationships (or perhaps it was friendships… it has been a long time since I read the book) into four types – public, social, personal, and intimate. Again, forgive my lapse if this is not completely accurate, but his descriptions essentially are as follows. Public relationships are those in which you may know each other’s names but little more. Social relationships are the types you build at social events. Personal relationships are ones in which you share slightly more detailed information about yourself - the ones in which you might talk about your problems, and the intimate relationships are “naked and unashamed.” Simple enough? Myers suggests that one of the most important relationships for personal well being is the social relationship, because those are where you reinforce your positive self-image. I will link the work at the end of the post if you are interested. If you want a deeper explanation (and a better understanding of why I agree with him), go read it.

I think there are other distinctions that are important, though, and I am only recently learning this. Relationships can be defined in terms of depth of information sharing, but I think longevity is another important element. This is where family comes into play. In our lives, there are people we have known for "a while," and there are people we have known “forever.” Generally, those people we have known "forever" are family. I can interpret a relationship in many ways. I can say that my relationship with someone is intimate, but what is that when my common experience with that person is limited to just “a while” in my life? Are not the most intimate of intimate relationships those ones in which your mutual memory has no conscious beginning? Are those not the people who truly know you, and whom you truly know?

So, our tightest, strongest, and most intricate bond is with those people with whom we have been close “forever.” Set your emotions aside and think about it. Is it not true that there are people in your life with whom you share more commonality and history than those people whom you have chosen to call intimate? I am not faulting the self-proclaimed intimate relationship; I am simply suggesting that there are some relationships in which the intimacy is not chosen but instinctive. Those are the people who truly know you. They get you.

But that is the problem for a trans-woman. Many of us have lived a lifetime with those relationships only to arrive at some point to the revelation that those people who have always known us, those people with whom we have always shared the most naturally, do not, in fact, know us at all. In a single sentence, an entire history – an entire common existence is unraveled. Suddenly, we have no instinctively, naturally, unrestrained intimate relationship at all. Place the blame where you like; I do not believe there is one. The people, our families, on the other end of that sentence learn suddenly that everything they thought they knew is not. We suddenly face the fact that we are a stranger to the people we have known “forever.”

It is enough to make a girl cry. And the people who used to share those tears no longer exist in her world.

It is a train of thought, people. I am not proofreading or editing; I apologize if it is sloppy… you got an update, so there.

Peace and much hippy talk,

Kate

The book:

TTFN!

Trans-Log - Star Date 2012, May 29: Transition Mission

2012-05-29T16:31:00.000-05:00

It is ironic, and just slightly annoying that I struggle so greatly to hit a stride. It was only a matter of weeks ago when I felt completely isolated and stagnant, like my world and all the progress I had been enjoying had just suddenly stopped. I felt that way largely because of the interruption in supporting activities (those things I need to do to complete my transition) caused by starting a new job, not to mention the stresses of the new job, of course. The truth was many of the supporting activities had indeed stopped, including therapy and group sessions.

This was not by choice. The combination of my newly limited schedule, the remote (to me) location of the therapy/group meetings, and the schedule limitations of the rest of the group drove a wedge that seems only to be resolved by my taking time off work. I cannot do that for multiple reasons, most importantly because I need to conserve my time for a major milestone later this year… but I will get to that. The irony I began to discuss is that while I so recently bemoaned my stagnation; I am now in it up to my eyeballs… so much so, that I am “stealing time” to make this update! (shh… don’t tell!) I just cannot seem to do things in moderation.

So, what is new? Since my last update, I have started an aggressive electrolysis campaign with the goal of being mostly complete by September, I have finally seen a doctor to get my hormones in check, I have reenrolled in college (again) to finish my degree, and I am still working an 8 to 5 schedule every Monday through Friday. I have also managed to squeeze in a couple of counseling sessions, though not without major calendar upheaval. There is bigger news… and a major consideration for my future. Would you like me to fill you in?

Of course you would, why else would you be reading all this crap?! You will recall that among my many laments is the fact that I started my new job as a boy – a fruity and fabulous boy, a boy with long hair, painted nails, and boobs – but a boy none the less. This means that I have yet another “big reveal” to navigate at some point in the future. With each passing week of employment, though, my confidence in the company’s position on such things has diminished. Also, with each passing week, the imminence of that information forcibly coming out grows… I will explain that soon (getting anxious?).

I had intentions of opening up. I planned the conversation multiple times, but fate and ever-changing calendars prevented those conversations from occurring. I am not always one to ignore the cosmos, so after much consideration, I took the hint and made the decision not to divulge my situation until it was absolutely necessary. Right or wrong, I need the income to continue on this path. If that means continuing to get into costume every day until the milestones are complete, then so be it. In the grand scheme, the price is small – especially in a state that does not value diversity, in an industry that is still largely white-male dominated, and in a position that is very much expendable.

One important truth and (I think) a critical consideration is that I enjoy a distinct advantage on this journey – the advantage of affluence. I did not start out this way. As a young adult, I barely made enough to survive. I cannot tell you how many months I had to choose between rent and food, how many times I walked to work until I could pay to fix my car, or how often the only reason I had dinner was the kindness of one of my good friends. I worked hard for many years. I scratched and clawed my way to this position. I fought. I sacrificed. I put so many parts of my life on hold to accomplish what I have – family, friends, education… transition. I would not suggest it is the right thing to do or that it is the right path for anyone else; but what I did has put me in a somewhat unique position to actually afford transition. If that entire fight, all those years of climbing ends only in my ability to finally make a permanent transition, then it is worth it. My view right now is that I need to “keep my eye on the prize,” no matter what that means for today. And the “prize” may be just around the corner.

