I have discovered Newton's Law of Trans.
For every happiness, there is an equal and opposite unhappiness.
I finally viscerally understand Laurie's pain. I just took my evening dose of hormones. Out of habit. Not because I think there's any real point to it.
A friend - I'll call him L - was coming over today. He hadn't met me since I started transitioning. We used to fly ultralights together in the old days. I actually thought I'd lost him when I'd told him six weeks ago what I was doing, to the point where when we went on our big road trip to Tennessee, I didn't bother to arrange an overnight stay at his house as I used to, or even call to meet for lunch as we drove by. Yet last week he'd contacted me to arrange a visit when he was going to be in the area. Surprisingly, he wasn't the problem today. Though he was in no way complimentary, neither was he critical. He made an effort to use the right name, I took him for a flight, and the visit was good, ending with a renewal of the old offer to stop by his place when we got into the area. Pretty positive outcome for the day, right? Well, that was just a small part of a very long day. Notably, he never used any pronouns. The rest of the story revolves around them.
L had seemed ambivalent on the phone, still wondering whether this was some kind of elaborate practical joke. So I decided I needed to make myself look as good as I could, within the limitations of it being a casual kind of day and having to get into and fly the plane. I wore women's jeans and a fitted, button down 3/4 sleeve red top with flowers embroidered on it. The princess seams enhanced my bustline, and I considered just wearing a tank top underneath, with the shirt unbuttoned enough to see the top of it, but instead decided to wear my padded bra to make it more obvious. I really wanted this to work well today, and it was the 4th combination of tops and undershirts I tried before I was happy with the look. I did my face and hair the way I usually do, though today I went a tiny bit lighter on the eyeliner and mascara, trying for a subtle, natural look. I was pretty happy with the end result.
It's a good thing I learned how to act over 50 years of pretending to be male. I found out how fast I can click back into acting mode.
Shortly after L arrived, the UPS truck showed up with Christmas gifts. As I started walking across the yard with a big smile on my face (Christmas gifts!), he called out, "How you doin' today, sir?" Click. Keep smiling, reach up into the truck and get the package, and wish the driver Merry Christmas. He looked a little confused, but there was no comment. OK, >-bleeped-< happens...
L and I decided to grab lunch. Since my court date, my favorite place to go is where we we ended up having a party after our group left the courthouse. I knew it was a safe space where the staff already knew my story, everyone was always cheerful and happy to see me, and there would be no awkwardness. We took a seat anywhere, and our bright, friendly waitress took our drink order. When she came back she took L's order, then turned smiling to me and said, "And what can I get you, sir?" Bam. Click. Smile back. Place the order. Melt down inside. Not here. Not in my safe space!
Now what? It was time to try something new. When she came back I stood up, smiling, and told her I wanted to show her something, like I was asking her to celebrate with me. I showed her my new drivers license, and pointed out the "F" on it. She congratulated me, then apologized. If she had stopped there, I would have recovered. Instead, she said, "I didn't know!" She didn't know. Long hair out and brushed, obvious bustline, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, colorful bracelets, fancy necklace, embroidered top. "Sirs" do not dress that way in this part of central Florida. Second order click. Smile, touch the shoulder, I understand. Melt melt.
When we got back home, we took my dog for a walk and I showed L around the neighborhood. Talked to a few neighbors, then my dog trotted off with one of them for her promised daily treats. I caught up with them at my neighbor's house, where he told my dog, "Looks like he found you!" Third order click. Smile. Come on Maggie, let's go home. Melt.
We went for a 45 minute flight, the highlight of my day. Made low passes on all my favorite local fields, let L fly for a while, then made a flawless three-point landing back at home. We talked a little more, and L left. One more walk with Maggie before dark. Three houses from home, the first click came off. One house from home, I lost the second click and my face got wet. I made it to the kitchen before the last click released, and with it all the pent-up frustration, disappointment, and pain.
How much is enough? I really worked at it today. If that's not good enough, why try at all? Look what I've done to myself: I'm someone the world sees as a guy, but now I've saddled myself with a girl's name. My records say F, but everyone sees M. I've just made everything worse instead of better.
OK, the UPS guy: He saw me from a distance. But if I can't pass from a distance, what chance do I have up close where he can see this old man face?
Ok, my neighbor: Force of habit. I get it.
But the waitress: "I didn't know." Those words will haunt me forever.
I got home and texted my friend Cassie. She'd offered a hug earlier when I texted her about the UPS guy, but I declined then, thinking I'd get over that one thing. Now I asked for that hug, and we texted back and forth until I couldn't read the screen any more. She did her best to console me, but the hurt was more than glowing words could fix.
Another friend texted out of the blue, and I tried not to spread the pain any further, but she saw through it and I confessed. Her solution: screw what people think, live your life, and make it their problem to adjust. I hear that a lot. I guess I'm different. Maybe too weak for that. But my goal isn't to force the world to get used to me as a guy in a dress with a girl's name. My goal is to have the world see me on the outside as I know myself to be on the inside. And apparently I'm failing miserably at it.
Should I have forced the subject? Embarrass them instead of absorbing the pain myself? Would that make the situation better, or just cause resentment?
I have no idea where to go from here. I'll keep taking my meds. I'm not sure why.
Steph (a girl's name)
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