Suddenly Sara

Quest for the Grail

2013-05-24T10:42:00.002-04:00

My dream is coming true. I have my date for surgery scheduled, August 5th of this year.

So this is it. I'm now just over 2 months away from the "end" of my transition. The Holy Grail, so to speak.Whereas I am overjoyed at the prospect of this finally happening - and I thought it might never - I am feeling a lot of other emotions that I didn't quite count on.

Initially, of course, before any of it comes true, it's easy to romanticize the surgery. You dream about the final result, and not what needs to be done for it to become reality. We all talk about surgery like it's as simple as plugging in a new hard drive on your computer. Human bodies, however, don't simply have expansion slots that take 5 minutes of work with a screwdriver, but until you're faced with the reality of it all, this is easy to forget.

Now that my surgery is 2 months away, fear and panic is setting in. I want to be overjoyed - and I am, believe me! - but words like "pain" and "recovery time" and "hospital stay" are becoming involved. I'm no longer able to look past all of that at the fully-healed, fully-functional future that lay before me. My conscious mind is beginning to grasp that I will be sliced open, rearranged, and stitched back together in a completely different way that my body never intended. The recovery time is long, the results are icky until things begin to truly heal up after about 6 months, and it will require a lot of work and after-care to keep healthy.

It helps that aside from my mother, I have a few friends also coming to be with me, including my boyfriend. The support of family and friends is always a great thing to have in trying times, and I can think of no more trying time than this, in recent history. It isn't lost on me that no surgery is without complications, and this one makes some pretty intense demands on my body. Should the worst happen - should I perish on the operating table because of some freak one-in-a-million chance accident, my family, friends, and beloved man will be there as well, with me. I won't have gone alone.

I've honestly never had to make these sort of mental preparations before. I feel, in a small way, like I'm preparing for war. I'm leaving for a foreign land (well, Philadelphia), and when I come back I will be a changed woman. Though I trust in those entrusted with my care, and I know I am in the best of hands, I may be wounded or may not even return. Recovery and reintegration into society after my return will take some time, and perhaps some therapy, but with the help and support of my family and friends, I know I will get through it, and I will be stronger for it.

I'm interested to know, for those of you who have had major invasive surgery - especially if it's the same one I'm getting - how did you cope with the physical aspects of things, and how bad was it, really? Am I blowing this up into more than it needs to be, playing a mean game of Worst Case Scenario in my head? Leave your answers in the comments below.

Pulse Check

2013-04-25T13:29:00.002-04:00

I'm not dead. I just wanted to let you all know.

I've more or less been on hiatus from my blog, for a number of reasons I'm going to attempt to detail here. This hiatus wasn't exactly planned, it just sort of happened, and I'm not even sure - in spite of my writing this blog post toda - that it's actually over. Apparently, I need to reevaluate some things in my life currently.
First and foremost, I want to apologize to my readership for dropping off the face of the earth so unexpectedly. What started as a combination of being busy, having a boyfriend, and enough writer's block to keep me from sitting down at my keyboard and saying, "I have to put this in my blog," snowballed into dead silence from me. I know some people have come to this blog as a form of support, moreso than a clever distraction or entertaining read, and I didn't give you much warning that I wouldn't be there when you needed me.

So, what exactly DID happen to cause me to disappear for so long? *sigh* I'm still not entirely sure. Lots of things. Nothing. Maybe everything.

Things have been going incredibly well with Sean. We're comfortably past all the initial uncertain courting, and well into the "boyfriend, girlfriend, hang out and do nothing together all weekend" phase. May 20th will be our first anniversary. I have a photo of him up in my cube at work - he's the only person I've EVER had a photo of up at work, and that includes my ex spouse. I'm stupidly into that boy, like I never knew I could be. Lately, he's been working a lot of mandatory overtime at work, so Saturday and Sunday are the only days we can see one another. This has pretty much eaten my weekends up entirely, and I'm not the least bit sorry.

My living situation more or less deteriorated, and I was forced to move in October. I moved into an apartment with my friend E, and we've been cohabitating quite comfortably. E - whom I've mentioned in previous blog posts - is also trans, so it removes the awkwardness of our living together from the equation. If one of us needs support, the other can easily empathize. It's a good situation for the both of us. However, it also ate up a chunk of my time and caused quite a bit of stress before and after the move. That's all behind me now, and I'm quite well settled in at the new place.

Then there's been the dysphoria . *sigh*

I don't really know what it is that's been causing it. Maybe it's being triggered by the other stresses in my life, making me unable to devote enough emotional fortitude to handle my day-to-day dysphoria. Maybe I'm just slipping. Maybe the whole "being trans" thing is just getting really incredibly fucking old. I'm not sure.

What I do know, though, is that my dysphoria became very bad, late last year. I know I've made some mentions on Facebook (for those of you who are FB friends with me), but I just want to talk about it a bit here, to give you a clearer picture of what was going on in my head. I'm level-headed and emotionally-sound enough right now to tell you, "I wasn't okay." Little aggravations that I usually ignore and forget, such as seeing a beautiful woman and being jealous of her curves, or the shape of someone's chin, or really anything that isn't currently taking place on my body, had been really drawing down my mood. It had reached the point where I was nearly in tears at my desk because I read a webcomic in which one character was talking about her genitalia - the thought that I didn't have those same bits was enough to spoil my entire day.

I generally don't even worry about my genitals. I'm not saying they haven't been a source of dysphoria for me in the past, and I certainly want to be rid of this thing as quick as possible, but I'm generally one of those girls that's okay with working what I have. My boyfriend doesn't mind, and we have a very fun sex life (sorry mom and dad, but I am a grown woman) but sex has been making me very anxious lately. That's really no fault of Sean's - he's been wonderful, and I want that abundantly clear. I guess it's just easier to ignore the fact that you don't have a vagina when nobody wants to touch your body. Having a boyfriend is basically a constant reminder of that. I can't offer myself to him sexually the way a cis girl could, and I hate that.

So, my lengthy hiatus has served as a mental vacation for me. I've been able to focus on my life, and just living as the woman I've always wanted to be - not a trans woman, just a woman. I walked away from the blog, the activism, the support groups, the pride events, everything. That said, this blog post isn't an announcement that I'm back. It's not a promise of anything, really. It's just an update.

I miss the community, and I miss the people, though. I'm sorry I had to leave for so long, but my own personal well-being was at risk, and I can't help anyone if I'm an emotional wreck... or worse. I'd like to dip my toe back in the waters again, perhaps. I'd like to help people. I'd like to blog again, if only a few times per month. I'd like to be more active on my YouTube channel. I'd like to try, and if I can't handle it, so be it. I'll quit again.

But I'd like to try.

The Star

2012-07-12T18:52:00.000-04:00

Occasionally, I'll read, or have read for me, my tarot. I don't rely on it as a source of information, and I don't think the cards have any great mystical powers to tell the future. I do, however, think they're a great tool for examining your current situation, and looking for truths that may not be so obvious to you - like a mirror, for your life. A common practice, when reading the cards, is to use a significator - a card that represents you, to center the reading around.

I've only recently really gotten into the practice of using the cards - I've only just found a deck that really holds meaning in it's symbols - so the significator I've been choosing for myself is Death. Right now, those of you who know tarot are nodding and saying, "Yes, I can see that." Those of you who are unfamiliar with the meanings of various cards are probably scratching your head, or at worst, aghast at my choice. Death, in a tarot deck, does not have a bad connotation, you see. The card represents a new beginning - the end of the old, and the start of the new. A change in jobs, living situations, eras of your life... and for me, it was the death of my past incarnation, and the birth of Sara. I was, for a while, the living incarnation of new beginnings. He died so that Sara could take his place, and begin again.

Death, from my deck

I had let my cards sit for a while, but a few friends of mine helped make me enthusiastic about using them again. So, the other night, while one of these friends was at my home, I pulled my cards out, and plopped Death down on the table ... and then I hesitated.

I thought of what the card meant, and why I had chosen it. Death is a card representing change, but was I really changing anymore? I'm sure we all grow and change every day with every new experience, sure, but was it really the defining factor in my life? Was I still in transition? And if I were, do I still want that to be my defining factor? Was I really represented by the aspect of change? Didn't I have a bit more stability in my life now than all of that? Isn't that why I had to kill Party-Girl?

In essence, the cards had already done their job. By pulling out a single card to represent myself, I was faced with a question of self-examination. I drew Death out of habit, but it was clear that it now felt incorrect. So, if I wasn't Death any longer, what was I? What had I become, now that my transition had effectively ended?

I began to vigorously look through my deck, looking at meanings and imagery represented in their symbols. There were certainly a few cards that grabbed my attention - The Queen of Cups, The Page of Pentacles (sometimes the Page is known as the Knave, and sometimes the suit of Pentacles is called the suit of Coins or Discs instead.), and even The Priestess. However, when it all came down to it, I chose The Star instead.

So, why The Star? Because it represents solace. It represents hospitality, and comfort, and compassion... all virtues that I may not always portray, but I always wish to portray. If I could hug everyone in the world and make them not hurt anymore, I would. It's the main reason I work so hard to write regularly in this blog, and to work with people in the transgender community. I want to offer everyone a chance to ease their troubles. Here is an excerpt from the book that comes with my deck :

"Your answer, should you find yourself by the Star's pool, should be very welcome. Whatever has been trying your spirit, whatever difficulties you've been facing, whatever sadness has torn your heart, the Star brings a time of serene quiet, a safe, cool place where you can be refreshed and find hope. Once you are renewed and feeling stronger, she will serve as your guiding star to help you find your way. But first, rest."

So, I think it's time to stop being Death. I need to look beyond my transition now. I need to stop clinging to my transition like a security blanket. For so long, I've straddled the line of male and female, and spent my time dwelling on the fact that it set me apart from the rest of the world. It has been the only thing that's felt real in my life for years now; the only goal worth working for. It's high time I examine my life, now, though, and realize that I've been living full time in my female role for over a year now. I'm coming up swiftly on my second anniversary of beginning my HRT. I have a steady job, a boyfriend, a family that loves me, and friends that are always there for me... and I can't remember the last time I needed to lean on them. I don't mean calling my friend and saying, "Hey, I'm kinda dysphoric, can you talk to me for a few minutes and let me vent?" I mean really honest to goodness lean on them, because I'm so lost and confused and hurt that I don't know what else to do. Those sort of changes have stopped happening in my life.

Nowadays, I spend most of my energy comforting others. My home has been open to others to come to for support, with a hot kettle and a plate of something to snack on. My Facebook friends list is half made of people I have met through the trans community, who follow my blog. I search for new ways every day that I can lend support and solace to others in the trans community, through my writing, or my YouTube channel, or my Tumblr blog. After all of this, I still want to do more. It actually pains me that I don't have time to be more active in the community. My dream job, at this stage in my life, would to become a licensed gender therapist, so I can work one-on-one with transgender people, and have the professional training to know best how to help them.

If this is not The Star, I'm not sure what is. All I needed is some perspective... a Star to guide me to this realization. A pool to rest by, and tell me that my journey of transition is over. I've made it to the other side, and I can rest a bit now, by her waters, in her gentle, calming light.

Darkness

2012-07-09T15:04:00.000-04:00

I'm reminded, yet again, that dysphoria doesn't follow any specific rules. It doesn't wait for a specific trigger, and it doesn't go away. It follows trends, a lot of times. That is to say, certain images or words tend to be triggering for me, certain situations I may find myself in, and certain aspects of my body tend to be triggering, but there's no absolute rules about what will or will not trigger me at any given moment. Sometimes, dysphoria just happens.

This morning is a good example. I had a very tiring weekend, physically, but a very pleasing weekend emotionally. Saturday, I had a charming lunch with E for her second anniversary of starting HRT (my little girl, all grown up!! *sniffle*), went shopping and bought 3 new dresses and a skirt, and then went to Sean's for his birthday. We had a wonderful dinner at an Asian restaurant, and spent the rest of the evening at his place, before I kissed him goodbye for his week-long vacation up north. Sunday, I spent in scenic Frankenmuth with some old friends I hadn't seen since back in college - it was so wonderful to meet them again after 12 years! I had nothing but good feelings about this weekend, yet when I awoke this morning, I hated myself all over again.

I awoke feeling a bit physically ill. That wasn't a good sign, but it's certainly not a dysphoria trigger by itself. I sat down at the computer after snagging myself a cup of coffee and a PB&J on toast, and opened Facebook. My college friend had snapped a picture of me, and when I saw it posted last night, I thought it was a wonderful picture - I usually hate pictures of me, so I remarked that it was amazing I actually liked it. This morning, I hated it all over again. My jaw, my nose, my chin, my eyes - All of it. Facebook lost it's amusement, so I flipped over to Tumblr. Some of the people I follow there post fashion pictures of women in pretty dresses, cute shoes, and sometimes sexy pictures as well. Normally this isn't a trigger for me (luckily, because I'd break down every time I saw a pretty cis girl, and wouldn't be able to function) but this morning every image of a beautiful cis girl stung like a wasp.

