Missing Her

I recently celebrated my manniversary. It has been just over a year since I was hit upside the head by this brick of revelation. Every now and then I stumble across an old picture of A (the pre-transition me). And it always seems strange to me. She is familiar, like an old friend. But there is a touch of sadness there in that she is gone. I look back at photos of me/her with my kids, at the White House with family and it seems like there is a separation. It feels like a whole other life, a whole other person. It's very hard to explain.

I feel no regret or remorse. I have not second guessed this decision for one single moment since I made it. The thought of going back is completely intolerable. But, I will say, I miss her. I morn her in many ways. That persona served me well. I was able to accomplish so much ... from having kids to a teaching career to law school.


And it is interesting navigating the world primarily stealth. You lose connections. For example, when woman are talking about child birth or some such inherently female experience, I still find myself wanting to chime in. Then, I just kinda laugh at myself and keep my mouth shut. Unless they are in the know... at which time I share pretty openly.

The simple fact is, transpoeple are a group unto themselves.

I didn't have the inherently male experiences through adolescence that cis guys had. And in part, I am grateful for that because I think society makes it really hard for guys to be balanced and in touch with all facets of themselves. But where does that leave me? I was a male mentally, emotionally, psychologically... but having the physical experiences of a female. Such a conundrum.

And sometimes a very lonely place.

So, I try to process the separation and loss as I would any other. I talk to her sometimes, journal about it and now blogging about it. I am not sad, overall. I am not lonely, overall. But I am learning how to let myself feel the full range of emotions that come with actually moving through things which means unexplained aches and tears sometimes... but I try to let 'em flow... let 'em wash over old wounds and let their salt sting...knowing it will promote healing.

Heal on.

Do Overs

So, today is Easter. It is the Christian holiday that celebrates the resurrection of Christ. New Beginnings. It is Spring time in Texas and all the wildflowers are in full bloom.

Religious icons and plants are not the only things enjoying renewal. I am too. It is funny how everything seems new to me. I feel emotions I have never felt before, see colors more brightly, everything is alive, fresh and new.

This new feeling of life and joy can bring on an on slaught of emotions. Of course it is positive but at times I am also sad (and even a bit angry) that I have gone so long without it.

The most obvious example is with my kids. B is here this weekend and I have so enjoyed our time together. He makes me laugh all the time. We wrestle and play and horse around. And I think about when he was little and how very numb I was. I remember a time when he was about 2 years old. He did something adoreable that should have made me swoon with parental oozy love. But it didn't. I remember being aware that it was cute and knowing I should have wanted to scoop him up and smother him with kisses. But I didn't have it in me. That is when I knew there was something very wrong with where I was emotionally. I had no idea if it was post partum depression (R was a few months old) or what. I just knew it didn't feel like it should.

I faught to be present with my kids. Knowing that they needed me and that those years would be gone forever. I think, all things considered, I did a pretty good job of navigating all that. But being here now, being safe and healthy enough emotionally now to adore them, makes me both want to celebrate and cherish each moment and mourn the loss of all that time. And it makes me hope beyond hope that I might get a second chance to have a family.

I have written before about how I am a good old boy who wants the girl next door and the traditional family, etc. I wondered, and frankly was very cynical, about the possibility that I would ever find someone to build such a life with.

Well, funny thing. I have heard all the saying all my life about when you stop looking, you will find it. When you let you, you will get it, etc. Everybody kept telling me that when I was happy with where I was, when I accepted it, then it would free up energy in the universe for things to shift for me.

Now, I am a business owner of a start up firm. I am founding partner and half owner with a friend and colleague of mine. We are up and running and I have everything I ever wanted in a career. And to add to that... I also have met someone and am completely elated with her. We have the kind of synergy that I never thought possible. We have mutual admiration and adoration for one another. We have the spark. We laugh constantly and dream big together.

So, in just about every area, I am gettin what feels like a do over. A chance to begin again. To build a solid foundation on solid ground. I have been afaid to reach for the stars or dream in the clouds because I was not grounded. It is too scary when you don't have a touchstone. It feels out of control and like destruction and disappointment are certain. But now...now it just feels like flying. And I know I am safe and will survive whatever comes my way because this time, I have me to rely on.

And I am enough.

Giving me Grief

It has been a month since I posted. What a month. I have been through some very drastic experiences. I have uncovered years of familial grief. I have had revelations about the fact that I am here as my own entity. And what I mean by that is that I have always felt like an accident, an after though, plan B.

