Hi all. Following the advice of the esteemed (and popular!) Lady Danielle, I am starting a thread to chronicle my internal ping-pong match regarding transition. My intro post and a few other threads I started give some background info on my life and shaky marriage, for those who are curious.
Until recently, I had always regarded transition as an unrealistic dream, akin to leaping the Grand Canyon, something that would not end well if actually attempted. Think Wile E. Coyote. I always thought I could find a way to compartmentalize my feminine feelings and just be a cross-dresser on occasion. But I no longer so sure that it can play out that way. Something seems to be growing within me that has a mind of its own, and I'm not sure how much choice or control I really have any more. Or more to the point, what "I" really means any more. And it frightens me near to death. I keep wanting to pull up a trash can and throw up.
I have been seeing a gender therapist for a couple of months. I have not been in therapy for many years, and it's been an interesting experience to say the least. Many of the things I find myself saying do not sound like part-time stuff, though some do. I have had some opportunities over the last 18 months or so to have extended (week or so) periods of privacy and run of the house, and I find that I want to dabble and experiment with femme presentation more and more. Barring some reason like work to present as male, I find myself pretty much unable to do so. The only real constraint seems to be how much courage I can muster up to dress up and go out the door. I can do so enough to do some shopping, run some errands, etc., but of course that's just a drop in the bucket. To be sure, "dress up" for me runs to pants, tops, flat shoes. But if the tops are nice, the shoes feminine, if jewelry and a purse are worn, androgyny disappears rather quickly. And unfortunately, from the neck up, especially, I am unmistakably a natal, 65-yo male.
As can be seen here. (Please, shield the eyes of children/animals.)
Before with a capital B -- no HRT, no electrolyis, nice short male haircut, wrinkles, etc.. Unfortunately my selfie skills are quite weak, but it gets the point across. There are no afters, but then that's kind of the question.
As can be seen, a rough canvas. Passability seems quite unlikly. I would probably always be read almost immediately. My ceiling would be a presentable, neat, older (and obvious) transwoman. Which seems mostly fine actually, but I feel I stick out like a sore thumb in public now and I feel really self-conscious. It's hard to be relaxed. I hate to think it would always be that way, but maybe I could learn to be comfortable living as openly and unmistakenably trans. And appearance would improve to some degree with effort, practice, confidence, etc..
So.... what to do, what to do. I'm thinking of starting HRT and/or beard removal. Either one would be a large step, but neither is a firm commitment to fully transition. The thought of breast development does give me pause, especially with chest hair. Seems wrong somehow, and I don't know how they would look with my frame. Losing physical strength would be a minus as well. It might hamper the ability to do some things I do now.
I do find that that the male part of me just kicks back like a mule sometimes. Certainly has been the last week or so. Condensed version: "Are you f***ing nuts?" The reasons not to transition seem so rational at times. Coming out to family/friends is frightening. I am certainly an old dog to be learning new tricks. It would likely destroy my marriage (my wife has been non-supportive thus far), and the limited social network I have mostly revolves around friends of my wife. There could be some serious loneliness down a transition path. I do hate to think of screwing up her sunset years. I tend to be loyal as a dog unfortunately. Splitting up would hurt us both financially. She relies on me for a lot of things. It does make me wonder how successful low-dose HRT or underdressing could be in cobbling together some sort of compromise. But there is a part of me that aches to take a running start and leap off the cliff. I'm wondering if a time will come when my mind says "On the other hand" and my feet are going to say "No worries. I've got this."