What frightens me about feeling this way isn't the dysphoria, but the self-destructive thoughts that come with it. They creep into my thoughts casually, and offer the idle suggestion that suicide is always an option. They appear as friendly suggestions, with the same sort of intensity one might suggest making a salad if you're feeling a bit hungry. They're not paired with intense feelings of depression, and they're certainly not thoughts I'd act upon, but they're present none the less, and uncomfortably frequent. In fact, I would say nearly every time I begin to feel depressed or dysphoric, these idle suggestions begin finding their way into my thoughts.

This happens nearly every single day, really. I struggle with low-level dysphoria all the time, but I can almost always overcome it, ignore it, or distract myself away from it. A pretty girl on television, an intimate situation with my boyfriend, shaving in the morning, all create dysphoria for me, and almost always, this dysphoria is paired with these subtle undercurrents of self-harm.

Yes, I'm aware of how messed up this sounds. It's messed up, it's probably painful or triggering to read, and I know a lot of you are probably very very worried about me right now. Don't be. This has been happening for years. I just don't like to talk about it, because the moment you say, "thoughts of self harm" to someone, they start with the whole litany of, "You have so much to live for, and if you need a friend I'm there, and it's not worth it, etc." If I mentioned it even half the time I have a self-harming thought, my friends would have me committed for my own good. I've thought about maybe seeing my therapist again, but all I can think is I'd be spending money, time, and gas I don't have to spare, just so he can tell me, "Hey, cheer up. It's not so bad. Don't kill yourself."

And I won't. I want to make that abundantly clear - these thoughts are idle, they're not anything I'm going to act on. I'm not contemplating how I'm going to do it, or what I'm going to write on my farewell note. The thoughts happen, I say, "shut up, brain," and that's that.

I'm also slightly comforted that I'm not alone in this, either. A lot of us transpeople don't like to talk about it, but I'm aware of several other people who have confided in me that it's not terribly uncommon for them either. Don't get me wrong, I don't like the fact that other people are in pain, but at least knowing that I'm not the only one that has these stray thoughts on a regular basis makes me at least feel like it's not an anomaly, and that my friends will understand me if I tell them about it.

How sad is it that I'll strive for normalcy so much that I'm comforted that my friends have suicidal thoughts, too?

I don't want to scare anybody. I'm alright. I'm not going to harm myself, but I need to talk about it so that others can understand, and so I can come to terms with it myself. Thank you for listening to me pour my heart out.

The Limelight

2012-07-06T10:31:00.004-04:00

When I was questioning my gender identity all those years ago, I had no role models. I didn't know what transgender even meant. I knew I liked feeling like a girl, and dressing like a girl, but I had no idea what that meant, and there was nobody standing in the limelight other than Eddy Izzard (who, I don't think really counts) for me to look at and say, "Yeah, I'm like that person! I'm not alone!"

It took me years to finally sort out what exactly was going on inside my head. In that time, a single, solitary trans person emerged and stepped into the public spotlight - Chaz Bono. However, I still couldn't really count Mr. Bono as a role model, though, because his transgender journey took him in an opposite direction from me; from female to male instead of male to female. I couldn't look to him and think, "He knows what it's like to feel like a woman deep down inside." Ironically, nothing could be further from the truth - Chaz made his transition because he had no idea what the felt like.

Eventually, with some digging, I was able to find other transgender women like myself, and some of them were even moderately well-known. None of them, however, were standing up fighting for transgender rights (Except Calpernia Addams - she's amazing, just not terribly well known). None of them were standing up saying, "I'm trans, and proud." This, really, is the key reason I started this blog, so that I could do something so few others were - standing up and talking about their transition, and their lives, and letting the mainstream, cisgender community know that we're not weirdos and freaks, we're just men and women that got a bad toss of the genetic dice.

Recently, though, there have been more people coming out as trans in the public spotlight, and, frankly, this couldn't make me happier! First, Laura Jane Grace (formerly Tom Gable, of the band Against Me!) comes out in a May 8th exclusive article with Rolling Stone magazine. Laura has been amazingly public about her transition, having done several more interviews on the topic since her public debut in early May.

Get More: Against Me!, Music News

I learned of Laura's coming out on Tumblr, and watched as the trans community rushed in to welcome her with open arms - Apparently I was not the only one who was glad to see someone so public willing to stand up and say, "Yeah, I'm trans, and now that I'm out, it's great!"

From her MTV.com interview :

"I've been completely blown away; the most amazing part for me is the amount of trans men and women who have been coming out to the shows and meeting them after and talking with them. I'll have a lot of them come up to me and be like 'It's amazing, what you're doing, and I look up to you so much,' " she said. "And it blows me away, because I look at them, and they're so much further along in their transition, and it's like 'What you're doing for me, by being here right now, is beyond whatever you think I'm doing for you.' Just being able to make that connection ... because I had no friends in that world. And to make those connections, that is half of what I wanted to accomplish by coming out, to be part of that community."

Bunny Bennett has her character, Rabbit

Recently, as well, Bunny Bennett of the steampunk band Steam Powered Giraffe also came out as transgender on her blog. I know many of you probably don't follow that band unless you're fellow members of the steampunk community (and I know a lot of my friends in the steam community read my blog, so, HI!). However, for those of us who are in the steampunk community, that was pretty big news for us!

She says, in her blog :

I can never be a happy man. He never will be…because he doesn’t exist. There’s already a person in my head who is happy and needs out. Needs to shout. And when she does…it makes me happy. It makes me feel damn good.

I remember reading Bunny's blog, and thinking to myself, "my goodness... this all sounds like things that I said - verbatim - three years ago. Good for you, Bunny! Good for you!" Again, seeing her words on page, and seeing how she proudly stood up and proclaimed who she was, regardless of what the public opinion of her might be, filled me with pride. I'm now well into my life as a woman, but I can only imagine how many pre-transition, questioning, confused, and frightened young transwomen are out there looking to ladies like her and Laura, thinking, "That's me, that's how I feel inside. I'm not a freak! I'm not alone!" I wonder, in simply coming out publicly, how many lives they've saved because it gave a young transwoman the hope for a future enough to carry on rather than checking out.

We'll never know, but this is how my brain works.

So here's to you, Ladies in the Limelight! Thank you for being brave enough to stand your ground, and not give up your spot in the public eye just because you came out as trans. Thank you for your strength, courage, and conviction. You're doing much more good than you may understand, and we all owe you a debt of gratitude.

* * *

Oh, hey everyone! I forgot to mention - I now write a regular Saturday guest-blog feature at the Transgender Education Collaboration, called Saturdays with Sara. Hop over and check'm out! There's a lot of great stuff on their site!

Passing Thoughts 10

2012-06-26T17:56:00.000-04:00

Over the last two weeks or so since my last post, I've been suffering from some pretty severe writer's block. I've written, erased, rewritten, edited, erased, abandoned, and rewritten a post in that time. I would walk away from it, then come back later and reread what I'd written, and always thought it was rambling drivel. So, I've decided to just write another "Passing Thoughts," so I can get the jumbled tangle of thoughts out of my head and onto the virtual page. Hopefully that will clear my writer's block up, and I can get back to writing about things that matter. We shall see.

* * *

The main issue I've been having is that so much is going on, and I have so many different emotions about each of these things, that it's just difficult to get my thoughts in order about any of it. Any attempt to do so has proven to come out as aimless rambling, and that's the last thing I want to produce for you, my loyal readers. You deserve better.

Probably the biggest issue on my mind right now, is dating. I've mentioned Sean before, in my last few blog posts. I was at the World Steam Expo with him, and things have continued to go very well for us since then. Our relationship quickly became very comfortable, and we continue to find new things we have in common every day. My friends all seem to like him just fine, and I simply cannot get enough of him. A lot of the typical issues cisgender guys seem to have dating transgender women just didn't apply between us, either. He simply doesn't see the difference, and I see us being very happy for a very long time.

Dating, though, tends to be a double-edged sword, in ways. It has been the cause of some anxieties I don't have to deal with while single, such as worrying about my anatomical issues, whether or not my boyfriend is actually okay with those anatomical issues, how long it might take before he's sick of dealing with those anatomical issues, and whether or not I'll ever be able to find anyone as wonderful as him again if he leaves me. I have to constantly remind myself to just breathe deep, and enjoy him being next to me. I'm sure I'll relax eventually, but having only been dating him a bit over a month, I'm still a little on-edge. I've told Sean about these anxieties, and he's been very understanding about them. I just need to not let them consume me, and we'll be fine.

* * *

I'm still in the process of picking apart the complexities of my sexuality. As that girl that always has to ask "why," I'm fascinated by the various factors that may have played into my switch from liking girls to liking boys. For a while, I was identifying as bisexual (or, pansexual if you prefer), but for the life of me, I can't imagine what I ever saw in women. Yes, they're certainly pretty, but I'm now having a difficult time imagining myself ever dating one romantically.

I had a conversation with R about this very definite shift in preferences, and she said something very interesting to me that I think identifies the root cause of my change in preference. R, as avid readers will know, is a lesbian, through and through. However, in her high school days, she tried dating men for a while. She told me, "I realized I was dating the type of boyfriend that I wanted to be for my girlfriend." I got to thinking about that statement, and realized it rang very true for me, as well! I thought back to when I was younger, and still identified as a straight cisgender male (because I hadn't made the realization of what how I felt about myself meant yet.) I realized that when I closed my eyes and fantasized, I was the princess waiting for my prince. I was the one in the sundress, being walked hand-in-hand through a path in the woods, sunlight glistening off the babbling brook, and flowers basking in the mottled sunlight breaking through the trees. I was the one being held, kissed, and told I was beautiful. I never entertained these options because in my perceptions, I wasn't a girl. I didn't think it would be possible to ever be one. So, I just identified that these were things I wanted in a relationship, and found a nice girl I could be Prince Charming for.

Now that I'm dating men exclusively, I'm finding it's just natural for me to be on the other half of that equation. It just feels right to be with a man, especially one that makes me feel as beautiful and loved and treasured as Sean makes me feel.

* * *

It's really honestly a very surreal feeling, being nervous to tell your parents about your boyfriend. I never imagined it would be so awkward to come out to them as straight.

"Mom... Dad... I have something to tell you about me. Something that may be difficult for you to hear. I um... I'm seeing someone. A boy."

"Oh, goodness, no, please, don't tell us you like boys! I can handle you being transgender, but say anything but straight!"

"It's okay, sweetheart... we'll get through this as a family! Be strong!"

(It didn't actually happen like this, but it makes me chuckle thinking about it. I love you, mom & dad!)

I Know How You Feel

2012-06-11T20:16:00.000-04:00

I have something to get off my chest.

I'm warning you all right now, this will be an angry post. For those of you sensitive to dysphoria triggers when another trans person rants about life generally being bullshit because of this crappy birth defect, you may want to skip over this post. Right now, though, I need to use my blog as an outlet for some emotion, and not a lot of those emotions are going to be pretty right now. C'est la vie.

Now that that's out of the way...

Something I hear all the time from cisgender people when I talk about my dysphoria - or more specifically, my dysphoria triggers - is "Oh, yeah, I know how you feel." Specifically, I was just talking to a coworker about an experience I had over the weekend. I told her how I was looking through dress patterns at a local fabric store, and seeing all the pretty dresses I could make. As I thumbed through the rather large selection of pictures, I was thinking, "I can't wear that... *flip* ... or that... *flip* ... or that... *flip* ... or that..." So I spent an afternoon telling myself, "Hey look, Sara, more stuff you can't have because you were born with the wrong damned body. But hey, aren't all those things you can't have pretty?" I believe, largely because of that experience, I spent Sunday pretty dysphoric and avoiding everyone (including my boyfriend, but he's the subject of a different post entirely).

My coworker hears this from me, and says, "But wait, why can't you wear those dresses?" to which I reply, "because of how my body is shaped, and any article of clothing that is tailored to any form of hourglass figure just makes me look fat." She gets a slightly confused look on her face - the same confused look that says, that's not a real problem, and I can't believe you have anxiety about that - and says, "Well, that doesn't matter. I have a buddy who's shaped a lot like you! There's things she can't wear, sure, but there's things I can't wear, too! Women have different body shapes, blah blah blah."

Admittedly, I usually let this turn of discussion slide. This time, I didn't. This time, I scooted my chair closer to her, so I could tell her how deep the rabbit hole went.

What they're shaped like...

Yes, I'm sure all women go through body issues. I'm sure every cisgender girl looks at her body, or how a garment fits her, and says, "Ugh, this just doesn't flatter me." But that's where it stops, most of the time. That girl is still a girl, and she'll be a girl tomorrow, and she was a girl yesterday. If that dress doesn't fit her, the next one over on the rack will. The dress not fitting most likely will not make her feel like a boy, and even if it does, she most likely will not have suicidal thoughts - if even in passing - because of it.

