I’ve made this new page, Your Page, as a place just for those who wish to post their own stories, journeys, opinions, trials, tribulations, anecdotes, jokes and anything you wish to share. Please send me what you’d like and I’ll be so happy to post it.
|I was thinking about the ease in which I became me! There are no shortcuts, Female 101 classes, Girly Boot camp.. none of that!I will give the example of a life changing event. Numerous times in my excursions out in public, I was scared to death. I couldn’t enjoy being me. one particular night I was walking into walgreens, and a very loud comment behind me..
” Is that a man?”I knew they were talking about me. I stopped and was ready to turn and face my attackers. Then the thought, that changed my life.** Okay stop, this is who I am, this is how Im going to dress the rest of my life..im a woman!!”**
I kept walking, never looked back…and never let stupid comments bother me again.I know you’re thinking, too simplistic..it cant be that easy..well it is!!!My hair, make up, style of clothing has changed since then. the only comments I get now.. I love your dress, or you always look cute. Men hit on me too. Oh My my myTo be a woman is no easy task, but to be the woman you are means letting go of who you were..its the only way you will be free. there are no half way measures, no shortcuts.You will change, you cant prevent that. you are on a slippery slope..just enjoy the ride. embrace the lady within.
Its been 10 years for me. 11 years ago suicidal ideations were my constant companion, no doubt as everyone else here.
I was VERY male (look & Attitude)..which shocked everyone 10 years ago. The comments I get from friends & family now, they have a difficult time believing I was ever male..my transformation was drastic, lucky me. I am in complete stealth, to anyone new in my life. My girlfriends call me girly girl…new male friends, consider me a classy lady. Hormones, did not change me..they unlocked me!
You may think Im boasting or ego-centric in my writing, but I want to make something perfectly clear. All those years ago, I never imagined the new life I now live, completely free of anguish, confusion. My physical health has improved dramatically. Looking back at my life, I honestly cant remember being that person. Looking at old pictures, I no longer have an emotional connection to that person.
I have gone through stages of fear..my physical changes pale in comparison to the mental changes.. I was fearful, why I felt this way or that! so I called close Girlfriends, that I trusted. they informed me, I was only experiencing being female. I have no Transgender friends..so my girlfriends are giving me a Total female POV.. holy Cr*p Batwoman. whew.
My kids have a new mom, they are both adult men. They informed in a few years ago, their dad is dead! yes harsh words, but let me explain. They don’t remember their dad, its crazy to them, but its like I’ve always ben their mom.
When My sons told me their father was dead, I called my BFF, of 35 years. her response was.
” Ok… so can I meet their dad, where is he?”
“Well, I’m their dad on the inside!!”
” No Honey, you are their Mom now, you have always been a woman, your kids relate to you as their mom, you cant change that!”
” Their dad was a great man, but he was sick & dying, you need to let him go.”
I cried for days over that one…but I slowly realized, my family loves me, my friends that remained love me..my new friends too
Looking in the mirror now, I just see me, no longer a stranger looking back. honestly if I never took the giant leap.. My friend’s & family would be visiting my grave.
have the courage! Be true. this is the only life, you will ever have!
The admin (Cate) now has my email address..if you would like to chat further.
Love & Serenity to all.
Even after taking management courses re: thinking out of the box I retained the belief that my thoughts along this line represented mental illness. When I finally surrendered at age 70 I still had that belief. What an awakening it was!! Many of my TG friends in Florida had like experiences. 1 piece of good news re: going out: I have been told that teenage girls are most likely to out you. I ended up in a crowded mall during school recess. Not a peep from the many girls–the good news being that when you are an older woman you are invisible so have no fear re: leaving the closet!!
I am a crossdresser and have a need to dress and love meeting other c/ds. Love having makeup applied and being transformed into a woman!!!