Yes, friends, I have made almost all of the necessary arrangements. The only boxes still to check are an updated passport photo and plane tickets. On September 7, 2012, (drum roll please) I will be undergoing about three quarters of the surgeries necessary to complete my transition – FFS, breast augmentation, and orchiectomy. The only remaining operation will be vaginoplasty, which I will save for some future date. With the help of my awesome and amazing partner, I have also started the wheels turning on the final legal name and gender change to be tackled immediately following surgery. By the end of 2012, I will be able to clean the closet one last time, and I will never again have to pretend to be a boy. Knowing that makes everything I hate about the present seem inconsequential.

The one remaining question is what will happen at work. In a lot of ways, I am in a 2011 eddy. I am still trying to answer the question whether I will transition in place, or abandon my position once the change is complete. I do not yet know the answer to that question. The decision would be easier if I loved what I do, but I do not love it. I do not even particularly like it if we are being honest. So that complicates matters on one hand, but simplifies things in other ways. My only consideration is financial, so really the question will be whether I can affect the final transition and still maintain a happy lifestyle, regardless what I am doing to achieve that.

The mystery continues, my friends. The mystery continues.

Peace and love, my friends.
Kate

Remembering "Transgender Exodus:" The Remnants of Faith

2012-04-28T01:07:00.000-05:00

When I first began blogging as a transgender woman, my theme was trans Christianity. I titled my blog Transgender Exodus, an allusion to my faith walk as a trans woman. Like my faith, that blog was destroyed years ago. I deleted it in a heated rage and destroyed all the files and downloads associated with it. I regret that. By the time I did it, the name had changed, as the subjects I covered wandered far and wide, seldom discussing faith or Christianity. In fact, I used the space more for movie reviews than any other topic – some really good ones too, if you do not mind my bragging just a little.

Despite its rambling nature, at the heart of that blog was a deep (or so I believed) and well informed faith. I did not study the bible – a possible downfall as a christian; but faith takes many forms, and I never found deep meaning or affirmation from that particular exercise. I read volumes of literature about the bible, and even more about faith in general. I was most interested in what it meant to be faithful in an era of pharmacologically induced emotion, in an age of information bombardment, and in an age of twenty four hour a day living. The world is a very different place than when the books of the bible were written; it is interesting though that people, their hearts, are still much the same – one of the most frequent of the many doubts that constantly nibbled at my heart.

Something happened when I moved to Texas. I changed. It did not help matters that I was a burnt out wreck. In the year or so leading up to my move, I had separated from my spouse, come out to my friends, and was trying to find a path forward. At the same time, I was enmeshed in a full time career and investing twenty to thirty additional hours a week to a church service as the “house band’s” worship leader and faux-music director. In the last few months before the move, resulting from the shocking changes in my life, I experienced the “harlot effect” – being the subject of rumors and controversy within the walls of a church I had served devotedly. I heard the murmurs of people I thought were friends. I felt the sting of retribution from people who suddenly felt they had the moral superiority to pass judgment over what I was going through. I felt the hollow isolation of being the subject of gossip rather than a welcome family member.

Moving to Texas was an effective escape from all of it. When I got here, I made virtually no effort to find a new church. My practicing faith became a sideline faith. During the first couple years here, my lack of devotion gradually evolved into skepticism, and eventually into an outright denial of my faith. As I often claimed, my problems were not with god, but with his followers. And there is truth in that. I am regularly astounded by the depth of many christians’ hate for people like me. The utter devotion to marginalizing, if not eradicating us is practically obsessive. But there was more involved in my fall from faith. As I reflect, I suspect that the bigger problem was with neither god nor his followers – but with me.

I was – still am – a mess. My life was careening toward what could only have been a catastrophic end. Everything from my physical health to my financial security was eroding due to my deep and utter depression and the destructive behaviors I employed to numb the despair. Over the last year and a half or so, I have been on a path away from that darkness. I have fixed many things. I am now officially in transition, I found counseling and treatment, I changed jobs, and am making plans for surgery. I have worked toward a better future for myself; but the scars run deep, and my progress walks a fine line. My journey is not so much on a path these days as on a tightrope.

Something is missing. I do not have it right, not yet. It is not that the journey should be easy; it is that I know the journey is far less difficult than it feels. The heaviness in my heart is about something other than the challenges of transition. My journey is a cakewalk compared to most, and yet somehow I fail to see it that way. I have been completely unable to embrace the blessings in my life. I know I am fortunate. I know I have it “easy,” yet the message never seems to make it to my heart.

A song crept up recently as background to something I was watching. While I could not immediately identify it, I recognized the tune. After listening more intently, I realized the song was one I used to sing in worship services. I have heard snippets of many of these songs over the last few years, so that is not surprising; but something happened this time. I began to cry softly as I remembered the lyrics. In the days since, I have experienced other little nibbles. I have felt nudges, and my reactions have been surprising. The bitterness that usually swells up inside me at the mention of faith is more often a sense of wonder, or sadness, or yearning. I find myself in conversations with people I do not know about things like god. I cry. Not unusual, but I cry because I feel like something is trying to get in, and I do not seem to know how to let it.

Please hold onto your collection plates and your conclusions. I have not been converted; at least, I do not think I have been converted. I do feel like there is something I need to recognize; I feel like I am on the verge of something. I do not yet know what that something is. I continue to prove to myself that I can make this journey – that I can paint a new picture for myself that actually makes sense. But I am also feeling the effects of making the journey alone. I have to wonder, when the painting is done, what will be on the canvas. Might the picture be more beautiful – more complete – if I relinquish control of the brushstrokes? And if I give over control of the composition, will the result still be me?

