I've had the opportunity to explore what I am by the impacts of losing my genitals. How much of a sense of 'male-ness' has that involved? Having had a phallus, and a nice one, and then losing the thing, this then is me as a living, walking experiment about what 'maleness' means -- for me.
I have to say, that the whole 'changerooms' thing is where I feel the loss most poignantly. While, cognitively, there is a cerebral appreciation that 'there's no need to feel shame', shame is not wholly responsive to 'logic'. I'm not sure any emotion really is.
I just don't want to see the looks of sympathy, terror, or horror, or what - shock on the faces of people around me. It's seeing the self through the eyes of onlookers that is associated with shame. Why, exactly is this the case.
I'm not exactly sure. But what I have intuited is two things:
1. What's left of abusive stereotyping of me by my culture has meant that 'oh aren't I a big boi, and aren't I a man'. Smug, wasn't I. Or was it proud. Or superior. And to be honest, losing the phallus has given me cause to learn how to truly outgrow a primitive, or childish part of myself.
I am not a 'man' because I 'had' a c***. I just thought I was. I have developed a realisation that the way I represented my own 'manliness' to myself involved external visual cues. And the admiring stares of sexual partners who grew avid and ravished me for what I had, in part, only for my 'body assets'.
2. It was the appraisers/society of my phallus, wasn't it, who so happily and unthinkingly reaffirmed that appreciation of body assets. Greedy eyes on me. And so, there I stand in the change rooms, now pulling down a long shirt, or turning away and quickly putting on my gym shorts, to cover the absence of genitals.
Pride turned to shame.
But then I found Susan's Place. I have been inspired by an amazing community of extraordinary human beings who are superb exemplars of those beings who go on an inner-journey to unearth the truth of the human spirit, of discovery and of being.
And when I am truly honest with myself (and this post is not about anyone else. This is just my truth. I'm curious to hear your feelings and journey about how you resolved your own genital shame as transgendered folk)--but if I'm truly honest with myself, really, I'm also ashamed of myself, or ashamed of who I was, and not really ashamed at all about who I have and am becoming. I have had three rapid periods of mental growth in my life. This is one of them, and I would never trade the experience of losing my genitals for anything, now that I see what I missed. During phases of rapid growth, I also have found myself vulnerable to shame, because the new self is not yet 'firm' in particular areas where the growth has occurred.
Phallus assets as a male: my highest truth now, is that my 'male-ness' and 'female-ness'--what gender identity? Experience of gender? What the heck--I dunno--are being healed.
Healing is the best word. I know how to spot the affect that goes with that: tears of grace, compassion and a deep stillness within as things that were riddles a long time, or things not seen, long in the darkness are seen, registered deep within in a clarity of sight or 'experience' that somehow transcends any external reality.
So--am I male of female--wtf--I have no idea, really.
So, I'm heading over to Serbia soon to get a replacement model

The whole 'size' question returns. I'll be 'hung' again and, what, 'more manly'? No, I don't think so. I don't think I can ever again return to what I was. I don't want to and can't. Impossible to unmake wisdom. What I am, then, is already restored, now. And I see the body as the 'shell' and last piece in the healing journey. My mind and spirit first, or attended to first. And 'make the shape of ur shell to reflect the inward whole, self-accepting state of my being--' and part of that being, being 'male' is restoring male genitals.
So--full circle I come. But though I will look the man I was, that no longer matters. Because I'm already beyond the man I was, within and a much better man. And this man also has a woman's presence within. She's the part of me that got me through. I don't think I would have survived my trauma had I not had her radiant, bright, loving presence and
experience of her smiling within me, holding me together, while the man I was fell to pieces. She was the one who held the lanterns and signposts calling me 'this way stav. Look this way. Follow me Home within you, I am your tears'.
And a lot of those I have cried. Again and again. Over and over they washed the shame away and made the experience of being brutalised bearable.
She's also the one who sings and laughs and encourages when the man I am says
'I'm coming back with a bionic schlong, and this time the darned thing's gunna do what I say. I don't miss the old one that much. Organic though it was--meh--hard when uninvited, soft when needed, unappreciative, blind to other kinds of genital beauty and just dumb. Good riddance! Begone with you and welcome and hail bionic schlongs!' I am going to be able to relax more with my partners, enjoy the journey and tune into the body, mind and energy of the other more easily. So, I give thanks for my maiming, for from it came many wonderful things. I'd never have known any of you and what a great, great loss that would have been.
Love to all of u
stav