BEGINNING A BACKWARD LIFE IN A BACKWARD CULTURE AND THE RESOLUTION
By Ronnee Miller, PhD
As a “mature” transgender I’m wondering why I did not come to recognize what it was that made me feel ambiguous about so many of my life’s experiences. In recent days I’ve thought deeply about these feelings of emotional lack and confusion, and now I have come to the place where I can with a high degree of confidence connect the dots encompassing my lifetime, which brought me to where I am today. Another question has been answered as to why it took so long to get there.
Seminal to my discovery of what was going on with me came through reading Dr. Anne Lawrence and especially her article entitled: Becoming What We Love. Things then came into focus for me in a reassuring way. It has to do with the concept of autogynephilia or more to the point: my understandings of it. Rather than airing this controversial analysis of transgenerism, I am going to offer a narrative of my life as I remember it within this new context for those who might be interested and\or benefit.
Being born as a male in the remote past and brought up to be conforming, I didn’t have a chance to feel like a “female trapped in a male body” as they say. Way back then in middle-class American culture everything seemed to be obvious on the gender front and issues of sexuality were treated euphemistically, if at all. So, no cues existed, to my knowledge, to challenge the “given.” Christine Jorgensen was years down the pike. I do remember, however, my mother complaining about me exhibiting effeminate gestures (for example, putting my hands on the upper part of my chest while sleeping). I did sit at my mother’s vanity and play with makeup but not to a marked degree. What impacted me most from my beginning was my early attraction to females. Not much later this combined with a strong fetish for women’s feet and shoes. The best example of infatuation, in my memory, was a girl that occasionally visited neighbors across the street from where I lived. She presents a vivid emotional impression, which continues to be strong to this day. Her name was Shirley, ten years old and a blonde. I was much younger than she but longed for her return visits and pined for her in her absence. It was more than the fact she make a fuss over me. I loved her and still do as I have so many girls of my acquaintance through the years. Unfortunately, this romanticized and idealistic image of the female continued to defeat my efforts at dating way beyond puberty. I continued ignorant of how to approach them and was so self-involved (very bashful) I failed to pick up on cues from girls that did like me, I learned much later and too late. I just loved staring at them, admiring them, wanting to be with them, joining in their conversations and identifying with them. Most sensed this too, which led them to treat me as just a friend, more as a sister than anything else. Especially, in college I felt deprived, not knowing what was wrong with me, and this dilemma made my life depressing. It was then that I first thought homosexuality was the source of my problem. For a short period a cousin of mine had offered me oral sex in my early teens, but I never reciprocated and had no further experience of that kind until I became an older adult. Going gay didn’t seem to be my condition. As a matter of fact I wasn’t interested in anything having to do with masculine culture (systematic exercise, aggressive behavior, bad language, false boasting, drinking of beer, a preoccupation with sports, stories of ”making it” with girls etc.) or even being with other men, gay or otherwise. I felt more secure by myself and within myself, even though lonely. Since then I have discovered that the above list is (interestingly enough) a perspective held by many females.
The 1970s was the time I thrived in my ambiguity: the glitzy clothes men could wear! And I made the most of it. Although I never visited in my mind this lack of identification with my own sex until I read Dr. Lawrence, she has explained me to my satisfaction. I always considered myself and was referred to by other contemporary males as a sissy. I was always the last to be picked as a team member in sports. I did have a few male friends, but they domineered me and where outcastes themselves. My parents and I always attributed this to being weak kneed, shy and afraid which I considered character flaws. My mother even called me a “weak sister” and my father treated me as if I were gay, even long after I was married. One experience could have given me a clue toward understanding myself, which happened in my mid-teens. Periodically, a family with two sons would visit us for the day and we would have a good time playing together. I remember, though, being surprised by the feelings of depression I felt after their departure. Years later as an adult I learned that Steven had become Stephanie. Of course, I now speculate whether there was some affinity between us (subconscious?) that I noticeably missed when “she” left. As sexual issues began emerging in the culture of the 1960s I was busy with my life and profession, finally distracted from my personality problems and not relating to the issues personally. If I did I decidedly came down on the conservative side. However, my tensions remained unresolved and led to a nervous breakdown during my 55th year. Therapy helped me relax and have a better attitude about my life and myself. And probably opened the door to what I’ve recently become.