Good night, friends.
Kate

I Put the “T” in “What the Hell Are You Thinking?” – And Other Fun Stories

2012-04-25T23:37:00.000-05:00

Taking things in moderation has never been mystyle. I am either going a million miles an hour, or my boat is sinking. Chaos takes on an artistic flair when I start getting motivated… but let us be honest; it is still chaos.

I have been depressed lately… very depressed. Work life has played a part in it, home life even more. Not much has gone right on that front lately, but it is getting better for the moment, so I would rather not dwell on that. Sadly, work life would be phenomenal if not for the whole gender issue. I feel like I made a bit of a tactical error by not laying my cards on the table before accepting the position. But, the truth is I needed the job, so I chose not to risk it.

I may have experienced a mini-break through last week. It is hard to tell, but I think that is what happened. I know I am unhappy. Over the last few weeks, all the things that do not make me happy have been rolling around in my mind and rearing their ugly heads at every turn. I started thinking about what it would really take for me to be happy. No matter how much I pondered the question, I had no answer. I could iterate all the things that make me unhappy, all the elements of my life that bring me discomfort or misery; but I could not list one thing that made me happy.

Allow me to pause for clarification. Everything I am discussing is outside the realm of relationships. This is not about the people in my life; it is about the life in me, and how much of me is living.

So, rather than think about what would make me happy, I started thinking about what my life would look like if I were to draw it for myself. I pictured spending my days writing, painting, and publishing. I would have fish in a beautiful aquarium (I don’t know why that is in my vision). I would have music. My time would be devoted to creation and imagination. I would exercise and eat well. I would wear flowing skirts, and my hair would be long and wavy. I would spend time with friends. I would cook. There would be water in my surroundings – a lake, or the ocean, and a patio with a view of it.

From this simple exercise came a feeling. I was thinking about my life in terms of how I would draw it if I could. The fact is that life is mine to draw any way I choose. Motivation reborn.

The problem is that none of it can happen now… well aside from maybe the fish. I have work to do if I ever hope to embody the vision I have of myself. But with this realization, I have redoubled my efforts to drive change. I may be jumping right into the deep end, but that is usually how I do things. In the last 48 hours, I have identified and set an appointment with a doctor for HRT, I have initiated electrolysis (I am at the end of seeing benefit from laser), I have re-enrolled in college(again), and by the end of this week hope to have FFS+ scheduled for this fall.

The next couple years will either get me where I am going, or kill me along the way. It should be interesting. Wish me luck!

Peace and much love,

Kate

Feels Like the First Time

2012-04-07T14:47:00.000-05:00

Just thought I would say hello. I meant to write a post today, but I have been trying to coax one out of the keyboard for a solid hour now. I think it is finally time to stop toying around and admit that I do not want to write. The sun is shining, it is a balmy 80 degrees outside, I have my bikini on, and there is a lounge chair calling my name.

Can you see the dilemma? Is it any wonder I cannot concentrate? Okay, then, we understand each other. I hope you are all doing well. Keep in touch, and as always...

Peace and much love!
Kate

Trans Beauty Queen: The "Plight" of the Bumble Bee

2012-03-27T19:46:00.006-05:00

Okay, friends, I have to call foul on this one… or at least voice a likely unpopular opinion. I have been reading a lot of uproar over the news about Miss Universe Canada’s disqualification of contestant Jenna Talackova. It is apparently prerequisite to entering the competition that contestants actually be born with all the body parts exhibited at competition time… or at least the ones in the genitalia category. I wonder if there is a similar restriction against nose jobs and breast augmentation… hmm… but back to my complaint.

So, Miss Universe Canada will not allow a girl who was born with male genitals to compete. I would say that is unfortunate, but really? Are we really talking about making gains in the fight for trans equality by securing our right to join a beauty contest? I do not know if I can sign up for that campaign. I realize that the beauty pageant industry is working hard to establish itself as a beacon of... something or other. I understand that women all over the world are fighting to demonstrate the value and… er… well. I watched “Miss Congeniality.” I know that there are people who want me to think it is about something more than being pretty. I do not really believe that.

I cannot help thinking that we might be doing ourselves a favor by simply steering clear of such antiquated and misogynistic exercises. We could be doing something productive with that time - like watching paint dry. I am not recommending... or even suggesting the abolition of the beauty pageant. What else are those super-popular high school girls to strive for if being pretty does not matter? Like, ya know? I simply believe we could find better ways to invest our collective energy… especially when we dare suggest tragedy in the making. Ms. Talackova’s “plight,” really?

I would feel differently if we were talking about a victim of violence, or an underprivileged trans woman being denied essential care, or discrimination in the workplace based on gender expression... you know... plight. Stop right there, no, I do not consider a beauty contest a workplace. I am sorry. Sue me. I digress. We are not talking about any of those things. We are talking about an incredibly hot young woman, who will no doubt enjoy endorsement and job offers galore because of this whole episode, and let us not forget we are talking about a beauty contest.

Where beauty is concerned - the beauty that matters - Ms. Talackova most certainly bested her former Miss Universe rivals by a mile long before she corrected her genital issue. Getting to where she is involved far more than anorexia, tanning booths, and lessons in “decorum.” She had to possess a deep inner strength unlike any most will ever have to exhibit. She had the will to fight to be the person on the outside she knew was inside. "It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight, rising up to the challenge of our rivals... [opens eyes and puts down hair brush]... oh, sorry. Where was I?" She did not get to start out as the pretty girl; she had to earn it. And she has certainly arrived.

