Nice friends, maybe allies

 I had a lovely time with my two female friends who came to stay. But now that the English-speaking world has suddenly started having the trans community as its bogeyman, it's not as easy to come out now as it used to be, as my last post illustrated. (Thanks, incidentally, to Calie at T-Central for featuring that post on her site.) So I hid my trans-related stuff away. And there was a lot to hide - it took hours. This is not something I do very often these days, especially in my own home, but I felt it wise.

So how did it go? Well, we swam at the beach and the swimming pool, caught the sun, saw the sights in town and, above all, ate lots of the fresh fish we have here. Oh, and they liked the aperitifs, too! They refused to allow me to pay my share and so I am now full of free fish and wine, like some fat mermaid!

We had a lot of catching up to do since I hadn't seen them for about five years (thanks, Brexit! thanks, Covid!). When one casually mentioned that she had been to Brighton Pride and found it such fun, and we agreed that to live in Brighton you had to be a bit alternative. She was glad that LGBT+ people had a safe space there and seemed to be a majority in the town, then I felt that maybe we have an ally in her. I also mentioned that previous guests of mine had included a gay couple, which didn't raise much apparent consternation. 

Given my past experience, though, I won't test the idea of recruiting her as an ally for myself as I don't feel I would gain enough benefit. But it's good to see that another person is, in principle, on board with the notion of people being LGBT+. The other friend I'm less sure about.

Anyway, the experience was positive and although I had to act the male, the pleasant company made that tolerable.

 

Hot

It's full-on summer now and was 30C (86F) in the shade today so I am likely to stay put for the next 2-3 months and top up my tan. Warm sunshine does me more good than anything else.

A dip in the archives

I came across another old photo, a souvenir of great times ten years ago when I went to Camden Markets with friends. You can read about it here: Looking Ahead to Summer

 

That was such a fun time in my life when I just came and went en femme as I pleased.

Sue x

Hiding stuff again

 I have two friends coming to stay this weekend. We used to work together twenty years ago. I've always seen employment not merely as a means of earning a living but as one way of being in company with others and even making friends.

As colleagues, these two friends became inseperable from one another. One has a married daughter and a granddaughter in France and the other has a married son and grandchildren in the States, so trips to see children and grandchildren are regular things and they know each other's families well. Both are visiting France this week and are coming on to see me for a few days since I live only about 50 miles away. I'm looking forward to their visit.

But they are pretty much the only two friends of mine who don't know I am trans so I am putting away my chick lit, my pretty knick-knacks and more obviously feminine items. I hate having to do so but after the devastating abuse and betrayal I had from a supposed friend and ally in 2014, I am no longer prepared to come out to persons older than myself. My clothes are pretty unisex and no-one seems to notice they're off the women's racks in the shops but apart from that I am going to be nominally male for the weekend. I know we will have fun but it would be nicer, of course, if they knew I was trans and supported me, but I can't take the risk of coming out to them with possible negative consequences. That's partly due to the world we live in and to the last decade that's been more than trying for me already. I do have high hopes for the younger generation, though. They seem to take LGBTQ+ matters well into their stride. The subject seems almost unremarkable to them. And that's where we need to be, where someone who is trans (or gay or in some way different from the majority) is just, like, whatever, wanna hang out?

Part of me says that I should come out to anyone else who doesn't know I am trans. If they are true friends they will support me, right? But my bad experience before with the betraying friend, and also a girlfriend who couldn't cope with having a trans partner, is that they recruit people against you and dealing with a storm of questioning or indignation is much harder than dealing with just the one person who's being awkward. Obviously, I can probe these friends' ideas of trans life indirectly while they are here. But since I am not full-time female, however much I might dream of being, it's not worth pressing the issue at this stage.

I'll write again after their visit.

It's approaching midsummer and things are getting hot here. Thankfully, the freezer is full of ice cream and the communal pool opens tomorrow. Bliss!

Almost tropical

Sue x

Space for everyone, and the Drab Drink

 Thank you for the nice comments on my last post about the closure of the Scooter Café in London. It's a shame they've decided to throw in the (tea)towel but I expect a similar venue will arise there. 

I thought it worth adding a bit more detail to this as Lower Marsh is the sort of street that caters to anyone and everyone and illustrates how people of all sorts can live happily together despite obvious differences and preferences. And a regular trans event used to be held there.