To continue: I married in my mid-twenties. I was fortunate to find a girl my own age that was interested in me. The marriage was as happy as possible and lasted until her death four years ago. Unfortunately, things had not changed with me. After a somewhat passionate engagement (no sex because for reasons of propriety?), we settled into a non-sexual relationship. After the wedding ceremony the passion left and I wondered why I felt blocked from approaching her with a sexual appetite. I later apologized for this and she was accepting. I made it up to her in many other ways (I loved picking out her clothes and even considered becoming a designer of women’s clothing with her) with extensive travel, houses beautifully decorated, and my absolute faithfulness. We joined with each other in our dedication to classical music, opera, all kinds of literature and the fine arts. After ten years of marriage it seem indicated that we have a child. The impregnation was a challenge for both of us, but it happened, and we were blessed with a daughter. I couldn’t help being relived about having a daughter and not a son. Life went on until I really became “mature.” After my wife’s death and one year of formal mourning (I’m very traditional that way), one morning I awoke with the thought that everything had changed: my mild depression was gone and clearly I wanted a female in my life again. I didn’t realize (clueless as always) I was the girl I wanted in my life! Instead I went ahead and spent a lot of money on dating sites (one cost $5,000) and then a lot more money on dates with over 55 women during the next year and a half. People thought rightfully so I was desperate! I was intimate with only three of them, all very dominant women. None of the relationships went anywhere, even though I enjoyed being with them. I believed what I didn’t find in one I would find in the next one! At least I was emerging from my shell but only the dominant ones I found really exciting. Trying to resume my “normal” life I became engaged and predictably that ended badly. All this coincided with the discovery that I liked to cross-dress which ended any semblance of my expectations that I would be able to live a “conventional” life again and doomed the engagement. As I described in my earlier contribution it was in church that I admired a transsexual and was inspired to follow suit (pun intended). As you would expect I thought of myself a CD only at first and joined lots of groups for support and socializing. I continued to waste money by shopping and then “purging” in an effort to save the engagement, but finally gave in to myself and accepted what now had to be and became happier and less stressed as a result. Trends continued along the feminine line and it dawned on me (despite having a PhD and four other graduate degrees I guess I’m still a slow learner) that I was actually transgender and wanted to surrender myself completely to my feminine sensibilities and actually to enhance them. One more experience solidified this advance. A year or so earlier I decided to checkout the “wild side.” As my relationship with a gay man developed he started to treat me more and more as a woman AND I LIKED IT! I reveled in his compliments that I was “hot” and sexy and accomplished as a sex partner. He started calling me his “fem” and would telephone me the morning after to ask me how I was. All these elements made it seem very natural for me to begin dressing as a female full time almost a year ago and since then I never considering going back. I’ve had facial surgery, lips pumped, laser treatments and breast augmentation, now feeling quite female and wanting more of those soft feelings I now perceive as female. I’m considering hormone replacement and if I was not so damn “mature” SRS. Once you come to “name” and identify your real self you are well underway in your transition toward womanhood. She was there all the time: a lot of life, “maturity” and Dr. Lawrence showed her to me and I have now the task of revealing her to the world! My sisters are invited to comment on this text with supporting statements or contradictions.