I do not think that Ms. Talackova should be barred from competition based on her sex at birth any more than I believe she was ever truly a boy. But I also do not believe this is the kind of fight that will bring about real reform in the war for trans equality. Let us choose our battles wisely. After all, there are far greater injustices going on around us; injustices that deserve the label “a trans woman’s plight.” I vote we take a look at some of those. I vote we stand up for the girl who does not have the gift of outer beauty, the girl who really cannot get a job, or the girl who “deserved” to be bullied for her “queer appearance.” She needs our help far more than does a burgeoning super model.

Peace, my loves!

Kate

I Am Sorry, The Duchess Has Lost Her Muse

2012-03-20T22:13:00.000-05:00

Greetings friends,

I have absolutely nothing to share with you tonight, in part because since starting my new job, virtually nothing has happened... other than getting up in the morning, driving to an office, sitting at a desk in a graveyard of cubicles for the entirety of "normal business hours," then driving back home to try to squeeze some small element of life out of the few remaining hours in my day. To think, if I had a normal commute, I would never see daylight. Thankfully, my drive consumes all of about five minutes. None of that is good. But the bigger problem is that I feel absolutely no creative energy in me right now.

I think my artistic lethargy is primarily a symptom of the mental drain of learning this new job. I hope that is the case. With time, I hope that I can return to a slightly more regular (and more interesting) writing habit. For now, know that I am surviving. Transition is still happening, albeit much more slowly. I will be alright. The train has not derailed; there are just a few cows on the tracks... and possibly a bullfrog. I thought I heard croaking.

Good night loves. Write to me... or about me... or for me.

Peace,
Kate

Difficult Choices

2012-03-14T23:22:00.017-05:00

It is ironic how a person can live over four decades and with each successive year be less certain about her future. Frankly, the questions about what I am going to be when I grow up are a little out of season now; I think it is time to start making some hard choices. Oh, let me pause. This is not a transition post friends, do not panic –put down your torches! My life is muddled with half-lived dreams and unrealized passions. It is time to start weeding my garden.

I have always been a very creative girl: artistic, musical, a good eye for color, and a strong sense of harmony – natural and musical. My life used to flow on a rhythmical current, and my gifts were many, and they manifested easily. I could write poetry and music, I could make (reasonably) beautiful music on my violin, I could draw and even paint, and it all came straight from my heart. That is just not true any more. On the rare occasions my gifts peak to the surface, they are squelched by a cacophony of discordant influences – not the least of which is my own eroding attention span. I do not have the luxury of creative expression. I have the illusion of an eclectic music studio that is inexplicably littered by random shit that exudes from a pit of repugnant filth.

And that is on a clean day.

The truth is that I very rarely choose, willingly, to climb the stairs to my instruments these days. On the very rare occasions when the motivation overwhelms me, I even more rarely manage to actually play for more than a few minutes. Between the alien feel of my conquered pets – I no longer even know how my primary synth will start, it has been so mangled – and just the general discomfort I feel at being in that space; my resolve is quickly defeated. The sad truth is I will not win this battle without losing a greater war.

So there it is. Time to hit the factory reset on my devices, box them up, and sell them off to the bidder with the most grandiose dreams. It will be hard to part with some of them, but I think it is probably best. So, very soon, I will attempt to post a list of the various treasures I have decided to relinquish. If you are interested in providing a good home and tender attention… and the right dollar figure, of course… my beauties may become yours.

Among the list will be two Yamaha synths (one 88 key stage model and one vintage that needs work), a Korg analog rack synth (plus midi interfaces), a gorgeous Ibanez 5-string wood grain bass guitar with a Yamaha stack (I believe 500 watts), a 6 string acoustic Takamimi knock-off with soft shell case, a cello with all the trimmings barely ever touched, a number of miscellaneous devices – Sennheiser studio mic, various stands, a PA speaker system with effects (400 watt), a slew of cables and stuff, and one final piece. This is the one that will be hardest to let go. My violin is a German made instrument built in the early 1920’s. It is beautiful, if travel worn, but it needs to be played to once again find the warmth and beauty that used to blossom from its strings. The violin itself will not go cheaply, but I will include the few accessory items I still have for it (most of them were picked up in a pinch, so you’ll need to invest in things like a good bow… not the fiberglass thing that replaced my octagonal stick pernambucco wood bow, which I snapped over a music stand twenty years ago).

This will not be easy, my friends, but it is time to face the reality that my musical dreams evaporated eons ago, and the desire that remains is not strong enough to fight for the freedom to express it. I have made my decision.

Garage sale at Katgirl’s Lair… coming soon!

Peace and stuff,

Kate

A Momentary Lapse of Raisin

2012-03-11T21:46:00.000-05:00

Greetings dear readers, I have very little to share tonight, except to let everyone know that I did, in fact, get the job. Yes, Katgirl is a working girl again [cue: banners, ticker tape parade, and book signing]. My groove is completely thrown. It is good; do not misunderstand. But I forgot what it was like to be new at a job. It has only been over a dozen years since the last time I made a career change, after all.

I really do not want to share much tonight, friends. I am not in a good place. It will pass, and it has nothing to do with the new job – well, not directly. I will be honest; I am scared. I feel alone, and I feel like I just inadvertently pressed a great big pause button on my transition. Again, I know it is a temporary… and a necessary diversion, but wow. Having a few weeks (even if I spent half of them in bed with the plague, half of them realizing what an inconvenience my birthday was for everyone, and the other half – a little Yogi Berra for my friends, you like? – actually enjoying being a housewife) to really feel what life was going to be like for Kate when all the pretense was finally over might not have been the best thing for my short term happiness.

