In a couple of years writing here I don't think this has happened before. A hiatus this long, that is. Truth is I've had plenty to talk about - the Wreck, cider pressing, my relationship, fighting the girl and all - but not the time, or indeed the inclination, to commit it to print.
You've probably seen me referring to my friend Dawn here. She's been a true friend to me and my wife these last few years, providing humour and support just when it has been most sorely needed.
Now it's her hour of need, as the cancer she beat a few years ago has returned. Metastasised, not a good word at all. Her decline has been swift and alarming, as from accompanying us to Sparkle in July she moved to difficulties with mobility, then fluid retention and the indignity of incontinence. First a council home help, then regular visits from the district nurse and finally a Marie Curie nurse with her overnight before a move to our local hospice.
The fluid retention has gone, aided by a drain and a big plastic bag that filled surprisingly quickly, the nurse taking its volume as she emptied it. Eighteen litres, try picking up that number of soft drinks bottles and imagine a sick old lady walking around with that.
The hospice is a masterpiece of design with amazing standards of care. A very specialist hospital ward, its atmosphere is as close to that of a home as they can make it. For a week after the fluid had gone we had the old Dawn back, grumbling about the food and shocking the nurses with her make passport photo, beard and all. I bought her in a seafood pizza by request one evening and ended up sharing the half of it she didn't eat with her daughter.
But the inevitable decline continues. Fortunately there seems to be little pain, but she's nearly always asleep, and her lucidity seems elusive when she's awake. Medical staff do not make lifespan predictions for hospice patients, but it's becoming obvious that we should not expect many more weeks. However as I said to an acquaintance who was being something of a defeatist on the matter, I'll give up on Dawn when I'm following her hearse to the crematorium.
As the friend who lives closest, I've been to visit Dawn rather a lot over the last week or two. It's the right thing to do, her family are widely spread and she needs to know she's not alone. It's easy enough to nip up to the hospice and sit by her bed for an hour or so.
What shocks me though is how little emotion I've felt while some others are having difficulty containing theirs. I think it's the effect of antidepressants, they suppress such things, but it's engendered almost a feeling of guilt. Should I be showing public grief? Not if it's as false as that of a crowd of North Koreans at the death of the Dear Leader.
So yes, life goes on. Rather a lot of it, at the moment.
Showing posts with label swindon tg group. Show all posts
Showing posts with label swindon tg group. Show all posts
Wednesday, 26 September 2012
Sunday, 11 December 2011
What does a support group mean for you?
My local trans support group is an organisation to which I am much indebted. Through it my journey from closet to the real world has been made much smoother, I have made some good friends and I have gained invaluable support as to the many possible paths through which this mess can be navigated.
Yesterday evening saw their Christmas meeting. As always in a community hall in a suburb of Swindon though instead of sitting around drinking coffee we were eating buffet food. The impossibly glamorous trans lifestyle, eh! Our usual post-meeting trip to a very good Italian restaurant in the town centre will have to wait until next month. Some of our number put the boat out a little with the party dresses, I was little more conservative in a black top and maxi skirt.
This group follows the model of traditional trans support groups. It's a lot more open than some, but the format is pretty simple. An exclusively MtF crowd of everyone from deeply closeted transvestites of all persuasions through to long-ago transitioned transwomen meeting once a month to talk shop, drink coffee and eat biscuits. The group would love to see some FtM attendees, but unsurprisingly they see nothing in common with the MtF TV members.
Support groups like this one are like Marmite. You either love 'em or you hate 'em. A lot of people may attend one during their first steps from the closet before moving on as quickly as they can. They see it as merely another closet, and they've left that behind. Of course they're right, it can be a closet, if you let it. There are attendees for whom it's the only place they ever dress as female, for whom discovery in their home towns would mean violence and intimidation. But as I found out on my first outing, you leave the closet pretty quickly when you venture out into Swindon town centre on a Saturday night.
What I get from my attendance has slowly changed. From closet through support to social gathering, to even giving support sometimes. For me it's not a place just to present as female, after all I'm quite likely to be seen there as a scruffy bloke. I know the format has its faults, but it does fill a niche, and it's a hell of a lot better than the closet.