At one end of the street is a lively Cuban bar, at the other a pub frequented by bikers. Along the way you pass stalls selling street food from round the world (oh, and a Greggs for the home crowd), an Asian supermarket, a railway bookshop with everything for the trainspotter about town, cafés and restaurants of all sorts, a costume shop for partygoers, a small art gallery, and other shops and businesses. In the middle is Lounge 34, a cocktail bar that used to be the monthly venue for the well-attended trans event known as the Drab Drink, which is for London TGirls who are unable to get out dressed but who want to meet others similarly placed. More on the Drab Drink, then and now, below.

So salsa fans and hairy bikers, hobby geeks and fancy dress partygoers, local residents and office workers wanting a sandwich, theatregoers and commuters wanting to eat or drink out, TGirls in stealth and not... a huge mix of people in the one place who rub along very well. This is how a commercial street should be, something for everyone. A far cry from places that are suspicious of anything from outside their community. It's the sort of place where I can thrive, not the type of sterile world created by social, political or religious bigotries. The family I grew up in would hate it, but that's their loss.

Anyway, if you want more on the Scooter Café, so-called as it was previously a motorcycle repair shop, try this short illustrated review by the Veteran Vespa Club (there was an old Vespa scooter in the window): Scooter Caffè.

 

They're right, the Italian form, Scooter Caffè is actually what it was called. Apparently the café featured in one of the Bourne films. It was a studied shabby chic that understated the quality food and drink, and attracted a youngish crowd (so I felt totally at home lol!)

As an aside for history buffs, just behind here is the former entrance to the Funeral Trains platforms of Waterloo Station. The best explanation of this service I've ever come across is from vlogger Jago Hazzard, whose dry sense of humour may appeal ("the dead had their own coffin tickets, though presumably return fares weren't available") and who has a lot of shots of the area, including some of the grot that still persists. If you want an idea of how Britain was divided by class and faith, the funeral train service is one of the best illustrations you could wish for. The eclectic South London of today is very different.

Drab Drink

I'm pleased to see that this event is still going and is now called the London Trans+ Meet Up. It's an informal meet-up on the first Thursday of every month. You do not need to dress to attend. Fuller contact details by clicking here.

The next meeting will be this Thursday, 1 September, from 7pm at the Retro Bar in George Court just off the Strand (WC2N 6HH). (George Court is not easy to find despite being off one of the capital's main thoroughfares but it is on the south side of the Strand sandwiched between the Halifax Building Society and Superdrug, very near the pedestrian crossing leading from the Charing Cross Police Station/William IV St junction.) 

I attended Drab Drink once when it was in Lower Marsh. That was when my skin problem precluded my wearing makeup. Oddly, I don't seem to have written about it on my blog at the time. But I found it friendly, non-judgmental and a way to meet other trans people in an informal way. 

I wish them every success.

Sue x

Deprincessing

 I'm sure you know the term, when a TGirl has to take off her lovely clothes and makeup so as get back to her humdrum life as a man. A few trans women move to a point where being a woman is their whole life, so then deprincessing is just when the party happens to be over and that nice frock has to be put away. No matter where she is on the trans spectrum, it's never a happy moment for any TGirl.

I spend most of my life in female mode. That's not luck but design. It's been vital to me to have all the time I can to be myself with minority time acting as a man. I hate that minority time but it's a role I can get into, like an actor typecast or known for one part who just slips into the role when it crops up. 

I'm packing my bags to be away next week. I will be looking after a relative who is unwell and I'm having another Covid injection. I'm not looking forward to travelling long distances as the latest wave of disease reaches its peak but the injection, at least, is compulsory so off I go to my official place of residence. My sick relative is not trans-hostile (unlike most of my family) but clearly does not understand trans people and I want to avoid a whole load of trouble. So I am deprincessing for the trip. No dresses or skirts, high heels or pretty tops as I usually wear. Although I've honed my 'boy' clothes over the years to actually be clothes from the womenswear department that are unisex in look or pass for boys' clothes. This keeps me grounded and still feeling feminine but stops awkward questions. I still feel I have a double life, though. Many of us feel we have to have this double life as full transition creates so many problems that the losses we suffer may be too great to bear, or at least perceived that way.

So I am preparing for my kind of deprincessing for next week. 

A dip in the archives

A friend wrote to me saying how much she enjoyed reading this slot. Last year I added A dip in the archives to every post but this made a lot of posts very long so this year I will write it from time to time.