Without going too much into family stuff that is not all my own to divulge to the public at large, I will leave it at that fact that my mother had a baby boy between my older sister and myself. He died at a couple of days old. My family doesn't really do grief...everyone just soldiers on. So, in my whole life, we only spoke of this child (who was always and only referred to as "the baby") a handful of times. I remember when I when I found out about this whole thing. I was in middle school. It was April. My mom was really depressed. I was confused by this because it was so much more intense than usual. My older sister blurted out to me in impatience and seemingly disgust, "Don't you know?!?! This is when The Baby died!" I remember being like, "What?" Now, this may have been mentioned to me before this point, but I think this is the time at which, for some reason, I first really KNEW of what happened. But I didn't have details. I am sure I had heard passing references to The Baby and I am sure I knew it was a boy...but I remember this specific instance for some reason.

So, as I wondered down the shadowy, twisted path of transition, I wondered if his death had something to do with my situation. I knew that it made it hard for me to feel like being male was legitimate...it made it seem like some sort of psychological twist, that I was somehow trying to fill his shoes or something. My parents tried pretty hard after that to make sure I knew that they loved me as a girl and didn't wish they had him instead, didn't miss having a son. But with my particular situation, feeling like a son- a boy, their efforts just confused me and somehow (completely unintentionally) invalidated who I was inside.

Eventually, I just figured maybe I was his soul, reincarnated in the "wrong" body. I heard about how they didn't think my mom could or should have more kids and how she was supposed to have a hysterectomy as soon as she was "recovered". But in the meantime, she got pregnant with me...which sometimes made me feel like a miracle, sometimes an accident.

I have been going to an amazing therapist regularly for over 2 years now. We do mostly cognitive, talk therapy but last month we tried this remapping thing that involves using acupressure points to release cellular memory of certain frequencies and emotions. After one of these sessions, I had this incredible experience of revelation and release... and it finally occurred to me. I am not him.

I am me.

This air I breath is mine, not borrowed or stolen. This life I am living is not a substitute or stand in. It is mine to live as I see fit, to use completely or squander, no excuses.

The baby is a separate person who deserves to be acknowledged and mourned. I am a separate person who deserves my own space in the universe. I started asking my mom a lot of stuff about him. We agreed that it feels more "right" to think of our family as a unit of 5 and us siblings as a unit of 3. It is hard to explain the effect this all had on me. But it was nice to finally be able to compartmentalize some of these emotions. And to finally realize who I am in my own right.

Sadly, a few weeks after this lesson in grief and mourning, I lost a very dear friend of mine ("N") unexpectedly. Actually, the lesbian I met at my neighbor's game night and mentioned in my blog several months back. She was so incredibly supportive of my transition and really saw me as a guy. We connected so well, it is hard to lose someone like that. Then, I was asked to be a pallbearer at her funeral. Her family resisted her sexuality, actually buried her in a pink coffin (NOT what she would have wanted). Her mom even talked to me about how she really didn't think her daughter was a lesbian. I bit my tongue out of respect. Her mom has no idea I am trans. So, not only was it emotional for me to be filling a "male" roll, an honor to be asked by her family to be one of the last people to carry their daughter to her final resting place, but I was also representing a part of N's identity that otherwise would have gone unacknowledged. I could just see N smiling at me.

I am not sure what I believe about the afterlife entirely, but I'd like to think I have two souls on my side somehow. There was more than a small measure of comfort in thinking about her meeting my brother. And them picking up where we left off.

As it turns out... grief is a gift. It allows you to keep loving the one you lost, instead of going numb and just putting the emotions on ice. It allows the memories to soak in, somehow. It allows you to hold on tighter, even while letting go. "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." Now I get it.

Man in the Middle

Several people have recently asked for the link to this blog and that got me to rereading my entries. It is interesting to go back and read how I was feeling 7 weeks in, 3 months in, or even just last week. The danger of putting all this in writing is that it is there, in black and white. I cannot say I didn't say that or waffle at all about my experiences. They are there.

I could go back and delete entries, but where is the authenticity in that? This whole blog is about my journey. I am aware that if someone sat down and read the whole thing as it is today in one sitting, it would seem that I am full of contradictions. I am not sure that is all that far from the truth.

I guess there is always the pendulum effect. I particularly notice this when it comes to my discussions about who I am attracted to, etc. And I noticed I have not updated on the changes that have occurred for me in this area.

