Susan's Place Transgender Resources

So, I'm leaving my apartment building one evening, not too long ago (which means this is all in the context of how I live my life, which is a life where I'm gendered female every day without question, an experience I never dissuade anyone of by blabbing about certain previous medical conditions), and there's this woman standing under a tree on the edge of the parking lot, smoking... and she's crying.  I'd seen her before, she'd moved in maybe a few week prior, but we'd never said more than boo to each other.

Now, at the time I was pretty much six sheets to the wind (I'm now sober), and I'm heading in her direction because I'm walking my dogs and passing her by is going to be inevitable, so I say, "Hey, are you okay?"

And she's all like, "Oh my god, this guy just dumped me!  How could I be so stupid?"  She's slurring her words, so we already have something in common. 

"What do you mean?" I ask, listing slightly, and she looks up at me with puffy eyes and blurts out, "He was married! And he's going back to her." 

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"  Hugs all around.

So I invite her to walk with me, and we talk.  We talk about our recent relationships, her first, because she's got quite a story to tell what with this three-month-long affair that was supposed to end very differently than it did.  "I should have known better," she nods sagely, "of course he wasn't going to leave his wife."  And we talk.  Of course it hurts.  Of course it was inevitable.  Better now than later.  At least the sex was good.  Which gets into a more frank discussion of sex, what we like and so forth, how much we both like giving head, how we like guys who take charge in the bedroom, though I like it a bit rougher than she does, and she isn't so much into getting face.  We laugh, and share wicked grins.

"I had a friend visit just this past weekend. My god he was good with his hands," I say.

"Really?"

"I'm surprised you didn't hear me screaming at the end of the hall!"

"Oh, that was you!"

I explain to Mary this isn't a romantic relationship, David is kind of aromantic to begin with (and, more importantly, polyamorously married to begin with), so we're just friends with benefits, and yeah it's tough because I'd kind of like it to be more emotionally connected, but at least I'm getting some good sex.  "Good for you!" Mary says, nodding. "I'm gonna the miss the good sex."  But she's got to get her head on straight first.  There's work piling up at her job, stuff that's going to take extra time to clear out, and now she's got all the time in the world.  Plus, her mother isn't doing so well, she's got to arrange a nursing home.  She realizes she's just happy she got to have some fun before dealing with stuff that she needs to deal with.  We get back to the apartment building, and share a good hug, once she's done apologizing for "being such an ->-bleeped-<-" as she puts it, which is how she describes being so overly emotional.

And so it goes.  We run into each other, and we talk.  We talk about work, and our families, and our sex lives or lack thereof.  We still have a couple more heart-to-hearts, when there's time.  Sadly, she just moved out a couple weeks ago -- she was always on a month-to-month lease, and needs to move closer to her mother.  The sacrifices we have to make for our families.

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This is not a deep friendship, not by any stretch of the imagination. It could have been, but I've quit drinking, and she knows it, and she's always drinking, and now we live in different towns.  The thing is, this had the seeds of being a deep friendship.  This is how it begins.  This is how we talk.  There's an openness, a trust that's just so easy between two women.  We all know it, for all too often it's so much different interacting with men -- because so many men only bother to interact in a purely social context when they're interested in sex.  With men, then, we always have to be on our guard.

We share our emotions.  We connect.  We relate our experiences, and give space for whomever needs it most.  It's called being considerate.  Families, health, work, and all kinds of relationships, this is the meat and potatoes of our conversations.  Mostly, though, it centers on being empathic, and so there's a relaxed comfort to our interactions built on shared emotional expectations.

It wasn't always like this.  Not when there was the story of being someone else in the mix.

Wow, thanks for sharing this! You know, I'm basically right now where you started 20 years ago... 30 years old and been on HRT for a while, in the middle of my transition and passable. But, SRS is still to come up, in about 8 months.

Up until now I haven't yet thought about the life 'after' finishing this whole transition I've been doing for the last 7 years already, it's take so much of my energy and time that it seemed like a goal in itself. When reading your stories, I slowly start to realize it's just another beginning, one that Ive been longing for so so long!

As for my experiences with female friendships, it's only just starting. I also notice and love the difference with girls who don't know my background, there definitely is this warm feeling of exchange and trust you're describing. However, there's also me being new and unexperienced at it, and that combined with the body dysphoria usually results in feelings of inadequacy which then sometimes get picked up on by the girls I'm talking to.

So, when putting it in that light, it's so so good to hear your stories of this possible future to come! About a life that might (and possiblity will) be mine, and how I feel about going 'stealth'. I always imagined not doing it for too long because a large part of me believes I can be a woman without fitting the picture. But that's my internal trans-feminist speaking, who thinks being accepted as a woman doesn't necessarily have to be the same as being invisible as a transgender.

This is one of the reasons I've been a bit sceptical about going stealth (right now I'm not, most people I deal with know and it works fine thus far). Your stories do make me see it in a very different light though, and it makes me realize this might be an enticing and moreover necessary next step for me.

The life beyond, what happens when I stumble down into that rabbit hole... Thanks so much for sharing this, please keep doing it :D

Several years ago, I joined a book club.  Four women and two men, typically, though we fluxed up to nine or ten different people, depending on schedules and whatnot.  Anyways, the book club isn't what was important (though it was certainly fun, reading what other people liked and picking out my own favorites in return, talking about these stories and what they meant to us).  What was important was a couple of friendships that grew out it for me.

My friendship with Jen was fairly predictable, insofar as it made total sense for the two of us to become friends.  We're both college educated, both have experience writing, both have a love for literary fiction, both have similar hippie-ish aesthetics.  We'd get together at her house every couple of weeks (she had young children, so that was most convenient) and have breakfast and just talk.  Heady talks -- on philosophy, religion, politics, and so on.  We'd talk about our families, and their health.  We'd talk about books.  It was a pleasure and a relief -- especially for her, just getting an escape from baby-talk and having someone even more liberal-minded than her to vent to.  Me, of course, just having a gf to talk to about mutually interesting things.

And it got to where I got to know her family -- I met her husband and father-in-law, helped watch the boys, and we'd do a bit of cooking together.  Just living life stuff. 

It was different with Lindsey.  No one would have expected us to become friends.  She's conservative, a Christian literalist, with a flashy style and only a high-school diploma.  Didn't matter, because we both loved science fiction and enjoyed getting together every week to indulge in our favorite shows. 

And when you see someone every week, there's the opportunity for something to grow.  We wouldn't just sit and watch TV, we'd check in, and see how our days had been going.  Despite our differences, for which we expressed total acceptance, there was an emotional bond here.  Just doing things for each other just for the hell of it.  Breaking bread.  Crying and hugging.  We helped each other move our homes, dug into each other's stuff.  Of course I got close to her family -- her husband and teenaged kids, though her daughter (I helped Lindsey throw an 18th birthday party at their church) was in her early twenties by the time I moved away.  I'm very sad I don't live near her anymore. 

The thing about these relationships, is that they were so much rooted in the present.  In who we were at the time.  Sure, there'd be stories about the past -- especially with Lindsey, who had some interesting family dynamics to describe -- but it was always about providing context for where we were that day.  There were times, though, where I had days of feeling regret for the past.  Like, not having kids.  And now I can't have them.  And I discovered I could share this in a way that made sense, that was true, without having to get into a narrative that didn't suit me.  It's not important what sort of operation I had so many years that made me infertile, what's important is how I feel about it in the moment, and how I express those feelings -- a combination of sadness and relief, which is pretty darn confusing.  I dunno, I think our emotions are the greatest truth, the most important truth.  They are for me, at least. 

I think that's what is truly intimate in female friendships -- sharing and witnessing each other's feelings.

Which brings me to ask yet another poignant question..

These and other topics on the Forum got me thinking, as you know by now :). The thing is, twenty years have gone by since you did your transition and now. You tell lots of stories about female friendships, getting to live the 'new' life, healing etc. Sure these are things I'd love to experience myself, and I think I might even go and live stealth for a couple of years, because I also have the feeling I need these experiences for my own healing and growth.

But I'm really wondering how I would deal with my past when living like that. When people start asking about how my life looked 'back then'. Because I'm not that much of a liar, and part of me is wondering how much society has changed in the mean time. Whether it's really necessary to live 'deep stealth' or not. When talking to others, like yourself, who've transitioned in the 90's, most of them seem to think the world has changed a great deal when it comes to transgender rights. So I'm wondering whether we still need to hide ourselves in order to have any kind of life.

What do you think, has society changed that much? Can we live open lives and still be accepted for the women we are? Janet Mock certainly seems to think so. Yet even she mentiones time and time again living openly as trans* is a revolutionary act, so perhaps there is still some merit in going stealth at least for a while, in order for us to heal.