Ten years ago I had my first outing of the year - eating out and going to the cinema in central London. It was a good way to get into the new year. I'm pleased to see that the links to restaurant and pub websites still work after ten years - with Covid ruining so many in the food and drink sector, this is encouraging.

Link: First outing of the year

 Sue x

Educating the older ones

 A relative of mine, who's about 70 now, has been very helpful to me over the last three years whilst I have settled in Italy. He's very much of the hippie generation (groovy, baby!) and was once a card-carrying member of a communist party, when communism was fashionable. Counter-culture and the struggle of the proletariat kind of run in his veins, although he's come round to feeling that Marxism wasn't that great after all and that eating in good restaurants is the best way to live! But the point of this preamble is that you'd have thought he'd be a bit progressive when it came to LGBT stuff, yet ...

I saw him the other week and there was a political debate on TV including a former minister who is now transitioning (male to female). "You know, that's not a woman," he said, "that's a man. He's still got a penis." My heart sank, for two reasons. (1) Is that the criterion? And (2), this wasn't the first time. A young, pretty trans woman passed us in the street a couple of years ago and from him it was, "That's a man, you know." We were in a crowd and in a big rush so I wasn't in much of a position to suggest a better way of seeing this girl until it was way too late. This time I just pointed out that she was transgender, and left it at that.

My relative keeps himself to himself and is not going out to cause trouble to others like the rest of my family. For my own peace of mind I'd rather he didn't refer to trans people in this way but reason tells me to just leave it at that rather than going into the whole "what is trans" spiel for him. I am giving up on trying to correct people set in their ways, as my last post discussed. Of course, he doesn't know I am trans and seeing him is one of the rare forays I make into male mode these days. I feel it best to be safe in unwanted male mode than sorry in true female mode, and in that I am with the large majority of trans people, sadly. It shouldn't be this way, but it still is.

I do have hope in the younger generation who seem much more clued up and accepting of sexual and gender variance, with fewer doctrines apparently being forced on them. It strikes me the older generation could be learning more from the young.

 

Not a man

Sue x

My conversion therapy

 The British government is holding a public consultation (open till 10 December) on taking legal measures against conversion therapy.

This has distressed me as it reminds me of the days I sought to be cured of being trans with the help of religious leaders. It also distresses me because of past experiences dealing with governments. I'd like to offer advice on the latter in my next post but just for now I'd like to talk about conversion therapy itself.

The consultation on LGBT conversion therapy is here (for UK citizens): UK Gov online consultation

There is a serious issue with this consultation as it states (Q2) that cisgender people can be converted to being trans and this has implications for assistance to genuine trans people, especially young ones. More on that next time.

Conversion therapy is basically an attempt to cure a person of their sexual orientation or transgender nature, usually by spiritual, emotional or psychological means. So it tends to involve religious leaders, psychologists, life coaches or family and friends acting to 'straighten' the LGBT person.

I have mentioned this before in this blog, notably in my answers to Lynn's "Our Different Journey" project (here), that I was brought up in a very religious household. Although nominally within an everyday, mainstream religion, the faith I was actually brought up in was, in fact, very idiosyncratic and bore little resemblance to the main branch. A one-family cult, almost. This difference became a problem when I left home and started attending mainstream places of worship.

I am not going to state what my religion was as it is irrelevant to the subject of conversion therapy and might result in some readers thinking "Tut! Well, what do you expect from that lot. Now MY religion (my atheism/my agnosticism) is the true path and that would never happen where I'm from."

Present-day mainstream religions are largely obsessed with issues around fertility and food, which does imply their origins lie in early agricultural societies. An essay for a different site, no doubt. Conversion therapy is connected with the fertility aspect - gay people don't procreate, and that's no good since no procreation = no new generation of breadwinners (putting that all-important specialised food on the table). The fact that gay uncles or transgender aunts might exist by natural selection as they provide an unprocreating extra pair of hands helping with child rearing and family income is not something that most religions seem to consider. Again, let's leave this point for another day.

So... From about the age of 5 I started imagining myself as a girl. From about age 7 I started playing with dolls and secretly reading books about fairies and stuff. From 9 I started dressing as a girl regularly. And that was all fine and neither my religious upbringing nor secret life as a girl had any relevance to one another. Then one day, aged 12, in the voluminous religious literature I was expected to study I found the tiny throwaway line that boys and girls shouldn't swap clothes. This was a devastating revelation because I was officially classified as a boy no matter how much I might secretly prefer to live as a girl. 

