Susan's Place Transgender Resources

[ I'm not sure if this is the right forum for this.  If the Mods think not, please feel free to move it.  Or tell me to remove it if it doesn't belong at Susan's ]

I don't know if this exactly relates to being TG, other than that it relates to me and I seem to be TG, for better or worse.  And I don't know where else to talk about it.

Anyway, in my therapy and in my dark nights of the soul, I  keep running up against the hurts from 50 years ago, mainly from when I was 6-11 years old.  It's been obvious to me  that they still rule my life.  I keep thinking they should go away, but they don't.  People say I should just "let go," but when I think of the idea of "letting it go," it feels more like drowning kittens, or maybe leaving my 11-year-old self in a stormy mid-Atlantic to drown.  (Sorry, we don't want you in our lifeboat, you're too much of a drag.)  It feels like it would be a kind of suicide, or maybe like telling my 11-year-old self: yes, you really should have killed yourself like you imagined doing every single day, staying alive was your real mistake.

So, like Sparrowhawk in the Earthsea Trilogy, I've decided maybe I need to turn and face those 50 year old miseries.  Specifically, I think I need to actually experience the misery, rather than, so to speak, shoving it in a luggage locker and just keeping the luggage ticket like I've done every day since then. (That's how I survived: every time I had a horrible experience, once it was mostly past, I'd shove it into a memory hole and nail down the lid and walk away.)

The problem is that when I try to get in touch with what it felt like, it slides away.  Ever tried clicking on a web link and had the browser do its little  flash dance and bring you back to the page that had the web link?  That's what happens when I try to put myself into what it was like.  Instead of feelings, I get 50 year old cliches about my feelings.  Cliches based on other people's attitudes towards my misery -- that it wasn't really so bad and I'm blowing it up out of proportion, that I just want attention, and that it was all my fault anyway.  And a lot of the feelings and memories are in memory holes covered with a half-century's accumulation of dirt and grass and I have no idea where they are. 

Any ideas as to how to get in touch with who you were in the distant past?  Especially when most of the intervening years were spent walling yourself off from it?

It seems to me that you are somehow getting back enough to your 11 year-old and somehow reconciling your thoughts and feelings?  Why are you associating with the 11 year old self?  What circumstances are associated with that time?

Good luck.

There can certainly be chunks of "stuff" lodged in our subconscious at certain points of our life - trauma in particular is often buried away because it is hard to deal with, moreso when we are children and do not have the coping mechanisms. Techniques like meditation and hypnotherapy can be useful but often unreliable. Be careful though, poking around in there can release a lot of unpleasant memories you didn't know you had so I'd recommend doing it with a therapist who is able to assist you with any emotional fallout. If it was unpleasant it may be that you weren't strong enough to deal with it then and are now. On the other hand if it was a pleasant time for you as a child (that happens too! I know I was happier before I hit puberty) then maybe the feeling you have now is a redesire to reconnect with what you once felt. Using photos, music from that time and talking to others you grew up with at that time is unbelievable useful in that regard. You'll find that once you reintegrate that fragment of your life - good or bad - the disjointed feelings will feel less dominant.

I can relate to that period of life being especially pivotal as boys and girls focused even more critically on becoming men and women.  That was a time when I felt most isolated as I was really neither of what was then considered the only two options.  As eleven year olds we started seeing the secondary sexual characteristics in the early bloomers.  What a strange mix of emotions that was!

I think there is value and even therapeutic gains for "reliving" parts of our lives and imagining different outcomes.  While we cannot really be kids again we can understand more about what happened and learn to feel different about it now. 

How to get in touch ???  I have found, when looking back with people we shared with, that their outlook was completely different.   Memory is demonstrably capable of assimilation, conflation and illusion.  I was a nurse anesthetist and also practiced hypnosis and found that hypnotic age regression was not reliable and remains controversial while still in use by some.

How do you feel if you are hanging out with a  group of eleven year olds today?

I want to get in touch with my 11-year-old self because it was the experiences up to that time, especially the years when I was 10 and 11, that build the foundation of mistrust on which all my ways of dealing with other human beings are built to this day.

