(Not sure if anyone will read this, but at least I'll have written it.)

I spent last week at a music and dance camp at a session where people come back year after year and which I've been coming to for a number of years.

The difference was that in previous years, I've come as <deadname>, and this  year as <new name>.  I dressed pretty much the same (skirts and dresses), but wore my wig everywhere in public except when I went swimming (when I wore a bathing cap.)  Oh, I wore a swim dress, which I thought didn't look good but others said it did (what do I know, anyway?)

I'd thought I'd do pretty much the same things as last year -- dance a lot, play some music, stay up til all hours.  It turned out rather different.  I've taken to describing the week as "the best of times, the worst of times."

The best part was that the people were incredibly supportive of my transition.  No one misgendered me in word or deed (the dances are mostly quite gendered, so how people dance with you depends on what gender they see you as) and quite a few already knew trans people or were even related to trans people.

The downside was that it was an enormous emotional roller-coaster.  There were times when it was a wonderful high.  But I also had two big episodes of emotions from the past overwhelming me and taking me over so I could barely force myself to function.  (I've been calling this "emotional flashbacks," because in the moment, I feel just like I did 50+ years ago -- it's as if the intervening years and my changes never happened.)  They were very, very painful, and even when I became unconscious of the pain, I could tell it was still there.  During them, I was the worst person in the world and my inner self was the most unacceptable and repulsive thing a person could possibly be and I felt I had to examine every move and every word to make sure that unacceptable self was never visible.  I wanted to run off and find a hole to hide in and pull in after me, but I had already committed myself to doing stuff with people, and besides, the adult/rational part of me knew that was simply a bad idea.  I dragged myself to events and onto the dance floor and force myself to sing songs and talk to people.  Fake it 'til you make it.

Fortunately, I also found a couple of people who were always willing to give me a hug and a smile and to listen when I said "I'm having a bad time at the moment" and I knew I could just sit next to them and it would be okay.  I started calling them my "security people."  Several of them said I was welcome to call them any time even after we went home if I needed someone or could even just show up on their doorsteps.  (Since they all live more than 400 miles away from me, simply showing up is unlikely, but still....)

So by the time I got home on Saturday, I was wiped out.  But at work today, one of my co-workers said I looked a lot more relaxed than usual, so I guess it was a good thing.

One thing did come to me during the week, during one of my 3:00 a.m. bouts of feeling awful: the transition isn't about becoming a woman.  It's about becoming myself.  So I decided I won't take the voice feminisation class a local college is offering, because they're about becoming their (somewhat stereotyped) idea of What A Woman Is, which doesn't feel like me, even me-as-a-woman.

Besides, 100% passing is overrated, anyway.  ("Those grapes were sour, anyway.")

Wow, just wow. Well done!

Have you read up about C-PTSD.? Emotional flashbacks are a part of that problem, and may well be worth exploring with your therapist...

*so proud of you*

Sno.

That's diving into the deep end of the real life experience pool!

As many have said before, your transition is your own path to becoming your true self. We have lots of options, and should choose what seems to work best for us.  Most small steps are reversible, so we almost always have the option to revisit them later and choose a different path to ourselves.

Thanks for posting this.  That sounds like an interesting week, a good experience for you.  And, you discovered lots of support!

That sounds like it went pretty well actualy. Although you felt bad at times, you met some very supportive people. Sounds like a lot of fun, bad bits notwithstanding, I'd love to spend a week as myself in public. I'm a bit jealous.

I agree on the voice issue. My voice is what it always has been and I can't imagine using a different one. It would feel fake to me, and probably sound fake to everyone else.

Once again, you leave me inspired. Thank you.

Hugs
B

Asche

Congratulatioins! That is pretty great.

Growth and progress rarely comes easily or comfortably.

You are my hero today.

With warmth,

Joanna

I think one reason I found so many supportive people is that I reached out.

Not long after I started coming out, after a church service (UU), my pastor asked how I was doing, and a few minutes later the thought occurred to me: maybe instead of giving the usual non-response, I could just tell her?  Maybe I could tell someone what I'm feeling and what's going on inside me and not get exiled from the human race.  Maybe there were people who weren't like my parents.  She seemed approachable and non-judgemental.

So I did.   We ended up talking for an hour or so, and she told me that there were plenty of people who would want to know about me if I would just open up and tell them.  She suggested I could start by telling the congregation about my transition (there's a period in the service for telling stuff like that.)  I decided to trust her and did so, and I was simply blown away by the response.  Instead of "why are you boring us with your wierd stuff?" (which is what I always heard when growing up), they all thought I was "very brave" and were happy to talk to me about it.  So I've tried it with other people who I thought might respond positively, and so far, everyone has been enthusiastic.  I've even started telling people about the painful feelings I'm having and bits and pieces about the hell of my childhood, and people actually listen.  And seem to care.  They tell me to call or text them if I'm having a hard time, and when I do, they answer.

So reaching out has become kind of a discipline I'm working on.  It's still hard, I'm having to overcome 18 years of training and 60+ years of habit, but I (figuratively) eat my Raw Bits and go ahead and do it anyway.  (50+ years of forcing myself to do what I don't want to do are coming in handy.)

One difficulty I'm having is that while I don't have much trouble talking about my transition, it's hard to put into words the not obviously trans-related emotional stuff I'm going through.  I'm reminded of van de Kolk's remark (The Body Keeps The Score) that it's in the nature of traumatic experience that there are no words for it.  Traumatic memories bypass the verbal and narrative centers in your brain, and they don't link together to form a narrative.  They just sit there, intruding whenever they feel like it, and when you experience them, you can't talk.  It's also harder because my memories are purely emotional.  There weren't many incidents I can point to, just a steady diet of normal-seeming criticism and constant failure with no understanding and no concept that what I was feeling mattered.

But at least I'm breaking the silence.  (Silence = Death)

I have things in my past I can't talk about. I discovered I can write about them. You could try writing about what you remember even if it seems trivial in your thoughts it is surprising what your mind might dig up when you try to write it down.


hugs
B

Writing is a great outlet. The beauty of it is you get better the more you do it.

Could be prose. Could be poetry. Could be songs. A play. Anything.

Even when not thinking about something in particular, often writing brings it up in that way cool way our brains connect things.

Could you imagine a book of poetry that helped remember a transition or that inspired one? So great.

Sorry, I'm done now. Sometimes I get excited.

With warmth,

Joanna