At much the same time a teacher of mine used the word "transvestite."
I had to look the word up and it was a revelation. You can imagine my confusion now. I was a transvestite, it would seem, but that was bad. A source of ridicule in secular quarters and a source of condemnation in religious ones.

My teens were therefore troubled not only by the usual trials of puberty but also in trying to reconcile my reality with the opposition all around. I tried a legalistic approach with my deity, leafing through dictionaries and encyclopaedias to ensure that what I wore didn't strictly clash with the no-girl-clothes injunction: kilts are fine - Scotsmen wear them with pride. But are other skirts? My dictionary told me that tights were worn by acrobats and gymnasts. So they were OK. But with a kilt, too? They have acrobats in Scotland, right? And so on. Teenagers are barrack-room lawyers at the best of times so this approach worked for me. I couldn't ask my parents what was going on with me - I was too terrified of them. Then I went to college and got involved in the student clubs associated with my religion and realised that I was only fooling myself and that my deity would hate me if I carried on in this way.

So, aged 19, I sought a suitable spiritual leader to help me overcome this compulsion to dress and behave as a girl. He wasn't my regular spiritual contact because I felt a stranger was someone I could walk away from in case of rejection or threat - I honestly had no idea at all how my opening up might be taken. He was also relatively young so I felt less generational disconnect. He was the first person I ever spoke to about this.

Our interview was fairly short, and unexpectedly positive, or rather a relief. He commended me on my openness and honesty and suggested that I should join one of the various groups for young people that the religion had going in the area since that would give me regular social and spiritual support from people of my age and faith and that would no doubt help with overcoming my tendencies since I was genuinely wanting to change. I explained that I was already in the university club and he said this was excellent. This was certainly a more positive response than I had expected. I then explained that, although I was genuinely wanting to end my feelings and behaviour, I had so far found it very hard to do so. I was worried about relapsing. "Then do try to cut down on these things," he said. I did feel he had some compassion towards my struggles and seemed impressed with my wish to please the deity. Unfortunately, neither he nor I really knew about being transgender - if the word or even the concept existed in the public mind then - and I didn't help by implying that this was probably a sexual problem.

This kind of worked, though, and I felt I was cured. I also felt happy at overcoming a problem. I never mentioned it to anyone else except hinting to two female friends that I was feeling less troubled (I never said what about). For six months I overcame my transness, purged my female clothes and anything associated with my previous girly life.

But then it all came back when two things happened. Firstly, I had begun to notice inconsistencies and contradictions in all that religious literature, and this started to trouble me. Higher education does have this nasty habit of making you analyse stuff and think for yourself. Secondly, once home for the long holidays without the social and spiritual support of my peers that my contact had recommended, I relapsed. I remember sitting in my bedroom one day, fully dressed in the loveliest outfit I could create, and feeling this was actually right; and for the first time ever I admitted that I was something other than a boy. I told the deity aloud: "This is who I am: I am really a woman. Do you understand? This is me."

The focus of my religious struggle became more and more with the religion and its contradictions, its repressiveness, its threats, and with trying to deny how miserable it was making me. Once more, at age 21, some visiting spiritual leaders giving talks invited students to come and see them privately if they wanted to discuss anything. Once more I mentioned my struggles with fighting off this desire to dress as a girl, only this time I had a lot to get off my chest about my theological struggles too. My intelocutor suggested that I needed to find inner peace. I asked him how one achieved that. He shifted uncomfortably, and it was clear I'd taken more of his time than he'd allowed for, so he suggested I "try to find that peace" and I would if I really wanted to. And to keep regular with the place of worship and the club. He touched me, a sort of encouraging pat! This avoidance of the question didn't help, nor the pat, nor the proposed laxative to keep me spiritually regular - I soon stopped going to the student club and simply went to another place of worship. The twisted theology and callousness of its proponents - from parents to peers to leaders - was getting to me.

I struggled on with these same spiritual and trans issues till age 26 when I decided the problem was me, that I was being wilfully awkward and that it was time to shape up spiritually again. I sought out my third spiritual guide - a stranger again - and went through the spiel about crossdressing yada yada. He was unphased - bored almost - and brief: OK, avoid it in future. He had other people to see and I left. But this time it took. I now realise that it wasn't the guidance from these people that was determining my approach to converting from being trans but my own spiritual needs at these different times. The help from these people wasn't very deep because I think - in hindsight - I had made a much, much bigger issue of what was defining and vital for me but was actually a fairly minor problem for the religion.

