What the Hell?

So, why am I getting a steady stream of SPAM comments all of a sudden?  I hear nothing from anyone except for fucking bots... excuse my language.  I have pretty much had it with this whole "cyber" experience.  So frustrating.

Is anyone else seeing this issue?  Is anyone out there?

Peace,
Kate

Trans-Vacational Paradox

Fair warning: I just completed and submitted a ten page English Lit paper, so there is no foretelling the outcome of this post.  I am beyond loopy.


We just returned from a pseudo-family vacation trip to Branson, Missouri, the (as I have dubbed it) Knock-Off Capital of the Midwest.  It was not an entirely bad trip.  But pack two women, a precocious ten (going on twenty seven) year old girl, and a behaviorally challenged puberty riddled fourteen year old boy into a single hotel room for several days, and you may just unlock the mystery behind the disappearance of the Mayan empire.  You at least have the basis of an excellent murder mystery novel, but we will avoid those stories for today.  I would mention that if you ever need to feel humble, try spending an extended period of time in close proximity to someone who’s only predictable trait is that he will consistently do exactly what you tell him not to do.  That will knock you down a peg or two (and convince you that military schools might just have their merits)!


The trip was not without some very pleasant moments and was generally a good one.  We saw some really great shows, took a very interesting tour (more on this in a moment), ate awesome food, and saw some new and beautiful sites.  We also saw some very authentic human unpleasantness.  Peace and pleasant human interaction are never a guarantee in my situation, of course, but when one is a trans woman surrounded by red necks, blue hair, and bible churches; discomfort and discord take on feud-like proportions!  There is no question that I was well behind enemy lines at the very least.  I know that some of you are saying to yourself, (or possibly out loud, there’s no telling with this bunch) “well she put herself in that situation... what did she expect?”  


You know what?  You are right.  I did put myself in that situation.  I have repeatedly put myself in that situation, and I will continue to put myself in that situation; because I do not believe I should have to voluntarily segregate myself from mainstream society in order to secure my own rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  Further, I repeatedly put myself in that situation, because more often than not, the result is positive.  Indeed, even on this trip, I enjoyed a few very positive (or at least not negative) interactions.  The unfortunate truth, though, is that this time the odds played out on the side of the negative.


Between angry onlookers, blatant oglers, and disrespectful hotel staff; I got the very distinct impression that there a lot of people in Branson who do not believe I deserve to enjoy any of the rights I mentioned above.  Possibly the worst offense was my very first interaction in Branson at the front desk of a Baymont Hotel (who, by the way, will be hearing exactly what I thought of my experience there), which started out very pleasantly.  The gentleman (and I use that term sarcastically) behind the desk was exceedingly friendly and joked smilingly with both my partner and I right up to the moment he looked at my ID (and the incriminating “M”).  In an instant, his entire demeanor changed.  The smile quickly disappeared from his face, he stopped making eye contact, and his voice affected what I can only compare to a growl as he as hurriedly as possible completed his dealings with me and turned away.  From that point, the worst encounters were little more than angry or baffled stares from overstuffed redneck men and angry old ladies, the latter of which I am used to... old women are the worst and most blatant offenders when it comes to human sensitivity... and you can quote me on that.


This is the screwy part.  Aside from the first night there, every negative encounter happened during the day when I was out and about (and sweating my ass off... sorry... glowing my ass off), and every experience was either with passers by or other patrons in establishments we visited.  The worst were restaurant visits, during which I spent my entire lunch being stared at from every direction.  I will say that with the exception of the hotel dude, every other “employee” I encountered in the businesses of Branson was perfectly courteous, even when an ID check was involved... so that was good.  What makes this interesting is that when we dressed up and fixed up to go out at night, whether to a show or a restaurant, I was treated with the utmost respect and courtesy.  Every interaction from friendly conversation to flirtatious banter was a positive one.  That was good.  But the whole experience really made me think.


What a strange paradox it is that in the space of a few hours and with a simple change of clothing, I can go from vile specter to lovely patron (and in some cases, "hit on" material).  I worry about that.  What if it never changes?  What if those awkward moments continue to happen?  I am about to spend an entire barrel full of money to fix most of the remaining features that “call me out,” but I will always be a tall girl with broad shoulders... a beautiful and sexy one, for sure, but the fact is I will always stand out.  What if in always standing out, the added attention continues to cast doubt?  Am I being foolish to even try to correct my non-feminine features?  I know what some of you are saying to yourselves (and at least one of you out loud, you know who you are): “So what?!  Fuck them all.  Be proud of who you are.”  


