Looks like I’m going to seriously look at getting the name change done.
At a party nomination for a federal candidate in my riding, the registry guy tried to tell me I was showing him my husband’s ID. Funny now, irritating then, concerning the next time I fly.
Wandering Son is a manga and an anime. Having not read the Manga I have no idea how it differs from the anime. It’s very heartwarming anime or can be for transpersons and their allies. As the main characters are transpersons themselves. Those who insist that being transgendered is something sexual will be made very uncomfortable since the cast consists mostly of middle-school students, fresh out of elementary.
The show revolves around a ‘boy’ who believes he is a girl at heart, and close friend, a ‘girl’ with the reciprocal issue. I cannot, in a short post, list the trans issues this story touches but it’s a fascinating show.
I will talk about one scene that was very poignant.
The ‘girl’ who believes herself to be boy, is going through puberty and very upset about the development of her breasts. A situation not helped by her girl friends (who don’t know she is trans). Their compliments and expressions of envy about how ‘cute’ she looks during a poolside physical education class drive her to the point of seeking out a sound proof environment (the bottom of the pool) where she can scream in silence.
I know how she feels.
I’ve got a another more essay like post in the pipeline. A review/description of an anime with a very trans postive message/theme
I just though I’d let you know that I haven’t forgotten this blog.
It’s a common comment made about T-girls. That our make up is always perfect or that we know more about make up than ‘real girls’. Or that we seem to care more about heels and dresses and the right purse than many cis-gendered girls. A close friend of mine can’t understand why I ‘suddenly had to be hyper-feminine all the time’ Even my anime Heroine Aoi Futaba can be accused of ‘trying too hard’.
So why do we do it?
Aoi is originally portrayed as having become so thoroughly an archetypical model Japanese woman due to supreme work ethic or artistic perfectionism. Perhaps for some of us there is an element of that. For many cross dressers it IS an art and taken a seriously as any other performer’s stage image.
For me however it’s an evolving series of motivations that I’ll attempt to break down here.
To begin with it was a consequence of being ‘part-time’ The only time I got to be a girl was when I went to an event or party or club as one. When I went full time I discovered that my wardrobe while full of ‘party clothes’ was severely lacking in every day wear. Likewise when I was part-time I never showed myself in public without hours spent on my hair and makeup. When being a girl became an every day thing I started learning how to pare my primping down to essentials.
The other aspect I could describe as… starvation. Quite simply I had spent a lifetime avoiding having anything remotely feminine hung on me. A lifetime of making relentlessly ‘pragmatic’ sartorial choices. Now I still feel the urge (maybe not as urgently as a year ago) to make up for lost time.
Finally it comes down to be acknowledged. Depending on the clothes i wear, I don’t LOOK like a girl. and I really really REALLY don’t like it when a cashier calls me ‘sir’ or ‘mister’, the urge to set every ‘ I am a woman’ flag I can on my appearance is never far from the surface.
And that is why _I_ try too hard. When talking to others, you mileage may vary.
Sorry about that. I have, I think, three posts on the go in my head and another two started in ‘drafts’ but I’ve not been good about finishing stuff the last two weeks.
Also I should mention that I’m not taking comments any more. I’d like to but if there have been any real comments of substance they’ve been lost in a sea of spam. I’m done moderating 32 comments about cheap raybans or louis vuitton handbags a day trying to find the one real comment. sorry again.
This has been a touchstone for me ever since I decided to drop the act and go full time.
struggled to stay awake all day and now I can’t CAN NOT sleep. FML.
I know it’s not cool for me to express here what I have so far been unable to say in person.
I know that everyone I love has their own journey to accepting the truth of what I have revealed about myself and that it is THEIR journey not mine.
It IS important to my identity and sense of self worth that I be tolerant and understanding.
I DO want to give those I love a ‘bye’ on things I won’t tolerate from strangers.
I DO understand that habit changes take time and are disconcerting.
I KNOW that TO YOU, who have not lived with my fear and shame and guilt, this announcement of my inner (and now outer) womanhood is something new and sudden.
But it still hurts.
It hurts when you call me by anything other than my new self assigned first name.
It hurts when you get my pronouns wrong in my presence.
It hurts when you try to explain me away:
I’m not trying to ‘reinvent myself so I can leave my baggage behind’ I tried that in college when I changed my nickname to <middle name redacted>. I tried it again by becoming Private <last name redacted> in the Army.
I’m not suffering from hormone problems due to BPH and or low Testosterone.
I’m not engaging in a hobby or fad or kink.
Yes you CAN know that you were a woman at heart before any age threshold YOU think is ‘normal’.
It hurts when you attempt to deny my truth… my identity.
It hurts, It Hurts, IT HURTS.
I can live with falsies and shapewear and having to shave my face to avoid looking like the incredible bearded lady.
I can tolerate the discomfort that ladies’ underwear inflicts on my certain ‘Je ne sais quois’.
With the right dress I can see a lady in the mirror.
But my voice offends me every time I open my mouth (those who know me will realize that’s quite often). It’s loud, it’s deep, it carries, it doesn’t sound feminine at all. there are no hormones and no, safe, surgeries that will fix it. the only fix is training, expensive, long, WAITLISTED training.
The word waitlist is becoming all too familiar with me.
so. yeah. I hate my voice. Just thought I’d say.