Having the time to be myself, to never hide behind a male mask, and to never have to think about how I would cover something during the week (my bright purple fingernails, for example… have I mentioned that purple is my favorite color? I love all the ways it rhymes with other things... just like me.) was the most amazing experience. Being able to shed the male crap completely was so incredibly freeing. Even for just a few weeks, the experience was enough to convince me of the rightness of my choice. Stop it; I am not being careless with my words. I am a woman who was born with a physical deformity. Others patterned my life around that deformity. I chose to fix it. I did not choose whom I am or how I was born, but I am choosing how to live my life. Sorry, back on my original soapbox: having the opportunity to live correctly was a complete affirmation. But that affirmation brought consequence. Is anyone writing this down? It would make a great musical... Mr. Sondheim?

I have to figure out how to get through the next few months without losing myself in my male mask (or more accurately, without losing hope while wearing my male mask). Worse, I have to figure out how to do that while having no flexibility to engage the resources that are helping me to shed that mask forever. I mean that my work schedule occupies the entirety of normal business hours – the hours during which most of the many services I require to continue working toward my correct life are available to me. I forfeited the flexibility that my old job afforded (not because of the people I worked for, but because of their general incompetence). I have to figure that out. So it is a good news, bad news situation.

The good news is that my career change afforded me the financial freedom to pursue my correct life – including all the funds I need to make the first surgical leap (FFS). The bad news is that my career change usurped my free hours – the hours I need to affect my permanent transition. So, what the hell is a girl to do?

Okay, sorry folks. I said I had very little to share, but I sure did type a bunch. Still, I think I probably succeeded in sharing very little. Weird, well, with luck I will have my groove back someday soon. I miss it.

Peace, my friends.

Kate

The Painful Price of Vanity

2012-02-28T18:09:00.002-06:00

I had a whitening appointment today. It was supposed to be a really great thing. It ruined my entire day and has really made me think about transition. Some might suggest today’s experience was simply karmic retribution for enjoying far too many pleasant days in a row – we will discount the fact that I have been sick for the last week, as even sick, I have to admit my days have been pleasant. I am not so sure; I suspect it was a lesson in personal vanity.

The morning started with a rush to prepare and multiple decisions about whether to dress for the day or for the dentist. I was supposed to have my long awaited initial appointment with my HRT doctor this afternoon and was unsure whether time would permit my returning home to prepare for that. Given that the procedure was to last about two and a half hours, I should have had plenty of time; but I know how medical offices are. I dressed somewhere in between and crossed my fingers that I would have time to stop home and fix up a little prior to my afternoon appointment.

I arrived at the dental office a solid fifteen minutes early, ready to fill out paperwork in preparation for my appointment… or so I thought. I immediately received a clipboard containing something resembling the constitution and was told to return the completed paperwork to the receptionist... an awful lot of prep for a teeth-whitening appointment, I thought. Of course, I had only about half of the information I needed. As generally seems to be the case with these kinds of adventures – the ones where I am supposed to just “show up” and everything will be ready – the chasm between the information I had and the information these people needed was wide. When we finally established that all I was there to do was have my teeth whitened and that I did not intend to ask anyone else to pay for it, things really got going; and I sat for a solid forty five minutes while the wheels of modern dentistry turned.

When the mysterious door did open, I was escorted not to the whitening chair, but to an X-ray room. This launched a series of poking and prodding and zapping and frothing that ate up another solid hour. Finally, ready to perform a whitening procedure (after yet another assurance that I did, in fact, intend to pay for the session), I made my way to the chair. I asked, of course, how much longer this will require, calculating that I had already been in the office for two of the two and a half hours this should have taken, and the chipper little assistant informed me that they would need no more than - you guessed it - two and a half hours. Checking the time, I admonished that if it was going to be any longer than that I would miss my afternoon appointment (one that I set over four months ago), so to please be realistic. She assured me I would be on my way, and we were off… to wait another fifteen minutes.

What followed this was easily the most uncomfortable two hours I have ever experienced. What followed that was pain. When the lead dental assistant finally completed the process, she unveiled a set of beautifully white teeth… which began to ache almost the moment the guards, and gauze, and glue, and mortar, and whatever the hell else was jammed in my mouth was removed. In her glorious Indian dialect, she carefully explained what I should expect and what I needed to do for the next couple days – I understood the “okay?” and “very pretty smile.” Looking at the clock, I realized that I had roughly 3 minutes to get out of that office and on the highway if I had any hope of making it to my HRT appointment; so with a steadily increasing pain index, and an only slight hemorrhage at the final sticker price, I tossed a well worn debit card to the chipper young assistant and was on my way. I made it to the doctor’s office with about fifteen minutes to spare. So what is wrong?

My smile – well, the whiteness of my teeth – is beautiful. To achieve that style point, I spent almost five hours trudging around a massive dental factory, listening to every new dentist, dental assistant, and pit-crew member to enter my presence continually pepper me with male pronouns. Short of wearing a dress and heels, I could not have appeared less masculine today. I spent the entire morning feeling completely lost and unprepared; having no idea how to answer the twenty questions any of the forty times they were asked. I shelled out several hundred dollars for a treatment that will last only if I continue to torture myself with chemicals indefinitely, which is explained in great detail AFTER the treatment is complete. I am in so much pain, even several hours later, that at times I cannot help screaming at the spasmodic knife jabs that keep exploding in my mouth. I literally curled up in a ball on my bedroom floor and cried myself to sleep when I finally made it home. I woke up screaming – imagine every nerve ending in your mouth being simultaneously exposed to a burst of frigid air. That would hurt almost as much. But the worst part of all:

After all of the hurdles of the morning, and finally arriving at my long awaited (did I mention I scheduled the appointment over four months ago?) HRT appointment, I was informed that the appointment was incorrectly booked and that I would not get to begin that part of my journey today. Priceless.

About the only highlight of the day was the enjoyment I got from the flummoxed expressions of the staff that had been belligerently calling me “sir” all morning, when they kindly showed me to the restrooms… and I walked unabashedly into the ladies’. Fuck them.