And then there's the issue of partners. Would you tell your partners of your past? Perhaps not just those who're in for a 3-week fling, but at least the guys you'd get serious with? I mean, they'll find out eventually we don't menstruate, and if they want children... I really don't feel like telling stories of hysterectomies and whatnot, since that would be a blatant lie.

TL;DR (ooh im so cool :P) How do you see this? Going stealth is definitely something I'd want to do for a while, but will it really be necessary to hide myself in order to get acceptance? Won't that be cheating on myself in some way? Isn't the point of having a friendship to find those people who really know and love you for who you are, all of the nasty bits included?

And would you think the societal relevance of openness has changed? I mean... Not just from an altruïstic standpoint, but also from a personal one. I'm all for furthering the cause and such, but I don't wanna be a martyr either. How do you see this?

Quote from: elineq on October 21, 2016, 03:03:51 AMBut I'm really wondering how I would deal with my past when living like that. When people start asking about how my life looked 'back then'. Because I'm not that much of a liar, and part of me is wondering how much society has changed in the mean time. Whether it's really necessary to live 'deep stealth' or not. When talking to others, like yourself, who've transitioned in the 90's, most of them seem to think the world has changed a great deal when it comes to transgender rights. So I'm wondering whether we still need to hide ourselves in order to have any kind of life.

Again, what is the "truth" of who you are?  Sometimes we are our harshest critics; we are the alpha and omega, the first and last pieces of the puzzle in establishing our identities. 

Consider this: you have always been female.  You were a little girl growing up, even if no one else around recognized it at the time; they were simply mistaken.  So what did you do when you were a little girl? 

Me, I was a bit of a tomboy. I liked climbing trees, running around outside, riding my bike.  I preferred jeans to dresses, and I was prone to getting dirty as I loved playing in the sandbox, my own private beach in the backyard, and I liked helping my mother with her garden.  Sure, I also liked playing dolls and stuffed animals with my sister... when it was raining outside.  School was tough -- I liked studies, but I didn't really get along with other kids; I just never found a place to fit in.  I was a misfit.  Not until late in high school, when all the other misfits finally realized that "hey, we should all hang out together," did I find a social clique.  Our aesthetic was a mix of lightly punk and kind of dorky.  We really liked The Violent Femmes.  After high school, though, we never kept in touch -- at least, I didn't, because I went off to college and never looked back. 

This is all true, more true, in fact, than I may have realized at the time. 

If your truth is that you really were always female, then a story of transition is more likely to hide the truth, insofar as it goes with the rest of the world.  Why hide the most truthful aspect of yourself, just because the rest of the world was unable to see it? 

QuoteWhat do you think, has society changed that much? Can we live open lives and still be accepted for the women we are? Janet Mock certainly seems to think so. Yet even she mentiones time and time again living openly as trans* is a revolutionary act, so perhaps there is still some merit in going stealth at least for a while, in order for us to heal.

Mock is right in that living openly trans* is a revolutionary act, but I do not have the faith in humanity that she has.  I've heard the conversations that cis people have about trans people, and for the most part it tends toward disbelief, bafflement, active resistance, and at best condescension.  They will judge you to their own standards, and while one woman or another may get a clean bill of health and be proclaimed "a real woman," this isn't something they do to each other at all.  I am not going to bow down to this.

Now, of course there are exceptions.  There are people who genuinely know how to love, and there are those who can see the spirit inside of other people.  I mean, hell, most of us are able to do this with each other.  But getting to know someone so deeply without benefit of similar experience just takes time. 

One of my friends ended up having her medical history disclosed to her lover (she did not initiate the conversation) and though he struggled with it, he came through with flying colors, in part because she was very firm with her boundaries and very clear with regard to her personal truth.  So of course it's possible.  But I do think it's very rare. 

But what if the relationship goes south?  Then it gets flung in your face.  The story becomes a terrible weapon.  Most relationships end, and they often end badly. 

QuoteAnd then there's the issue of partners. Would you tell your partners of your past? Perhaps not just those who're in for a 3-week fling, but at least the guys you'd get serious with? I mean, they'll find out eventually we don't menstruate, and if they want children... I really don't feel like telling stories of hysterectomies and whatnot, since that would be a blatant lie.

So this is how it went about six months into a six-year relationship (and no, I never brought up transition as a conversational topic):

"Hey, when did you have your last period?" 

"Don't worry, I'm not pregnant. I had an operation some years ago that left me infertile. It was very painful experience, and I really don't like to talk about it."

"Oh, I'm so sorry..."

...and snuggling ensued.  Obviously if you're dating someone who expresses an interest in having kids early on, the conversation goes a bit differently -- the first sentence becomes "I'm sorry, but I can't have kids..." -- but the gist is the same.  Again, this is a completely truthful way of telling the story.  Which also explains why you take hormones, and don't have a cervix.

We are not the only women in the world who are infertile.

QuoteTL;DR (ooh im so cool :P) How do you see this? Going stealth is definitely something I'd want to do for a while, but will it really be necessary to hide myself in order to get acceptance? Won't that be cheating on myself in some way? Isn't the point of having a friendship to find those people who really know and love you for who you are, all of the nasty bits included?

And would you think the societal relevance of openness has changed? I mean... Not just from an altruïstic standpoint, but also from a personal one. I'm all for furthering the cause and such, but I don't wanna be a martyr either. How do you see this?

Again, it all depends on what you consider your core truth as to whether this way of living will work for you.  My core truth is that I'm female, and I'm not going to hide or betray that truth.  To do something contrary to that understanding would be cheating myself.  And I'm not saying that the story of transition is contrary to that truth, but it is my belief that with the exception of a few very special people in the world, the only people who truly understand that there's no contradiction are other people who've gone through it, and made lives for themselves in similar fashion. 

Here are my "nasty bits" that are relevant to overcoming in relationships, personally speaking: arrogance, selfishness, control issues, perfectionism, and a laziness when it comes to emotional labor (I'm terrible with birthdays and greeting cards, etc.)  These are my character flaws, and my best friends are very forgiving, though they're not afraid to call me out, either.  This is the kind of stuff that people really care about, not medical stories.

"Oh, but!" someone will say, "what if you get outed?"

Well, I'd cross that bridge should I come to it, and play my cards as best as I could.  Sure, become an activist and an advocate.  But I would then be doing so with the understanding that came from having a particular set of experiences, and no one would ever be able to take those experiences from me.  Until then, I'm living my life as joyfully and honestly as I can, and it's certainly not my "job" at this time to educate the rest of the world at my own personal expense. 

I do see the world moving in a better direction, and obviously the work of someone like Laverne Cox certainly helps, but it's kind of like race relations in America.  Back in the 50s and 60s, huge swaths of the country weren't just openly racist, they embraced it.  Today (with the exception of these Trump rallies) it's considered socially unacceptable to be racist... but we still live in a racist society, it's just the prejudices are more repressed now.  Just because transition is more socially acceptable today than ever before doesn't mean that the vast majority of cis people really believe your truth in the way that you do. 

This is an excellent topic, I feel. The disclosure bit is where it seems discussion goes all haywire. I think it depends upon how you identify yourself.

If you identify as trans*, more power to you! Then being out means being open about that trans* experience.

If you identify as one gender or the other, then what is "out" exactly? Transition was my coming out. The last thing I want to do is drag up a painful traumatic life that I'm still recovering from, especially with casual acquaintances. My one exception is with women who've had the same experience, where shared experiences can help healing. Veterans have the VFW. On a case by case basis, I have my STC—Survivors of Trans* Childhoods. I really feel that cis people can understand our lives no better than we on the home front can understand what soldiers, sailors and Marines go through in combat. Oh, you can tell stories, write books, make movies and TV shows, but do people really understand? Really?

And what's the goal of that. I do not "lie" to anyone by simply living a female life. This is my truth. What am I supposed to do? Confess my past as some kind of sin and ask for forgiveness and permission to be who I am?

There's a lot of shame that we all carry. Some of us have managed to let most of it go. But we are very good at shaming each other. "Oh, you should..." kind of stuff. And this topic is the thicket where emotions rise, feelings get hurt, and sleepless nights after host ghosts and memories.

What do I say about childhood? Not much. I've never talked much about childhood. I went hundreds of miles away to go to college, then thousands of miles away. Everyone was there to become who they would be, not to present their childhoods as resumes for adulthood. And with each year since, the passing question comes up even less. When you're my age, what you did in 7th grade doesn't come up much in casual conversation.