It has been interesting to watch from afar the support groups in other cities. Pub meets, restaurant groups, or ones like Swindon. Sometimes without an open door policy, with meetings exclusive to people identifying a particular way, or entire groups for specific subsections of our community only. I have a friend - long ago transitioned and married to a normal heterosexual bloke - who was turned away from one group because they thought her husband was an admirer. He's not, he's just a bloke. A nice bloke at that, she's a lucky girl. Or how about the group run as a private club by a well-off TV who has used it as an opportunity to create her own TV social life without leaving home. I call it the gilded closet, a place where you can go out to your heart's content in a schoolgirl outfit or whatever takes your fancy, yet never really go out. Fine if that's your thing, but when I hear of people's referrals being refused because the psych quite rightly points out they've not experienced the real world, that's not good.
If I were to find the perfect support group, it would have these things at its core: diversity and tolerance. People from all corners of our world, seeing past the sometimes challenging exteriors both MtF and FtM, presenting as whichever gender they feel comfortable in and expressing themselves however they see fit. I value the diversity of people I have encountered along the way, and I have found very few from whom I have not learned something, even those I haven't liked.
I am not belittling the organisers of the Swindon group when I say they haven't quite made it. Theirs is a extremely tolerant group with an open door policy, however its membership tends more to be late transitioners and remains stubbornly MtF. In providing a safe space I can see why those who don't fit those groups might be repelled by the thought of that safe space, after all coming out is intimidating enough without being in the company of people with whom you might feel you have little in common.
It's a shame, because it is from the things you do have in common with people with whom you otherwise share little that you can learn the most.
Yesterday evening saw their Christmas meeting. As always in a community hall in a suburb of Swindon though instead of sitting around drinking coffee we were eating buffet food. The impossibly glamorous trans lifestyle, eh! Our usual post-meeting trip to a very good Italian restaurant in the town centre will have to wait until next month. Some of our number put the boat out a little with the party dresses, I was little more conservative in a black top and maxi skirt.
This group follows the model of traditional trans support groups. It's a lot more open than some, but the format is pretty simple. An exclusively MtF crowd of everyone from deeply closeted transvestites of all persuasions through to long-ago transitioned transwomen meeting once a month to talk shop, drink coffee and eat biscuits. The group would love to see some FtM attendees, but unsurprisingly they see nothing in common with the MtF TV members.
Support groups like this one are like Marmite. You either love 'em or you hate 'em. A lot of people may attend one during their first steps from the closet before moving on as quickly as they can. They see it as merely another closet, and they've left that behind. Of course they're right, it can be a closet, if you let it. There are attendees for whom it's the only place they ever dress as female, for whom discovery in their home towns would mean violence and intimidation. But as I found out on my first outing, you leave the closet pretty quickly when you venture out into Swindon town centre on a Saturday night.
What I get from my attendance has slowly changed. From closet through support to social gathering, to even giving support sometimes. For me it's not a place just to present as female, after all I'm quite likely to be seen there as a scruffy bloke. I know the format has its faults, but it does fill a niche, and it's a hell of a lot better than the closet.
It has been interesting to watch from afar the support groups in other cities. Pub meets, restaurant groups, or ones like Swindon. Sometimes without an open door policy, with meetings exclusive to people identifying a particular way, or entire groups for specific subsections of our community only. I have a friend - long ago transitioned and married to a normal heterosexual bloke - who was turned away from one group because they thought her husband was an admirer. He's not, he's just a bloke. A nice bloke at that, she's a lucky girl. Or how about the group run as a private club by a well-off TV who has used it as an opportunity to create her own TV social life without leaving home. I call it the gilded closet, a place where you can go out to your heart's content in a schoolgirl outfit or whatever takes your fancy, yet never really go out. Fine if that's your thing, but when I hear of people's referrals being refused because the psych quite rightly points out they've not experienced the real world, that's not good.
If I were to find the perfect support group, it would have these things at its core: diversity and tolerance. People from all corners of our world, seeing past the sometimes challenging exteriors both MtF and FtM, presenting as whichever gender they feel comfortable in and expressing themselves however they see fit. I value the diversity of people I have encountered along the way, and I have found very few from whom I have not learned something, even those I haven't liked.
