I feel like I talk about myself too much as it is. But, since my experience is in the minority, perhaps it will help someone.
I never knew I had gender issues. In my case, it was very heavily sublimated. I suspect my father saw it when I was very young, and did something to convince me that being female was a bad thing to be; but I have no facts. Only the vaguest of hints.
I grew up an outcast in every group I was part of, including my own family. Throughout my life, I performed far below my alleged potential; I was highly neurotic, beset with many issues. I thought it was low self-esteem, inculcated by an abusive parent and an environment of perpetual rejection; and that's how I explained myself to myself. It took me until I was in my 30s to accumulate sufficient coping mechanisms to get along in life in a relatively balanced fashion.
I hated my name and my reflection for as long as I can remember. That's key to what happens later.
Beginning when I was in college, I came to realize that I had a "strong feminine side." Periodically, through adulthood, people would ask if I were gay, which always puzzled me, since I didn't think I exhibited any behaviors of manner or speech that suggested it. I had a good friend for years who never told me – his widow did, after his death – but he was absolutely convinced I was gay; and I had two gay friends tell me once that I was the "gayest straight man" they had ever met, and they couldn't figure me out.
It was about 10-11 years ago, when I was in my second marriage, that I had my initial experience of gender euphoria. I didn't know that's what it was; I only knew that imagining myself as a woman sent my spirit soaring to the stars. I was high for days. I came to terms with the fact that I would have preferred being born female; but I still thought I was male. I fancied myself a "male lesbian," or love-shy male; many of the tell-tales applied to me, though not all. I shared these thoughts and experiences with my wife; she was an active ally at the local LGBT center, and she shared what I had told her with a trans man she knew. He passed along the suggestion that I might be transgender. I knew nothing, really, about transgender people at the time – only the broad outlines, and the caricatures – and I didn't think so. And, since there wasn't anything I could do about being a "male lesbian" except live with it, I put this information about myself on the back burner and went on, taking it out to look it over from time to time.
About a year after my divorce, I was living alone and got the idea to explore this "feminine side." My purpose was to try to bring this aspect of myself up from my subconscious to my conscious and integrate it, which should, theoretically, make me a more actualized, balanced and fuller person. So, I did. My general approach was to begin adopting some female behaviors and minimize some male behaviors, largely in the privacy of my own home. I also blogged my experience on a certain website, and spent some time on >-bleeped-<.
It wasn't long before I began to wonder if it might be true that I was transgender. The more I thought about it, the more amazing the possibility seemed. I came to desire it, to want it to be true. When things reached the point where I thought it was a pretty good possibility, I decided I should consult a gender therapist. I did not want my desires to color the facts. I wanted an informed, objective opinion to confirm or refute what I thought I probably was.
I found one, contacted her, and she set up a phone interview. How do you present what you've been going through in a representative context of who you are, all within the space of a phone call of undetermined length? It's darn near impossible. I spent several days trying. Eventually, the night before the interview, I boiled everything down to four pieces of scratch paper. The next morning, I was sitting in my car, going over what I was going say in my mind – over, and over, and over, for the umpteenth time – when suddenly, I had an epiphany. I just knew. I just knew. Half of me was overjoyed; the other half was flabbergasted, not comprehending how I could possibly be a woman. That was a little trippy, let me tell you.
Since that experience, there have been many confirmations. I stopped trying to remember them all; but two stand out. The first is the depth of conviction I have had, since the first or second day I woke up. It's astounding to me that I could have a conviction so deep and so strong of an idea that is so new to me consciously – and yet, I do. The second is my experience with mirrors. After hating the sight of my face for 40 years, I was looking in the mirror one day and realized I loved what I saw. The difference was that I knew I was looking at a woman. It didn't matter that I don't pass; I could see into my own soul, and I knew. And that brought me joy, and love for myself that had always eluded me.
I still have my problems. Life didn't become perfect for me when I realized who I was. But it got a whole lot better. Overnight, I went from being a flower struggling in a desert, parched for lack of self-love, to one blossoming in gorgeous, resplendent color in a lovely garden. This took no thought or effort on my part; after being asleep for 60 years, I just finally woke up.