When something like this happens to me, I'm usually able to shrug it off. However, sometimes I'm not able to, like this weekend. My relatively wide ribcage, and the fact that I carry all of my weight in my belly (instead of my chest / hips / butt, like a typical cis girl) makes a lot of garments look bad on me. I don't have an hourglass. I don't have anything close to an hourglass. I have a drinking glass.

... and what I'm shaped like.

This serves as a reminder of all the privilege I don't have. When those same cis girls roll out of bed in the morning, they'll be identified as women. Without makeup, without clothes to help accentuate or disguise their shapes, without having to shave anything, people will look at them and say, "this girl over here." When they're intimate with their partners, they don't need to think, "will they reject me because I don't have the appropriate bits for my gender?" When they walk into a restroom, they don't need to watch their back, and pay extra attention to the reactions of others in that room, because if they get misgendered, they might be beaten or killed.

These things add up. I am a camel with several straws upon my back, and some days, I feel like any one could be the one that does me in. Being reminded of my horrid body shape is one such straw.

So, you see, when people say to me, "Oh, I know how you feel," I can only stop you right there and say, "No, you fucking do not know how I feel." Unless the last time you didn't fit into your pants made you want to put a bullet in your head because you realize you'll probably never fit into a pair of women's jeans correctly, you don't know how I feel. Unless you need to plan your week around when you can shave your face, and when you can take a day avoiding the world so your face can heal, and who you can allow to see you with a bit of stubble, you don't know how I feel. Unless you shop for pants with the consideration of, "Will my external genitalia be visible in this?" you don't know how I feel. Unless you constantly fear your significant other will break up with you because they simply cannot deal with your body being not quite what they're used to, you don't know how I feel. Unless you deal with this bullshit every single day, and know you'll need to deal with it for the rest of your damned life, you don't know how I feel.

Frickin' Laser Beams

2012-06-08T14:50:00.002-04:00

I spoke briefly in my last post about the costs incurred while transitioning, and discussed the costs of laser hair removal. Due to a few very generous donations I had received (THANK YOU AGAIN!) I felt emboldened to set up another appointment. Unfortunately, I had to find a whole new laser center, first. You see, I was having my laser done at my doctor's office - they keep an in-house beauty spa, and had a very nice, very trans-friendly aesthetician on staff. They offered me an amazing price, and I took advantage of that price per session for several months starting in September of 2010, the same time I began my HRT.

My facial hair was beat into submission, and was nearly gone, requiring a minimal amount of shaving and makeup to deal with it each day. However, as pesky hair is prone to do, it began to grow back. Not completely, of course, but a tiny patch here and a tiny patch there, until the patches are starting to fill in together, and my facial hair is about half grown back. Needless to say, this displeases me greatly.

As much as it displeased me, however, and for as much dysphoria as it was beginning to cause, money was an issue still. I was barely paying my bills each month, and the few that I wasn't able to, I had to ask my parents for help. I had no savings, and I still had to save up for a divorce, and for SRS. $50 for a touch-up appointment was out of reach for me. I was too proud to set up a donation fund until recently, also; There's still a part of me that is uncomfortable asking anyone for unsolicited money, especially in this economy, but I simply cannot make ends meet on my own. Consequently, my facial hair began winning back ground, and I'm now going through makeup quicker than ever trying to keep it all concealed.

In March, I finally had a few extra dollars in my pocket, so I happily called my doctor's office, and asked to make an appointment. I was told the aesthetician doesn't work there anymore. I told them I was disappointed, that I really liked her, but I would happily make an appointment with her replacement.

There was no replacement. They just simply didn't have an aesthetician anymore. She had moved on to greener pastures, but still came back once a month to cover the few people such as myself that relied on her services until they could either find a replacement for her, or those patients could find a new place to have their needs met.

I said that was fine, and asked when she had an opening next for her one day per month, and was told she was booked solid for the next three months.

So that leads me to this month, still struggling with money, and still searching for a new laser hair removal place that won't charge me an arm and a leg. I called a few places, was quoted some prices, none of which I precisely LIKED - I'm beginning to realize the price I was getting for laser before was better than anything else I would ever find anywhere. (A part of me wonders if this is what led to her no longer working for my doctor. Nobody said who initiated that split, but I wonder if it was because she was under-charging...) I found a place in a nearby town that sounded very welcoming, however, and said they didn't want to quote me a price over the phone, because every one's needs were different, and they'd like to have me in for a consultation before discussing prices. Their tone was very welcoming, and I liked that they wanted to tailor my treatment to my specific needs. I lined up a free consultation, hopeful that I would walk out of their office an hour later with my face red and stinging, but several hair follicles poorer than when I walked in.

Sadly, this would not be the case.

Apparently, the reason they wanted me to come in for a free consultation was so that they could make sure I was sitting down when they quoted me the jaw-droppingly high price, and so that I'd have to tell them "Oh, HELL NO," to their faces. I couldn't have afforded them even if their prices were cut in half.

I walked out of their admittedly nice office disappointed and sticker-shocked. In a fit of desperation, I phoned my doctor's office, and asked if they had finally gotten a full-time aesthetician to replace their last one. They did not, sadly. However, my old aesthetician had her one-day-per-month visit this coming Saturday (tomorrow, at the time of this posting) and an opening at 1:20 in the afternoon. I couldn't have been happier to book that appointment!

The story has an even happier ending, though.

On the suggestion of a friend who left a comment on my Transition Fund post, I recently signed up for Groupon and Living Social. This morning, when I groggily shambled to my computer with a cup of coffee in hand, I found an email in my in-box from Groupon. It advertised 6 laser hair removal sessions for barely the price of ONE - a 91% discount. The clinic was 35 miles away from me, but that was a small price to pay for such an amazing blessing to show up right when I needed it most! The greatest news of all is that the donations I'd received recently would cover the cost of the Groupon all together.

Thank you everyone for making this possible with your support, suggestions, and generous donations!

Transition Fund

2012-05-31T11:01:00.000-04:00

I'm often asked, when doing interviews and the like, "what the biggest barrier to transitioning is." Often I'll answer social pressure, and explain that society views us as freaks and rejects and that it's a very frightening prospect for us. However, that question is usually asked with the understanding that one has gotten past the social pressure, and made the firm decision to transition in spite of it. In that case, my answer is money.

The fact of the matter is, transitioning physically is all about making changes to your body so that it matches what you feel in your head. For transgender women, this means removing a lot of pesky primary and secondary sex characteristics, and that means paying to have those characteristics removed or altered. Needless to say, medical procedures are not cheap.

Primarily, my two biggest concerns are laser hair removal to remove what's left of my beard, and sexual reassignment surgery, to rid myself of the dreaded dangly-bits and replace them with something more befitting a woman. Secondarily - that is to say, far lower on my personal priority list - would be such things as facial feminization surgery to help with things like my brow ridge and my jawline, and breast augmentation, because hormones are only going to have me at a B-cup. (which isn't bad, but it could be better, you know?) And speaking of hormones, those are pills I will have to take for the rest of my life. Luckily, those are actually covered by my insurance, unlike everything else I've listed here, so that only incurs a slight charge per month for the dosages of the pills I'm currently on.

So let's talk costs. I used to get my laser hair removal for as low as $50 per session, and needed those sessions monthly. However, a lot of that hair is now growing back, which has become increasingly distressing for me so I need to go back and have more done. The place that I was having it done, however, no longer offers that service, so I need to search for a new place, and that means not getting the amazing deal I was getting anymore. Most places are quoting me around $150 per session, and will be needed every month for the next few months. I'll occasionally need touch-ups after that as well, when things begin to grow back a bit.

Sexual reassignment surgery (aka, the surgery) is around $15,000, give or take a few grand, depending on where you go and what else is included in the cost (hospital visit, after-care, etc). There are very few insurance providers that will cover this procedure, as it's still viewed as "cosmetic / voluntary" surgery. I could rant for hours about how stupid that is, but this is neither the time nor place for that. Obviously, that will take a lot of savings, none of which I currently have given my current financial status. I'll talk more about that in a minute.

Other procedures, such as the breast augmentation and facial surgery aren't as important, so they're on the "when I get around to them" list. Each, though, is several thousand dollars. Surprise, surprise. Hormones, luckily, with my current insurance provider, are only around $20 per month.

"Sara," you may ask, "how ever are you going to pay for all of those things?"

Well, I am employed, and that's a very good thing. However, given my current living expenses (and that's with having a good deal on rent to live with a friend in a very nice house) I make just about enough to cover my expenses each month with little to spare. I've looked at my budget several times, and I always come to the same conclusion; There is no place in my budget to trim that would make any significant difference.

That brings us to the brunt of the matter.

Some of you may have noticed that I've added a "Donate to my Transition Fund" page along the top navigation bar. There, you'll find a short explanation of what these funds will be used for, and a PayPal "Donate" button. Clicking that button will allow you to make a donation to my transition fund through many different means, including credit / debit cards. Even $5 will help ablate the costs associated with my physical changes. I greatly dislike asking for money, especially unsolicited like this, but I see little other way to go about it.

Also, I understand times are tough right now, and I'm not the only one that doesn't have money to spare, let alone to give to some girl trying to buy an aftermarket vagina. So, you'll also notice that I've activated Google AdSesnse on this blog some time ago as a form of revenue generation. I know nobody likes ads being plastered all over their browsing experience, but those sponsors are compensating me for any clicks I receive on them. If you could, please, take a moment to support my sponsors, which in turn, will support me.

I'm also looking into setting up a donation tracker that will show how much is in my transition fund, and also what that money goes towards, so I can at least ask for money with a bit of fiscal transparency.

Thank you all so much in advance for your kindness. You're helping make a young woman very happy, and in turn, helping me help others in need.

Falling Into Place

2012-05-29T10:33:00.000-04:00

It's funny, really. I'm sitting down to write this blog post at the World Steam Expo, and the first words I type are, "A lot of things have been happening lately, which is why I haven't posted in a while." I then chuckled to myself as I deleted those words, because of how many other blog posts I've started like that in the one year I've been writing it.

That's right. Suddenly Sara is one year old this month - specifically on May 10th. I was reminded of this not by streamers or a cake, or a singing telegram showing up at my front door to serenade me with words of congratulations, but by a text message from E, telling me "your blog is going to some weird marketing website." I looked into it later, and found out my domain name had expired - It was a one year subscription, and all of the auto-renewal notices were being sent to an email address I'd forgotten I even had. Happy birthday to me!
Now, I'm not a big fan of celebrating anniversaries like they're some major accomplishment. A year is a year, and I think the worth of my blog is measured far more in the lives I've touched than by any arbitrary measure of the passage of time. On the other hand, I do view anniversaries as a wonderful moment to look back on the previous year, and take stock of the events that have come to pass - both good and bad - and see what led us to this point.


My coworkers and I, serving the High Tea at the Expo, and looking amazing doing it!

For instance, one of my very first posts - the first of my random-jumble-of-thoughts posts, in fact - Passing Thoughts, was written with regards to the World Steam Expo last year. I was only living full-time for a month and a half at that point, and I remember being very uncertain of myself, and being amazed at how well I was passing as a cis girl. I also remember seeing a lot of old acquaintances that had never seen me as Sara, and being apprehensive about their acceptance of me. Lastly, I was just getting to the point where I was comfortable enough to be talking to boys, and flirting a bit, and exploring the possibility of dating.

This year will be much different. I'm living confidently as a woman, and I'm quite comfortable with the prospect of meeting new individuals, and dating. It's strange, but it's almost a little... anticlimactic. I've lived with the fear and excitement of being Sara in this strange new world for so long, that being a girl is just becoming routine to me now. I'm sure that's a good thing in many ways, but the deer-in-the-headlights sort of adrenaline buzz that I existed on for several months was like a security blanket in many ways. Things that I classified as "exciting" a year ago, I now classify simply as "existing another day."

Speaking of dating - that is only the list of things that seem to be falling into place for me. As I've mentioned before, I'm using one of the popular online dating sites, and I've had a few ... not-so-great endeavors thus far. One guy dumped me just as things were getting good because he couldn't bring me home to his mother. The next guy I ended up friend-zoning, because there was simply no spark, and I was quickly realizing that I was trying to force the issue. One cannot force sparks. A third guy has been chatting me up for about a month and a half now - pretty much since I started my profile on the site, as a matter of fact - and has yet to do anything close to ask me out. Well, I'm a woman of principle, and if wants me, he'll have to ask. That's just how it is.

That's all quite alright, though, because while the one guy was bemoaning my lack of interest in him, and the other guy was busy talking but not asking, another man stepped in and messaged me. His message was well spoken, but nothing entirely special - but it was at least well spoken, and that was enough to get me to look at his profile. I went to his picture, and my jaw hit the floor. I literally stood in shock at the sheer attractiveness of this man. He was everything I was looking for, physically. I read his profile, and he seemed to be pretty much everything I was looking for socially as well. Best yet, he was interested in me. I struck up a conversation with him, we spent the entirety of last weekend with one another, and have been having frequent Skype conversations. It is, at the time of this writing, Friday night, and I look forward to seeing him for the masquerade ball tomorrow night at the Expo. I don't want to jinx it, but it's looking great so far!