I am not belittling the organisers of the Swindon group when I say they haven't quite made it. Theirs is a extremely tolerant group with an open door policy, however its membership tends more to be late transitioners and remains stubbornly MtF. In providing a safe space I can see why those who don't fit those groups might be repelled by the thought of that safe space, after all coming out is intimidating enough without being in the company of people with whom you might feel you have little in common.
It's a shame, because it is from the things you do have in common with people with whom you otherwise share little that you can learn the most.
Sunday, 11 September 2011
Without enhancement
This week has featured a couple of significant landmarks for me as I navigate the choppy waters of alternate gender presentation. One was expected, the other wasn't, but they were both very welcome.
Last week I wrote about my hair having finally reached a length at which it can be presented in a female style. As I wrote then, last night I went out for the first time wigless presenting as female, to this month's Swindon TG Group meeting.
Fantastic, not having to worry about a wig.
I flatter myself that I don't look too bad in my wig, but I have never felt secure in it. Aside from a comedy moment in which it became hooked in a climbing rose at a friend's barbecue it has never parted company with my head, but it is the feeling that it could do so which has has haunted me. Maybe my head isn't a good shape or something, but I have always felt that the wig is trying to work its way upwards. A keen observer would probably notice my hairline oscillating over the course of an evening, hardly a good look.
So I was very happy indeed to spend the evening at the support group and join the usual meal at an Italian restaurant, all without a thought to the security of my coiffure. Nobody noticed me in the car park as we mixed with the Swindon late-night revellers, and my confidence knew no bounds.
That was the expected landmark, what about the unexpected one? An aspect of my medication that has rather crept up on me in the last month or two is that I seem to have experienced one of the side-effects of Finasteride. The thought of gynaecomastia triggers the imagination towards hoping for the kind of breast growth that might come to someone given a hormone prescription, so since I have resolutely failed to sport a chest that might make Dolly Parton proud I had always concluded that I had missed out on that one. But over the past month or so I've begun to realise that I've very slowly gained a little more there than I had before. Nothing you'd notice in my scruffy male guise, but let's say my man-boobs are a lot more wobbly than they used to be. In fact, if they are marshaled into place, they even start to resemble something that might have a cleavage, and without involving the yards of surgical tape employed to that effect by some people of my acquaintance. Could a bust, however small, have crept up on me? Time to find out.
Small bras in larger band sizes can be hard to come by. I'm fortunate in that my 38 inch band size places me within the normal female range, but it seems few women with my ribcage size are under-endowed. Fortunately the British standby on matters of female underwear, Marks and Spencer, do cover 38A in their range, so this afternoon when my wife and I found ourselves in time we paid M&S a visit.
I settled on their "2 sizes bigger" push-up bra. I've heard others praising this product so it was time to see whether it could work its magic on me. Sadly I didn't have the chutzpah to have a bra fitting in a crowded store while presenting as my scruffy bloke persona, so I had to make my purchase and try it on at home.
The result is rather pleasing. This bra is one of the more padded bras on the market, it seems to be more padding than bra. However when my meagre endowment is scooped up behind the padding it does give a pleasing curve above the cup and a definite, though small, cleavage. And it's comfortable to wear, something you can't always say for breastforms.
I have replaced breastforms with a bra that all but contains breastforms, but the key result here is like that of going wigless. Just as having my own hair puts me on the same footing as any other woman, so too does presenting a credible female bustline to the world using only enhancements made for natal women.
And those two coming together in the same weekend is nothing short of priceless.
Last week I wrote about my hair having finally reached a length at which it can be presented in a female style. As I wrote then, last night I went out for the first time wigless presenting as female, to this month's Swindon TG Group meeting.
Fantastic, not having to worry about a wig.
I flatter myself that I don't look too bad in my wig, but I have never felt secure in it. Aside from a comedy moment in which it became hooked in a climbing rose at a friend's barbecue it has never parted company with my head, but it is the feeling that it could do so which has has haunted me. Maybe my head isn't a good shape or something, but I have always felt that the wig is trying to work its way upwards. A keen observer would probably notice my hairline oscillating over the course of an evening, hardly a good look.
So I was very happy indeed to spend the evening at the support group and join the usual meal at an Italian restaurant, all without a thought to the security of my coiffure. Nobody noticed me in the car park as we mixed with the Swindon late-night revellers, and my confidence knew no bounds.