So what does this have to do with transition? Just this: after the pain I am suffering for the sake of a whiter smile, I really have to wonder if I am vain enough to endure the pain of FFS. I certainly would not repeat the teeth-whitening experience.

Much for young Katgirl to consider, this is.

Peace and love, friends.

Kate

A Quick Hello from Transadise

2012-02-16T17:37:00.000-06:00

Today marks one week since I took a new step (well, decided to) toward the final transition. Granted, it will be a bit of a shuffle step, but I like to dance. Last Thursday was when I took a leap, told the slimy, slithering snakes who were trying to unhinge me with their holy wars and live Katgirl sacrifices to bite it, and started a (hopefully) short sabbatical to get my head together before starting a new job. The catch was, at the time all I had were possibilities, no actual new jobs. It was a very scary thing to do, but so far I am really happy that I did it.

For the first time in over a decade, I slept without stress, without nightmares about work, and without the overwhelming misery and anxiety that my old job inspired. I would compare the act of Katgirl escaping that hell, to Batman escaping one of the Joker’s attempts at destroying him and his trusty companion… but that comparison would be unfair to the Joker. He was a far more honorable and honest character than the bible-thumping fiend who tormented me during my last months. Certainly, I was in no position to endure a prolonged bought of unemployment, but I was also in no condition to continue submitting myself to that world. So, for the moment I am unemployed.

But wait! It would seem Karma might be smiling on Katgirl. Without getting too excited or jinxing myself, I just have to share that one of the prospects I was banking on came through yesterday. It is not completely final yet, but I have signed an offer and taken the first steps. If all goes well, my vacation will end in about two weeks beginning a new career and a first step out on very solid financial footing. In fact, (again hoping not to jinx myself), the current outlook is so bright that FFS may actually happen THIS year! Can you believe that?

I have shared previously that I am not waiting on surgical intervention to start my life, and that is truer today than it was even a week ago. I am living. I truly love life, and I feel absolutely no rush to take that next major step. But if the opportunity arises, I will most certainly go for it. I am learning that, while planning and navigating life with caution is generally a good thing, sometimes taking an extreme step really is the best way to move forward.

Fingers crossed!

Until next time, friends,

Kate

Being Found By Love (Happy Valentine's Day)

2012-02-14T10:47:00.004-06:00

Relationships are seldom easy for a trans person. They are not easy for any person who truly invests herself in the relationship; but they bring a whole special set of challenges for trans people. Being in a committed relationship implies having no secrets, but so often, we feel we have no choice but to break that most basic covenant. Whether for our own safety, or from some misguided hope that keeping our nature secret will allow the relationship to grow, we attempt to hide our personal reality from the one person who should know us most deeply. How can we hope to preserve and grow that most special bond, when we do not give all of ourselves to our partners?

Keeping a secret like this creates so many problems. The most fundamental are that from the beginning we withhold information; by default we do not fully invest ourselves in our partners, and we demonstrate a lack of trust in our partners. I would never presume to judge, and I would never suggest a trans woman is wrong for keeping the secret; but I think we at least have to understand how it can lead to significant issues in a relationship. Sadly, the issues often become less about the acceptance of an alternative personality and more about the shaky foundations of the relationship itself. I have to wonder how often a partner's inability or unwillingness to accept his or her partner's true self is not because he or she cannot accept transsexualism, but simply because of the sense of betrayal that partner feels upon learning the new information.

I have been in very few relationships. Just three serious ones in my entire life. I dated more people than that, but I have seldom taken that full dive. In all three instances, my partner knew at least part of the truth about me early in the relationship. The first two lasted for a time, largely in spite of who I was – never a good recipe for a sustainable situation. It is the last relationship I want to discuss. I say “last” rather than “most recent,” because I want to be clear that I truly believe this is the last relationship I will ever enter. I am so fortunate to have actually found “the one,” that I sometimes have to pinch myself to be sure it is real. I have not discussed our relationship in any great detail here, but being Valentine's Day, it seems like a good time to finally share at least part of our story with you.

My partner and I met at a work function. She is beautiful, and I felt an immediate attraction. But I was in a really bad place in my life at that time. I had recently decided to “put away” my past. I had not only packed up and stored all of my girl stuff, but I had even put away most of my musical instruments. However poorly thought out, I had decided that I needed to separate from all of the things I associated with my “female side.” I was not even thinking of the woman in me as “me;” I had relegated her to just a part of my psyche that needed to be rooted out and fixed. In short, I was a mess, so when this beautiful creature actually sought me out following the class, I was both taken aback, and instantly forced to realize I was in no condition to have a relationship.

She would not be ignored though, and within a few short weeks, we met on a personal level for the first time. She came to my home for a small party with some of my friends. She was wonderful. I was a mess. One of the most significant things I remember about that first night, and something I have never shared before now, is somehow in her presence; I actually felt my falseness. I thought until that moment that I had been doing a pretty good job of “being a man,” but something about her made me aware of the thinness of that veil. It was the beginning of a whole new problem. I was so very attracted to her, but I was so freaked out at how inept I felt in her presence. In reality, I was inept whether or not I was in her presence; I just did not realize it at the time. I decided that I could not allow her to get any closer. And so the game began.

In so many ways, the early parts of our relationship seem so typical, when you dismiss which of us was born in which body. She pursued me. I resisted, but my resistance was weak. Finally, I decided I had to drop the bomb that would no doubt bring an end to the madness. One night over dinner and drinks with a couple of our friends (there was a little collateral damage there... only one of them knew the truth about me before that night), I put it all out on the table. I told her that I was actually a woman, that I had always felt the need to correct my body to be able to live as my true self. I did not say it in those words, exactly, I cannot remember it exactly – I had gotten myself a little drunk in order to find the courage to say it. What I do remember was her unflinching response, which was in essence, “and?”.