Another big concern of mine recently has been getting more involved with activism within the community, and doing more good than just babbling on this blog. I was recently asked to join the Board of Directors for a local transgender advocacy organization, Transgender Detroit, and was elected Vice Board Chair. It's a great honor for me, needless to say, that those assembled thought highly enough of me to place me in such a position, and I feel likewise honored to be part of an organization working to better the transgender community in the Detroit area. They've done a lot of good so far, and I hope I can make everyone proud by continuing their tradition of good work.

Lastly, I was also asked recently to be on a radio show, "Sex and Tell," about gender and sexuality, on WCBN, the University of Michigan student-run radio station in Ann Arbor. I feel the interview went really well, and Heidi and Sonya were absolutely sweethearts that I loved talking to. My only regret was that it was only a 30 minute interview spot, and we had to pre-record it. I had to speak in a lot of generalities due to time constraints, and I didn't get to field questions from callers or anything. I'm not even sure if they entertain callers like that, but it would have been really neat! All... official and stuff! Anyway, we all feel it went really well, so they've asked me to come back some time in the future for more interview segments to give the transgender perspective on things. I'll keep everyone posted as things come up. (UPDATE: You can listen to the archive of the show here)

So that's it! Things are falling into place for me steadily. Involvement in the community is happening, dating is happening, and life continues to happen and become easier every day. I'd have to say, right now, I'm pretty happy!

Dysphoria

2012-05-09T18:06:00.000-04:00

So, I know I throw the word dysphoria around quite a bit, but in talking to some people, I've realized not everyone knows quite what it is. I thought I'd take a moment to talk about it, so when I say, "I'm feeling incredibly dysphoric today," or "doing that made me feel really dysphoric," you understand what a violent torrent of emotions that really is.

Dysphoria : n.

An emotional state characterized by anxiety, depression, or unease.

(Psychiatry) a feeling of being ill at ease.

A state or mood of dissatisfaction, restlessness, or anxiety. — dysphoric, adj.

In the trans community, we use this term as shorthand for the feelings of extreme, swiftly setting depression we get in relation to our disparate minds and bodies. Dysphoria isn't just depression, but anxiety, fear, self-hatred, dispair... all of these things, cranked up to 11. If a trans person says something made them feel dysphoric, chances are, that's a nice way of saying, "it made me feel disgusting, depressed, and hateful of my own body."

To help illustrate the point, I want to copy over something that I posted on my Tumblr blog last month.

* * *

I want to elaborate on my earlier post. Maybe someone can find something redeemable because of it.

This is me, today. I took this photo this afternoon. This is my failed experiment in dancing with dysphoria.

I was feeling pretty good about myself this morning, so I decided to test the waters with dressing down nice and simple. Jeans, blue cami with a grey baby doll tee over it. I didn’t wash my hair, and put it up in a hair clip. I used minimal makeup, and put on simple jewelry.

As the day wore on, though, I began to feel the familiar tugging of dysphoria creeping in. The jeans did nothing for my hips, so I felt very square. My shoes, though bright pink Converse, were just regular sneakers, and made me feel like I was walking like a boy. My hair was up, which I felt exposed my masculine jawline and the fact that my minimal makeup was doing little to hide the remnants of my beard shadow. The top I was wearing didn’t hide my wide shoulders or broad ribcage, or the fact that I carry all my excess weight in my belly, like a guy.

I was able to cope with the gross feelings of being boy-shaped for a while, but then I started to get upset about other connected issues. A cis friend of mine on Facebook saw this photo (I posted it to FB about 7 hours before this post was written) and commented that “she dresses like that all the time. What’s the big deal?” and it made me realize that because of this shitty lot I have in life, dysphoria keeps me from being able to do something simple that every single other cisgirl in the nation does, and that’s just put on a tee shirt and jeans and some sneakers and exist without wanting to bury their heads in the sand and cry themselves to sleep. This is no big deal to the cis population… but to me, it literally ruins my day.

Then, as I’m thinking about how I’m entirely unable to dress casual without detrimental emotional impact, my dysphoria tacks on that little fact that I just LOVE hearing in the back of my head : It will always be this way. I’ll always feel dysphoric about my body, and I’ll always have to work 10x as hard as the cis girls just to look the way I want to look. I’ll always be trans.

Once I realize that I’m more or less doomed to a life of pain and self-hatred (that other people simply can’t see… I can’t count the amount of, “what? You’re so cute today though!” that I’ve heard today) then it’s only a matter of time until my dysphoria starts offering self-destructive options for freeing myself from a life of pain…

All in all, not a fun way to spend an evening. *sigh*

* * *

So, hopefully you can see the downward spiral of anxiety and depression that causes, and how quickly that spiral takes place. Some days, I'm downright cheerful when I wake up, but I'm sobbing at my desk by lunch. Some mornings, I hate myself from the moment I wake up, for no decent reason. Sometimes it's a glimpse of facial hair shadowed through my makeup that sets me off. Sometimes - like last week - all I need to do is literally look down in the shower and see my body for what it is.

Hopefully this sheds some light on the subject for some of you. As always, I'm more than willing to answer questions in the comments section below.

The Green-eyed Monster

2012-05-05T15:17:00.002-04:00

I have a confession to make. I’ve been harboring a little green-eyed monster of jealousy for one of my friends. It’s been chewing at me, and actually making me a little anxious and depressed lately. It’s foolish, because – like most jealousy – there’s no reason to feel bad about someone else’s good fortune. The person in question is doing a lot of good for the trans community, and I’m jealous that I’m not doing as much good as her.

Let me back up a bit, and explain how this came to be…

When I originally learned of this person’s existence, it was very early in my transition; It was right around the time I was figuring out that I had to physically change my body, rather than continue crossdressing, in fact. She was, other than Ms. Lighthouse, one of the very first trans people I knew of who were young(ish) like myself. Most of the other trans women I’d met to this point were 50 years old, or older. I learned of her because she had her story told – along with a picture – in a local GLBT news publication. She had won a contest for an internship with a local trans advocacy group, so she could transition on the job and not have to worry whether her employer was going to be okay with it. I was unemployed at the time I read this, so the green-eyed monster was born the moment I read the article, for a lot of reasons.

It was a few years later when we actually became friends. In the mean time, I had seen her picture in the paper a handful more times, whenever this publication needed a trans face to put on a story. She, evidently, was the person they called. When I came out at work last April, I formally made R’s acquaintance, and she introduced me to her friends from the trans support group at the local GLBT support center. I met her there, and we quickly became friends. Admittedly, I was star-struck! She was the famous trans girl that every trans woman in the metro Detroit area knew of! In truth, she was just like any of the rest of us, I quickly found out – struggling with acceptance, refusing to believe she’s as pretty as she really is, constantly battling with dysphoria and anxiety, and ultimately hates being trans.

I’m 11 years older than her. As we came to hang out more, we took on a sort of sisterly dynamic. I’m her older, wiser, more experienced (but also more jaded) sister; she’s my younger, less trail-worn sister that I get to live vicariously through as she discovers life as a woman that I never had at her age. We even took similar paths in life, post-transition, choosing to be active in the community and advocate both within and without. I started my blog, she had her internship. I started my YouTube channel, she got radio and newspaper interviews.

Recently, though, it seems like the little green-eyed monster is turning into a big green-eyed monster. It seems for every opportunity I’ve had to reach out, she’s had three. I finally got my picture (unaccredited, but still, my picture) in the local GLBT paper, but at the same time, she’s sitting right next to me, and had her picture on the cover of the next issue, looking amazing in a wedding dress for the same-sex wedding expo we had here recently. On top of that, she had her picture in the Detroit Free Press, and is doing a talk with a high school GSA about trans awareness this coming week…

… and I did a blog post.

The main problem is, her job puts her in a position to be reaching out like this constantly. In fact, working for the trans advocacy group that she does, it’s actually in her job description to do so. I, on the other hand, work an office job, Monday through Friday, 12 PM to 9 PM. It eats up my entire day, and basically makes it impossible for me to get to any function that takes place during the week. The Transgender Day of Empowerment that I wrote about two posts ago was my first chance to see many of the people I was attempting to network with.

Don’t get me wrong; I know a lot of people have been touched by this blog. I know this because I have others who read it, who have friended me on Facebook because of it, or have sent me an email or told me in person that they read my blog, and it’s changed their life. I’ve been told once or twice that my blog has literally saved someone’s life by giving them the strength to choose not to kill themselves. I know this blog is a good, positive force in the world, and I will continue to write it as long as I still feel it’s doing anyone any good. However, there’s a big difference between knowing what you’re doing is helping, and thinking what you’re doing is enough. This is why I’ve started my YouTube channel, but even that isn’t really enough.

I want to be out there, rolling up my proverbial sleeves, and getting involved in more than just the virtual world. I want to do more than sit behind my computer telling people about my experiences, and how I cope. I want to do seminars and speaking engagements. I want to meet people in the community. I want to show the world that Ms. Sara Jakubowski is a face in the trans community they can recognize, and go to for support. I want to volunteer at the support center, and actually work with trans people to deal with their issues…

… one can only type *hug* to someone online so many times before you begin to realize how powerless you are in that situation. I believe human contact is key, but I don’t believe, with my current source of employment and schedule, that it’s a possibility for me. That saddens me, and makes me jealous of those who are able to do those things.

So, I write this post for two reasons : First, I want to formally apologize to my friend for being jealous of her. This is my confession to you, and my plea for forgiveness. I’ve harbored a filthy emotion for you that you don’t deserve, and I should be loving you all the more for the good work you do within and without the community.

Second, I want to offer my services. If anyone has a group that needs to be spoken to about the trans community – a high school GSA, a place of business with a trans employee, a college class, anything – I’d love to help out by addressing your needs. At present, I’m available very early in the morning Monday through Friday, until roughly 11AM, and full availability on the weekends. If you need a calm, educated face for the trans community, I’m your woman.

It’s not much, but it’s something, and I want to do all that I can.

A stark realization

2012-05-03T19:12:00.001-04:00

Last night, I had an odd conversation with the guy I'm currently seeing (We'll call him V). He's a guy I met on OKCupid, so I don't really know him, and I only have a single friend that can vouch for him in a round-about manor; She's a friend of someone who's a friend of his. Suffice to say, I barely know him. Our first date went very well, and our second meeting was more of a friendly get-together, rather than a date. Last night was the second actual date that we had. Suffice to say, I'm still getting to know him, and I'm not completely in touch with his quirks and idiosyncrasies yet.

V's a big guy, too. He's 6' 1", and around 300 lbs. He's a rather powerful build, compared to my own 5' 6", 155 lbs. He's a pretty forward person, who speaks his mind without hesitation, and knows what he wants. Admittedly, I'm finding his forwardness a bit slow in getting used to, as I'm far more accustomed to being the guy in the relationship. He's most certainly the dominant personality, now, and that one fact got me thinking...

If V wanted to force himself upon me, I couldn't do anything to stop him. I barely know him. I met him online. He's twice my size, and if he wanted to hurt me, he could... he could take whatever he wanted from me.

It was a scary thought, to be sure. It's really not a thought I've had to have before - people I've slept with even post-transition were people I knew well and was comfortable with. Coming from a place of male privilege, I've never actually had to worry about being raped before. I could walk down dark alleys. I didn't have to check the shadows while walking through a parking lot alone. I began to realize that I had to teach myself how to be a frightened woman. Unfortunately, I was only having this realization while alone with a guy I'd really just met.

V's a perceptive guy, and he's straight-forward enough to call it exactly as he sees it. He asked me quite directly why I was so anxious and apprehensive. I danced about the issue, trying not to say, "Um, I'm scared." I didn't want him to feel accused. I didn't know how to tell a guy who's been nothing but nice to me that I'm afraid of him raping me. Really, that was half the problem : he hasn't been anything but nice to me. I had no reservations about him as a person, beyond that he was a typical horny guy... but that actually worried me more because I didn't know if he'd just lulled me into a false sense of security or not.

Allow me to explain further:

I have this obnoxious tendency to jump into things I enjoy - specifically relationships - head over heels. If a first date goes well, I'm usually all stars and sunshine and swoons for the next week, and I believe that person is the best thing since sliced bread and we're going to be happy forever. I did it with the guy before V (who I wrote about in my last blog post), I did it with R... and I've pretty much done that with everyone previous as well.

So, there I was, after having a really amazing time with V on the first date, very optimistic about how things were going. Somewhere between then and the second date, I became aware of how enthusiastic I was, and began to caution myself about getting in too deep, especially given what happened with the last guy. I began fearing that I wasn't afraid. Shouldn't I be afraid? Why was I putting myself in this situation in the first place? What if he doesn't take no for an answer? Why was I so stupid and reckless?