Thank you for that, and you know, most of the time that is easy enough.  One thing many of you know about me is that I look at all things with a certain amount of skepticism.  I never fully relinquish doubts.  It is one of the things that made me a pretty crappy christian (never mind the whole divorced gay transgender thing).  This trait has honestly served me well over the years, and I frankly consider it a strength.  I bring this up, because I want to assure everyone that I am not changing course, and I am not considering backing out.  It is important to me, though, to continue to recognize what is going on in my head.  And over the last week, I have worried a little about what will come after surgery.


There is only one way to find out of course, so anchors away boys!


Remind me next time to tell you about the “Sixty Six Million Dollar Man’s Problem: Nature,” Or, “Why should I move off this flood plain? You fix it.”  


Also, I have to tell you about a hilarious battle of wits between a ten year old girl and a zipline tour guide.  Spoiler alert: girls rule!


Peace friends,
Kate

Trans Woman Down: MIA or Something

I know that I start a lot of posts this way (sorry), but I apologize for my prolonged absences from this blog.  I vowed to myself that I was not going to be one of those transwomen who flooded the blogosphere with melodramatic crap all through transition only to disappear once I had it all figured out.  I figured on continuing the melodramatic crap indefinitely.  Okay, I promised myself that I would be there to support others, and yet, I gradually fade from the blog anyway.  The catch is, I do not have anything figured out yet... so nyah! =P

Seriously though, things are moving along.  I am still struggling emotionally, I will not deny that; but please allow me to rationalize for a moment (shut up, this is my blog, and I can have any delusions I like).  My entire world is upside down.  Certainly, I am making the changes and beginning to live the life I always dreamed I might, but it is all a futures game right now.  Lately, my weeks consist of pain and bills.  If I am not spending my free time playing Frankenstein’s monster meets Pinhead, I am frantically scrambling to finish schoolwork, or trying to maintain a household (something I have utterly failed at since taking on a new job, and school, and electrolysis, and doctors, and... well, you get the idea): all on the promise of eventually being whole.  And can I just say this?  For all you nuts and zealots out there who think this is a choice: I challenge you to sit for just five minutes of an electrolysis session (something I endure an average of three to four hours weekly), and then try to tell me that anyone anywhere would choose that.  Sorry, I digress.

The point - is it any wonder that I am a little down?  I am putting my body through hell, I am almost always in pain, and I am spending a fortune for the privilege.  Yes, it will all be worth it soon; but some days, it is just a little hard to “keep my chin up,” especially when my chin is swollen to roughly the size of Rhode Island.  I am not asking for understanding per se; I am asking that we do not further burden the situation with a lot of feel good crap, because, well... right now, it does not feel very good.  Just let me make it through the next couple months.  The big show happens on September 7.  I fully expect to be in pain to that point, and to experience a whole new level of misery for a couple months after that.  But then... then, my friends... look out!

In recent news, school is going well; but it is also a driving factor in my absence here.  I am currently turning out a few thousand words per week in school work; writing blog posts after all that is just a little too much.  I have made the physical transition (well, ninety percent of it) at work.  I still need to have the big talk, but that will come soon enough.  Until then, I have the satisfaction of not perpetuating any illusions.  Oh, and did I mention that I have a surgery date?  How could I have neglected that?  I have booked three fourths of the procedures for September 7.  Yes, I did.  I am a little bit excited about that.

Anyway, I hope everyone is doing well.  Take care!

Peace and love,Kate

Family and the Trans Woman

I have been thinking a lot about this (I think a lot about a lot of things, some would suggest I think about things too much).  Here is why it hurts, and here is what is missing.

In every life there are relationships.  There are a few distinct types of relationships that are important for a person's mental health.  In a startlingly excellent book on the subject of belonging, Joseph Myers writes about some of these.  He breaks relationships (or perhaps it was friendships… it has been a long time since I read the book) into four types – public, social, personal, and intimate.  Again, forgive my lapse if this is not completely accurate, but his descriptions essentially are as follows.  Public relationships are those in which you may know each other’s names but little more.  Social relationships are the types you build at social events.  Personal relationships are ones in which you share slightly more detailed information about yourself - the ones in which you might talk about your problems, and the intimate relationships are “naked and unashamed.”  Simple enough?  Myers suggests that one of the most important relationships for personal well being is the social relationship, because those are where you reinforce your positive self-image.  I will link the work at the end of the post if you are interested.  If you want a deeper explanation (and a better understanding of why I agree with him), go read it.