In the end I lost my religion. Its theological complexity couldn't support the weight of its innate contradictions and my faith collapsed dramatically like a house of cards. I was angry - so angry - at having had nearly 30 years of my life poisoned by the interminable threats of punishment if I failed to comply with religious diktats, including forcing myself to reject and deny who I really was: a transgender woman. I was so terrified of retribution, rejection and ostracism from my religious family and friends that it was five years before I told anyone I had lost my religion, and another ten before my anger subsided and a further ten years before I was able to look back more objectively at the abuse, of which suppressing my trans nature was just one part. On abandoning that religion, the first thing I did was to acknowledge fully, finally and fairly that I was transgender (Those biggest resolutions) and here I am.

Recently, I came to understand that the ban on crossdressing that had shocked me at 12 was just sloppy interpretation of rules by religious writers. Also sloppy is the assumption, and insistence in the face of evidence, that there are boys, girls and nothing in between. How intersex people deal with this cancellation, I do not know. Biological and social realities don't fit in with many religions.

As far as conversion therapy goes, it was I alone and on my own initiative who sought it; I was not coerced. I was not abused by the spiritual guides I sought - indeed, they were somewhat indifferent. I wasn't shamed, still less effectively imprisoned and worked over by verbal and physical manipulations for weeks as one poor trans woman I knew was; BUT I felt very under threat by the general nature of the religion to come out to someone in authority and seek conversion to cisgender norms and to suppress my nature and condemn myself for previous failings. The shame and the fear were relentless and have made much of my life very miserable even after leaving that religion. I still have flashbacks to the threats from relatives and spiritual leaders on the terrifying consequences of non-compliance with the requirements of the deity who, believe me, was a dictator who would have impressed Hitler, an Orwellian Big Brother of overbearing malice, unpredictable narcissistic rage and a micromanager of one's whole being and demeanour, who sees mankind as a species specially intended for brutalisation at every moment of every day now and in the hereafter - Orwell's famous "boot stamping on a human face for ever"-, a deity cooked up by ancient psycopaths and maintained by modern ones for coertion and control, who insist on forcing it on tiny children who have no alternative reference points. THAT is abuse that governments could do with criminalising, not coming up with poorly-conceived consultations like this. Respondents to the consultation study had experiences similar to mine.

Please excuse me about this upset but I'm tired of religious hate. 

Next time: why this consultation is flawed and could be misused to stop transition, how it contradicts the studies that it is supposedly based on and why it is being proposed by a malign and corrupt government. And how to deal with answering such things when the recipients and processors of the public's comments couldn't care less.


A dip in the archives

My previous post (More Trans Wins) was to show that trans people are making progress in public life and visibility despite the war against us on many fronts. Life as a trans person can be wonderful. I've tried as much as possible to reflect that in this blog though sometimes things, like the above, can get to me. So in contrast, here's a link to my post that ended 2011 when being trans was ... perfect :-) Readers even got three kisses after my sign off! lol

Summing up 2011

Sue x

Stealth and safety

 Tribute has to be paid to US aircrew, passengers, emergency services and ordinary people who dealt with the chaos of the terrorist attacks twenty years ago, and to those who died. Today is one of those essential anniversaries as its repercussions have dominated international affairs ever since and will do so for a while yet. The human capacity for not wanting to share with and understand others is limitless ... so that's the world we've got.

This year I've been posting here on Monday mornings and Thursday afternoons but this week I've been away, staying with a relative who, although politically pro-LGBT, on a personal and emotional level would be unsuitable for including in my circle of those who know I am trans. So I have been in male disguise this week and wasn't easily able to use the Sue account on my laptop. But I am home now. Inevitably, the first thing I did on getting back last night was to ditch the horrible male attire and put on my favourite dress. Aah, relief!

At least my trip was a big success. More on that next time. In the meantime, stay safe from harm in all its forms.

A dip in the archives

I have my new full European Green Pass to allow me to travel on planes and long-distance trains in these Covid times. How different the world is now. Travelling safely used to be like this ...

Let's hope those times return soon.