I read somewhere that surviving a trans childhood is something like surviving having grown up in a concentration camp. When the survivors finally escape the camp or are freed, some will stand up and share their experiences and thoughts in hopes to prevent it from happening again. But others just want to get on with their lives—lives that were broken by no fault of their own except for having been born who they are. (I'm not a big fan of Transparent, but those episodes that dramatized the connections between the Jewish experience and the trans experience under the Nazis rocked me to my core.)

I'm thankful for those who are activists. We all are vulnerable to witch hunts. And everyone who transitions, no matter how they identify, is safe during transition, when breaking gender-normative roles. If I had come out as a child, I truly believe my father would have had me put through electroshock therapy combined with 20 hours a week of psychoanalysis until I was "corrected." I'm thankful that today is better. But I feel we have a long way to go before we survivors are not "othered." A long time before we reach a place where our trans histories, once shared, don't become the first and most important thing anyone learns about us.

Quote from: Amy Rachel on October 21, 2016, 04:37:51 PM
This is an excellent topic, I feel. The disclosure bit is where it seems discussion goes all haywire. I think it depends upon how you identify yourself.

If you identify as trans*, more power to you! Then being out means being open about that trans* experience.

If you identify as one gender or the other, then what is "out" exactly?

Hi Amy, welcome to this little corner of the boards, and thanks so much for sharing your wisdom.

I think there are several reasons why the "disclosure bit" makes the discussion go haywire.  Like you say, there are those who identify first and foremost as trans*, which necessarily requires being open about it, at least to be recognized as such, just like being gay or lesbian requires being out if you're going to have an experience beyond distant longing.

Of course, there's also the fact that non-disclosure isn't an option for everybody.  For some, it's not feasible to get past one's physical embodiment -- for medical reasons or financial reasons, primarily, .  Which means that choosing to stay mum is a privilege, and that in itself is contentious.  Of course, there are also those who choose to stay open for social reasons -- because they're deeply enmeshed in previous families and communities, like having kids they're staying in relationship with. This is more of a choice, though it probably doesn't feel like it. This is a kind of self-sacrifice... which is kind of how I view activism.

But I think think there's something else that goes haywire that arises from the act of transition itself and how it's congruent with coming out.  When we're first starting out, it's such a relief to come out, and we start getting what we want -- at the very least, people aren't blatantly assuming the cisgendering we previously received.  Everything is different.  We get deeper in -- HRT, name changes, support groups -- and everything starts feeling even better, despite the losses of some people in our lives.  And all the while, we keep telling people this story of who we "are." And then corrective surgeries, suddenly our bodies aren't such a source of dysphoria anymore, and good goddess isn't transition amazing?  We become experts in transition.  By the time it's all over with, disclosure is practically a way of life, a deeply ingrained pattern with all kinds of positive reinforcement built in.

It is very easy to ask, "What, give that all up? Don't talk about this great triumph?" 

And, I mean, I get it.  I'm out here writing about the experience of transition, and what lies beyond. I am in many ways nostalgiac.  I'm in a different transitional period in my life (losing weight, scheduling procedures to look younger, and so forth), but I know how to do this... I remember.  I'm proud of what I've accomplished.  I want to share.  I want to pay forward the kind of advice, the kind of stories, that I received way back when, to which I really owe everything.

But there's a flip side to this, which you highlight oh so well:

QuoteOn a case by case basis, I have my STC—Survivors of Trans* Childhoods. I really feel that cis people can understand our lives no better than we on the home front can understand what soldiers, sailors and Marines go through in combat. Oh, you can tell stories, write books, make movies and TV shows, but do people really understand? Really?

...I read somewhere that surviving a trans childhood is something like surviving having grown up in a concentration camp. When the survivors finally escape the camp or are freed, some will stand up and share their experiences and thoughts in hopes to prevent it from happening again...

...I feel we have a long way to go before we survivors are not "othered." A long time before we reach a place where our trans histories, once shared, don't become the first and most important thing anyone learns about us.

I wonder how much of life after transition is recovering from post-traumatic stress.  Yes, we're survivors.  And the thing about traumatic events is that if we don't want to re-experience the trauma over and over and over again, we have to let it go. 

If I need to talk about it, I can find my STCs, as you put it, or a board like this. 

But to actually recover from the trauma?  Once it's actually finally over?  Recovery was all about not talking about it.  Recovery took settling into a "normal" life, but it was really like settling into a hot bath.  Not diving in, but gingerly lowering one's self.  I had to stop picking those scabs. Let them heal. Recovering takes... not even thinking about it.  Getting so deep into life beyond transition, that days go by where it's actually been forgotten.  And then weeks.  And then years. 

I don't remember exactly when it happened.  A year or two post-op?  I was in this relationship (and now I'm not talking about a female friendship, I'm talking about a long-term heterosexual relationship) where this "second voice" in my head -- you know, the one that's always hyper-aware of the environment and double-checking everything you've just said or done and monitoring how the person in front of you is responding to you? -- had been constantly chattering, and one day it finally just shut up.  I'm not exactly sure when it happened, because of course I'd finally just stopped paying attention to it, and it was only several days (weeks?) later that I even realized how quiet it was in my own head, finally. 

I finally had something more interesting to think about.  And it was such a relief. 

I relish the times when it gets quiet like that.  Like when I was watching Star Wars with Lindsey, and eating scones with Jen.  Talking about work with my colleagues.  Going to a writing workshop with Alice and Sally.  Shooting the breeze with Mary. 

This, I think, is peace.

Quote from: elineq on October 21, 2016, 03:03:51 AM
When talking to others, like yourself, who've transitioned in the 90's, most of them seem to think the world has changed a great deal when it comes to transgender rights.

Things were already changing rapidly in the 90s...

I went full-time in 97. By that time it was a heck of a lot safer and easier that it  was even 5 years before that....

Back before I transitioned,  listening to those that went before me, I was very afraid of the the potential consequences. I was afraid I would lose everything, winding up alone, impoverished on the outer rung of society... as I knew I would have had to be EXTREMELY lucky with great HRT results to pass 100% of the time given where I started out physically, as much of my issues were overall size/bone structure/proportions.

Well 100% never came, though I wound up doing better in that area than I thought i could.

But thankfully 100% was not necessary for survival by then , at least where I lived, and I lost almost nothing.

I never had a desire to be out and still don't, but at the same time true stealth is not realistic for me.

How I deal with it is I simply don't talk about it. I assume people know, but I don't tell people I meet, and no one who did not know me before has been impolite enough to ask me about it if they did read me or heard about it from others.

I guess i take a middle ground position. Back in the day I wound up arguing with both the people who believed one HAD to be out, as well as those who said deep stealth was the ONLY way (even to a spouse) if one was 'really' a woman.

In recent years I have pulled back a good bit from those types of arguments. I'm getting too old for it I guess!

- Karen

Hi Karen, glad you could join us!

Quote from: Karen_A on October 22, 2016, 12:25:55 AMHow I deal with it is I simply don't talk about it. I assume people know, but I don't tell people I meet, and no one who did not know me before has been impolite enough to ask me about it if they did read me or heard about it from others.

So you too don't actively bring it up as conversation.  And no one brings it up with you.  Which is exactly what I'm saying here.  What do you like about not bringing it up?

Quote from: Sophia Sage on October 22, 2016, 07:42:00 AM
What do you like about not bringing it up?

Most people have not knowingly met a TS in person, never mind a post-op. So of course some would be curious...

To me transition is something now long past and I don't want everything about my life centered around it. In fact that was true from the start. Even if they know or suspect, I would rather them get their curiosity satisfied elsewhere, so I don't provide any openings for such a discussion.

That said I have been treated very well by most whom I know for sure "know". I transitioned on the job in 97 and was until 2009 ... I was there almost 12 years after transition before I got laid off (as did almost every there at the time).

I was at my current job  for about 3 years when  they hired someone who worked at my last company (as well as the  company I worked at before that which was before transition - his wife was in my department there). So in the unlikely case know one at my current job 'knew', that changed when he started. But no one at this job has ever brought it up.

I would rather it stay that way.

Anyway this has gone far afield from the topic of the thread.

- karen

Getting back on topic...

So I was with this guy for a good year or so (which means I'm about a year post-op) and he finally starts introducing me to his friends. Who are mostly couples.  Lo and behold, they start becoming my friends.  Especially the women.

We're at this party one night, five couples, and the guys go off to play pool.  So we (after finishing up in the kitchen) go out to the front porch, for it's a lovely warm late summer evening, and talk.  We talk about the men inside the house.  Yeah, we're so lucky, we've all got good men.  Glad they're having a good time, they work so hard.  A couple of us (the youngest, it turns out) who also work chime in that, "Hey, we work too!"  Laughs all around.  "Are you having a good time?" the hostess asks, and of course we're having a good time, we're drinking margaritas.