Ages 12-15 were spent figuring out how to live and deal with other people with the assumption that they would be at best indifferent to my welfare and feelings and quite possibly and unpredictably hostile and dangerous.  Ages 16-51 were spent perfecting various false personas which I hoped would meet the requirements of other people enough so I could survive and maybe have space to enjoy a few things, while at the same time making sure that my true self, whoever he was, remained hidden from others.  I remember noticing with my first therapist that I had built a very effective firewall (in the IT sense) between my inner self and my outer self.  I was aware of thoughts and feelings which I literally could not communicate to anybody else.

It's only been in the past 10 years that I've realized that if I don't live as my authentic self (whoever (s)he is), I will die.  Or at least be someone who is for all intents and purposes dead, even if he is still walking and talking.

I'm focussing on ages 10-11 because (a) these were far and away the most hellish years of my life and (b) I have very few memories from before that time -- at most 10, virtually all of them isolated snapshot-like memories (and most of them painful), so I wouldn't have much to start with.

My thought is that if I can somehow get in touch with that 11-year-old who still lives inside me and whose misery I live with every day, then maybe I can do something (I don't know what yet) to comfort him and make him feel that someone cares and he can somehow (I don' t yet have any idea how) find peace and hope.  And maybe then I can start to have an authentic self to live as.

QuoteUsing photos, music from that time and talking to others you grew up with at that time is unbelievable useful in that regard.

Photos: I could see if any of my siblings inherited any family photos of that time.  It might be interesting to see what I looked like from the outside.
Music: I didn't start listening to the radio until years later, so it would have to be the piano music I played.  Might need to make a pilgrimage to Pedelsons or perhaps some more local sheet music shop for whatever I don't currently have.
People I grew up with: I moved away when I was 18 and promptly lost contact with anyone other than family.  My immediate family won't be of much help, since they are inclined to gaslight, like my parents were, especially about our childhood years. 

I moved states (one side if Australia to the other) before I turned 12 (1978) then never went back there until 2006 for a visit/reunion. Although I'd lost touch with everyone it was amazing how quickly the Internet stitched me back up with the people I'd been friends with in primary school. It was rather mind blowing hanging out with a bunch of 40 year olds who had been 11 the last time I'd seen or spoken to them. I have to admit that before going back I'd built up a bit of a Camalot about that time and place in my mind. Really felt my life would have been much, much better had my family stayed in Perth instead of moving to Sydney. Going back there, seeing everything from an adult point of view allowed me to move on from that fantasy. I wouldn't say Camalot had been shattered but it was clear those friends had all gone to lead ordinary lives, that had I stayed it would have been life as usual.

Have you tried doing some of the activities you enjoyed at that age? Coloring books, little kid toys, swing sets, legos, matchbox cars, dolls, whatever it was you spent a lot of time playing with. That might help you reconnect with yourself at that age. Might be hard to get toys from your childhood, but if you could that might help.

I remember the last time I asked my mother about my childhood, she lied about things I can't imagine she could ever think I would fail to remember. And, contradicted herself repeatedly. I couldn't trust anything she said. Really frustrating, since too much of my own memory of my childhood is fragmented and unreliable.

Hmmm, I have to talk to the child I was half a century ago from time to time too.  When I am frightened it is often drawn from that time.  I was a mess at ten, perhaps as Tessa observes it is because I was trying to deal with the burgeoning knowledge that I wasn't ever going to be allowed to be me.    I really didn't know who that would turn out to be, but I knew how I lived wasn't it.

So how to connect?  For me it is to relax and talk out loud.  For me nobody pays much attention to me during these chats, and that is what they are.  Just chats with myself.  Sometimes in the present, sometimes the me of years past.  Sometimes I just cry.  It took a while for me not to be self conscious, and I still give myself time and space.  But more and more it is a meditation I share with people I love.

For me it is important to talk out loud so I can hear what is said.  Yes, I am a little strange,  gives me spice ;)

Julie

Yes, I am a little strange,  gives me spice

Happy Birthday Julie Spice Blair !

Asche,

Same thing happened to me and I have to face the facts in order to realize my full self. 

So I am not getting it are you ok with that period when you were 10-11?  Are you worried about talking about it?  Why were the memories painful?

Some none or minimal distress experiences I write my recollections and feelings out on paper. I also find myself vocalizing my feelings outloud. If things progress with pain I seek help before going further.

Quote from: SweetJean on December 26, 2014, 09:06:52 PM
Yes, I am a little strange,  gives me spice

Happy Birthday Julie Spice Blair !