Sue x

Dysphoria bites hard

 I have gone to the big city for the week, a long way from the coastal town where I have been living quietly since Covid erupted. This is to do various administrative things which can only be done in my official name and so I am in unmistakeable male mode - a rare thing these days.

Today, on seeing crowds of women in the streets and on transport going about their lives, the gender dysphoria struck me more fiercely than it has done in a very long time. This is all wrong, I thought, I am all wrong, I am one of them and not the man they require me to be. I actually felt a bit ill.

Dysphoria can crop up any time and varies in strength but I guess the power of the feeling today was caused by the sudden contrast after 18 months away from the crowds, and the claustrophobia of being forced to be male. Ouch! It hurt.


A dip in the archives

Desperate to be as feminine as possible now. Like ...

Sue x

Relationships: repressing our trans nature

 Last month I did a series of posts on how I settled into living my trans life in public. The most read post was the one about coming out to lovers. (And thank you to T-Central for featuring this.)

There I wrote, "As I've said before, nature can be cruel because often in our early twenties we want to suppress our transness, marry, raise families, only to find that our gender variance bursts out again with a vengeance twenty years later, leaving us to square the re-emergence of a status we thought we'd overcome with our startled spouse and children. It can be a shock to them after all that time to find that dad is really a lady, that the man or woman you married is anything but. As I say, nature is cruel in diminishing our trans fervour at breeding time but leaving a hormonal time-bomb to explode later. This is a subject to expand on again another time."

Given the interest the post generated, I'll expand on this subject here. Several people told me how this resonated with them, and I have talked about this endlessly with other TGirls over the years. 

For many of us MtF trans people, we know when very young that really we are girls or want to be treated as girls or just look or play as girls. That desire usually becomes fiercer after puberty and we have more time, wherewithal and either support or subtlety to experiment with looks and behaviour to match our feelings.

But then adulthood brings the realities of life, such as work and taxes, car and insurance, a home of one's own and, of course, serious romance, the need to breed. The need to suppress the more individualistic aspects of our nature becomes paramount. I emphasised that nature is playing a role: those hormones or genes or environment that made us develop as trans seem to give way to a desire to 'man up'. Maybe I am wrong to single out nature at this point as societal norms undoubtedly play a major role in our conforming to expectations when in our 20s.

So we seek our life partner, the mother of our children, and assume that all that acting and dressing as a girl was just a childhood fad, a passing phase, that we have matured out of. Many I know turned very macho at that point, suppressing their feminine side by, say, joining the armed forces. In my case I repressed my femme side as best I could to avoid problems with work and to try to satisfy the demands of a religion I had at the time. There are lots of variations on this but the same basic pattern clearly applies to a great many trans people. We generally choose not even to mention our previous escapes into femininity. Why would we? It's history.

And what happens? Come our 40s, the testosterone (that bulwark of masculinitty) drops, the relationship is getting stale, life is routine and we realise that we need to be a girl again. This is where I think nature is cruel, in that it doesn't give warning of wanting to take over; why can't it just co-operate?!

And that's when the cycle of dressing and hiding begins again. If our partner knew of our trans life before, could the subject be raised again easily? If she/he didn't know, do we bring it up now, years into the relationship, or keep it hidden? Will the marriage fall apart at the news?

All relationships are different; I cannot advise on yours specifically. Personally, after I finally fully accepted that I was trans, aged about 30, I decided that the subject must be tackled early with any partner, as described in my post on coming out to lovers. My own 20s were spent trying to repress my trans side and chasing one girl only, who was never receptive to my advances. Had I been successful with her, I dare say I would have thoroughly squashed my remaining transness... to have it return with a vengeance later.

I have found, when in a relationship with a woman, that my desire to dress as a woman has spontaneously lessened, as if my partner or girlfriend was supplying part of a need. I'd be interested to know if others have experienced this.

One thing seems to be a commonplace: despite being in an intimate relationship with someone for years, nobody seems to know how their partner will react to the news that they are trans and now want to spend time in their preferred gender. Some have told me that they thought their partner would take it well enough and were wrong; others agonised, and then it wasn't an issue. The former happened with me. One observation I will make is that a strong, loving relationship usually survives the revelation, whereas a relationship with cracks in it usually does not; it's the last straw. 

If it hasn't gone your way, being trans does not make you undateable either. It's a big thing to negotiate around, but most potential partners will appreciate your honesty and often begin to appreciate having a boyfriend who knows about perfume, style and sensitivity, especially as one gets older.