And then the conversation turns to me.  I'm the new girl in this group. A couple of the women haven't yet heard how Hal and I met, so I get to share that lovely story.  And then they start teasing.

"When are you moving in together?"
"Do you want to get married?"
"Are we going to have to throw you a baby shower?"

And I'm all shy and bashful.  I mean, I'm pretty smitten with this guy, but at the same time, in the back of my head, I know it's not going to be a life-long relationship -- he's sweet, and wonderful in bed, and we have a good time together, but I have unmet intellectual and spiritual needs, and I can't stay stoned for the rest of my life, either (he's a daily smoker, and I am weak).  Anyways, my shyness is taken for something than what it means -- they think I do want to get married, and have kids, and isn't it wonderful someone's stuck around long enough to finally started to civilize Hal, and what names would you pick out, anyways?

It's all in fun -- the smiles and friendly, and genuine, there's closeness and touching, so I indulge myself.  What if we did have kids?  Adopted, of course, but I don't say this.  "Well, I think motherhood is a huge commitment," I say, "but I'd hope I'd be a good one!" and they're all cooing and approving and giving me hugs, and it really is so very nice to be mother-henned, just for a little while.

"What about your career, though?" says the other young one. 

I find my opening. "What about your career?" I ask her back, smiling just enough to say, "please please please change the conversation now!" and she totally gets it, and now we're talking about how her boss has communication issues. 

I sit back, and drink my wine, and thank my lucky stars.

Sophia thank you for sharing your experiences with us here.  Your writing style and willingness to go to the deep end of the pool is admirable and appreciated.  Your story of being comfortable and "mum" may be more common than we know.
Much like the general population, I really only "know" transgender people who are out. 

It seems that being totally passable and being able to go stealth is sort of the holy grail for many trans people.  What a splendidly different life that must be!  I came out early as queer but was unable to accept being trans till much later in life.  That acceptance is here now and that is also what I want from the people I am close to. 

I far prefer female friends and found my way to a career where we predominated.  I was likely seen as queer and often was treated as one of the girls.  I appreciate that many of my friends accept me with my history intact and will sometimes just forget that I am trans.  Peggy and I were talking as we walked around the lake with our dogs.  She remarked about how not having children had turned out well for her when I talked about working in obstetrics.  "All that mess and pain, who needs it" she said.  I told her that "my uterus problem kept me safe from pregnancy" and she replied with concern and sincerity "oh Tessa what happened."  Remember, I'm transgender, was my answer and we had a good laugh.

The other side of my coin is that for even more people that know me my foremost descriptor will likely be TRANSGENDER!  All the other truths of my life experience and being are subordinate.  Having been out as queer for a long time I have plenty of experience with discrimination already and getting the furry eyebrow is not unusual for me.  Being out as transgender affords me the opportunity to yes, be an activist/educator but I have done that since the Vietnam war and this is just another topic to educate ourselves about.

I am grateful for hearing about your longer term perspectives that can inform my learning curve about the community we are. ;D

Hi Tessa,

Thank you for your kind words!  Yes, there are all types.  I know I'm very lucky in how everything turned out for me, although there was certainly a lot of hard work and a lot of hard choices involved, too (if you're going to call it "the holy grail" then it's only proper to say that getting there takes "sacrifices").  Now, I wasn't always comfortable being "mum" -- but I just had to know, I knew I just had to have these kinds of experiences if at all possible. I owed it to myself. And I'm so, so glad I did. It's certainly not for everyone, and I'm not saying it should be, either, but in this day and age it seems like this particular path doesn't usually come up as one of the options anymore, and I just hope that for those whom it would be rewarding it's taken as a serious possibility -- indeed, that it's taken as a possibility!

I also want to affirm that I think you're right that there's another way around to these deep female friendships. It still takes getting into the deep end of the pool -- what one of my friends calls getting immersed into "the soft world" and places like nursing and obstetrics is certainly part of the soft world. And getting immersed, being shaped by it rather than trying to turn that world upside down, is what makes you "one of the girls."  In the soft world, it takes kindness and compassion and empathy, being highly attuned to each others' emotions, but that doesn't mean being perpetually passive or half a person -- sometimes you have to be hard as nails to get your work done and ferocious enough to persevere though various heartaches as well as material obstacles. 

The point is, though, letting that inner spirit take over, and over time it's that spirit that other people see and remember, not the narrative of a particular history.  This happens in the context of relationships, of course, relationships that are emotionally intimate.  And that, to me, is probably more important than the particular route we choose to get there.

*

Well, Sophia, your Reply #4 gave me license to not feel bad if I duplicate the extent of your post.

We live within the environment of our own times.

It might be possible or easy for someone in their younger years (perhaps to age 30) to transition and live openly.  Not for someone of a prior era and generation - certainly quite difficult for me.

My transition guidelines came from both Stanford Medical Center (1977) and Janus Information Facility (1978) when the essence of my endeavour really got into gear.

I had not heard the term 'stealth' til last Spring or Summer.  It fits what our guidelines told us - blend in, be perceived as a woman rather than trans, do not disclose your past with co-workers and new friends.

People saw those TV talk shows during the 1980s that frequently sprung up with transsexual guests.  Maria was one of those guests who made the regular circuit; we began and maintained a pen-pal relationship for a couple years.  By my association with both Stanford and Janus, I also knew of a few others among those touring.  The frequent caveat was to realise that staying private was like gold.  Once they came 'out' and their lives became public, there was no way to ever restore their private lives.

My counsellors during the 1980s and early 1990s approached me and asked me to speak to university students.  Perhaps I was weak about it in the long-term concept of 'the cause'.  I had to decline because I could not take chance being public and possibly never again attaining decent employment.

There was no way I could tell anyone during first introductions of relationships with expectations that they would not extend beyond a certain point.  There would be no such, 'Hi, my name is Sharon and I'm trans'.  I had two boyfriends during the late 1980s whom I did not tell and one Lesbian girlfriend during the mid-1990s whom I did not tell.  It was likely fear of rejection more than anything else.

It was not as though I lived isolated and withdrawn from society and making new friends for all those intervening years.  I had experiences with people as light friendship but could not ever dare get close.  I lived as 'stealth' until about 18 months ago.  I was beginning to crawl out of my hiding place because I recognised that I would never work again anyway, therefore that prime issue no longer mattered.

Marriage or children were no concern.  I made my position easy that I enjoyed being single rather than confined by children.  Thus, unlike those younger than me who might face a partner and need to explain their childless predicament, my child-rearing days were in the past and not a question at any point.  Besides, it was my evolving perspective that my past is my medical privacy, not a public spectacle even between two consenting adults.

I decided that there was no point running from my past.  It is private in my life, yet I decided that if there were instances when it came known, then I would not deny it as I had done in my past.

Maybe I would cop an attitude, maybe I would play educator, or maybe I would matter-of-factly reply 'Yes' and move on.  Each circumstance would be its own.  So far, I have had only one such 'outing' - I felt that I could return the favour when a new friend who is a nurse came 'out' to me as a Lesbian.

I regret living in 'stealth', it meant living in fear.  I hope today's society has improved so that younger trans people will not face the same obstacles rampant a few decades ago.  On the other hand, Sophia, as you commented, I spent many years since childhood dealing with my transition, so why not shout it from the roof-tops.

'Post traumatic stress'? 

Yes, Sophia, many trans people do experience such a mental stress - both before and after transition.  My life experiences may not have been 'normal' for anyone else, but my life is 'normal' to me, however bad those experiences. 

Yes, Sophia, having lived long enough post-op, I do experience periods of time when I have no acknowledgement of my trans - be it a day, a week, a month, maybe a year or two or more.  Such trans events as my ERT, my medical appointments, my dilation are mere routines of my life's 'normal', rather than my life as trans.

In fact, for me, the longest was perhaps longer than two decades.  Only when my last employer initiated action to fire me because I am trans (2008) did I get that jolt that I had to confront for my self that an earlier employer also fired me for being trans (1983).  Kinda good news / bad news.  For quite a while that second firing made my trans return to the top of my thought process.  Now it again is slipping down the rungs as time and attention change.

Karen, you know it!  I lost it all the first time (1983), had to re-build and start my work career from the bottom despite education and experience, and lost it all the second time requiring me to re-build my personal life because my employer vowed that I would never work again that last time (2008).  I was broke and essentially without home both times.  That's not to mention. Having lost family and 'friends' in the overall process.

Time eases our rough edges.  Likewise, Karen, I lost my stridency through the gradual process of life

I identify my self as female far more than as trans.  I spent my childhood since at least age 3 in what was termed 'feminine protesting' (I'm a girl!!!).  I dislike that 'woman in a man's body' description; nor does it apply to me.  Doctors determined late in my M-F transition that I am a girl / female by inter-sex.  That meant that those doctors in my birth room could not identify me correctly - they made the mistake, I had to fix their mistake.  My sister is a nurse and she still can't get past either inter-sex or trans-sex.