Dear T-Girls Everywhere,
I’m especially “mature” but began to cross-dress only three years ago. My granddaughter was being Baptized at Trinity Church-Wall St. in NYC when I noticed an attractive TG or CD going forward as a sponsor for a new member. And the thought struck me: “She has quite an attractive presence; may I could do that too; it would be fun.” That is what I tell those who shun the transgender community for what they claim are religious’ reasons. I soon realized I wanted to go way beyond the CD experience and discovered myself transsexual and awakened to my potential as female after much religious discernment. I consider all this a gift from God. Later in the year, after a 40 year career as a Protestant pastor, I was Confirmed a Roman Catholic. Even though my TG friends think it is a regression to join a church rather hostile and phobic about trans. people, the Catholic church to me seems very feminine in so many ways with the richness of the worship, the soft feeling I get, the veneration of Mary, the Mother of God, the very sensitive literature published, the female saints and the anti-abortion stand etc., all resonate in me as wonderfully feminine, delicate and passive. Protestantism seems so abstract and masculine and aggressive to me now. When I informed the church about my transition they didn’t seem to know what to respond. So, I continue to attend regularly and contribute significantly. In no way am I suggesting anyone else do as I did. But I’d love to hear from those who have had similar experiences with the RC Church or other churches and haven’t got totally turned off. And I’m open to advice on and comments about my new transgender life as a gift from God! I’m ready for some rough treatment because of the controversial nature of my first posting.
I was born with the body of a male baby and with the soul and psyche of an infant female. Until I was 13 and puberty started I simply was a child in motion. Because of my male body my parents dressed me as a boy and gave me the male name of Michael. Girls can spell this name the same way and just change the pronunciation to /Mishel/. I like my name spelled Michelle. I also spell Mike as Myche and Mishe. I grew up in the Black Hills where my mother’s family had lived since 1910 and my father moved to in the 1930s. My mother’s parents and her aunts and uncles were immigrants from Scandinavia and the males worked in the Homestake Gold Mine as miners. My mother was born in Michigan where the family moved for a few years after working as autoworkers and bootleggers for a short time after they lost their jobs because of the depression, then they returned to the Black Hills.
My father was born in Brooklyn of an Irish mother and placed in an orphanage soon after his birth. When he was 2 1/2 years old in 1913 he was on an orphan train to Nebraska where he became a small prairie town youth graduating from high school in 1929 at the dawn of the depression. He was an only child. His adoptive father was an American Express Agent. He went on to become a pool hall clerk, a phonograph repairman, installed nickelodeons in cafes and whore houses, a bartender, and finally a car salesman. During World War II he served in the US Navy in the Armed Guard on Liberty Ships.
Most of the conversations in my home growing up were largely concerned with the social activities of others in the communities where we lived. My father was socially active in the bar scene in our community to make contacts to sell cars. He had a reputation for being honest and competent manager who could manage the car dealership or bar so he made money for others. Neither of my folks were socially pretentious, and we lived a simple life.
My mother was a goldmine’s daughter, town brat, and bar girl who took care of her dad as he was dying from heart and respiratory disorders from working in the mine. When she married my dad, she became a stay at home mom, but while we lived in the Hills, could not live down her youth among the goody, goodies. My brother, my sister, and I were not thinkers, we just actors. I only remember a few other kids from my youth. I played with others outside without noticing who they were. My only thoughts were about how poorly I did things such as play softball, climb trees, and rock walls, played basketball, jumped rope. I didn’t not have the male ego, and many times did the girl thing of allowing others to win because they wanted it so badly.
My family history is important because my family had no family history of politics and my father was raised a Catholic and my mother a Lutheran. But we never went to either church, instead attending Methodist, Congregational, and Baptist Churches.
Growing up I was just a girl without roots, who lived her life as a butch female and a lesbian. Politically I was a very liberal Democrat, and my Christian philosophy was to the left of a Reformed Jew. I, a girl, had been stuck in a box labelled boy, and had been packaged as a boy, and I was afraid to break out of that boy package, so I live my life until I was 53 years old as a butch female who was able to father six children. I lived my femaleness as a fantasy in my mind and in fear of being found out. Looking back I think some others sensed that I was really a female. I worked in a woman’s world as an elementary teacher, who totally avoided the dominate male role. When I finally came out as a woman a few years ago on Facebook to my family, friends, and past students, nobody showed signs of being surprised, there were no how could you’s, and nobody cursed me out and unfriended me. I live at least 1000 miles from my past so none of my family, friends, or past students deals me on a daily basis.
