So, I've been watching posts on this Forum for a while and I noticed that there are lots of different journeys, but most have similar themes. Those late transitioners seem to have bottled up their Dysphoria until the pressure became too great and the cork was released. From there it is a rush to achieve desired gender and not waste any more time in the wrong body. Significant unhappiness becomes joy, even if not all the loved ones embrace the new person.
My journey as been a bit different. I have known since my earliest memory that I was in the wrong body. I had a tough upbringing in a dysfunctional family in the '50's and '60's. Dad was an angry alcoholic who made my childhood a misery, and Mum worked night shift, from 4 to midnight, so for the most part, I raised myself. My 3 brothers had no interest in housework, and Mum recognised I was the sensitive one, so I became her assistant. I learned to cook, sew and clean, but there were no other concessions to female life.
Mum also suffered with rheumatoid arthritis which had disfigured her hands and feet, with all her fingers and toes growing sideways, and over each other. She was a fastidious cleaner, and I was recruited to polish the copper pipes to the toilet. One of my favourite times with my Mum was Sunday nights when I would do all the ironing and we would compare our thoughts. She knew who I truly was, but feared I would be in danger if I revealed myself. I sobbed into her shoulder when I started the nightmare of puberty. I still do my ironing Sunday night and think of Mum.
I almost achieved my current height by age 15, and unusual physical strength. It was the end of being bullied by my brothers as they laid at my feet. I felt being female had become impossible for me now, so I threw myself into being male. Cars were the hot thing for teenagers in my area, so I helped my older brother prepare an old derelict car in our yard for speedway on the understanding I would get to drive it. He crashed it in his first race, so I fixed it and fronted up for my first race. I was only 15 and the minimum age was 17, so I lied. I was big enough to be believed. Problem was, that I had never driven a car before, so I learned among 20 other cars going as fast as they could. I got the car home with little damage, and I was convinced I could do this boy thing.
A neighbour girl thought I was pretty hot, good looking and a race car driver. She took my hand and tried to get intimate with me and I was overwhelmed with a feeling that this was wrong. We were both girls. This messed me up for a couple of years, but when I turned 18 I found that I liked the company of girls, but I didn't really want to do any more than hugging. I wondered if I was gay, but realised I had never been attracted to a boy, so I was really asexual. Dad died of alcoholism at the ripe old age of 49, when I was 19. At 20, Mum started setting me up with girls as it worried her I didn't seem interested. I went on a couple of uncomfortable dates before I was set up with a very unconfident girl, who I found myself enjoying trying to build up her self esteem. I helped her get her driving licence and she thought I was amazing, and even more so because I never tried to get her to bed.
At 25 I was so clucky to have a baby that I agreed to marry her, and we had probably the worst sex any two virgins had ever had, but somehow, she got pregnant. We built a new house and moved in 4 months before my daughter arrived. Loan Rates rose from 7% to 14% in the time it took to build the house, and I had to grab every bit of overtime I could to meet repayments and support a full time Mum. My wife struggled a bit with motherhood, so I also helped her as much as I could. This meant doing the night feeds as my wife couldn't wake up to breast feed. I was simply too tired to have Dysphoria.
Somehow, we had a little boy, and my wife couldn't bond with him. I did my best to support her, but before his third birthday, she left me with both children. I told her I was trans before we got married, and she let me have a small selection of female clothing provided neither she of my kids ever saw me in them. So I had a job and two children under 5, one in nappies. I did well in divorce court, negotiating a workable settlement, but my problem was that I had to care for my children, and make significant settlement payments. Mum had moved 1000 miles north for her arthritis. I had no other family to help me. I took a big risk and worked from home. I could look after my children through the day, do my running around while they were at school, then get them home, fed bathed and in bed by 8pm, and I would work until 1am. Get up at 6 am, make breakfast and lunches, dress kids, and drop them off. Do over.
I had Saturdays and every second weekend off child minding so I could also work weekends. My kids never went without anything, and I was able to pay off my ex and the bank in 5 years. I simply had no time for Dysphoria. I was able to cut back my workload and every month or so, have a day to myself. I loved scuba diving, so that was what I did on my free days. Through this I made a great friend, a woman who was 10 years younger than me. I provided her a shoulder to cry on through 3 boyfriend breakups, and she became a regular at my house at meal time. One night she said she wasn't going home. She was aghast at my lack of sexual experience, and taught me how to actually enjoy sex. I was steadily having more time to myself and my dysphoria returned. My friend told me she felt so comfortable with me she had stopped looking for anyone else.