I think there are other distinctions that are important, though, and I am only recently learning this.  Relationships can be defined in terms of depth of information sharing, but I think longevity is another important element.  This is where family comes into play.  In our lives, there are people we have known for "a while," and there are people we have known “forever.”  Generally, those people we have known "forever" are family.  I can interpret a relationship in many ways.  I can say that my relationship with someone is intimate, but what is that when my common experience with that person is limited to just “a while” in my life?  Are not the most intimate of intimate relationships those ones in which your mutual memory has no conscious beginning?  Are those not the people who truly know you, and whom you truly know?

So, our tightest, strongest, and most intricate bond is with those people with whom we have been close “forever.”  Set your emotions aside and think about it.  Is it not true that there are people in your life with whom you share more commonality and history than those people whom you have chosen to call intimate?  I am not faulting the self-proclaimed intimate relationship; I am simply suggesting that there are some relationships in which the intimacy is not chosen but instinctive.  Those are the people who truly know you.  They get you.

But that is the problem for a trans-woman.  Many of us have lived a lifetime with those relationships only to arrive at some point to the revelation that those people who have always known us, those people with whom we have always shared the most naturally, do not, in fact, know us at all.  In a single sentence, an entire history – an entire common existence is unraveled.  Suddenly, we have no instinctively, naturally, unrestrained intimate relationship at all.  Place the blame where you like; I do not believe there is one.  The people, our families, on the other end of that sentence learn suddenly that everything they thought they knew is not.  We suddenly face the fact that we are a stranger to the people we have known “forever.”

It is enough to make a girl cry.  And the people who used to share those tears no longer exist in her world.

It is a train of thought, people.  I am not proofreading or editing; I apologize if it is sloppy… you got an update, so there.

Peace and much hippy talk,

Kate

The book:

TTFN!

Trans-Log - Star Date 2012, May 29: Transition Mission

It is ironic, and just slightly annoying that I struggle so greatly to hit a stride.  It was only a matter of weeks ago when I felt completely isolated and stagnant, like my world and all the progress I had been enjoying had just suddenly stopped.  I felt that way largely because of the interruption in supporting activities (those things I need to do to complete my transition) caused by starting a new job, not to mention the stresses of the new job, of course.  The truth was many of the supporting activities had indeed stopped, including therapy and group sessions.

This was not by choice.  The combination of my newly limited schedule, the remote (to me) location of the therapy/group meetings, and the schedule limitations of the rest of the group drove a wedge that seems only to be resolved by my taking time off work.  I cannot do that for multiple reasons, most importantly because I need to conserve my time for a major milestone later this year… but I will get to that.  The irony I began to discuss is that while I so recently bemoaned my stagnation; I am now in it up to my eyeballs… so much so, that I am “stealing time” to make this update! (shh… don’t tell!)  I just cannot seem to do things in moderation.

So, what is new?  Since my last update, I have started an aggressive electrolysis campaign with the goal of being mostly complete by September, I have finally seen a doctor to get my hormones in check, I have reenrolled in college (again) to finish my degree, and I am still working an 8 to 5 schedule every Monday through Friday.  I have also managed to squeeze in a couple of counseling sessions, though not without major calendar upheaval.  There is bigger news… and a major consideration for my future.  Would you like me to fill you in?

Of course you would, why else would you be reading all this crap?!  You will recall that among my many laments is the fact that I started my new job as a boy – a fruity and fabulous boy, a boy with long hair, painted nails, and boobs – but a boy none the less.  This means that I have yet another “big reveal” to navigate at some point in the future.  With each passing week of employment, though, my confidence in the company’s position on such things has diminished.  Also, with each passing week, the imminence of that information forcibly coming out grows… I will explain that soon (getting anxious?). 

I had intentions of opening up.  I planned the conversation multiple times, but fate and ever-changing calendars prevented those conversations from occurring. I am not always one to ignore the cosmos, so after much consideration, I took the hint and made the decision not to divulge my situation until it was absolutely necessary.  Right or wrong, I need the income to continue on this path.  If that means continuing to get into costume every day until the milestones are complete, then so be it.  In the grand scheme, the price is small – especially in a state that does not value diversity, in an industry that is still largely white-male dominated, and in a position that is very much expendable. 