We left the bar with me convinced that I would never see her again, and her convinced that she would never let me go. Still it was not until our next meeting that my resistance finally melted. I still believed that she would arise from the shock the next day and realize just how lucky she was to be able to get out before things went too far. That is not at all what happened, and the next time we met ended with an hours long conversation about just how perfect we were for each other. I was hooked, and I knew then that I had to admit to myself that I loved her.

[NOTE: There are so many great stories to share about what is no longer my journey, but now our journey. It is more than I can fit in this one blog post. I will save those for the book. Read on:]

We were married less than a year later. Since that first night, so much has happened, and so many things have changed. We have had all the same fights that most couples have (plus a few probably... I am very picky about my kitchen [sheepish grin]). We have faced difficulties. We have shared so many laughs and more tears than some probably share in a lifetime. It has been almost three years since we met, and every day that has passed since that first one has brought us closer together. Sometimes that is her moving closer to me, and sometimes it is me moving closer to her, but always we are moving toward each other. I cannot imagine a life without her. She is my champion – in many, many ways.

I know I am one of the most fortunate women alive. I have found the one person who loves me for who I really am, and who's love I feel more every single day. More accurately, love has found me. I once would have said that I never deserved to be so happy, but today, I believe I do deserve it. I deserve to share my life with the most wonderful woman on the planet. She deserves to have all of my love and devotion for as long as we both live. We both deserve each other, and you know what? You deserve exactly the same thing.

And when you can finally let yourself be seen, and allow someone to really know you; it will be there for you too. I believe that with all of my heart. We all deserve love.

I love you, Jamie. You are my hero.

And Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!

Love,
Kate

P.S. Are you happy now? I have made myself cry... happy tears, but still.

The Biology of a Trans Woman

2012-02-13T17:25:00.001-06:00

My beautiful partner, and Derrick, and I were lying in bed last Friday night with the trusty Mac catching up on our Hulu queue. Why are you looking at me that way? It is a pretty normal Friday night for us, and no we are not old… just tired. Oh, you want to know about Derrick. It is not what you think.

Derrick sleeps with us, and he is just the cutest little thing. Relax, he is a stuffed animal. He was a valentine’s gift from my wife to me... we call him our love child. It amuses us. We know he is a boy, because his name is Derrick, and he is incorrigible. He was named after the character from “Criminal Minds,” (I know, right?). He is not quite as buff as Derrick Morgan, but he has the same steamy gaze and is every bit as gorgeous. His girlfriend, Penelope, hangs out on the night stand. Yes, he is straight; sorry boys.

So, we were all lying in bed last Friday night watching the latest episode of Glee. One thing to know about me – you may already – is that I cry a lot, and it usually takes very little to inspire tears. It is not a happiness thing, or a sadness thing; it just is. I cry when things make me sad, I cry when things make me happy, I cry when I am angry, I cry when I stub my toe, and I often cry watching TV or movies. Glee almost always makes me cry. I hate that. This particular episode was no exception, technically. Like clockwork, I began crying mid-way through the show; but I was not crying because of the show. This is where it gets weird, so grab some popcorn and read on. As we were lying there, I realized something; I had been holding Derrick just like I would hold a newborn child – cradling him.

When I looked down at him and noticed what I had been doing, I was overwhelmed by one simple thought: “I want to have a baby.” And it was powerful. I instantly began to weep. My next thought, of course, was “where the hell did that come from?” I am almost forrrr... (ahem, ahem) years old. I do not want any more children. We already have four of them, and not one requires nursing, burping, or changing, and besides; we will be lucky if the four we already have do not put us in the poor house. I should be looking forward to Grandchildren now, not thinking about having babies! Never mind that I cannot physically do that anyway! Why on earth would a thought like that materialize, and why would it make me so emotional?

Thinking about it even now brings tears, and it is not just remembering the emotion. There are so many parts of being a woman that I will never experience, that I will never feel. I know that many genetic women complain about their bodies and the various biological functions and idiosyncrasies that occur within them. I think it is the thing that most commonly perplexes genetic women about trans women – why anyone would actually want to endure the “trials of womanhood.” I know it is one of the most frequent queries I hear from other women. But when your mind and your emotions are geared toward those parts of life, toward menstrual cycles, and toward child-rearing, whether logical or not; the absence of those experiences hurts.

Sometimes it hurts a lot. Knowing that I will always be absent some of the most fundamental building blocks of who I am as a woman can be a devastating realization. I realize that the p.c. sorts may take offense, but I have to imagine it is very similar to what a genetic woman feels when she learns she cannot have children, or to the hollowness experienced by a runner who loses her leg. One might suggest that the situations are different, because in mine there was no trauma associated with the condition. But I would offer that for anyone to think there is no trauma associated with living as a trans woman – or as any trans person for that matter – shows just how little that person really knows about trans issues. Every single path I had to walk to get to this place in my life was traumatic.

And the trauma is not over. There are still many hardships and painful moments to face. There are more trials, confrontations, treatments, procedures, and hopefully one day soon, surgeries. But I am so fortunate to have the opportunity to pursue all of those, and to know that I will not be facing them alone. I may never, technically be a complete woman. The best I may ever hope for is to physically emulate the female body, absent the biological processes and quirks. But there is no mimicry in my heart or in my mind. If the best my body can do is emulate womanhood, then at least it will depict the reality of what is in my soul. I can live with that, and I believe I can do it happily.