As it turned out, V was very understanding. Like any human being, I suppose, he thought it was his fault for coming on too strong, and making me uncomfortable. I spelled it out for him, and we came to an understanding. It's a tough lesson to learn, and I'd far rather have learned it the easy way and not the hard way. Too many women - trans or cis - learn that lesson the hard way. One in Three, if memory serves.

He barely laid a finger on me that night, out of respect for me and my boundaries. This could be a really nice relationship. We'll see where it goes.

Passing Thoughts 9

2012-04-24T17:48:00.002-04:00

I'm sorry for the long delay between posts - I've been a tad busy. Apparently, putting Party-Girl to rest only freed me up to be just as busy with other things. These things occupying me are reasonably good things, but I've just switched from one sort of busybody to another!

So, as my last few weeks have been a jumble of random occurrences, I have a jumble of random updates to write for you!

April 14th was the Transgender Day of Empowerment at Affirmations. I wasn't really entirely sure what to expect when I arrived, but it turns out it was basically "TransCon 2012." There were booths set up in the lobby featuring various groups with interests in the transgender community, and then in many of the rooms around Affirmations, there was a whole schedule-full of panels being held on various topics. I showed up more-or-less right at the beginning of the convention, so I was able to mingle quite a bit, network, and attend some of the panels.

While I was there, I ran into another transwoman who's quite the activist in the Detroit area. Chances are, if there's a trans event planned, or an interview on transpeople to do for the newspaper, she's the one responsible. We had a short, but very nice discussion, in which she asked me to be part of the planning committee for the Transgender Day of Remembrance in November! I still have to make contact with her to verify exactly what she wants me to do, but it's nice to be recognized a bit in the greater trans community around here. Later that day, there was a panel with the local police, to talk about transpeople and how they interact with the legal / penal system. It was asked if that officer's police force underwent any sort of training on best practices for interacting with the trans community, and it was answered that they do not. The suggestion was put forward that it would be a good idea, though, if a member of the trans community would come in some time and host a Q&A session, but that they'd request that person be a resident of their city. I smiled and said, "I just so happen to be a resident of the city. I'd be more than happy to help!" The same activist from earlier - who was largely responsible for the Transgender Day of Empowerment happening in the first place - said she'd be more than happy to arrange for that, and that she'd be delighted if I would be the one to speak with them.

All in all, an exhausting weekend, but a very good one!

* * * * *

That very same weekend, I was contacted by a professor at Oakland University who wished to invite me to speak to her class. She teaches a course called "Sociology of Sex Roles," and apparently a bit of the curriculum is about being transgender. Ordinarily, she has a transgender person come to her classroom and answer questions for an hour or so, and this year she wanted me to do the honors.

Unfortunately, I was unable to commit to the speaking engagement on such short notice, so we agreed that I could do a video presentation for her instead! Over the course of the next week, she contacted her students, who emailed her one or two questions for me, which she forwarded to me. I spent last Sunday in front of a camera, stammering through my life story answering them, and - per usual - trying badly not to embarrass myself.

This was the result :

It's 3 parts, approximately 45 minutes total (15 minutes each).
Part 1 - http://youtu.be/BXU2B765M5o
Part 2 - http://youtu.be/GCgu5VrB6Fw
Part 3 - http://youtu.be/VFHgaxHw1XU

* * * * *

*sigh* Dating.

I posted a profile on a prominent dating site right about the time I was breaking up with R. The first line of my profile reads:

If the following statement is in any way not okay with you - "I am a pre-op, male to female transwoman" - then read no further.

Silly me, I thought this would keep people from messaging me. I thought that one statement would be like putting a giant dam in the river, only letting a drip of water through every three months or so. I expected to be alone for a good, long while, as I waited for just the right man to come along and see my profile, sweep that statement aside and say, "I care not for what's in your pants. You're beautiful, intelligent, and a gamer chick, and I'd like to date you!"

As it turned out, it took about 24 hours... for the first one.

Like any batch of prospects, there were some that caught my eye, and some that didn't. One stood out from the crowd, though, and enticed me with the complete lack of forwardness and sexuality in his messages. He simply struck up a conversation. He never once told me (especially in the first few exchanges!) that he wanted to hold me, or kiss me, or show me what a great lover he is, or anything of the sort. He just talked.

I was hooked.

We went on a few dates, that all went swimmingly! He was gentle, and strong, and kind, and very laid back. He had an amazing body. I could definitely see myself falling for him, given the time to do so. There were obviously reservations; Really, what relationship doesn't have it's complications? He worked an opposite schedule than me, so we had very little time to actually see one another. Weekends were spent with his 9-year-old son. I thought the lack of time for one another would be the factor that broke us. As it turned out, it was his bigoted family and his unwillingness to stand up for a girl he really truly liked.

Saturday night, he came over. We had lunch with my two roommates at a nice restaurant downtown, and we went back to our place afterward. My roommates went to sleep off food-comas upstairs, and he and I snuck off to my own bedroom as well. We both went our separate ways that evening with a smile on our faces.

Sunday night, he was texting doubtful things to me, so I asked him to call me so we could talk about it. It was clear from the moment he answered the phone that something was very wrong, and there were long pauses of just silence on the line as he gathered the courage to say what he was going to say. Apparently, his family is very closed minded, and he doesn't believe that he could bring me home to his mother without causing a lot of strife in his house at best, being evicted at worst. He was uncertain of his situation, and felt that my inclusion jeopardized it, so he told me he couldn't see me anymore.

To be honest, I wasn't sad. Not really. I think I tried to be sad because I thought that was the expected response, but all I truly felt was angry. I was angry that he admitted he really liked me, and admitted that he saw the budding relationship going quite well, but when things got even a little complicated or frightening, he bailed out. I was angry to learn I wasn't worth fighting for.

Whatever.

If I didn't believe in Karma before (and I did), I'd certainly be a believer now. Approximately 10 minutes after I hung up the phone that night, another of my dating prospects came online. I asked him if he still wanted that date he asked me for roughly a month ago, and he said, "Um, you're seeing someone."

"What if I told you, as of about 10 minutes ago, I wasn't anymore?" I typed, hopeful.

"I'd say, "how does coffee on Tuesday evening sound?"" he replied.

... and that's how you bounce back from being dumped.

To my family...

2012-04-12T22:25:00.000-04:00

This was the letter I wrote to my family, when I came out to them in January of 2010. I typed it up, printed it out, and sat in the middle of the living room and read it to them. My eyes were glued to it and my hands were shaking. My parents sat in silence as I read...

First, I want to thank you all for being here for me tonight. The fact that I have a family that cares enough to meet with me and listen to what I have to say means worlds to me. So many others don't have the type of support we give one another. I just want you to know this isn't lost on me.

As for what brings us all here tonight... I need to tell you about a problem I've been suffering with for years now, and have only recently gotten the strength to tell you about. It's been a source of anxiety, depression, confusion, and on no fewer than two occasions, damned near nervous breakdowns.

I've been dealing with a condition called gender dysphoria, or gender identity disorder. It's a condition where the gender your body is does not match with the gender your brain tells you you are. The cliché way of saying this is "being a woman trapped in a man's body," but that doesn't come close to describing what the condition is, or the hell it puts the person through.

A person's gender identity is never even anything they think about. Their brain tells them they're a boy or girl, and when they look in the mirror, that's what they see. They think no more about it than their heart beating or their lungs drawing breath. For a small percentage of people, though, there's something hard-coded in us from birth that doesn't match the bodies we were born with. A quiet little voice in the backs of our heads whispers, "that's not quite right," when we look in the mirror, or interact with our respective genders, and are expected to act and be reacted to in the gender we are.

I think I have always known something wasn't quite right - I've always felt very temporary about myself, as if I were waiting for my real life to begin. After I married [my wife], she began to see that something wasn't quite right in my life, and that I spent a lot of time unhappy, and acquiescing to other people's desires. I refused to allow myself to be happy. Through a lot of soul searching, and me finally allowing my deepest secrets to be told to her, we discovered my need to explore my feminine side. Neither of us knew how deep this rabbit hole went at the time.

I secretly crossdressed for a few years, with [my wife's] support - she saw how happy it made me to appear female. After a while, though, it simply wasn't enough, as I came to realize it was not the clothes that made me feel right, but the idea of being female. It was a very difficult realization to make, and led to my first nervous breakdown about 2 years ago. I kept everything very quiet about it, and only [my wife, and my two roommates] really knew what was going on with me.

I gave it all up for almost a year, gripped with fear. I was terrified of what I had become, why I had come to be what I was, and what I was going to do about it. I didn't feel I could ever turn back and be normal again, but I could not bring myself to grasp the truth that I needed to be a woman to be happy with myself. So, I did nothing, as standing still was slightly less terrifying than moving forward. That led to my eventual next breakdown, when I realized that not doing anything to make myself happy was just as damaging to myself. I sunk into depression as if into quick sand. [My wife] and friends saw my torment, and begged me to do something about it for my own well-being.

I attended a support group at Affirmations, the local LGBT support center in Ferndale, just down 9 Mile [Road], for other transgender people. I found a lot of the answers I needed there, and began to find a measure of peace with myself. I started to come out to my friends, starting with [my best friend]. To date, all my friends have been wonderfully supportive of me, and I have the greatest support structure in the world thanks to them.

I still had a lot of questions, though. I wanted to know if this was just something I had tricked myself into - had I glamorized women so much that I convinced myself I wanted to be one? Was this just another dress-up game for me? Did I believe the grass was so much greener on the other side of the gender fence? To help answer these questions in a more definitive way than a simple support group of my peers, I began seeing a licensed gender therapist last November. He is transgender himself, having spent 25 years as a man before becoming a therapist to help others like him. Through many hours of discussion, we agree that I'm truly transgender, and that for my own mental well-being, I need to undergo hormone replacement therapy, and change my body to match who I am inside. I need to be the woman I am. I need to be true to myself.

I understand that this is not easy to hear. It certainly is not easy for me to say to any of you. This is such a strange and alien concept to most people - if I were gay, it would be simpler. I would like boys instead of girls, but I would still be me. Gay is easy to understand. Being transgender is far more difficult to cope with because gender identity is not anything most people even realize they have. You either have boy-parts or girl-parts, and that's the way it is.

I don't expect any of you to accept this right away. It took me years of wrestling with my own identity to make any sort of sense of this. I don't expect you to do it in 30 minutes. You may be feeling anger, or confusion, or outrage... and I want you to know this is all okay. I'm not here to tell you how you should feel about this news, I'm simply here to tell you who I am.

It's important for me to stress that you did nothing wrong. You did not cause this. There isn't a lot of medical information on the subject, but what there is says that this is something that's hard-coded into the brain at about 8 weeks of development. This didn't happen to me because dad traveled, or because mom let me watch Little House on the Prairie. This was always who I am, it's just taken me 30 years to realize why I've been unhappy and uneasy all these years, and then find the courage and self-esteem to tell myself I deserve to make myself happy for once. Most importantly, I'm not telling you any of this to hurt you - quite the contrary, I'm telling you this because I love you very much, and I want you to know me, and be involved in my life. I want to be able to share my transition with you. I want to be able to come to you as your daughter or your sister, as I have to day as your son or brother.

I want to thank you for listening to me. I know I've just thrown a lot of information at you, and your heads are probably spinning right now. Please ask me any questions you want, and I'll answer them all as best I can.

Dear Parent of a Transgender Child

2012-04-08T12:43:00.006-04:00

Dear parents,

Your child has just told you that they are transgender. I can only imagine how hard of a thing that is to hear from your own flesh and blood. Your child has just told you that they're not the son or daughter you've known all their lives, but that they're actually your daughter, or your son.

It may be tough, and shocking, and your head may be spinning with questions right now. I'd like to point out a few things that may not have come up in your discussion with your child, or that you may want to hear from an outside source… Someone who's been there before.

First, your child did not do this to hurt you. This isn't a phase, this isn't because anyone did anything wrong. You didn't raise your child incorrectly, with too much or too little male or female influence in his or her life. Nothing would be different if you'd "just been around more," or anything of the sort. Forgive yourself now for any perceived wrongdoing on your part.

Secondly, focus on the fact that your child loves you enough to have just bared their heart to you. They've told you their deepest, darkest secret, knowing that it would be hard for you to hear. They trust you with that information, and right now, they need you to show them how much you love them back. This is your child, and they are hurting.

Third, your child is going to go through some changes now. You're going to see aspects of their personality coming out that you've never seen before. Understand one key thing : This is THEM. This is how they truly are. What you've been seeing to this point has been an act, to fit in with how the world thinks they should act, because the world sees them as a boy, or as a girl, and not the beautiful person inside they're just now bringing out. They may need some time to explore their new gender expression - Mothers, your daughters will need to be taught all the things your daughter normally would; Fathers, your sons now, as well. If they're anything like I was, they've been secretly watching you both, wishing they could put on makeup next to you in the mirror, Mom; Or, change the oil in the car with you, Dad. Now is the time to bond with your child. Try some of these things. You'll have fun bonding with your son or daughter, and getting to know them again.