Let me say that I think my initial aversion to lesbians and bi women came partially from my last break up. And my relationship before that. Both of these women said that they were ok with men, hated labels, etc. But one of them occasionally said in a very mean and chastising way, "You are such a man!" This was said with disgust and disdain. Then, the other one got all freaked out at the dynamic shift. She was okay with being with a guy sexually but had never been with a guy in a relationship and once I transitioned, she didn't like it much. (There was more to it than that but me being a guy was central to our parting ways).

So, with these experiences in mind, as well as my own initial fears of anything that didn't bolster my masculinity, I set out on the path certain I would not want to be with anyone other than a purely heterosexual woman.

However, a couple of months ago, I was at a neighbors game night and had the privilege of meeting a woman that I connected with instantly. We talked for hours and have stayed in touch since then. This caught me off guard because I found myself wrestling with whether or not I'd like to date her or was attracted to her. These questions brought me to really think about what is important to me in a life partner/girlfriend/spouse.

And it occurred to me that what is important is the connection. What is important is basic compatibility. I am happy to say (see last post) that I am finally secure enough in my own masculinity that I do not need or want or exclusively seek a fem straight chick to fill that space.

And, more likely than not, I will find understanding and connection with someone who has had to really think through some similar issues for themselves. I know I am attracted to the female body, the feminine energy. And as long as whomever I am with sees me as a man, understands me as a person, then I will not make the mistake of prejudging or limiting myself or her.

I will work to stop the pendulum swing from extreme to extreme and learn to be comfortable as the man in the middle. Open to the Universe and whatever it has for me.

The Gift of Travel

As I traverse this long road... from one little black box sitting inconspicuously beside the innocent word "female" to it's mirror image marked "male"... it occurs to me that this act of traveling, this journey, is a gift.

When you take a trip, you inevitably have to decide what to take with you and what you can do without. And with airlines charging more for baggage -thank you Southwest for being an exception to this metaphor- you start to think a little more carefully about those extra, just-in-case items.

The same has been true for me. I have things that I do, experiences, memories, thought patterns that come from the female box. Things that very few bio guys would ever have been allowed, by society or in some cases nature, to experience. An extreme example would be child birth. I have experienced the good and the bad of giving energy, blood, nutrients, life to another on the most basic, primal level. No cis-male* will ever be able to know that.(*a non-trans male, one who was born biologically and is psychologically male. I feel this term is more accurate than bio-male in that a man like me, on hormones is actually closer, biologically/chemically to male than female not to mention post surgical implications)

On another level there are things I learned and was allowed to embrace by society as female that I likely would have missed out on as male. For example, I learned how to distinguish my emotions and have words for them. Society often tells men and boys that aggression and anger are the only acceptable emotions... add the fact that testosterone does make the fight or flight response so immediate and drastic... and it is no wonder cis-males have a hard time with emotions.

And then there are these little things like cooking and hosting parties and like bubble baths. It took me a little while to admit, post transition that I still like a hot bubble bath, with candles and a nice glass of wine. It felt like that was "too girly" and somehow meant I wasn't actually trans. It was so scary to think about the implications of my bubble bath. [If you haven't seen the Friends episode where Chandler discovers a love of bubble baths, you must! All I need now is a battle ship to take in the tub with me.]

But seriously?!?!? The IMPLICATIONS of a bubble bath?

What in the world are we doing here people? Why do we allow that little box to tell us so much about ourselves? When did we decide that that little box got to tell us how we felt about bubble baths or flowers or football or being the President or being aggressive professionally or sexually?

Is it because it is easier? It is that it is simply easier, when the expectations don't generally clash with your essence, to just go along with them than it is to actually dig deep enough to figure out who YOU are? What YOU want? I mean you say something to yourself like, "I am a girl so that means: I like to shop, pink, to be on bottom, with a man, must be married by age ??, kids by age ??, sit with my legs crossed, be polite, etc." ?? For me, most of those things just did NOT resonate with me at all. I wanted the things on the boy list "play in the dirt, trucks, be with a woman, be the aggressor, protector, provider, sweat, muscles, etc." We use gender to explain things. And like most stereotypes they are stereotypes for a reason... because they are often or usually accurate. But why do we just take this stuff for granted? We should commit the time to ourselves to know ourselves well enough and be secure enough to depart from the stereotypes when necessary. Without fear.

And the flip side of that is that it is easier to put other people in these little boxes, rather than actually stop long enough, look deeply enough, listen hard enough to KNOW them, to know where our assumptions are inaccurate. I mean at the end of the day what are we? We are people and people are complex and complicated. We are not machines driven by binary code, hundreds of on/off switches. We cannot be reduced to flow charts.