I agree in large part that living openly is still, at least for we older generation, a truly revolutionary act.  I do not know how well I can live up to that stature.

The easiest people to initiate friendship are those in our local trans and LGBT support groups.  We have common bonds.  We need not all be M-F trans; some are themselves cis.  We all exist in a better understanding among us than the rest of the cis world.  Maybe they will catch up to us, maybe we shall leave them in our dust.

Amy, I have never seen episodes of 'Transparent' because I do not have cable TV; I have not seen that episode you mention equating Jews and trans at NAZI death camps, if I have that correct.  I am, however, what I self-describe as a 'student of the Shoah' I have travelled to see NAZI death camps such as Dachau.  Of course NAZIs murdered trans and others of the LGBT rainbow with the same ferocity as Jews, so I also see that sense and feel that potential persecution if the politics in this nation turn sour.

I found your comparison that a trans childhood is comparable to Jews sent to NAZI death camp intriguing and perhaps, depending upon individual experiences with some, merit equivalence of the two.  I can recall events in my childhood life that were extreme, though certainly any one day lived at Dachau is far more than my mere childhood (even my entire life) in total.

*

TL;DR: Just read the whole thing :D It's a story which is supposed so show a nuanced picture ;)

Quote from: Sharon Anne McC on October 25, 2016, 04:12:10 AM
*

Well, Sophia, your Reply #4 gave me license to not feel bad if I duplicate the extent of your post.

We live within the environment of our own times.

It might be possible or easy for someone in their younger years (perhaps to age 30) to transition and live openly.  Not for someone of a prior era and generation - certainly quite difficult for me.

My transition guidelines came from both Stanford Medical Center (1977) and Janus Information Facility (1978) when the essence of my endeavour really got into gear.

I had not heard the term 'stealth' til last Spring or Summer.  It fits what our guidelines told us - blend in, be perceived as a woman rather than trans, do not disclose your past with co-workers and new friends.

People saw those TV talk shows during the 1980s that frequently sprung up with transsexual guests.  Maria was one of those guests who made the regular circuit; we began and maintained a pen-pal relationship for a couple years.  By my association with both Stanford and Janus, I also knew of a few others among those touring.  The frequent caveat was to realise that staying private was like gold.  Once they came 'out' and their lives became public, there was no way to ever restore their private lives.

It seems like it's time for me to react on this topic again. Sorry, the young and unexperienced one here... But also somebody who's full of zest and who'd like to see the world for what it really is ;)

Let me start with a realization first... I get it the questions I really have are along the lines of : "how will it be for me", "do my friendships and work relations really change that much" and "how much has society really changed over the last decades"...

... Therefore, we should just plan a meet-up in about 20 years time, and we can all have a nice chit-chat about life and other important things. Hehe. :D

Quote from: Sharon Anne McC on October 25, 2016, 04:12:10 AM

My counsellors during the 1980s and early 1990s approached me and asked me to speak to university students.  Perhaps I was weak about it in the long-term concept of 'the cause'.  I had to decline because I could not take chance being public and possibly never again attaining decent employment.

There was no way I could tell anyone during first introductions of relationships with expectations that they would not extend beyond a certain point.  There would be no such, 'Hi, my name is Sharon and I'm trans'.  I had two boyfriends during the late 1980s whom I did not tell and one Lesbian girlfriend during the mid-1990s whom I did not tell.  It was likely fear of rejection more than anything else.

It was not as though I lived isolated and withdrawn from society and making new friends for all those intervening years.  I had experiences with people as light friendship but could not ever dare get close. 

First of all, let me say how brave you are! I was basically born in the mid-80s, by that time your transition was already done. WOW, reading your story really makes me realize you're so strong, and have been for such a long time!

There are a couple of points you, Sophia and possibly Karen mentioned about relationships, it doesn't matter whether it's  friendhips or partnerships. Sophia seems to indicate she's had a fine life since her transition, with stable and rewarding friendships that have lasted many years. To put it in the words of one of my former English teachers, you seem to be singing a different song though. And one I also understand, since being stealth is one of my biggest moral obstacles as well. Don't get me wrong, Sophia, I understand your plight. People are inherently trans-phobic, this might have gotten better over the last decades but we're nowhere near perfect yet.

I guess it's about walking a fine line between disclosure and hiding certain aspects of our pasts because society simply isn't as 'advanced' yet. What I'm interesting in, is finding out where that fine line lies and whether it's shifting. And in what direction, and how that effects us trans-people, in particular. To give you an example of how society has changed (and I'm pretty sure none of you have had this experience), let me tell you a bit about my coming out at work....

For the last couple of years, I've been working in this small IT-startup. We're 12 people in total and we make this nice app which has garnered a lot of positive feedback, so we're doing quite good. Our lead developer and chef is the same age as me (30), and so is pretty much everybody else. Save for the two other girls in support and a trainee developer, they're in their early twenties. So we're a young group, and relatively tightly knit. We celebrate our birthday parties at our places, have lots of social gatherings... Hell, at our last party, I even went smoking pot and drinking with the chef until 5 in the morning. And there's more parties down the line ;)

Nevertheless, after I had started HRT about a year ago, I was still super scared about telling them my "story". As a group, we have this great chemistry, but there might always be some bigots whose reactions could go south, or so I thought. So, to cut a long story short, I organized a couple of extra parties in an attempt to get as much positivity about my place in the group as possible, and last January I told them the whole thing. The plan was actually to wait until March, but as I ended up telling the everything to one of the girls in support, it just happened.

After that, I had to tell my chef, because I wanted to be the one to break the news and not have the gossip-cirquit do it for me. And his reaction was priceless:

---

"You're transgender? So that means you're a woman? Oh. Well... I don't care, as long as you do your job, it doesn't matter one bit whether you're male or female, hehe"

---

Can you imagine my face? Sitting on the couch looking at him, with all of my stress and anxiety actually having no place to go... I mean, I imagined a thousend different responses going into this talk, and this one was NOT on the list :D

After telling the chef, I went to gather the rest and had the same talk with them. They were rather quiet at first, but then the questions came. Funnily enough, my place within the group shifted that day. The other girls (luckily we're about an even match, 50:50) immediately took me into their "clique". Then the nice remarks came, with them asking me all sorts of things about the hormones, about clothing, about make-up... Followed by some of them admitting having suspected something like this might be coming. The result was, that I ended up gaining some friends, who saw and accepted me for who I am. Was that just sheer luck?

So, why am I telling you this? To paint a different picture. Please respond, I'd love to get a talk going about how we fit in to this world, and how it has changed!

Quote from: Sharon Anne McC on October 25, 2016, 04:12:10 AM

I lived as 'stealth' until about 18 months ago.  I was beginning to crawl out of my hiding place because I recognised that I would never work again anyway, therefore that prime issue no longer mattered.

Marriage or children were no concern.  I made my position easy that I enjoyed being single rather than confined by children.  Thus, unlike those younger than me who might face a partner and need to explain their childless predicament, my child-rearing days were in the past and not a question at any point.  Besides, it was my evolving perspective that my past is my medical privacy, not a public spectacle even between two consenting adults.

I decided that there was no point running from my past.  It is private in my life, yet I decided that if there were instances when it came known, then I would not deny it as I had done in my past.

Maybe I would cop an attitude, maybe I would play educator, or maybe I would matter-of-factly reply 'Yes' and move on.  Each circumstance would be its own.  So far, I have had only one such 'outing' - I felt that I could return the favour when a new friend who is a nurse came 'out' to me as a Lesbian.

I regret living in 'stealth', it meant living in fear.  I hope today's society has improved so that younger trans people will not face the same obstacles rampant a few decades ago.  On the other hand, Sophia, as you commented, I spent many years since childhood dealing with my transition, so why not shout it from the roof-tops.

The regrets are what I am most afraid of. I hate having to regret things in general. I'm sorry for you feeling this way, perhaps there's still something to be gained now? Do you live in a rural area or have you actually got some LBGT pubs/centers to go to? Is there a 'scene' you could mingle with?

Personally, I don't think shouting our pasts from the rooftops is the way to go. There are far too many idiots out there, who'd love to see nothing more than us being strung up. The world still is a dangerous place, and mostly, I think Sophia is right on this point: outing ourselves to those who're uncapable of looking further than the outside will most likely do more harm than good.

Which brings me to this fine line again. With my colleagues, I actually don't talk that much about the whole thing anymore. It simply doesn't play that much of a role, and as I said before: my social status in the group is already such that I'm accepted for who I am, being 'one of the girls'.