Lol, thanks :)

Sounds like you're dealing with traumatic memories. I was abused as a kid so I know what that's like, especially how you described things 'sliding away' when you try to think about them (and the 'snapshot' memories...). It's a self protective thing our own minds do but it gets in the way of progress.
If it's child abuse you're dealing with, there are support groups you can join where you talk and listen and generally dredge up old emotions. I'm sure there are similar groups for whatever else it may be that's bothering you.  Once the memories start coming back, it's not gonna be fun but you have to go through it. Get a support network of people you can call when you're in the pits (groups again are good for that) and make sure you have an outlet for your rage!! Because you will be mad. For me it was taking up boxing.
Self medicating will get in the way of healing...hopefully you're not relying on drugs or alcohol to cope, but if that's the case getting help and getting sober is essential. Otherwise it will keep blunting your emotions and you have to feel everything sharply to get past it.
And a good therapist. Not just any old therapist but somebody who gets you. The more insight and personal goals you share the more they can help you..I was lucky enough to find someone who specialized in gender issues, alcoholism AND trauma and he's helped change my life...too many people stick with the first therapist they see, I went through maybe 9 or 10 before I found this guy.
He told me to visualize myself holding and taking care of myself as a child, because the injured child is always there with us until we heal.  It wasn't easy for me to do at first but t got easier, maybe it will work for you? I also know of someone who made a clay sculpture of himself as a child and said it helped him reconnect.
Theres a great book I recommend called Trauma and Recovery by Judith Herman. I had PTSD for years and didn't realize it (or how it manifested, or why) until I read that book. Being able to look back and make sense of everything in my past gave me a sense of closure.
I really respect what you're doing. Striving for authenticity and true healing is not an easy road but it's so worth it. You're gonna start to feel like you're really alive.
Cheers,
Alex
Ps message me if you ever want to talk more!

Here is a free workbook-ish manual that might help. http://www.ascasupport.org/manual.php

There was a book by John Bradshaw that really helped me out too, but I don't remember which one it was.

Ditto on basically everything zukhlo said. Except for the rage. I didn't get that until now, when I realized I've been the wrong gender this whole time! In the end, it's all connected, because it's all your life. I think your question fits at Susan's just fine.

zukhlo: I've put a request in to our library to get the Judith Herman book.

Gothic Dandy Luca: I'll look at the manual in the link when I have more time.  (Busy this week.)

I have a hard time calling what I experienced "child abuse."  I mainly remember the sense that life was a constant stream of incomprehensible, painful experiences, which my parents left me entirely on my own to deal with.  The few times I went to my parents and begged for help, the "help" I got seemed intended to have the appearance of help while actually punishing me for asking.  This was especially true of my mother.

The school I was in when I was 10 and 11 was a private school that had a rather clear idea of what kind of kid they wanted to turn out, and I didn't fit.  I simply could not do the right things or say the right things or show the proper spirit, which got me frequent punishment.  This led to me spending a lot of time mentally elsewhere, which made it even harder to avoid punishment.  My parents mostly did nothing, and when they did do something, it was effectively additional punishment (see above); it was left to the older brother who terrorized me through most of my childhood (which my parents knew about but did nothing about) to help me see that I could and should switch to the public school, which mostly left me alone, I believe because their hands were full with much worse behaved kids.

I know that my problems with school started in first grade, but since I can't remember much before 5th grade, I don't really know what they were.

By around age 15, I had learned not to expect any help from anyone, which made my life a lot more bearable.  Living far away from my parents and limiting contact with them made it even better.

Over the years, I (half-heartedly) tried to maintain a relationship with my parents.  I could sort of relate to my father over our shared interest in trains and electronics.  However, my mother could only relate to me to the extent I could fit into the role of the happy, docile child who made no demands, which I simply couldn't do once I grew up.  My relationship with them was completely superficial, and even then, they left me in the lurch regularly enough that I mostly avoided them.  Unfortunately, my siblings seem to have learned their lessons from my parents, because I find it almost as hard to relate to them as to my parents.

Good Lord, where are the keys.

To be willing to remember is to be willing to feel it again.  Good and bad.   Fear will block.

What books were you reading?  What did the classroom smell like?  Did the clothes itch or feel nice?

Who cut your hair, did you like your hair?

Did you like your teacher?  Were you good at writing?

What did the kids say, did they say stuff to you?

Did you play outdoors, can you smell the wind, do you hear the sounds in the corridors, what sounds were on the tv at home?