I want to point out, that though your child may be changing a lot, they're STILL THE SAME PERSON. If your son enjoyed playing video games, she probably will as your daughter, as well. If your daughter enjoyed watching chick flicks, he probably will as your son. That person is going to change a bit, but they're not going away completely. In fact, for as much as your child may be changing, you'll find the things at their core - the things that are really THEM - stay the same. As I've told my own parents, "I'm the same person you knew, just with less facial hair and more skirts."

This is going to be a difficult time for you, I know. I don't mean to make any of this sound like it's easy, because I know it's not. It's going to be an emotionally trying time for everyone. Patience and communication is key, here. You may feel that the child you had is dying, only to be replaced with someone of a different gender that walks and talks like your child. It's natural to mourn the child you knew, but remember to celebrate the child you now get to know again!

Lastly, if you have any questions, ASK. Your child most likely understands this better than a lot of people, and they'll be happy you came to them to talk about it. Try to keep an open mind, and above all, do the one thing every parent is called upon to do : Love your son or daughter UNCONDITIONALLY.

Thank you.

The Lonesome Death of Party-Girl

2012-03-29T18:32:00.000-04:00

Tuesday night, I broke up with R. To tell the truth, it went better than expected. I cried a lot, and apologized profusely, and she nodded and said she understood. She didn't cry at all, or even look particularly shaken up. Apparently, the worst-case scenario she had played out in her head of how that conversation would go was far worse than anything I said to her. She anticipated that this conversation might take place, and was ready to accept it when it did.

It was the first time I've ever broken up with someone. In my previous life, I was always the breakee. It didn't always come as a surprise, so sometimes when I was dumped, my reaction was simply, "oh, okay," but many other times it was a huge slap in the face. Many times, it hurt. It usually sucked for me, and I expected it to suck just as bad for her. When she didn't get emotional, I wasn't really sure what to do. I think I'd have been more comfortable if she'd at least looked shocked or disappointed.

The funny thing is, many of my friends were both shocked and disappointed to hear that I was breaking up with her. I use my friends as sounding boards, and when I told a few of them that those were my thoughts, it seemed to come out of the blue for them. To me, though, it was a decision rooted in perfectly sound logic.

When I came out full time, and finally hit my stride living comfortably as a woman, I was a caged monster unleashed. The rush of freedom from my own social bondage empowered me to engage in all manors of new social interaction. Party-Girl was born, and she wanted to attend every party, mingle with every person, flirt with every boy, dance to every song, and drink every shot. Emboldened by the attention she received, her skirts got shorter and shorter, her heels higher and lighter, her makeup bolder and fancier, and her corset a few notches tighter. She winked, danced, flirted, hugged, and sometimes kissed with everyone. Truly, she had a great time.

To this end, R was a symptom of Party-Girl... the perfect companion, looking for adventures to have, places to go, people to meet, and things to learn. She didn't even make Party-Girl settle for one partner, so her flirtations could go unchecked without care. For quite some time, Party-Girl was happy with this arrangement.

Unfortunately, a simple truth began to creep up on her. Party-Girl wasn't a real girl. She was a burst of energy, and like all energy, dispersed and weakened as she went on. As time passed, Party-Girl realized she was getting tired, and her perspective on the world was changing. She no longer looked at the world as bright new horizon filled with adventures. She look at her future, and suddenly didn't feel like the 18 year old she thought she was, but the 32 year old she actually was.

Mostly, she looked at her friends, and felt a painful stab of jealousy that wasn't there before. She was them all as happy couples; as "ands." Everyone had an "and." Jack and Jill were having dinner with John and Jane Saturday night, and inviting Tom and Carla over after for drinks. Even her roommate - the eternal bachelor he was - now had an and of his own, and she had even moved in with them! Everywhere she looked, Party-Girl was reminded that she was the extraneous wheel #5.

"But wait," you say, "I thought Party-Girl had an and of her own! Was this not true?" In a sense, dear reader, no, it was not.

R is a wonderful person. She's simply one of the kindest souls I have ever met, and has such a burning desire to help other people and make them happy that it's sometimes intimidating. Her ability to communicate in a calm and logical manor is such a blessing in a relationship, so whenever she and I had problems to discuss, it was always with an open mind and open heart that we could talk about our differences like adults. I could never stay mad at her, and the idea of hurting her utterly crushed me.

However, R was her own person, and was not ready to settle down yet, if ever. She didn't want to be anyone's "and," and certainly didn't want to move in together. She didn't even want to be exclusive, preferring to keep her options open to meeting new people who struck her fancy as she moved through her life. I knew all of this about her from the beginning, and it didn't bother Party-Girl. She was able to fully accept this, and just be happy R was in my life! But as Party-Girl began to tire and wane, so too did her tolerance for such an uncommitted lifestyle.

I had been realizing more and more, then, that Party-Girl was on life support. She had lived out her usefulness, and gotten me into all manor of crazy adventures. She'd helped me sort through so many new things in my life! She'd even found me a wonderful partner to have these adventures with... but her time had come. So, Tuesday night, I chose to let Party-Girl go into the night... as Frost said, "not with a bang, but with a whimper."

I'm ready to settle down. I want to be someone's and. I want the quiet life back, now. It's time to start acting my age. Goodnight, Party-Girl, and may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Moving Up, Moving Out

2012-03-15T18:50:00.000-04:00

It's an odd thing, really, living life as a proud, outspoken transwoman. I'm constantly trying to walk the line between being out to people, and just wanting to live the life as an ordinary woman that I've always sought out.

On one hand, there's a very big part of me that recoils at even the idea of being stealth - even just for a minute. What does it say about my principles when I can be standing on a soapbox one moment, telling the cis community about trans people, while the next minute, I'm making no mention of it, and muttering, "Don't mind me, I'm just an ordinary girl like any other ordinary girl! Nothing strange here!" as I sneak through some social situation? In what way does stealthing at all help increase the visibility of the transgender community? Also, why should I be ashamed of who and what I am? Why should I hide it? What reason, other than physical peril, is there to be stealth?

Well, there's an awful lot of questions up there, and I can answer them generally with one word : fear.

I've been working at my office for roughly 2 years... I'll be at the 2 year mark this June. I've been around quite a bit, and I know pretty much all aspects of the business that can be known from the ground-level position. The problem is, I don't nearly make enough money at the ground level. So, I have a choice : move up, or move out.

My chance came along just recently when the announcement was made that there were a handful of managerial positions available. So, since I have nowhere to move out to, I guessed that move up was my only option, and I applied for the job. Much like many other of my impulsive actions, though, the true terror of it didn't hit me until stuff started to actually happen. Applying was easy. I sent my resume and paperwork for my internal transfer request to the recruitment office. No sweat. Then, I received an email from them saying they liked my application, and they wanted me to take a personality test to see if I was management material. I was startled by it, and my heart was racing, but I answered the questions honestly. I figured they'd read that over, and say, "Oh, she didn't answer that she's a corporate lackey. She's clearly not cut out for the position." I then got an email from them asking me to come to an interview.

Shock set in. Paperwork and computerized tests were one thing, but I'd have to show up in person. They'd want to meet me. They'd ask me questions, possibly about my past! Not to mention the fact that this was the first time I'd interviewed as Sara, and I didn't know how to comport myself in such a business situation as a lady. Was it okay to dress feminine? What if they thought my team might not respect me if they knew I was trans, and didn't pick me for the job? I had spent so long trying to be inconspicuous at my office, so I wouldn't attract attention to myself, and the fact that I was trans, so as to avoid potential conflicts... now, here I was trying to distinguish myself, and put myself in a leadership position.

Obviously, it was time for me to step back and take a deep breath.

First off, I'm sure it's no secret around here that I'm trans. Anyone in any amount of power was around a little less than a year ago when I made that announcement, and I became Sara before their eyes. The reaction of the collective office was pleasant surprise, followed by business as usual. What reason, therefor, did I have to suspect that there would be any issue with it now, after a whole year has passed and there was not a single incident or complaint involving my gender? My skills spoke for themselves. I know I'm qualified for the job, and the management doesn't care one bit who I was a year ago. I'm accepted as a transwoman as an employee, and I'll continue to be accepted as a transwoman as a manager.

Even still, this whole thing feels a bit like coming out all over again. It's terrifying. How do I handle my team's questions if rumors begin to circulate? Is it okay to address them by educating them, like I usually do, or is this something Human Resources would handle? What if I have an employee who chooses to disrespect me because of my background? What if I'm not good enough?

Well, not to worry... Much like coming out, I'm going to remain resolute. I'm going to keep my head held high, deal with problems as they arise, and not fret about problems that don't exist yet. I'm going to tell myself that if anyone has a problem with me as a transwoman, that ball is in their court, and it's not my problem. Human Resources can deal with them. I'm going to go boldly forward, because I have no choice but to be the best me I can be.

Time to stop hiding. Time to reach for the stars, and hope for the best.

Solace

2012-03-09T20:47:00.000-05:00

I want to post something really inspirational. I want to put fingers to keyboard, and let the muse take over, and type out the most eloquent blog post ever written, that will change the tides of society and make everything better for transpeople everywhere. I want to move mountains with my words, soothe souls with my comforts, and change hearts with an utterance of wisdom so deep, it would make a calloused man weep.

I want to, but I won't. Not tonight. Tonight, I need to take care of myself.

I'm not falling apart at the seams; Those of you who know me personally who are tabbing over to Facebook or pulling out your phones to text me and ask if I'm alright, if I need to talk, and to tell me you're there if I need you, needn't expend the effort. I'm really alright. I'm also acknowledging that I'm under a lot of stress right now, and my world is a tad chaotic. I'm at the point where I'm strong enough and calm enough to see this for what it is, take a deep breath, and take a moment to find my own solace.

Yesterday was far rougher for me, admittedly. I had received some news that shook me up a bit (that I won't get into, as it was told to me in confidence) and that sent me spiraling into questioning nearly everything else in my life. Emotionally, I felt the earth shake beneath my feet, and grasped for the first stable thing I could find to steady myself. However, I found that not much in my life is terribly stable right now, and that frightened me even further. I panicked, mostly because I was focusing so much on the fact that the earth was shaking, I never took the time to breathe deep and realize it was effectively a 2.3 tremor, and not "The Big One."

When you panic in a situation like that, some interesting things can take place in your mind. I reached for stability, and when I found the first thing I reached for proved unstable itself, it began to domino into a cascade of doubt. Ideas and doubts began to connect offhandedly with one another to create a larger picture illustrating the chaos in my life that I was unable to see before. My brain fired off what-ifs and got logical answers just as quick that I didn't like one bit.

I spent part of the afternoon trying to choke back tears at my desk at work. Lost in my thoughts, I was scared for my future. Even as I was beginning to realize that the sky was not, in fact, falling, my emotions had taken over and I sat quaking while I told myself everything was okay, and I needed to just take a deep breath. It wasn't exactly my best moment. Lunch was enough for me to get away from the chaos of the office, and I was able to finally get an anchor on my feelings and get myself calmed down. My evening got progressively better after that.

This whole ordeal, though, has made me realize I need some time to focus on myself. To love myself. To tell myself, "everything will be just fine." When your entire world shakes, and nothing is 100% certain, it's easy to lose sight of the future, and begin to believe that it will always be like this. For a moment, I did. But I can see clearer now, and I'm able to look back and see how much has changed for the better in just the last year. This time last year, I was still - at least part time - presenting male. Focused on that, things don't seem too bleak anymore. In one single year, so much can change, even chaos itself. Things that seem uncertain, unstable, and outright frightening today may be solved tomorrow, and I'll be wondering what the hell the big deal was to begin with.

Maybe next year, I'll be living somewhere else. Maybe I'll have a different job; a better job. Maybe I'll be dating someone else. Maybe I'll look back on 2012, and think, "Wow, if I only knew then what I know now, I wouldn't have worried so damned much all the time."

Le Petit Mort

2012-03-07T19:53:00.000-05:00

It has come that time again to have a frank and educational discussion on sexuality. My own knowledge and experience on the matter has grown since the last time I brought this topic up, and some new questions have been brought up by various other transpeople in my life. I feel it's relevant to address the topic again.

This is yet another "TMI" post. If you do not want to discuss sexuality in frank, somewhat explicit terms, for the purpose of education, then please read no further. Mom and dad - this means you. If - and only if - you wish to know more about my experiences dealing with dysphoria and hormonal changes and how they related to my sexual functionality post-transition, then read on. Mom and dad - this also means you, but only if you really want to know these things about your daughter. Either way, I respect your choice.

NSFW content to follow. There are no pictures, but frank discussion of sexuality and sexual acts takes place below the cut. Proceed with caution. You have been warned.