That was the expected landmark, what about the unexpected one? An aspect of my medication that has rather crept up on me in the last month or two is that I seem to have experienced one of the side-effects of Finasteride. The thought of gynaecomastia triggers the imagination towards hoping for the kind of breast growth that might come to someone given a hormone prescription, so since I have resolutely failed to sport a chest that might make Dolly Parton proud I had always concluded that I had missed out on that one. But over the past month or so I've begun to realise that I've very slowly gained a little more there than I had before. Nothing you'd notice in my scruffy male guise, but let's say my man-boobs are a lot more wobbly than they used to be. In fact, if they are marshaled into place, they even start to resemble something that might have a cleavage, and without involving the yards of surgical tape employed to that effect by some people of my acquaintance. Could a bust, however small, have crept up on me? Time to find out.
Small bras in larger band sizes can be hard to come by. I'm fortunate in that my 38 inch band size places me within the normal female range, but it seems few women with my ribcage size are under-endowed. Fortunately the British standby on matters of female underwear, Marks and Spencer, do cover 38A in their range, so this afternoon when my wife and I found ourselves in time we paid M&S a visit.
I settled on their "2 sizes bigger" push-up bra. I've heard others praising this product so it was time to see whether it could work its magic on me. Sadly I didn't have the chutzpah to have a bra fitting in a crowded store while presenting as my scruffy bloke persona, so I had to make my purchase and try it on at home.
The result is rather pleasing. This bra is one of the more padded bras on the market, it seems to be more padding than bra. However when my meagre endowment is scooped up behind the padding it does give a pleasing curve above the cup and a definite, though small, cleavage. And it's comfortable to wear, something you can't always say for breastforms.
I have replaced breastforms with a bra that all but contains breastforms, but the key result here is like that of going wigless. Just as having my own hair puts me on the same footing as any other woman, so too does presenting a credible female bustline to the world using only enhancements made for natal women.
And those two coming together in the same weekend is nothing short of priceless.
Monday, 8 August 2011
Wave goodbye to my wavemeter
For an electronic engineer, pieces of test equipment like the wavemeter form part of the tools of the trade. They are to us what hammers and tongs are to a blacksmith or brushes are to an artist. You build up your collection of instruments over your career and they are what gives you a window into whatever device you are working on. Without them you are relegated to simply being an end user, the electronic device is simply a black box with wires that either works or doesn't work.
So it feels a bit of a wrench to find myself giving away what was at one time a highly prized and rather useful piece of kit. It's almost as though a piece of my identity has been removed. But I last held a radio licence over a decade ago, haven't touched a transmitter in years and certainly have no use for a wavemeter calibrated to 10 GHz. Paula by comparison has regular need for such a device and I hope will find this one - a former US Navy unit and a very high quality piece of kit - to be very useful indeed.
It will no doubt be a rather amusing sight. Me turned out in full-on seven foot girl mode, manhandling a huge grey flight case from one car to the other. Where's a bloke when you need one eh!
Sunday, 12 June 2011
The Cold Light of Day
Yesterday was a day of firsts for me. It was my town's Pride day, and my wife was relaxed enough for me to go along a the girl rather than the scruffy bloke. So, first major daylight outing for me, plus first outing in my home town.
I guess a Pride event is not quite the same as the real world. It's a giant safe space full of gay people, hardly the same as a busy city centre on a Saturday afternoon. But it was a chance to be out a lot closer to the real world than I might otherwise be, so I was very anxious to take it.
And it proved to be rather entertaining. My confidence was high, the atmosphere was friendly and the other attendees provided plenty of entertainment. I was with a group of my local trans friends, we settled down in the crowd and had a picnic while watching the more flamboyant among the gay community.
Some people question why we should go to Pride events. We're not gay, they say, we're not part of their scene and our mission is to be invisible. Very true, none of our party were gay and I think we'd all just like to be unremarkable women just like any natal woman. But there are times when being just slightly visible is a good idea, and in a world where we still need allies if some of us are just a little visible at a Pride event it can't do any harm.