So at work it's not an issue, but that's only work. It's a significant part of my life, but not of everybody else's. We all have our own jobs, and not everybody might be so accepting. That, and the obvious dangers we still face, has also led me to a non-disclosure attitude in public life. I'm simply who I am, people see that (passing and what not) and that's the gist of it. As people get closer I might disclose, but I didn't get a "TRANSGENDER" tattoo on my forehead and nore will I in the future :)

Quote from: Sharon Anne McC on October 25, 2016, 04:12:10 AM

'Post traumatic stress'? 

Yes, Sophia, many trans people do experience such a mental stress - both before and after transition.  My life experiences may not have been 'normal' for anyone else, but my life is 'normal' to me, however bad those experiences. 

Yes, Sophia, having lived long enough post-op, I do experience periods of time when I have no acknowledgement of my trans - be it a day, a week, a month, maybe a year or two or more.  Such trans events as my ERT, my medical appointments, my dilation are mere routines of my life's 'normal', rather than my life as trans.

In fact, for me, the longest was perhaps longer than two decades.  Only when my last employer initiated action to fire me because I am trans (2008) did I get that jolt that I had to confront for my self that an earlier employer also fired me for being trans (1983).  Kinda good news / bad news.  For quite a while that second firing made my trans return to the top of my thought process.  Now it again is slipping down the rungs as time and attention change.

Karen, you know it!  I lost it all the first time (1983), had to re-build and start my work career from the bottom despite education and experience, and lost it all the second time requiring me to re-build my personal life because my employer vowed that I would never work again that last time (2008).  I was broke and essentially without home both times.  That's not to mention. Having lost family and 'friends' in the overall process.

Time eases our rough edges.  Likewise, Karen, I lost my stridency through the gradual process of life

I think this is a very important point you're bringing up. We're all capable of healing ourselves, even after the traumas of pre-transition life. Oh, and I do think this process actually already starts happening BEFORE we have our surgeries. However, bringing up the term 'Post-Traumatic Stress' is quite something. PTSD is a serious thing, and I don't think it's respectful to those who have it to use this term loosely.

Having said that, we all experience our lives differently. No two people are the same, and that counts for us as well. I have also experienced some pretty horrifying things: when I came out the first time (19 years old) I ended up in a christian psychiatric center, where they tried to 'convert me' into a cis-man. That's traumatizing, and I've had to take some years of continual therapy to work that one out. Never mind the no-go I got for HRT the first time I applied (23 years old), because my psych feared I wasn't stable enough. And rightly so. I still self-medicated for a year though ;)

In any case, what I wanted to say was this: these experiences have helped me realize the healing commences before transition. Because transition is an aspect of our lives, but it's not more than that. Let me tell you that having to accept I couldn't get HRT because I needed therapy first was one of the hardest things that EVER did, but it wasn't necessarily one of the worst things. It helped me realize there's a time for everything, and it put being transgender in perspective. That perspective was me, my overarching well-being and most of all: learning to love myself for who I am, whether that be male or female. Transition was and still is secondary to that.

Quote from: Sharon Anne McC on October 25, 2016, 04:12:10 AM

I identify my self as female far more than as trans.  I spent my childhood since at least age 3 in what was termed 'feminine protesting' (I'm a girl!!!).  I dislike that 'woman in a man's body' description; nor does it apply to me.  Doctors determined late in my M-F transition that I am a girl / female by inter-sex.  That meant that those doctors in my birth room could not identify me correctly - they made the mistake, I had to fix their mistake.  My sister is a nurse and she still can't get past either inter-sex or trans-sex.

I agree in large part that living openly is still, at least for we older generation, a truly revolutionary act.  I do not know how well I can live up to that stature.

With transition already being secondary to wellbeing, I guess so evaporates the notion of having to live 'trans' the rest of my life. As I transition this second time, everything is going incredibly smooth, and the acceptance everywhere is astonishing. It's like all the doors that stayed closed to me the first time are open now, and moreover: somebody's actively shoving me through them (in a gentle way ;) ). I'm a girl, and I always have been.

But all these things I've learned over the last 10 years, from the converstion attempts I've had to endure in the beginning until now.. All of the therapy, the self-healing and the love I've learned to garner for myself... Being a girl doesn't mean I have to neglect that past. Nor do I want to hide it to everybody out there, on the contrary. It has made me the person I am, and I'm so proud of that! This doesn't mean I disclose everything on first sight, I'm acuatually enjoying my life as a woman and I do see that disclosing my story to some might dilute that experience. But when it comes to intimacy, I do want to find people with whom I can share my story, because I think this is exactly what makes me so beautiful :D

Quote from: Sharon Anne McC on October 25, 2016, 04:12:10 AM

The easiest people to initiate friendship are those in our local trans and LGBT support groups.  We have common bonds.  We need not all be M-F trans; some are themselves cis.  We all exist in a better understanding among us than the rest of the cis world.  Maybe they will catch up to us, maybe we shall leave them in our dust.

Amy, I have never seen episodes of 'Transparent' because I do not have cable TV; I have not seen that episode you mention equating Jews and trans at NAZI death camps, if I have that correct.  I am, however, what I self-describe as a 'student of the Shoah' I have travelled to see NAZI death camps such as Dachau.  Of course NAZIs murdered trans and others of the LGBT rainbow with the same ferocity as Jews, so I also see that sense and feel that potential persecution if the politics in this nation turn sour.

I found your comparison that a trans childhood is comparable to Jews sent to NAZI death camp intriguing and perhaps, depending upon individual experiences with some, merit equivalence of the two.  I can recall events in my childhood life that were extreme, though certainly any one day lived at Dachau is far more than my mere childhood (even my entire life) in total.

*

You can also watch Transparent online, just go to Amazon. Or find another site, theres's many out there. I've just binge-watched season 3 :D

As for the concentration camps: be careful with that comparison. Being treated badly by your parents and environment is one thing, but (most of us) were never malnourished, nor were we tortured. We weren't treated as if we are rats, and there was still one condition that made our families love us: accepting our birth sex. That's a way out those in the concentration camps never had.

So, that's quite a long post. What I want to convey is that I don't think there's just one way to go about it. Being 'stealth' is certainly something I'd like to experience, but will it really be a necessity? Do I want to live in fear? And to get back on topic: hasn't society changed in such a way that it's actually possible to get the acceptance from other women we need without being stealth? The girls at work are amazed and super curious about the steps I've taken, but it's this difference between my experience (trans) and them being cis that makes the relationship so special. We bond through our womanhood, in which these individual differences actually enforce and deepen our ties.

In a nutshell: society has progressed, and my story is a testament to that. How do you all see this?

Here's an idea hat some might find interesting.

I'm in my late 50's, married and closeted M2F not planning to transition, continuing to live my life presenting and living socially as a man.

The interesting observation I've made is that I find I'm pretty commonly accepted well past the outer fringes of the female friendship circle.  It is insidious, something that seems to happen below the level of consciousness on the part of women I interact closely with at work and in my social groups.  I suspect the conscious aspect surrounds the fact that I am old enough and apparently happily married so as to be considered sexually non-threatening and by my nature not on the prowl.   I don't come across as effeminate, androgenous or gay but am very comfortable with women as friends and in social situations--I am also a good listener. Again. this places me in this odd non-threatening gender neutral space that allows me closer platonic friendships with women, sometimes where I am brought into quite uncharacteristically intimate discussions of details of their lives, relationships, thoughts and concerns.

I am thankful for these friends and relationships although like many things they are  a constant reminder of my TG situation.  Perhaps someday in the future it will become possible for me  to actually become an insider in the "circle." 

Steph

Quote from: elineq on October 25, 2016, 08:38:01 AM
In a nutshell: society has progressed, and my story is a testament to that. How do you all see this?

Yes, society has progressed, and it's much easier to transition gracefully today than ever before.  I certainly don't deny it.  But I continue to aver that the experience of non-disclosure is different and more consistent than one that is lived "out," and whether it suits you or not really depends on your perspective, I suppose.

Now, I know what it's like to have that initial acceptance from a group of women -- in one of my social communities, one oriented around charitable work, they all seemed happy to accept me as one of their own.  Well, except for one lesbian, who in particular objected to me being in "women's only" spaces, but she was outvoted.  And this was all fine and dandy... until someone got angry at me, and then my narrative was used as cudgel to hurt me.  "You wouldn't understand that, would you?"  And then personal failings become framed in terms of privilege instead of personal failings.

Even over something as innocuous as a differing opinion on a matter of fashion. 