I'd like to take a moment and briefly speak about why I am writing this post and the other post I did a while back. I am a sex-positive person. I believe sexuality is natural, healthy, fun, and entirely nothing to be ashamed of. Really, everyone is doing it, so why do we have such a hard time talking about it? This taboo has never quite been clear to me, but I digress. As this pertains to transpeople in general, it's important for two key reasons.

Primarily, sex is a healthy expression of love for our bodies, and for people who have a condition that causes severe body-related dysphoria, sex is a very powerful thing. Whether solo, or with a partner (or partners!) taking some time to cut loose and love your body can cure a lot of what ails us the most as transpeople. Personally, I've never felt so feminine and so beautiful as when I've just had mind blowing sex. The fact that my partner adores my body enough to want to get naked with me and pleasure me can do wonders for setting my mind at ease; if I'm not repulsive at my most vulnerable, maybe I'm not the hideous freak I sometimes feel like.

Secondarily, for those of us who are preoperative, we need to keep our pink bits in practice. As the old adage goes, "what you don't use, you lose," and this is just as true with sexual function as with anything else. If we can keep our bodies in practice of being sexually responsive, and regularly have orgasms, our chances of being orgasmic post-op increase drastically. So, even if you don't have a partner, take some time to care for yourself at least once a week - you'll be thankful in the long run... and you'll be smiling once a week!

Now, on to address some of the main concerns I have heard recently :

This first one comes from one of my turmblr followers after a brief discussion of hormonal effect on orgasm and sexual enjoyment came up. She expressed that they were having trouble achieving orgasm, and when they did, it was highly unfulfilling.

My response was :

Okay, masturbation 101... Basically you need to stop playing like a boy and start playing like a girl. As a guy it's kinda a race to a goal, as a girl it's more of a long distance jog. Your emotional state is going to play a lot more into it, as well as other sensory factors. Focus on relaxing, close your eyes and fantasize. I've found that using a vibrating bullet rather than the old method of "tugging it" worked best... Anything that will allow me to imagine fully that I didn't have a penis.

They responded :

Hmm.. I’ve tried all that though, many times. “Tugging it” doesnt work at all anymore, and I quickly gave that up. It was a little better with a vibrator (was a bit bigger than a bullet though), but really, it still wasnt very good.

What other sensory factors?

It must just be my emotional state then, also that I usually cant fantasize very well. The only times ive had a really good orgasm were when I read something (or somebody told me something) and it was truly amazing. Which is not often sadly :/

I'll address this in parts. First, toys are great, but the right toy is important. Personally, I found a vibrator to be far too cumbersome for genital stimulation. As I don't have a vagina to insert it into, I'm really just using it to vibrate against my tender-bits, and I don't need eight inches of plastic to accomplish that job. I settled on a bullet that's about an inch in diameter, with a short cord attached to a battery pack and throttle control. It's powerful enough to create the sensations I need, large enough to spread it's vibrations across enough surface area, but small enough that I'm not battling with the toy for appropriate placement. The best part is, the toy only cost me a little over $10.

The other sensory factors I was talking about were things that appeal to your other senses in a sensual manor. Unlike a primarily masculine sex drive that testosterone gave you, feminine sex drives require a little more environmental help. Being alone helps, so you don't have the anxiety of being walked in on. Being physically comfortable, however that may be for you, is important. Maybe light a scented candle that will soothe your nerves. Turn the lights down, or off. Quiet music to relax you, and help you clear your mind of annoying clutter and anxiety, can be a good aid. I've also found that sometimes I use pornography, but sometimes only to be able to hear it in the background, to set the mood and help me concentrate on the feelings. One way or another, set up your environment so that you can concentrate fully on the task at hand (no pun intended) and not worry about anything else.

I'm not sure what you've been fantasizing about, or how you've been going about it, so I can't comment directly on your last statement, but I'll share a few things that come to mind. First, I don't generally try to concoct elaborate fantasies in my mind. It's not like watching a movie - I can't concentrate on Brad Pitt getting down and dirty, and relax enough to get off. My brain is doing too much work at that point. I keep my fantasizing to simple actions. My partners in my fantasy are generally idealized bodies, with no real identity. I'm more focused on the action I'm thinking about that correlates to how I'm touching myself at that moment...

Which brings me to my next topic : Sensory filtering.

I touched on this subject towards the end of Sex Education, though I didn't dwell on it too much, as I was just discovering this little gem of self-deception, and still felt a little silly doing it. Nowadays, it's a mainstay for me, and truly the one trick that gets me through most sexual encounters dysphoria-free.

Sensory filtering - that's what I call it, at least, though it may have another technical name that I'm not aware of - is the act of imagining one thing while doing another, and tricking your brain into believing the lie because it's close enough to the truth. For those of us who's perception of our gender identity is strong enough to give us phantom sensations in bits we don't have, this actually works in our favor, because we're trying to trick ourselves into believing there are bits there that aren't.

(brace yourself - these next parts get explicit. You've been warned.)

For example, I commonly care for myself by holding my bullet against the head of my penis, just on the underside where it's most sensitive. In my mind, though, I'm imagining this is my clitoris. My other hand will generally rub just under my scrotum, where my vaginal opening should be. I press in on this part of my pelvis to simulate penetration. In my mind, I will imagine my fingers going into me, or just playing around my entrance. Since this is what my fingers are basically doing, it's not a far stretch for my mind to connect the dots. My head is basically my clitoris, and if my fingers are pushing where a vaginal opening should be, it's not a huge stretch of the imagination to believe there actually is. Suddenly, I'm not playing with my penis, I'm playing with my vagina, and I can enjoy the sensations enough to have an orgasm.

I have found that, though not strictly necessary from a practical standpoint, adding a bit of lube into the equation works miracles. After all, girl-bits are supposed to be slippery! During one sexual encounter, my partner had put some lube on their hand, and was concentrating their efforts on me, allowing me to relax and enjoy. I found that, although what they were doing felt amazing, I wasn't able to take the sensation all the way. I realized this was because I was concentrating on my partner's hand sliding over my penis. Once I adjusted that thought to "my partner's hand fingering me, and sliding over my clitoris," I orgasmed almost immediately. It seriously made that much of a difference, and the lube made that all possible by making me feel wet.

One last example, and I'll draw the discussion to a close: I was spending some time taking care of myself, and found that simply using the bullet was not enough that day. I added a bit of lube, and slid my hand and the bullet up and down my shaft, as I might have long ago. In my mind, I filtered the sensations, and suddenly, instead of my hand being wrapped around a vibrating bullet and my own penis, it was wrapped around a vibrator that I was sliding gently in and out of myself. The up and down motion of my hand, combined with the vibration of the bullet combined to transform this seemingly convoluted deception into an easily believable slight of mind. Simple, but effective!

That's all I'll say on the subject for now. Once again, I'm going to open up the comments section to any and all questions, no matter how frank or explicit. If you're wondering about something that makes you blush just thinking about it, now is the time, and here is the place to ask. Questions, comments, and personal success stories are all welcome, from cis- and trans-folk alike.

Signposts

2012-03-05T19:30:00.002-05:00

I really only figured out I was trans - and then, only really crossdressing but still identifying male - when I was about 26. Even at the time, and for years after, I thought I was just indulging a bit of a fantasy or fetish, and had no idea I had uncovered the tip of a very big ice burg. As the years went on, and I had my breakthrough epiphany (read: nervous breakdown) that I didn't just want to dress like a girl, but rather, to be a girl, I began reflecting back on my life, and wondering how the hell it took me nearly 30 years to figure this out about myself. The fact that it had taken me so long was the source of much of my self-doubt about transitioning; Was I fooling myself? I mean, if I were a girl inside, wouldn't I have known that all my life? Isn't that the kind of thing one notices?

This is a question that has had me reflecting on my life for quite some time, now, looking for all the little signposts along the road that I missed. As they say, "hindsight is 20/20," and a lot of past occurrences have become very clear in light of recent events. Much like the "Wrong Way" signs on On-ramps, I can apparently only see these signs clearly once I've passed them and look backwards.

Here are a handful that I could think of:

When I was younger, I was always fascinated with the tools my sister and mother used to file, polish, shape, and otherwise care for their finger nails. One day, my sister was using a small electronic device that resembled a dremmel tool, for shaping nails. I thought this was just amazing, and tried to use it on my own nails. I got 3 of my fingernails shaped nicely before I realized I was doing something incredibly girly and enjoying it. I remember feeling like I had done nothing wrong, and wanted to continue, but I felt I needed to make a show of it, so that nobody would think I really liked it. I jumped up, looked shocked, and ran into the other room where my dad was, and demanded that he talk to me about football or cars or something manly to help me snap out of it.
I recall having a discussion with my high school girlfriend about how I "wasn't a guy. I might be MALE, but I wasn't a guy. I refused to identify with them." This is my earliest memory of actually acknowledging that socially, I had nothing in common with men, and that I couldn't seem to mesh with them on any meaningful level. Conversely, I ended up with a good many female friends - one of which remains my best friend to this day - because I simply related better with women.
I grew up with video games. I was always the female character if I had an option.
Likewise, when I was in high school, my best friend introduced me to anime, and the first series she showed me was called Ranma 1/2. The main character and namesake of the show, Ranma, was a Japanese boy, cursed to change instantly into a girl if cold water was ever splashed on him. Warm water would turn him back into a boy. Gender-bending adventures ensued, and I remember being painfully jealous of Ranma, thinking, "That's not a curse at all. That's amazing, and I wish I could do that."
At band camp, the seniors got to harass the freshmen and sophomores. As punishment for something, I was to be forced to wear a pink silky teddy. I passed it off as being tough and secure in my masculinity, but the woman inside didn't mind the idea of wearing it one single little bit.
I was curious about makeup, so one day I put on some eyeshadow while I was in the bathroom. I apparently did a very bad job of wiping it back off, because my mother noticed when I went down for dinner. i turned beet-red, passed it off by saying, "Oh, I must have had a tiny bit of toothpaste on my finger when I rubbed my eyelid," and never ever did that again.
As early as elementary school, I remember revering women as superior to men. Boys hurt people. Boys always had to compete. Boys were mean. Girls were caring, and nice, and pretty, and smelled good. Who wouldn't want to be a girl? At age 8, I firmly believed boys had drawn the short straw in the genetic lottery. My self loathing began very early.
When I was a teenager, I had put together an outfit for the Michigan Renaissance Festival, and the shirt I wore was lent to me by my mother. It was a yellow, blousey peasant top, and looked reasonably good with the outfit. Secretly, I got a bit of a thrill that I was wearing a woman's shirt, and thought of this every time I buttoned it up, because it buttoned in the opposite direction the boy's shirts did.
The disparity in clothing for each gender has bugged the hell out of me for years; Women had all fashion of dresses, frocks, blouses, jumpers, skirts, leggings, tights, heels, scarves, wraps, shawls, and shrugs to wear, and countless ways to accessorize these things with jewelery and makeup and hair and shoes. Every color of the rainbow was available to them! Men had pants, shoes, and shirts. You could wear a watch or maybe a necklace (but it had better be plain). If you wanted to go dressy, you wore a tie. Your clothes were either grey scale, earth tones, or blue jeans and a tee shirt. I thought - and to an extent, still do think - that men's fashion was an oxymoron, and envied the women who were not bound in that unspoken social contract.
I remember, in high school, becoming moderately horrified that my face was beginning to sprout hair. I was never quite sure what to do with that, and never really liked it.
Those are all the ones I could think of off the top of my head, but I'm sure there were dozens more that I'm glossing over. The problem with many of these memories is that I was very good at the art of self-denial, and so many thoughts and feelings were erased immediately when I thought to myself, "that's not normal. That makes me strange."

It's a bit odd, in contrast to the many transpeople I know who's "earliest memory is that they were born in the wrong body." I can't say I was ever really happy being a boy, but I don't recall - even with all of the signposts here and there - being so unhappy that I felt something was wrong. In many ways, I'm still sifting through the last 30 years of my life, trying to make sense of all of it.

For my trans friends, what signposts did you notice, before or after? What indicated that you might not entirely be the gender you thought you were? For my cis friends who knew me before my transition, what other stuff did you notice that now makes a LOT more sense now that we all know what we know about me?

Voice Training

2012-03-03T00:56:00.001-05:00

Hey everyone! Look what I did!

Yes, I only posted 3 times in the entire month of February. That's not what I'm talking about.

What? No, to hell with February! It's pretty much the worst month ever, and it doesn't deserve my blogging expertise! Get past the whole "February was a drought, where have you been, I needed your blog so badly," argument. Seriously. I have something interesting to show you.

Remember a while ago I was threatening to be a vlogger, and do YouTube videos?

I did it. There will be more. I promise.

Reminders

2012-02-24T19:12:00.001-05:00

Oh, the dreaded, "Sorry I haven't posted in a while," post. I had hoped to avoid them, but alas, sometimes it's just unavoidable I suppose. Try as I might, while I'm incredibly stressed out, I have a tough time wringing anything worth reading out of my muse, and I refuse to give you all trite scribblings of a distracted and emotional writer to read. For those of you wondering, though, no, I'm not dead.