Related to this subject, I also want to talk in forthcoming posts about the secrets we keep and the lies we tell when in a relationship; and about sex and sexuality when trans away from home - I've learned more about human sexual customs since emerging as trans then I had in all the rest of my life! And sex is an endlessly fascinating subject so I'm sure there will be a big eager readership (I only have to put a word like "stocking" into a post heading for it to garner twice as many views than usual!)

But one final thought on this aspect of the subject is what I call the "trans half-life". So, you're mid-40s, you've rediscovered your trans nature with a vengeance and you want to live your new life, with or without your partner's knowledge or blessing. You have a blast, meet others like you, go out dressed in public, go to nightclubs and strut your stuff like you were 19 again ... And this lasts for four and a half years. And then you either transition or disappear. The former rarely sees a partner tagging along, the latter seems to involve getting the trans urge out of the system and returning to being daddy and hubby again when the trans scene gets routine. One TGirl I knew was given a new motorbike by her wife ... and that was the last we heard from her! (Wives - this may be the cure for your trans hubby; take note!) People like me who neither transition nor go back into the closet after the half-life period are fairly rare.

OK, so the motorbike idea doesn't always work. Grayson Perry.

 

As ever, your thoughts, comments and experiences on this are always welcome. This is how it seems to be to me; you may feel it's different. There's little so fascinating as human experience, especially when it comes to very personal ways of tackling things.

 

A dip in the archives

The background to this post can be found in the series of posts I did about trans living. 6 posts on early steps in June/July of last year and 6 posts on further steps in February of this year.

The first series starts here: Baptism of fire

The second starts here: Body morph

You can link to other posts from the blog archive on the right.

Sue x

 

Cari lettori italiani

Oggi si commemora le vittime di quest'epimedia. Che brutta strage!

Qui parlo un po' sul fenomeno che spesso colpisce le donne transgender: sopprimiamo la nostra natura trans quando ci sposiamo. E poi il desiderio di essere donna ritorna dopo vent'anni.

Sue x

Seasonal low

It always happens at this time of year – but much earlier than usual this year.

“I don’t want to be trans any more. Going to give this nonsense up and forget it.”

But I know from experience that in a few weeks it’ll be business as usual: down the salon for pretty nails, then a neat new wig, new shoes, a pretty frock for summer and those gorgeous tights that just can’t be passed up. And hey presto, we’re back in business again, en femme just about all the time. Happens every year, although in the past couple of years it’s been only a week or two of down time.

This year it’s worse, though. Partly because of the anniversary of all the abuse from other TGirls I had in May/June last year that’s made me more cautious. Plus a creeping realisation that a family inherited trait has serious implications for my and my siblings’ future health. Plus my abusive and enraged father’s deranged fit this morning: yet again a triviality turned him lurid purple with hate, he shook his fists, ground his teeth and spat and shouted and cursed and cursed and cursed just as he has behaved through the whole of my life. It makes me feel that I have now seen that bully for the last time. I’m not happy right now. But at least my fledgling business is keeping my mind occupied.

Hoping normal service will be resumed soon.

Sue x

Funny Girls

I’ve just spent a weekend away in Blackpool, admittedly in male mode (what? I’m on me ’olidays!)

So we booked to see Funny Girls, the famous drag cabaret. The booking office is part of the act, I reckon, hidden round the back with a daft-as-a-brush old lady manning the desk and a lift that entombs you in the dark and goes nowhere.

It was actually one of my female friends who had suggested it. I thought is would be a good chance to gauge their receptiveness to my telling them about how I spend most of my life these days. I was, however, a bit apprehensive about taking muggles to a drag show.

Still, in for a penny ... or £14.50 for table with waitress service. The compere herself, Zoe, showed us to our table. “Walk this way,” she said as she tottered into the venue. My one male friend rose to the occasion by saying, “I can’t walk that way!” Getting into the spirit from the start! Our pretty waitress in red minidress and fab legs brought us drinks. Stupidly, I forgot to ask her name.

The venue is beautiful. A converted late ’30s art deco cinema by Harry Weedon’s firm that built many such venues for Odeon (bear with me here, I’m from an arts and media family) and a Funny Girls carpet that must have cost a fortune. The bar is in front of the stage and the bartop becomes part of the stage during certain numbers. The tables are raised up at the back with the standing public between the tables and the bar. Zoe has a pulpit left of house.