Did you get sick and your mom give you something nice to feel better?

Powerful stuff, joy, fear, tears can release, a simple thing.  What was your favorite stuffed animal, did you sleep with it, was it alive to you?

Did you get what you wanted for Christmas, what were the early toys?

How do you feel Asche?  What are you feeling?

My therapist unlocked my past.  So did massive amounts of estrogen, endo prescribed.

Be well my dear, and careful.

This reply isn't going to be very deep -- busy week.  Also, in re: memories -- as mentioned above, I mostly only have fragments.

Quote from: Satinjoy on December 29, 2014, 06:56:49 PM
What books were you reading?  What did the classroom smell like?  Did the clothes itch or feel nice?

Mostly series written for kids -- Hardy Boys, Tom Swift (jr), Cherry Ames.  Also science books, especially anything about insects.  Insects don't have feelings, so they don't feel depressed or hurt.  But if those books weren't around, I'd read whatever was available.  No memory of smells at all.  No memory of what clothes felt like,  probably because I kept my mind far away from the here and now as much as possible.

Quote
Who cut your hair, did you like your hair?

My father.  He preferred crew cuts, so that's what I got.  I hated them, I always wanted long hair, preferrably down to my butt.  But I have my mother's hair -- fine and brittle -- so in the 10+ years I didn't cut my hair, it barely made it to the tops of my shoulders.

Quote
Did you like your teacher?  Were you good at writing?

"Like" wasn't in my universe.  I was wary of my teachers, with reason.  The only teacher I had any positive feelings about was my piano teacher, who was the only person I knew who wasn't invested in making me feel bad about myself.

I'm lousy at writing.  Getting my hand to write legibly (or to type correctly) is like herding cats.  The same for my thoughts.  I didn't begin to learn how to write a coherent paper until my senior year in college, and it's still a torment.  I'm not by nature a linear or verbal thinker.

Quote
What did the kids say, did they say stuff to you?

Mostly things like "you're a queer" and "you're weird."  Sometimes "->-bleeped-<-" and "sissy."   I interacted with other kids as little as possible.

Quote
Did you play outdoors, can you smell the wind, do you hear the sounds in the corridors, what sounds were on the tv at home?

I sometimes played outdoors.  Again, no smells, but I liked being in the woods or places where I could forget the world.  No memory of ambient sounds.  Nor of TV shows before high school.  I don't know when we bought our first TV (as opposed to renting), well after 1st grade,  I believe.

Quote
Did you get sick and your mom give you something nice to feel better?

I did get sick.  It was always a relief not to have to contend with school.  Not sure what you mean by "give you something nice."  Food?  Medicine?  When I was too young to make my own food, my mother would bring me stuff.  When I got old enough to fend for myself (elementary school), it was my problem, as was taking any medicine.  Being sick wasn't supposed to be fun, my parents didn't want to encourage it.  BTW, what "nice" somethings does one give a sick kid, other than food and medical care?

Quote
How do you feel Asche?  What are you feeling?

When I'm not rushing around trying to do everything I'm supposed to: drained, stomach in knots, discouraged.  Still not sure that the way my life turned out made it worth not killing myself back then.  Not that it's an option now -- I have two children who depend upon me.  "Miles to go before I sleep" and all that.  I keep remembering how my father, when he was in his late 70's, seemed like he'd run out of reasons to stay alive.

BTW, what "nice" somethings does one give a sick kid, other than food and medical care?

Love and chicken soup.

Insects huh, for me it was marine life, but I knew that minnows gasping hurt, so mostly I just looked.  Crazy thing is I'm responsible for the death of thousands of tons of fish and crab - a little ironic.

I'll bet if you unlock the smells, you'll unlock your childhood as well.  Smells bring me the imagery.  The mouldering leaf litter in September, the bite of the sea breeze, my dog when he hadn't rolled in something particularly nasty and was allowed in.  Even the smell of my own blood when somebody beat me up.  They all are a window, not always a nice view, but part of what made me who I am.

Julie

Quote from: zukhlo on December 29, 2014, 10:06:47 AM
Theres a great book I recommend called Trauma and Recovery by Judith Herman.

Finally got it from the library.

It's a very good book on the subject; I'd guess it's one of those things most psychologists have or should have.  More professional level than self-help, but I didn't have any problems with the concepts or the jargon.