But as George Clooney's character said in "Up in the Air"- stereotypes are efficient. Which is true. Without some type of filtering system, we would be paralyzed. You can't actually know everyone you interact with on a deep level, nor do you want to, nor do they want you too. I think we just have to be careful about not FORCING people into them or getting angry when they don't fit.

And yourself is another story. You have to be with you everyday of your life. It seems an investment in getting to know you might well be warranted. So, next time you get a haircut or pick a piece of clothing or accept or reject a date, take a good, hard look and ask yourself why you chose what you chose. Ask yourself it it is because you are "supposed to" or if it is really a reflection of you. But be warned, the worms in that can are squirmy and slippery.

I have gotten used to worm herding. And have come to realize that all this work I am doing is about being me. But that means I have to be willing to LOOK at me. And sometimes that is not fun. Sometimes it means admitting a weakness or cutting of a limb lost to gangrene. And often amputations are followed by phantom pains. But mostly I find when I let loose of the old, diseased, wounded rotten parts, something new and healthy grows in it's place or I learn to do without it... I discover I didn't need it in the first place.

Kinda like those extra socks and underwear I always pack. I mean really, when will I learn that if I have an real emergency, requiring extra underwear, there is surely a stream, sink or wal-mart around. Or, heck, if worse comes to worse I can always go commando. :)

So, I will take what I decide I need and want. I will take what is really important to me to the other side. And after a long hard day of deciding and packing and trudging along, you will find this MAN relaxing taking a nice long soak in my bubble bath, complete with candles and a good glass of wine.

Think Charlie Brown

So, last night I was looking closely at myself in the mirror, monitoring changes and guess what I found? One, lone, long, wirer-y chest hair. LOL! Right on my sternum!

Reminds me of Charlie Brown's head. :) Thank goodness my hairline hasn't receded quite that much!

What Goes Up...

What goes up, must come down. This is a basic scientific principle. The laws of nature dictate balance.

I have recently come to realize that I am a junkie. I love adrenaline, the high. I love the thrill ride of being whole-heartedly invested in something... like being so crazy in love you can't see straight, or throwing myself into school or work, or even transition. I love those moments while having sex when the whole world disappears and you are on an island with intense physical pleasure, wholly unaware of anything around you (except maybe the person that is there with you). I asked myself WHY I love these things... because in reality I can recognize that putting TOO much of yourself into something only sets up disappointment and debt. And, eventually, you must come down.

I have basically lived my life like a gambling addict. I have used my own energy and soul as chips, wagering them against the odds. So, I keep hoping for the big haul: approval/affirmation/love or better yet, escape. That is the jackpot. So, I push a stack of chips out on the table, often going all in, sometimes throwing in my watch, my rings, anything I have of value. And I let it ride. Because what if, what if THIS TIME, I win? And I would win little payouts often enough to keep me coming back. And I keep coming back and coming back until I am totally broke, broken and in debt.

So, understanding that the reality is that I am so much more likely to be disappointed and disillusioned, why do I keep going back? What am I wanting? Why is the high SO important that I will risk so much for it? I have come to realize that for me, it was the escape. That moment when the world stands still and something, anything, is loud enough to drown out my own pain and fear. And then I realized that all those years of trying to be someone I wasn't, telling myself to sit down, shut up, be still... the pain of being invisible was largely what I was trying to escape.

So, now that pain is easing but I still have the habit of thrill seeking. According to my therapist, I need to mourn the loss of that top edge of the high. I will miss that feeling that comes with detaching... the climb... the apex. But, I will not miss the terror of plummeting toward rock bottom, aware of impending impact. And I certainly will not miss the pain of splatting at the bottom. This pain at the end was all part of a sad cycle. Somewhere along the way I picked up this idea that pain is the price that must be paid. "No pain, no gain." "Pain is weakness leaving the body." So on and so forth.

But I now realize that I can CHOOSE to be still, and stable, and safe and avoid bringing pain on myself. I have realized that I can and do deserve to be happy and don't have to risk it all in the process. Self care.

I used to think that going gung ho was indicative of courage. Now, I am learning it takes far more courage to live in the moment, to sit still, to FEEL. It takes more courage to look inside yourself and poke around and to love yourself no matter what you find in there.

That is what I am working on now. I'll still take risks and embrace adventure... but maybe I'll just take 20 bucks to the casino and play for fun. And walk out with my emotional, spiritual and energetic savings account in tact.

It's my own personal bail out plan. :)