Yesterday morning was sunny and warm. I thus selected a floaty summery top and jeans for the afternoon, imagining a summery picnic in the park. Big mistake. Almost as we arrived at the event a wall of dark clouds rolled up along with a chilly wind. It could have been worse, but you might say I suffered for my art.
So that was it. Jenny at large. Normal, unremarkable, enjoying herself. Another couple of barriers broken.
I guess a Pride event is not quite the same as the real world. It's a giant safe space full of gay people, hardly the same as a busy city centre on a Saturday afternoon. But it was a chance to be out a lot closer to the real world than I might otherwise be, so I was very anxious to take it.
And it proved to be rather entertaining. My confidence was high, the atmosphere was friendly and the other attendees provided plenty of entertainment. I was with a group of my local trans friends, we settled down in the crowd and had a picnic while watching the more flamboyant among the gay community.
Some people question why we should go to Pride events. We're not gay, they say, we're not part of their scene and our mission is to be invisible. Very true, none of our party were gay and I think we'd all just like to be unremarkable women just like any natal woman. But there are times when being just slightly visible is a good idea, and in a world where we still need allies if some of us are just a little visible at a Pride event it can't do any harm.
Yesterday morning was sunny and warm. I thus selected a floaty summery top and jeans for the afternoon, imagining a summery picnic in the park. Big mistake. Almost as we arrived at the event a wall of dark clouds rolled up along with a chilly wind. It could have been worse, but you might say I suffered for my art.
So that was it. Jenny at large. Normal, unremarkable, enjoying herself. Another couple of barriers broken.
Wednesday, 13 April 2011
Trans-cending gender norms, UWE Bristol
Yesterday was spent in a lecture theatre at the University of the West of England, attending the 'Trans-cending gender norms' pre-conference event. It was the first such conference I had attended and I found it to be an extremely worthwhile experience, both for the subjects under discussion and for the networking opportunities.
Attending were a mixed crowd of academics and trans people, including a couple of blokes from Qwest FTM UK, a pair of ladies from the Gender Trust, me (sadly in bloke mode) and my friend Alison wearing our Swindon TG Group hats, and unexpectedly my local friend Rebecca in her professional capacity as an interested academic.
I didn't expect to find myself talking to linguists about the use of language in relation to transgender, something that I have a keen interest in and is not unconnected with what I do for a living, given that analysing huge tracts of text forms part of my job.
So my thanks to Silvia, the event organiser, and to the other attendees for a very interesting day.
Attending were a mixed crowd of academics and trans people, including a couple of blokes from Qwest FTM UK, a pair of ladies from the Gender Trust, me (sadly in bloke mode) and my friend Alison wearing our Swindon TG Group hats, and unexpectedly my local friend Rebecca in her professional capacity as an interested academic.
I didn't expect to find myself talking to linguists about the use of language in relation to transgender, something that I have a keen interest in and is not unconnected with what I do for a living, given that analysing huge tracts of text forms part of my job.
So my thanks to Silvia, the event organiser, and to the other attendees for a very interesting day.
Sunday, 13 March 2011
It's 2011, right?
At the end of the afternoon I exercised my parents' dog in a countryside basking in March sunlight. I phoned my friend Dawn, after last night's support group meeting she looked so sad when everyone went their separate ways so I wanted to see all was well with her world.
About a week ago a friend of Dawn's died of a heart attack. Some of you might also have known her personally but I only encountered her online. She was a very spirited lady of advancing years whose very late transition gave hope to all of us younger people who have no route forward.
When I rang, I found Dawn upset. She had been told that the family are insisting on having her friend's funeral conducted and having her buried as her former male self. She spent a lifetime escaping the bloke, and having achieved her aim her family are to go against her wishes in death.
This is 2011, right?
As I stood talking to Dawn this tree was in front of me, lit starkly by the sun as it fell towards the horizon. I know what it will remind me of every time I pass it from now on.
Tuesday, 8 February 2011
A day out of the office
It does say on my job description that I am encouraged to attend conferences. But even at her most optimistic my boss couldn't find an angle to justify this one on work time.
Last autumn I participated in a research programme run by a grad student from the University of the West of England in Bristol. She was interviewing trans-people for her thesis on transgender issues, and since having supported my wife through her postgrad years I have a soft spot for those at that particular level of academic struggle and her approach to the whole issue was very sensitive and well thought out I was only too happy to oblige.