Zoe, a classically acerbic drag DJ (but never abusive), in a wonderful turquoise dress and matching sparkly heels that one of my female companions really envied, was burbling on and playing records before introducing Amber, Jade, Ruby, Krystal and the Boys. The astonishing opening number was a high-energy Brazilian line up with blue sparkly swimsuits and feather headdresses for the girls. A break for Zoe to regale us, and then an American comedy marching band number; another break and then high-kicking gangsters and flappers; an obscene spoof of the lonely goat song from Sound of Music which we will not describe in detail as this is a family blogging site with blogs about pets and kiddies that are entirely innocent; next, seaside jollity (“Sun has got his hat on!”) with the lads getting their swimsuits off beneath their parasols, much to the delight of my female companions; Oklahoma/Gershwin medley; a ridiculous and hysterically mad take on Happy Feet, complete with penguin costumes. The amazing grand finale including Zoe (she wants you to know she’s in it) started with a pseudo-Sixties tribute (“Welcome to the Sixties” from Hairspray and the Austin Powers theme), the girls fabulous in sparkly red shift dresses. It then went on to powerful fantasy costumes and transformed almost to pure Ziegfeld Follies.

Absolutely stunning! Beautiful costumes, imaginative backdrops, quality choreography and very high production and presentation values. Over three hours of variety entertainment for your money (though the drinks cost a little above average). I think my companions were delighted but bemused. I shall return, properly en femme which will enable me to visit the various recommended venues round about. I didn't bring my camera but someone else did so I may be able to put a picture or two up before long. Here, however, is their official photo of the finale lineup

Here’s the [updated] link https://www.funnygirlsshow.co.uk/

By the way, I recommend Luna Rossa Italian restaurant down the road for a quick, tasty, good value meal beforehand.

As for me, although my two female companions have quite a good inkling about 'unofficial side' of my life from previous conversations, I did not feel my gentle 'coming out' worth pursuing with them further at this stage. This opportunity was ideal for judging what their reactions might be. They'd still be good friends, of course, but at this stage I'd rather have people firmly on board or kept in ignorance if they are a little conservative.

Sue x

Barmaids reunion a no-no

A bit sad this evening as I had planned to go to the reunion of the Erotica TGirl barmaids at the Way Out Club but what with a full day's work, getting home later than expected, and then my hoped-for lift home from the club failing because of a car breakdown (and no other lifts really available) I decided it was better to cancel rather than face the horrors of two night buses home in the small hours on a very cold night (estimated journey time 2.5 hours!)

However, the official barmaid portrait photos are out at long last. Here's the best of mine.

Now, you'd buy a drink from this girl, wouldn't you?

Sue x

Removing the mask

I have been covering for staff holiday absence in my employed job, which has meant being out at work for all of the last two weeks, apart from going away for two days for a wedding. It was tiring but also, and more importantly, I felt obliged to spend all that time in public presenting as male because I am known by my male traits in those circles.

Although I have had to do this over a lifetime and wear the mask that keeps me safe from society’s disapproval – or my fear of it – it is becoming increasingly difficult for me to do this. I should be used to presenting as a man by now after so many decades. And indeed I am, but I don’t feel satisfied about having to do it. It’s an obligation, like doing the washing up or paying tax.

I’ve spent much of the last 15 months presenting myself to the world as a woman. By doing so I’ve learnt that I feel far happier, more relaxed and more humane as a woman, as I suspected I would. It’s inadvisable to rip off the male mask and just throw it away because the opposition and obstacles to my living as full-time female are many and would best be tackled one by one. Nevertheless, I know that the mask will gradually fade away, as though it were made of papier maché and was melting away in soft showers of femininity.

Sue x

Girl, Interrupted

I'm having to spend the next fortnight in male mode, largely for work reasons. That's OK, but somehow it's not entirely satisfying, especially when I have presented predominantly as female for the last few weeks, including the first half of July when my male side made no appearance at all.

It's clear that my female side is what I prefer. From an early age I wanted to be treated a girl, but you soon learn that you can't get what you want in life just when you want it. Maybe now I can indeed get what I want, but I suppose I've also learned that caution, pragmatism and steadiness generally prevent serious upsets. So let's be a bloke for a bit and, as well as appreciating my femme side more when I get back to it, it'll help me decide important things such as whether I'd rather work as a woman in future.

Negative things can often have positive outcomes.

Sue x