February kind of went sideways for me. Not in the sense that anything catastrophic happened, but just in the sense that things seemed to constantly be falling down, and I've spent most of the month trying to keep things together just to maintain the status quo, and I've only partially succeeded. Two major things have kept me entirely off-balance, that being work turning into a giant pile of stress, and some... let's call them communication problems with R. Both of these things have more or less settled down (R, more so than work, fortunately) so I'm attempting this whole blogging thing again for the first time in two weeks. It's been a nice little hiatus, but it's time I put my "big girl panties" back on and wrote something.

Something happened the other night at the monthly Steampunk gathering that really shook me up. It was nothing malicious or anything like that, and I don't fault anyone involved in the exchange, but it sent me spinning into a cascade of depression. First, though, a little back story, so you understand why it hit me so hard...

One thing I have a bit of difficulty with is separating things in my old life from things in my new life. To me, the transition was a long period of several years, where I slowly but surely blurred the line between male and female, until all the male had been erased and only the female was left. It was very indistinct. However, after I fully transitioned to 24/7 full-time living as Sara, I started going out far more often and being more social, and this has resulted in a whole slew of people who never knew me before becoming friends with me. Most of them are totally aware I'm trans, (and many of them read this blog, also... HI! *waves*) but nearly none of these people ever met me before my transition. To them, I've always been Sara. They have accepted me for who I am on my own merits as a woman, and that's good enough for both of us.

This dichotomy between me viewing my own transition as a vast grey area of slowly changing gender, and my friends' view of me from only after I had fully transitioned creates an interesting social landscape. My friends are doing nothing more than they ever have - being friends with someone they like, regardless of who or what that person is - but I've walked into the situation full well knowing who I used to be. Consequently, my friends don't even realize that they've created a socially safe space for me by being completely non-chelant about a person they never knew existed.

I hope that makes sense.

The Phoenix Cafe is one such safe space for me. I never once set foot in there before my transition - in fact, the first date I ever went on post transition with The Gentleman was at the Phoenix Cafe. It has some very good memories for me as Sara. Everyone, including the owners, know me as Sara. Sara is loved and accepted there, no matter the event. It's a place I can forget I'm trans for the night. It's a place I can emotionally put my feet up and relax in.

The monthly Steampunk gatherings are held at the Phoenix Cafe, and this month, there were several people who showed up from a group I belonged to exclusively in my old life. None of them necessarily bore me any ill-will. I had seen a few of them in passing post-transition, but never really took the time to talk to them. Still, their presence in my safe space was uncomfortable for me. They were reminders of the past. They knew him. Still, though, uncomfortable as I might have been, I didn't want to be rude. I knew them, and they knew me... kind of... so I made the mistake of going to say hi to one of them, forgetting that this person hadn't met Sara yet.

"Hi! How's it going?" I asked him brightly.

"Pretty good," he replied, awkwardly. "So... you're a girl now?" His words hit me like a brick in a glove.

"Yeah... I'm a girl now." Awkward silence. "I'm going to go dance."

And that was that. I've had that discussion a hundred times before, but that night, it was sitting badly in my stomach. It was like that one shot of ugh-what-did-I-just-drink that doesn't go down quite right at the party, and the fun night of drinking goes from being drunk to sitting on the couch eyeballing the bathroom door in an instant. After that discussion, I felt emotionally queasy. I shifted uneasily. I stopped dancing. I sat watching the crowd, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I left, and went outside for fresh air, then back in, then back out, and finally just went and sat in my car for a bit. I'm not sure R even noticed, she was having such a great time, and I didn't want to bring her down. Eventually I had come back in, and was brooding on a couch, trying to get my nerves calmed back down, when she came over to me and asked me if I was okay. I explained the situation, and she - as she always is - was totally understanding and supportive, and told me if I needed to leave, to just say the word and we'd be out of there in an instant.

I made it through the night. At midnight, the DJ plays The Timewarp from Rockey Horror Picture Show, and that's a great way to cheer up. We stayed a bit longer, and left on happier terms.

Even still, I was left with a cold reminder that things weren't always this way, and I'm left wondering if I'll ever escape my past.

Sin & Gluttony

2012-02-06T13:51:00.000-05:00

Every year, my friends host a party in their home called "Sin & Gluttony." It's always the first weekend in February, and is a celebration of delectable foods, wine, spirits, and friendship, otherwise known as a "check your diet at the door" party. This past weekend was the 2012 Sin & Gluttony.

I mention this party specifically because it marks a transitional landmark for me. Last year, around this time, I had been on hormones for four months, was having regular laser hair removal appointments, and was becoming more and more passable. With those changes, I was spending more and more time as Sara, and really only reverting back to my male persona for work. Most everybody knew of my transition at this point, but there were many peripheral friends and acquaintances - that is to say, people that you like and are friends with, but whom you see roughly three times per year at major events such as this - that had never met Sara. The prospect of attending the party as Sara was frightening to me, because it would have been the first time I'd have been in a major social situation, trying to pass, with a bunch of people I didn't necessarily know; a trial-by-fire, so to speak.

What frightened me more though, was the idea of attending this party as a boy. My dysphoria could do far more damage to me than a jeering look or off-color comment ever could. Besides, as frightening as the prospect of someone reading me and being rude about it was, I trusted the host and hostess completely, and I knew they would turn anyone who said anything offensive out on their ear and never welcome them back. I was amongst friends, there. With those motivations emboldening me, I donned my new dress, bought new jewelery, nail polish that matched my dress, and held my chin high as Sara strode into her first party ever.

Hence, I only-half-jokingly refer to this as my debutante ball.

The response was overwhelmingly positive. Two people sort of made a fuss, but even that wasn't outrage or dissatisfaction. One friend was a tad upset that she was not in the loop, but followed it with great questions, and once I had her up to speed on everything she had missed, she was quite happy. Another friend comes in second place for "Biggest Spectacle Made of Sara," by looking me up and down, and saying, "It would seem silly to greet you by the name I've known you by. What should I call you?" I replied, "I'm Sara," with a smile, and offered my hand. He smiled back, shook my hand, and replied, "A pleasure to meet you again, Sara." and that - as they say - was that. Quite literally, that was the second largest deal made of me that evening. Nobody else even measured a 2 on the 1 to 10 scale of freaking out.

I came home from that party feeling like the Queen of All Creation. Sadly, that quickly changed in an unforeseen twist of events. That evening, as I cleaned the nail polish off my fingers in preparation to return to work Monday morning, I began to cry... and did not stop crying for very long until roughly half way through my work day. The height of my elation, the feeling of exhilaration and freedom, and the joy of the acceptance I was shown carried my spirit to higher heights than I had known in seemingly forever, but that made the crash to reality and the pain of having to put the boy suit back on all the more painful. My dysphoria threw it's own party, and my high spirits were the main course.

Work was hell. My mind spiraled through all manor of black thoughts, and my skin crawled at the idea of being a boy, using the men's room, being called my old name, and using a male voice. I sat frightened of how long this could go on, before I gathered the courage to come out at work, and even more frightened of how that would be received. At that party, I was amongst friends, but here at the office, I was just a coworker with many strange people who didn't even know who I was. I didn't have an office - I work at a call center, so I'm exposed to anyone who glances down my aisle of desks. What restroom would I use? Would I simply be fired outright? I excused myself to the men's room and tried to cry as quietly as I could, as not to arouse suspicion - boys aren't supposed to cry, after all.

As I came out of the men's room, I found within myself a sense of conviction. I couldn't bear the pain, and anything my management might say or do could not compare with the fear and anguish of hiding any longer. I had to set things in motion. Sheepishly, I stepped over to my manager, and asked her if I could speak with her. The look on my face must have been as somber as I felt, because she readily agreed, and asked if I needed to speak in private. I answered that I did. We went to one of the conference rooms off the main floor of the call center, and I told her with tears of fear and pain welling in my eyes once again, that I had been living two lives for all these months. I awaited her disapproval, or at very least, confusion. Instead, a look of concern bloomed on her face, and she said, "My goodness, you must be exhausted. How can we help?"

The obligatory "bathroom mirror" shot,
just before I left for the party this weekend.

Two months later, I had come out at work full time, to a resounding wave of approval. The H.R. department at my office was amazing, and supported me 100%. My coworkers were welcoming and accepting, many that I had never met before sending me emails or private messages or even stopping by my desk personally to say how proud of me they were, that they admired my courage, and that I had their support if I needed anything. It was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life - not only because complete strangers who have never spoken to me before supported me at my most vulnerable time, but also because my office was the last hiding place my old-self had. April 12th, 2011, Sara was a 24/7 gig for me, and Sin & Gluttony set that all in motion.

This year, nothing quite so monumental happened - and thank goodness, too. No alarms and no surprises, just friends, drink, and delectable treats to snack upon. R came to the party with me, and several of my friends finally got to meet her ("Is this R?" they would ask, knowing her only from what I've said about her in my blog). A good time was had by all, and I talked and laughed and mingled all evening like a normal girl at a normal party on a normal night... but that party will always hold a special place in my heart because it was the impact that finally broke the last barrier in my life.

Passing Thoughts 8

2012-02-03T19:45:00.000-05:00

"Sara!" you exclaim. "Wednesday came and went, and there was no blog post from you! What gives?"

"Well, dear reader, that's one hell of a story! I'm glad you asked on this dreary day," I reply.

I had what some might call an adventure. But let me back up a bit... we'll get to that in due time. What I'd like to talk about first, occurred over the weekend, and has moved on from there.

I used to room with my friends a while back, during the beginning phases of my transition. During that time, I had an old computer I wasn't using, and theirs was down for repair, so I gave it to them. I didn't bother to wipe the hard drive first, as we knew each other pretty well, and there really wasn't anything private on there in the first place. I'm extraordinarily glad I didn't, now, also, because I was informed the other day that there was roughly 140 MB of pictures left on it of me... or, at least, me in my previous incarnation.

Finding old pictures of myself doesn't usually excite me. Really, the past is a tad foggy for me, and I like it that way. I have this overwhelming feeling that the first thirty years didn't really count, so much, and that my real life is beginning now. I do, however, like to keep them around as a reminder of how far I've come. Taking a stroll down memory lane can sometimes be a great way to boost my ego when it needs a bit of propping up. So, this past weekend, I headed to her place, and dropped every photo I could find of myself on a flash drive.
An idea struck me - an idea I had been toying around with for a while, but was always a little too timid to do. I wanted to make a Before & After collage of my transition pictures, so I could see a visual timeline of how I've changed. I had seen other transpeople do this, but a part of me was never quite comfortable with putting out pictures of my old self. I liked keeping them for my own viewing, but handing them to others sat uneasy with me. I was afraid people would view me differently if they saw the old me. (To a certain extent, I still am afraid of this)

I created it, and - after some encouragement from my friends that they'd love to see it - posted it on my Facebook profile. The response was overwhelmingly positive. I then posted the photo on my Tumblr, and a lot of my trans followers there were very impressed and began to share it around to other people. This pleased me; I wanted to send a positive message to other transgirls, that I was able to achieve this level of transformation, and with effort and care, you can to.

So, for my trans readership, take a good long look. I'm not the most attractive girl in the world, but I think we can both agree that I don't look terribly much like a boy anymore. I want you to know, you can do this too. There is hope. You have a chance at happiness.

* * *

After posting the collage, and staring at pictures of myself for an entire evening as I pieced it together, I began to feel like a million dollars. The man in the pictures seemed alien to me. I never quite looked the way I thought I should look, but now that I look a lot closer to my mental self image, I cannot connect the dots between he and I. The feeling of separation... the failure to recognize that person... is better than any other feeling in the world.

* * *

So the "adventure" I was talking about... Yeah.

I got a flat tire Tuesday night (actually, 2:30 AM on Wednesday morning) driving home from a friend's place. I was cruising down I-75, when I heard some sort of dull pop or thud. I pulled over as soon as I possibly could, and pressed my OnStar button.

At this point, I'm thinking two things: First, I'm a transsexual woman on the side of a highway in Detroit in the middle of the night, alone in my disabled car. This is how tragic headlines happen. A transgender woman found raped and murdered in Detroit, film at 11. Second, I was thinking of what I do, primarily, at work - I work for OnStar, and I proactively call people who have had long waits for their roadside assistance through us, and attempt damage control. I was thinking of all the things that could possibly go wrong. I thought of every horror story I've heard from our subscribers about their experiences, and I was worried that was going to be me. Everything turned out okay, of course, but it was a tense situation none the less.

Of course, my tire can't just go flat. I apparently ruined the tire because I wasn't immediately able to pull over. I drove on my spare for 2 days because they had to special order the replacement, and I'm out $110 instead of the $25 it would have been to simply patch it.

I suppose it could have been worse, but it caused quite a bit of hassle and no small amount of lost sleep between late nights and early mornings. I'm still recovering.