One important truth and (I think) a critical consideration is that I enjoy a distinct advantage on this journey – the advantage of affluence.  I did not start out this way.  As a young adult, I barely made enough to survive.  I cannot tell you how many months I had to choose between rent and food, how many times I walked to work until I could pay to fix my car, or how often the only reason I had dinner was the kindness of one of my good friends.  I worked hard for many years.  I scratched and clawed my way to this position.  I fought.  I sacrificed.  I put so many parts of my life on hold to accomplish what I have – family, friends, education… transition.  I would not suggest it is the right thing to do or that it is the right path for anyone else; but what I did has put me in a somewhat unique position to actually afford transition.  If that entire fight, all those years of climbing ends only in my ability to finally make a permanent transition, then it is worth it.  My view right now is that I need to “keep my eye on the prize,” no matter what that means for today.  And the “prize” may be just around the corner.

Yes, friends, I have made almost all of the necessary arrangements.  The only boxes still to check are an updated passport photo and plane tickets.  On September 7, 2012, (drum roll please) I will be undergoing about three quarters of the surgeries necessary to complete my transition – FFS, breast augmentation, and orchiectomy.  The only remaining operation will be vaginoplasty, which I will save for some future date.  With the help of my awesome and amazing partner, I have also started the wheels turning on the final legal name and gender change to be tackled immediately following surgery.  By the end of 2012, I will be able to clean the closet one last time, and I will never again have to pretend to be a boy.  Knowing that makes everything I hate about the present seem inconsequential.

The one remaining question is what will happen at work.  In a lot of ways, I am in a 2011 eddy.  I am still trying to answer the question whether I will transition in place, or abandon my position once the change is complete.  I do not yet know the answer to that question.  The decision would be easier if I loved what I do, but I do not love it.  I do not even particularly like it if we are being honest.  So that complicates matters on one hand, but simplifies things in other ways.  My only consideration is financial, so really the question will be whether I can affect the final transition and still maintain a happy lifestyle, regardless what I am doing to achieve that. 

The mystery continues, my friends.  The mystery continues.


Peace and love, my friends.
Kate

Remembering "Transgender Exodus:" The Remnants of Faith

When I first began blogging as a transgender woman, my theme was trans Christianity.  I titled my blog Transgender Exodus, an allusion to my faith walk as a trans woman.  Like my faith, that blog was destroyed years ago.  I deleted it in a heated rage and destroyed all the files and downloads associated with it.  I regret that.  By the time I did it, the name had changed, as the subjects I covered wandered far and wide, seldom discussing faith or Christianity.  In fact, I used the space more for movie reviews than any other topic – some really good ones too, if you do not mind my bragging just a little.

Despite its rambling nature, at the heart of that blog was a deep (or so I believed) and well informed faith.  I did not study the bible – a possible downfall as a christian; but faith takes many forms, and I never found deep meaning or affirmation from that particular exercise.  I read volumes of literature about the bible, and even more about faith in general.  I was most interested in what it meant to be faithful in an era of pharmacologically induced emotion, in an age of information bombardment, and in an age of twenty four hour a day living.  The world is a very different place than when the books of the bible were written; it is interesting though that people, their hearts, are still much the same – one of the most frequent of the many doubts that constantly nibbled at my heart.

Something happened when I moved to Texas.  I changed.  It did not help matters that I was a burnt out wreck.  In the year or so leading up to my move, I had separated from my spouse, come out to my friends, and was trying to find a path forward.  At the same time, I was enmeshed in a full time career and investing twenty to thirty additional hours a week to a church service as the “house band’s” worship leader and faux-music director.  In the last few months before the move, resulting from the shocking changes in my life, I experienced the “harlot effect” – being the subject of rumors and controversy within the walls of a church I had served devotedly.  I heard the murmurs of people I thought were friends.  I felt the sting of retribution from people who suddenly felt they had the moral superiority to pass judgment over what I was going through.  I felt the hollow isolation of being the subject of gossip rather than a welcome family member.

Moving to Texas was an effective escape from all of it.  When I got here, I made virtually no effort to find a new church.  My practicing faith became a sideline faith.  During the first couple years here, my lack of devotion gradually evolved into skepticism, and eventually into an outright denial of my faith.  As I often claimed, my problems were not with god, but with his followers. And there is truth in that.  I am regularly astounded by the depth of many christians’ hate for people like me.  The utter devotion to marginalizing, if not eradicating us is practically obsessive.  But there was more involved in my fall from faith.  As I reflect, I suspect that the bigger problem was with neither god nor his followers – but with me.