For me, the main difficulty is that it seems to be about people more severely traumatized than I think I am.  But some of the stuff rings true.  Especially the part about the people who stand around and watch but do nothing.  That's what still hurts the most.  My mother knew about my brother terrorizing me, about the school emotionally beating me up, and my inability to manage any of the challenges I was faced with -- and did nothing.  I know she knew about it, because I told her and she would either say and do nothing or give me blatantly useless advice ("well, just hit him back.")  It's one thing to fall overboard on the high seas, it's quite another thing when your parents see it happen and just wave at you while you drown.  And take the attitude, "oh well, there are plenty more where that one came from."

I agree.  I felt that way about my dad.  Sucks when you realize grown-ups won't come to your defense.
I'm glad parts of the book are relatable at least.  I wish you the best of luck on your quest for self-discovery!  =)

Being a sissy kid SUCKED I know that for sure.
i feel cautious giving my naive advice to an experienced member of the tribe but forgive yourself, get some make up and a really great dress. worked for me.

Quote from: alexbb on January 15, 2015, 10:26:44 PM
... get some make up and a really great dress. worked for me.

I have a few dresses, the ones I like best are the ones I made myself.  One is white taffeta with a fair amount of organza.  And battery-operated colored lights sewn to the lining.  Great at contra dances when they turn out the lights.

I'll pass on the make-up, though.  "I'm not that kind of (trans) girl!"  I don't even like to put sunscreen on.

+ + +

Sometimes thoughts/insights come to me like a note in a bottle.  Last night, near the end of a fairly enjoyable contra dance evening, a wave of discouragement and disconnection rolled over me, and the phrase "something died in me back then" came into my mind, and the thought that I will never be whole again until I die and the rest of me can join the part that died.  I keep thinking, that's overly dramatic, but I don't know if that's reasonable skepticism or just me gaslighting myself, the way I so often was and still am in my family.

Since I posted this, I've been noticing that I go through cycles:  I'll notice I'm feeling half-dead and say, I wish I could understand where this deadness is coming from, even hurting would be better than feeling dead.  Some time later, after I've forgotten the "I wish" part, I start feeling awful, like I am worse than a pigeon dropping and everything I do or don't do is further evidence that I am worthless and bad, and I go through a few days of wishing I could die just so the pain would stop.  Then, so slowly I don't notice it happening, the pain goes away.  Later, I notice feeling half-dead.  Rinse, repeat.

Maybe it's a case of "be careful what you wish for."

I think I've hit on an approach that is getting me somewhere.

I've been writing a story about myself -- an alternate childhood, starting back when I was eleven.  I started off imagining that I went beyond thinking about suicide and actually tried it, but survived, and that instead of being sent back home to be condemned for yet another high crime, I am put into a supportive environment (a theraputic boarding school, and yes, there are such places.)  I go on to imagine that my 11-year-old self gets what he needs, that the adults (and even the other children) try to make his life something he can succeed at, that he gets as much love and support and attention as he needs.  I think it's going to be a slow process.  It's a combination of figuring things out (like when writing any kind of story) and letting my subconscious lead me.  I get to a scene, spend a few hours or days waiting for something that feels right to seep out of my unconscious, then write a little bit.  I spend a lot of time rereading what I have written and experiencing the feelings that it evokes.

I'm not really any closer to remembering what it was like, let alone reliving it.  I may have sealed away the memories so well that I will never be able to retrieve them.  What I'm hoping is that by telling that 11-year-old that still lives inside of me (like the child in "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas") a story in which he gets what he needs, things he never knew he needed but whose absence he suffered from, he will begin to heal.  Maybe he'll be able to put the past to rest.  It sounds silly when I say it -- how can something that exists only in my imagination banish events from the real world?  But then, that 11-year-old exists only in my mind, too.  And the events themselves only live on in my memory and in what they did to my inner self.  A virtual better life for a virtual self.

So I'm hoping.  Maybe someday the dead child inside me will come back to life.  Maybe someday I'll be able to cry again.

Quote from: Asche on March 17, 2015, 09:54:44 PM
It sounds silly when I say it -- how can something that exists only in my imagination banish events from the real world?  But then, that 11-year-old exists only in my mind, too.  And the events themselves only live on in my memory and in what they did to my inner self.  A virtual better life for a virtual self.

Not silly at all, Asche. Reframing the way you look at the past is a powerful tool. I hope it works for you.