So here I am a small town Celtic/Scandinavian grandma schoolmarm who is a member of the Baha’i Faith. I consider myself a practical transsexual female who hasn’t made any physical changes to my body by surgery or chemistry because all of my Social Security goes into supporting my family. I also have diabetes 2 and high blood pressure along with tendonitis in my lower back and varicose veins. I really don’t want to do anything that will endanger my health having had two parents dying from cancer and other health problems. I am just trying to become more female everyday sand shed more and more of my male characteristics and letting the chips fall where they may.
As I have written in my story above, I try to understand my life and myself as a unity instead of breaking it up into segments, which I could just as easily do. I was born in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and then moved to the prairies of South Dakota, after my dad died when I was thirteen. These were two totally different realities. Deadwood and Lead were mining and adult entertainment towns where I could have grown up to be a butch gold miner or the town whore or barmaid or retail clerk or teacher or something to do with medicine. Deadwood was in a valley surrounded by burnt and unburnt forests where you only need to see five feet ahead or maybe 30 if you were driving the twisting highways. Isabel was rural farming town on the rolling drift plains of the Cheyenne River Indian Rez Dakotas where you could see for miles in every direction. While Deadwood snaked up the sides of Deadwood Gulch, Isabel was a flat rectangular checkerboard with only a few hundred people living there many of which were related in some way or another. We had one teacher for 7th and 8th grades , while in Deadwood for seventh grade I had at least five different teachers. I was only to go to 8th grade there, but I dreamed of entering high school because my stepdad who grew up here, said that for hazing all the boys had to dress up as females. Alas, it was not to be. He was off to barber school in Fargo, North Dakota, and I was off to a large city environment much like I lived in when I lived three years in Rapid City during my first three years of elementary school. Just surviving and adjusting took all my energies. We were here six months, then it was off to finish my high school in Garrison, North Dakota, a farming and shopping town of about 1700 people on Lake Sacajawea which is a gigantic reservoir that takes up the middle of North Dakota along the Missouri River. My family, but not myself, would be here for over thirty years. So time and time again, I was the new butch on the block, stuck with trying to adapt while living in the male box, I had been placed in as a newborn. My friendships were mixed. When I was pre-school, my best friend was another girl. We were outside friends. When I was in k-2 grade there was one boy my age in my neighborhood. Then in 3rd-7th grade there was one other girl my age, again outdoors friends. After that I hung out with boys, my age until I graduated from high school. My high school friends were in and outdoors friends. I was a good butch girl and just went with the flow, all of the time dreaming of just ditching all the boy crap, and going female full time, but being too afraid to try. With all of the changes in my life and living with alcoholic parents who were living out narrowly their stereotypical male and female roles and who expected us kids to do the same, I couldn’t risk even experimenting even a little bit, except in my fantasies. It took the breakdown and dissolution of my marriage when I was 53 for me to accept my femaleness and to privately acknowledge that I was a woman and to start accumulating my own female wardrobe. Over the years in my marriage, I had raided the thrift store bag and acquired a couple of dresses. I had acquired cast off bras, panties, and pantyhose, which I wore when I had private moments, which were few in a house with five kids. In 1999 when my marriage broke up I wore panties and bras the rest of my life everywhere I went including to work teaching in a junior high school. In 1999 I took a long road trip from New Mexico to North Dakota for my sister’s kids high school graduation. In fear and in trepidation I changed into female clothes when I drove and male clothes when I entered towns. Coming back, I shook with fear as I walked through a shopping mall in Denver as my female self. How times as changed because in the past four years I have never worn any male clothing at all except for shoes because of my size thirteen feet, and occasional tee shirt. This past summer, I have worn dresses and skirts everywhere. It scares me to wear male clothes, today. How times have changed.
Read all this and was elated by some comments and impressed with other. Me, I’m just confused. In my youth I wanted to be femme, but never found the way out. Now I’m older. I’m just lonely, depressed and look like a hpw in a dress, not the femme person I desired feel. It’s all down hill now. Sigh.