I was – still am – a mess.  My life was careening toward what could only have been a catastrophic end.  Everything from my physical health to my financial security was eroding due to my deep and utter depression and the destructive behaviors I employed to numb the despair.  Over the last year and a half or so, I have been on a path away from that darkness.  I have fixed many things.  I am now officially in transition, I found counseling and treatment, I changed jobs, and am making plans for surgery.  I have worked toward a better future for myself; but the scars run deep, and my progress walks a fine line.  My journey is not so much on a path these days as on a tightrope.

Something is missing.  I do not have it right, not yet.  It is not that the journey should be easy; it is that I know the journey is far less difficult than it feels.  The heaviness in my heart is about something other than the challenges of transition.  My journey is a cakewalk compared to most, and yet somehow I fail to see it that way.  I have been completely unable to embrace the blessings in my life.  I know I am fortunate.  I know I have it “easy,” yet the message never seems to make it to my heart.

A song crept up recently as background to something I was watching.  While I could not immediately identify it, I recognized the tune.  After listening more intently, I realized the song was one I used to sing in worship services.  I have heard snippets of many of these songs over the last few years, so that is not surprising; but something happened this time.  I began to cry softly as I remembered the lyrics.  In the days since, I have experienced other little nibbles.  I have felt nudges, and my reactions have been surprising.  The bitterness that usually swells up inside me at the mention of faith is more often a sense of wonder, or sadness, or yearning.  I find myself in conversations with people I do not know about things like god.  I cry.  Not unusual, but I cry because I feel like something is trying to get in, and I do not seem to know how to let it.

Please hold onto your collection plates and your conclusions.  I have not been converted; at least, I do not think I have been converted.   I do feel like there is something I need to recognize; I feel like I am on the verge of something.  I do not yet know what that something is.  I continue to prove to myself that I can make this journey – that I can paint a new picture for myself that actually makes sense.  But I am also feeling the effects of making the journey alone.  I have to wonder, when the painting is done, what will be on the canvas.  Might the picture be more beautiful – more complete – if I relinquish control of the brushstrokes?  And if I give over control of the composition, will the result still be me?


Good night, friends.
Kate

I Put the “T” in “What the Hell Are You Thinking?” – And Other Fun Stories

Taking things in moderation has never been mystyle.  I am either going a million miles  an hour, or my boat is sinking.  Chaos takes on an artistic flair when I start getting motivated… but let us be honest; it is still chaos.

I have been depressed lately… very depressed.  Work life has played a part in it, home life even more.  Not much has gone right on that front lately, but it is getting better for the moment, so I would rather not dwell on that.  Sadly, work life would be phenomenal if not for the whole gender issue.  I feel like I made a bit of a tactical error by not laying my cards on the table before accepting the position.  But, the truth is I needed the job, so I chose not to risk it.

I may have experienced a mini-break through last week.  It is hard to tell, but I think that is what happened.  I know I am unhappy.  Over the last few weeks, all the things that do not make me happy have been rolling around in my mind and rearing their ugly heads at every turn.  I started thinking about what it would really take for me to be happy.  No matter how much I pondered the question, I had no answer.  I could iterate all the things that make me unhappy, all the elements of my life that bring me discomfort or misery; but I could not list one thing that made me happy.

Allow me to pause for clarification.  Everything I am discussing is outside the realm of relationships.  This is not about the people in my life; it is about the life in me, and how much of me is living.

So, rather than think about what would make me happy, I started thinking about what my life would look like if I were to draw it for myself.  I pictured spending my days writing, painting, and publishing.  I would have fish in a beautiful aquarium (I don’t know why that is in my vision).  I would have music.  My time would be devoted to creation and imagination.  I would exercise and eat well.  I would wear flowing skirts, and my hair would be long and wavy.  I would spend time with friends.  I would cook.  There would be water in my surroundings – a lake, or the ocean, and a patio with a view of it.

From this simple exercise came a feeling.  I was thinking about my life in terms of how I would draw it if I could.  The fact is that life is mine to draw any way I choose.  Motivation reborn.

The problem is that none of it can happen now… well aside from maybe the fish.  I have work to do if I ever hope to embody the vision I have of myself.  But with this realization, I have redoubled my efforts to drive change.  I may be jumping right into the deep end, but that is usually how I do things.  In the last 48 hours, I have identified and set an appointment with a doctor for HRT, I have initiated electrolysis (I am at the end of seeing benefit from laser), I have re-enrolled in college(again), and by the end of this week hope to have FFS+ scheduled for this fall.

The next couple years will either get me where I am going, or kill me along the way.  It should be interesting.  Wish me luck!

Peace and much love,

Kate