Okay, so there is no need to freak out. I do not really want to have a baby, but the experience has really made me think. I do not know from where my mind conjured the image, nor do I fully understand what was really behind it. I am sure it is not nearly as simple as actually wanting to have a baby. That is okay though. It is just one more sign that life is right.

Take care, my friends.

Kate

A Little More Time To Be

2012-02-10T16:24:00.001-06:00

Well, I have just been blessed with an abundance of free time. To be honest, I am still trying to convince myself this is a blessing. I know it is. But there are a lot of things I know that I do not actually feel. That is one of my problems; I am smart, but I do not trust even my own thinking. I have been working on it, and I am proud to report that I have gotten better. I believe that I am finally on the other side of the “I am okay” concept. Now I just have to internalize the “this situation is okay” concept. I will get there.

The good news is that the most significant challenge to my mental health has been resolved. The hell that was my job and the demons who used to torment me there (bosses, etc.) are now officially a part of my past. That leaves me with an incredible sense of peace. The possibility that this life change could result in my evolution from blogging about food to begging for it does have me just a tad worried, but I am mostly optimistic that it will all work out okay. I have options; there are still a number of fall-back plans I can employ if needed. And more importantly, I now have WAY more room in my closet for when I do have the money to go shopping again.

So, starting today, I am a housewife... for a little while. One of the first chores I completed this morning was to dispose of all but a few male items from my closet... YAY... getting close. To be clear, I do not have very much figured out right now. There is a strong probability that I will not be done with that part of my life just yet, but gliding one step closer to that end felt so good. What I do know, and what I can say for certain is that regardless of the new challenges this may create; it was the right thing. I feel more at peace right now than I have in several years. In a life event that would typically indicate things falling apart, I feel things finally coming together. I am honestly and truly happy.

Until next time, friends,

Kate

Life in Transition – An Update

2012-02-03T13:12:00.001-06:00

It occurs to me that while I have begun to settle back into a somewhat regular writing schedule, I have not stayed true to the premise of this journal lately. Well, as the journal is intended to share stories from my experiences through transition, I am on track in as much as I am sharing stories and events from my life; but I have not spent much time discussing my actual transition. So today, dear readers, I will humbly attempt to update you on my progress.

I think one of the reasons my focus has shifted in recent months is that transition has been primarily background noise. In many ways, life – outside of work, anyway – has settled into a very normal feeling pattern. Kate lives. Kate cooks, Kate cleans, Kate goes to the grocery store, and runs errands. Kate goes to parties, Kate goes to bars, Kate goes to restaurants, and even uses public restrooms (sparingly). Kate attends sporting events, goes to recitals, and school functions. Kate has even entered a church building and did not burst into flames!

Okay, all of these third person references to myself are starting to freak me out. You get the idea.

In almost every way, my existence has taken on a feeling of ordinary life. I do not freak out at the idea of leaving the house. When the doorbell rings (usually because I skipped cooking for a night and just ordered pizza), I feel no apprehension about answering. I make eye contact with passers-by and smile, no matter their demeanor – they usually return the smile... or fail to notice. I do not always wear makeup, nor do I always wear the nicest outfit. In fact, it is quite normal to see me strolling the mall or the grocery store in jeans and a t-shirt or casual knit top (I usually wear makeup to the mall... I guess I am funny that way). I am more likely to throw in a headband or clip my bangs out of my eyes with a barrette, than I am to spend hours in front of the mirror doing my hair (my arms get tired). Yet, everywhere I go and in virtually every interaction, I am addressed appropriately, and there is no sense of awkwardness in any way or from any person. For the most part, I have arrived.

The one and only gap is work, which is becoming a problem. I mentioned recently that the tide has truly turned. My life now is close to being a single path, and opposite from a year ago, switching to be a boy – even for just a few hours, much less all week – is a monumental effort both physically and emotionally. I thought when I started on this path that, one, I would be able to handle an “in place” transition, and two, I would be able to manage that split in my life until after FFS. It is becoming increasingly clear that neither idea is still true. Of course, several things have changed since I started this adventure about a year ago. There have been a number of material changes surrounding my work life, but those are irrelevant.

I think the most significant change, and the one thing driving my discomfort (ironically) has been the change inside of me. A year ago, I did not believe I could live happily as Kate until after surgical intervention. I believed no one would perceive me as female until I corrected the features that erode that image. I was also extremely uncomfortable in public settings. I was afraid to leave my house as Kate. Those attitudes have drastically changed. I am not suggesting things are perfect; for example, I know that I still “get read” occasionally. My experience has been, though, that in those situations, at least half the time; it makes no difference to my interaction with the person. More importantly, the fact that someone reads me as genetically male just does not matter to me, as long as the reader does not make an issue of it.

I know that I am a woman, and I am comfortable in my skin. I still have a few “to dos” to check off the list, certainly; but I am happy with who I am inside. One day very soon, I hope also to be happy with my external life. I do not mean post-surgery life; I mean post- “still pretending to be a boy sometimes” life. I am still planning to engage the same surgical options I planned a year ago; in fact, I have even made the decision that I do want to go all the way. That is something I had not worked out until just recently. I am also still very excited to bring all of that to fruition, and even more excited to finally have all of those milestones behind me. The difference is that I am not waiting for any of those events to kick-start my life.

While I await the final milestones, I am comfortable, and I am happy. I am not in a hurry to get things done, I do not rush until life is no fun. All I really have to do is live and die, but I am not in a hurry, and I know why (Sorry, that was a terrible play on song. I am still a huge dork – that will never change!)...

The life I have always wanted is the life I already have. It looks a little different from how I first imagined it, but if anything, it is even better than what I first imagined. It is funny how that can happen sometimes.

Ciao for now!

Kate