We were really close friends, and began regularly staying at each others houses, as my kids were now in their late teens. My friend and soul mate had no interest in kids or housework, but she figured the kids would fly the coop soon and I would be the ideal partner. She wanted commitment. It was time to tell her I was trans, it floored her, and I didn't hear from her for over a week. She realised she had fallen in love with the female parts of me as well as the male parts, so decided to give it a go.
With my kids in their 20's, they jumped at the idea of me leaving them the family home and me moving in with my girlfriend. I dropped in 2 or 3 times a week to check up on them, but it seemed to be working. I was allowed to dress when my girlfriend was out of the house, but, after coming home unexpected and catching me quite a few times, she said it was ridiculous me trying to hide from her so we agreed on times when I could be myself when she was there.
My mother died a few days before Y2K, and I entered the new century devastated. I pulled myself together to get married to her on March 1st, my birthday, so I would never have an excuse to forget our anniversary! We got married to please her mother who didn't like us living together, and much to my disappointment, it was just my kids, a close friend, my new wife and me, at the registry office, on a midweek morning, and us in jeans and polo tops.
We both evolved over the next 18 years, to the point I was me all the time I was home, and as I only worked 3 days a week, that was most of the time. Our sex life waned and died completely after she thought penetrating me might make me more interested in her. I simply could never have sex with a woman again, but she was not too worried. My kids had moved on to their own lives, and I was proud they had turned out to be decent people. I have a dream job teaching kids about marine life and conservation, and I loved the ladies I worked with. I had lots of time to be myself, and grandchildren! I often pinched myself that my life was so good. I was happy to continue as I was forever.
2017 continued to be amazing, though, for one week a month I was a bit low. We were having great lives, overseas holidays, swimming with whales and sharks, realising all kinds of dreams. But the low days were getting worse. September 2018, just got back from Fiji, and I developed a cough. Went to the doc, got antibiotics, and the cough persisted. The low times had developed into depression, and I was really tired and having thoughts that I had no place on earth. I realised this was leading to suicide, I was still sick after 6 months, and my docs had run out of ideas. I needed help. I told my doc I was trans, and felt it was causing my illness and deepening depression, so she referred me to a gender specialist.
My specialist went through her spiel that it would take at least 3 sessions (@$200/session) to make a diagnosis, and got me to tell her my life story. She stopped me at 40 minutes and told me she was convinced I was a woman, and after a couple of control questions, wrote me a referral to see an Endocrinologist. I was elated to finally be formally diagnosed, but worried at what might happen to my perfect life. 3 weeks later I was so sick I was off work. We were due to go on a diving holiday to the Phillipines in a month, and my wife was in tears as she held my long hair while I threw up in the toilet every couple of hours. The Endo said my T levels were already almost at female levels, so started me on Estrodot patches.
Two weeks later, after 8 months of coughing, I stopped. Another 2 weeks later, and against all expectations, I was playing with sharks 70 feet under the Sulu Sea. My medical review concluded my Dysphoria and depression were the cause of my illness, and HRT had cured me. But what of my perfect life? My wife, who admitted were are best friends and soulmates rather than a married couple, is terrified I will now come out as a non passing female. I have assured her I don't intend to come out if I will make people point at me and whisper. I didn't choose transition, I was happy with my life, my job with girls who embrace me, my grandkids who adore me as much as I do them, and my adventures fulfilling dreams. Why would I risk all that to try to achieve something which is unlikely at my age (65)?
Well, I have realised that my Dysphoria controls me, rather than my lifetime belief that I managed it. I am committed to HRT for the rest of my life, and my Endo is confident I will have pleasing outcomes. I still love my life as it is, but I know I must change, so, rather than rush to achieve the life denied me, I have decided to let the HRT do it's thing and give myself and my loved ones time to adjust before I consider risking it all to be myself. If the Dysphoria raises it's profile, I know how powerful it can be, so I will do what's necessary to survive, but, until then I can wait.
Thanks for reading.
Allie