Perhaps it's just a matter of the friends you keep, and where in the world you live.  The midwest, for example, is not very forgiving.  And it's certainly the truth that being indispensable in your working life is the greatest form of job security -- especially if you can transition gracefully and with minimal disturbance to the status quo.  At some point, as a dear friend once said to me, if your womanhood is just so obvious, people will want to help you.  This is great for transition!  It may not be so great when you get to the other side.

Quote...being stealth is one of my biggest moral obstacles...

Okay, these are a couple of points I have to address.  First, the idea that letting go of your past is somehow not "moral."  I assume in this respect we are talking about the "truth" as opposed to challenging the notion of transition itself, because elsewhere you talk about your distaste for "hiding." 

This all hinges on what you consider to be your truth.  My truth is that I'm female.  Period.  And secondly, I understand that "who I am" does not exist in isolation from other people.  I believe we are socially constructed, in large part.  A major component of who I am is who I am in the experience of other people.  This feedback informs me.  So when I say "I am female" I am not engaging in a form of solipsism -- it's something that everyone reflects back to me, too.

So if this is my truth, which is acknowledged by all the people in my life today, why would I try to "hide" that by presenting a narrative that I believe no one (save for other people of similar experience or, indeed, spiritual masters) truly understands?  I think the desire to do that, which I had early in my process, comes from not really being over it, not actually having let go of this thing in the past.  Unlike Sharon, the more the years go by, the easier and more natural this way of life has become, to the point where it's just simply who I am.  For if I'm going to be nostalgic about the past, it's to remind myself that when I was a little girl, this is the life I envisioned for myself, not one where the most distinguishing characteristic was one of "being trans."  That wasn't my truth way back when, and it really isn't today, either.

All that exists is the present.  People pretend that the past exists, but it does not, it is long gone.  The past is not the truth.

Quote...Being 'stealth' is certainly something I'd like to experience, but will it really be a necessity? Do I want to live in fear?

See, even the term "stealth" is a loaded one.  It implies hiding.  I do not advocate hiding.  I advocate "letting go" and simply being in the present.  If the present is unsatisfactory, then I make changes.  That's why I transitioned in the first place.

Today, I do not live in fear.  I live in joy.  When I'm not living in joy, it's because of things like financial stress, or my parents' health, or having gained too much weight, or having to travel too much for work, or being bored with what's on TV, or frustrated by our country's political climate.

Not to say that there isn't a fear that I respect -- for me, it's a fear of dysphoria.  That has always been my demon, the only thing that drove me to the precipice of suicide, twice.  I don't feel dysphoria today, which is all to the good.  (Dysphoria, by the way, is a superordinate category of negative emotions -- sadness, anger, fear, and disgust, all of which precede conscious thought, like all emotions.) But what is it that actually caused the dysphoria?  To be specific, it was gender dysphoria.  A sense of profound wrongness at being misgendered, by myself and others.  It doesn't happen anymore, because I don't do it to myself anymore, and because no one else does it to me anymore, either, thanks to medical interventions and all kinds of work.

It just doesn't make sense to me to bring that medical history up in cis contexts, for any reason, because it invites misgendering.  "Coming out" is a ritual, and its effect is to get people to treat you differently.  Which is great at the beginning of transition, or if you're coming out as gay/lesbian/bi etc.  But I think it has the opposite effect in terms of the gendering you'll elicit post-transition. 

Why on earth would I invite back into my life the possibility of more dysphoria, of possibly re-traumatizing myself?  And why on earth would I transgress against my most fundamental truth?

QuoteHowever, bringing up the term 'Post-Traumatic Stress' is quite something. PTSD is a serious thing, and I don't think it's respectful to those who have it to use this term loosely.

As if decades of gender dysphoria isn't a serious thing?  Are you actually suggesting that it isn't traumatic, that it might not have lingering after-affects that can be re-triggered?  Again, this is something that made me suicidal. I feel perfectly justified in describing its possible after-affects as PTSD.

Again, I always say, it really comes down to our dysphoria. I don't care what identity someone has, if its contradiction doesn't lead to a dysphoric response, I see very little reason to change anything. Conversely, if it makes one dypshoric, address it!  As best you can.  Now, if such change is beyond your reach, that's another matter entirely, and then strategies have to be employed to make do as best we can. 

QuoteBeing a girl doesn't mean I have to neglect that past. Nor do I want to hide it to everybody out there, on the contrary. It has made me the person I am, and I'm so proud of that! This doesn't mean I disclose everything on first sight, I'm acuatually enjoying my life as a woman and I do see that disclosing my story to some might dilute that experience. But when it comes to intimacy, I do want to find people with whom I can share my story, because I think this is exactly what makes me so beautiful :D

This is a false choice, I know, but it isn't a false choice when it comes to how the majority of cis people in the world categorize other people.  If you had to choose between the identities of "female" and "trans" which would you choose?

Which is more fundamental to the truth of who you are?

If you think your answer is "female" then I strongly encourage you, if you can, to go out in the world -- say, for five years -- without leaning on a trans narrative.  See how it differs.  I mean, you won't really know one way or another until you experience it.  (Also interesting -- how cis people talk about trans people when trans people aren't present.)

Anyways, this experience.  Maybe you'll discover that it isn't really you.  Maybe you'll discover that it's totally you.  Maybe you'll find no difference.  I'm not saying what you'll discover, I can only say what I have discovered, but I do promise that there are discoveries to be made, and they will tell you a whole lot about your sense of who you really are regardless of what you find.

Me, I don't consider transition to be "beautiful."  Powerful, yes.  Insightful, absolutely.  But in my experience, I'm at my most beautiful when I somehow manage to be kind, forgiving, empathic, compassionate, responsible, and creative.  Which is all about the experiences of others, actually, and really has nothing to do with my own story.  (Sure, I was kind, responsible, etc. towards myself through undergoing transition, but self-directed grace can smack of narcissism.)

QuoteI don't think there's just one way to go about it. Being 'stealth' is certainly something I'd like to experience, but will it really be a necessity? Do I want to live in fear? And to get back on topic: hasn't society changed in such a way that it's actually possible to get the acceptance from other women we need without being stealth?

I find "acceptance" to be condescending, something that the oh-so-high-and-mighty cis people bestow upon their favored few, and which can always be revoked if they feel crossed.  I never wanted "acceptance," for me it was always about receiving female gendering.  Permanently and unequivocably.  Just like every other woman in the world gets, acceptance be damned.

Long before transition, there was this woman who our company hired, Mary.  And she was a piece of work.  Completely lacking in social grace, completely lacking in kindness, always looking to advance herself and preferably at the expense of others.  She was rude, and mean, and quickly made several enemies from her insensitive and hurtful remarks.  I'm not sure if she was aware of her emotional impact on other people, or she simply didn't care.  Mary was contentious, arrogant, litigious, and her work was shoddy and always past deadline.  But the company was afraid of firing her, they needed grounds to get rid of her by their own standards.  Luckily, about a year into this woman's reign of terror, she left a very unprofessional and paranoid voice mail with one of our sales reps.  Finally!  That morning she was escorted out of the building by security, and we had a party in the break room for lunch.  Ding dong, the witch is dead, the wicked witch is dead!

Not once was her gender ever questioned.  Not once was this most fundamental fact of her identity ever taken back.  Acceptance is nothing compared to a birthright.

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Steph:

Much of what you describe in your Reply #15 was happening by the time I got to my 'male fail' period of transition (1983 - 1985).

I had been active in the ERA movement since the mid-1970s.  I became most active while residing at Utah and also participating in other feminist issues before and after the demise of the ERA (1980 - 1985).

Women initially saw me as that intrusive male in a sea of female - I was perhaps the only man in the room and variously accepted with doubts of my sincerity.

Perhaps it was my continued work in the civics groups or my devolving appearance (see 'Before and After v 3.0' thread, #1632) that reduced any friction.  Perhaps a female-appearing male bears less sense of intrusion among other females.

My appearance and presence was a reason for my being fired, however, no matter how well female co-workers increasingly accepted me among them.  Actually, by my supervisor's possible flip of the coin, she told me that she was firing me for being a female presenting myself at work as a male.  She was correct but likely did not know it.

My female supervisor and other male managers did not know how to deal with my stealth changes; there was no hiding that fact.  The wall outside the director's office had an organisation chart with all our pictures - mine was from early 1981.  Anyone walking past my desk a few yards away saw a woman, not a man, by 1983, especially by 1985, though I presented as male through my last day at work.

Some women fully accepted me as one of them; others were not so well.  Betty and I got along real well and was my best support; we worked on jigsaw puzzles together during break and lunch.  My direct supervisor was the opposite - absolute antipathy; I presume it was my increasingly feminised appearance that disturbed her.

I likewise had a curious experience in between.  Several women and I were working in the conference room one afternoon.  An assistant director greeted us with 'Hello, ladies' as he poked his head in the room to see what we were doing.  He saw me as he departed, did a double-take, then gave a snarl at me.  How dare I accept his appellation as 'lady', this 'male' as he perceived me.  Yet not one of the other women made any askance at his demeanour.

Co-worker Terry was unique among my best allies.  As you describe, so too she brought me into many of her most intimate thoughts that females rarely discuss with / among otherwise typical males.  Did she also perceive me as that non-threatening male?

Sophia, if you read my history here, I had no 'coming out'.  I as much acted out since my earliest of childhood years.  The psychological community called it 'feminine protesting'.

I hated hiding, yet stealth by adulthood had to work for me because I dare not wave any flag - whether at small-town New Mexico no more than that proverbial wide spot in the road, to the Salt Lake City suburb, or even today where I reside at Phoenix, Arizona, one of the largest metropolitan regions of the USA.  I'm certainly not as stealth now as I was 18 months ago; I think the biggest move I made was shedding my fear and joining multiple trans support groups.  There is no necessity to hide my trans at these support groups yet there is no basis to impose my privacy upon the public.

Sophia, only  among my trans support groups (and medical providers) am I known as trans.  Even that took time; some people from the different support groups who did not know me thought that I am cis.  No one knows me as trans among my outside life because I have not made that disclosure.  So, yes, I do know what it is to live as female rather than as trans.

Yes, these cis people do talk about trans people.  Can I authoritatively assert their sincerity?  Perhaps.  My perspective is that they could be sincere if they have no suspicions on me; they could be baiting me if they entertain the notion that I am trans.  I can't answer the question.

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Hi Sharon,

Thanks so much for working on the ERA way back when.  Alas it didn't pass, but the effort was important and the groundwork laid at that time still helped pave the way for an eidos of equality, though that has to fully translate into praxis. 

Of course it's possible to transition with a minimum of coming out, as you rightly point out.  You just make the jump, un-announced, and it's really only the medical professionals who know.  I still say that's a ritual process -- I think of the therapist-gatekeepers as "priests" or "priestesses" who direct the "coming of age" rituals whereby the body is profoundly marked to indicate one's true self, even though it's directly administered by those with technical expertise.  An old-school friend of mine who made the jump in the 70s has pointed out to me that back then, it wasn't "coming out as trans" (which was just a medical diagnosis) so much as "coming out as female," over and over again, and better to do it without reliance on a narrative, just do it already, she says.  Anyways, doing it this way -- just a leap of faith -- surely facilitates living a life that isn't inflected with the narrative that, for so many in the world, elides the truth of one's gender.

As the turn of the century approached, when it was my turn, the landscape had changed.  Now there was an "oasis" of sorts, a more-or-less safe place to cocoon in before heading out to the promised land.  I think the world is better for it.  It certainly helped me. Whereas you have just recently found support groups, that was one of the first places I found on my journey, and some weeks there were a dozen people in attendance.  And of course, the internet had become a thing, and that was perhaps even more helpful insofar as planning my course of treatment, figuring out what I really wanted out of all this, and what was possible. 

Here's the thing I realized about the oasis -- some people live here.  The oasis is home.  And quite often this is of necessity -- the gates before the promised lands don't open for everybody, which is a shame and speaks poorly of those places, but it is nonetheless the truth.  Anyways, the culture of the oasis has its own rules, its own inflections, and post important is the power of narrative -- this above all must be respected.  So of course there is appeal, as people are creatures of story and storytelling.  And now we're hearing more and more different stories coming out of the oasis that completely defy the stories of the promised lands (perhaps we should call them citadels, actually) and I think it's bracing and wonderful and beautiful.

What does it take to live in the oasis?  Coming out as trans, in some way, shape, or form. 

This is absolutely fine and wonderful, if that aligns with your personal truth.  If it isn't, though, well... the thing is, the path between the citadels now runs right through the oasis.  That's where all the priests and priestesses and technicians have set up shop. The citadels practically require a trip to the oasis to gain entrance through their own gates.  The effect, though, is that so many people who aren't quite sure of who they are or don't understand why they have to traverse the desert in the first place end up thinking that their truth is the truth of the oasis -- after all, that's what they had to declare to participate in the rituals of transition.  And so many people who live in the oasis insist that if you've come to the oasis, that's where you truly belong, not one of those citadels in the distance. 

The thing is, you can have dual citizenship.  You just have to be careful.  The oasis won't kick anyone out, as long as they don't poison the water.  All you need is your story, and even that doesn't even have to be current -- just the fact you stayed a while is good enough to get a visa.  The citadels, on the other hand... well, it depends on the neighborhood, and the neighbors.  Sure, there are a few who are unaffected by narrative, but I find them to be quite rare.  Most will dump you outside the gates if they think you came from the other citadel (and they really don't think about the oasis at all, and if they do, they consider it a wasteland) or they'll make you wear a pink and blue triangle over your heart so everyone will believe you're an immigrant.  It is possible, though, to get back in -- the citadels are quite large, and there are plenty of cracks in the walls.

Sure, the citadels are rude, but I don't think we can willfully choose our personal truth. See, there's something else to say about this metaphor -- the water is different in each citadel, as well as in the oasis.  And who we "are" flourishes best according to the water supply that aligns with our truth.  I find I wither if I'm not drinking from the fountains of my citadel. 

Anyways, I don't feel like I'm hiding.  I have a room of my own in the citadel, and it's quite comfortable.  Sure, I have the equivalent of a walkie-talkie to communicate with the oasis, but I rarely use it, and these days it's only to find certain services or information I might require, for my own benefit, but also because I have a debt.  See, that woman from the 70s, she called in from the citadel back when I was in the oasis, and said it was still completely possible to get here, I just needed to find that footpath, navigate the cracks in the walls, and what it would take to live here once I got here.  That information was not forthcoming from the oasis itself.  And I'm so grateful.  So I have to pay it forward when I can.  Not to say this is everyone's truth, or that anyone in particular will actually like living here, but some will.

Those who have ears, let them hear.

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Sophia:

Thank you for a good post about oases and citadels.

The 1970s were - as you wrote in your second paragraph - the time of your friend and of my time - the system as what we now call 'gatekkeepers'.  Stanford was mine.  I had to comply with their rules in order to finish there with surgery there.

One of Stanford's actual rules in their published 'Guidelines' required that the enrollee in their program be perceived by society as a woman / female, not simply as trans and completing so many, er, brownie points (meant endearingly).

There were no internet resources and no support groups in those past years; at least none where I transitioned mostly at Utah.  One counsellor reported to me last year that, according to his colleagues, I was the only trans person in the state during my time.  It took me nearly four years of table-tapping and door-knocking to find acceptance by a counsellor there.  When I did, the best was a group therapy where the counsellor and I agreed that it would be best for the other members for me to not mention my trans specifically.  That was what were those times.

Nowadays, there seems to be less gatekeeping though I do find it exists for some at stops along their way.  I should also like to expect that a general group therapy would no longer limit its participant in their presentation as trans.

Informed Consent seems to now provide each person determine their own path and destination with lesser obligation to meet specific rules and pre-requisites in order to advance from one position to the next.

Meeting with new people in the support groups is fun.  They are coming of their age in better times than we of the old days.  As in your oasis, each support group that I attend has its own dynamic and culture.  Some people also attend multiple groups, others attend only one group.  I'm going because I want to socialise in comfort; others attending try to impose one brand or another of their politics upon the membership causing hard feelings among those of differing perspectives.

Many people are looking for their self in these groups.  Some arrive at their destination - their conclusion that transition is their path.  People who are recently post-op help those who are new.  Though my path was walked decades ago, I like to think that my contribution to the group can demonstrate the long-term perspective - how will their life be in 30 and 40 years from now.  I also like to think that my time is as fresh as today's trans persons such that I can provide the same quality hand-holding as any other recent trans person.

I am one who has wanted to attend re-unions.  Unfortuneately, all my 40+ years living in fear (transition and post-op), in stealth, built a wall that denied me the opportunity to attend those high school and college gatherings.  How could anyone attend when their former persona was long gone?  How would their new identity be accepted?  Again - fear of rejection by being open.

Dr. Chettawut once held frequent re-unions for his patients.  Certainly either officially or on their own, patients can organise their re-unions, whether Dr. Chettawut, Dr. Suporn. PAI, Dr. Bowers, whomever.  Carrie Liz' thread talks of such a gathering cyber-wise.  These social gatherings are good for sharing the spirit - for those who have experienced and for those yet to experience.

The idea of trans re-unions hit me during the past 18 months.  Okay, we of the long-gone 1970s and before are getting older.  Maybe we really do need to get together one last time for one last act of unity.  Any takers?

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