In a couple of months time the same department will be running a conference: "Trans-cending gender norms", and it was this that I was discussing with my boss. Depending on a few other factors I should be able to attend the event.
Now it might be said that someone in my slightly annoying position should see an occasion like this one as a rare chance to spend a day in the real world in girl mode. And I can't deny, that's a thought not without attraction. I can do it. But in this case I think the scruffy bloke is more appropriate. People expect a girl like me to be trans, discovering the same of a bloke like me is definitely one of those moments of widening perception.
Last autumn I participated in a research programme run by a grad student from the University of the West of England in Bristol. She was interviewing trans-people for her thesis on transgender issues, and since having supported my wife through her postgrad years I have a soft spot for those at that particular level of academic struggle and her approach to the whole issue was very sensitive and well thought out I was only too happy to oblige.
In a couple of months time the same department will be running a conference: "Trans-cending gender norms", and it was this that I was discussing with my boss. Depending on a few other factors I should be able to attend the event.
Now it might be said that someone in my slightly annoying position should see an occasion like this one as a rare chance to spend a day in the real world in girl mode. And I can't deny, that's a thought not without attraction. I can do it. But in this case I think the scruffy bloke is more appropriate. People expect a girl like me to be trans, discovering the same of a bloke like me is definitely one of those moments of widening perception.
Tuesday, 16 November 2010
Missing person
On Saturday evening someone was absent from our meeting. Hollie is a girl who's just edging herself out of the closet. She started a blog and was slowly exploring what all this mess means. Like me she lives about an hour's drive from Swindon so she was intending to come along to the support group this month.
But then she split up with her girlfriend and stopped posting, and now I find her blog has been deleted. It would have been great to see her on Saturday but her confidence has obviously taken such a knock as to set her back.
I'm guessing most of the readers of this blog will know all about the closet. It's a crap place to be. I was lucky enough to have my wife to talk to as I edged out of my personal closet but not everyone is so fortunate. I feel for the Hollies among us because I was there myself for so long. I hope Hollie finds the closet door again before too long and makes her way out before it slams shut again.
But then she split up with her girlfriend and stopped posting, and now I find her blog has been deleted. It would have been great to see her on Saturday but her confidence has obviously taken such a knock as to set her back.
I'm guessing most of the readers of this blog will know all about the closet. It's a crap place to be. I was lucky enough to have my wife to talk to as I edged out of my personal closet but not everyone is so fortunate. I feel for the Hollies among us because I was there myself for so long. I hope Hollie finds the closet door again before too long and makes her way out before it slams shut again.
Monday, 11 October 2010
A rare outing
On Saturday I had another of my very rare excursions in the real world presenting as female. This time my wife was with me for the first time. Nothing too challenging, just our usual post-support-group restaurant visit.
The thing that most struck me was how natural it all felt. When I last did this back in May I had a lot of fun, but as you might expect I was rather nervous. This time it just felt right, no worries standing in a queue for a parking ticket, just enjoying the moment. Walking along the street, laughing at the incongruity of it all.
Our party included a group of regulars and someone on her first time out. Unfortunately for her, her presentation was significantly less than ideal, she was very nervous and her presence drew some attention to our party in the restaurant. This made my wife rather nervous too, but she made it and I'm proud of her.
I'm sure some of you who read this will have also have had encounters with similarly presenting members of our sisterhood. Hell, I'm pretty sure there are people who'd put me in that category because I'm under no illusions as to my passing ability, the best I can do is convey an impression of having made an effort. Sadly I'm afraid our companion had not achieved that.
So I felt guilty for judging her on her appearnace. My wife was my primary concern that evening and her comfort zone was definitely being eroded. But this is a support group and we are all there to give support no matter what.
Two regular attendees in Swindon are older trans women who adopt a "mother hen" role with people on their first time out. I have no idea if either of them read this blog so I hope they won't mind me describing them thus, but I am much indebted to them for helping me in this way back in May. They performed a similar role on Saturday with our newcomer. That's the real support in a support group, so much more than just a bunch of people sitting around drinking tea and talking shop.
So, a Saturday evening well spent, a big step for my wife and an ample demonstration of a support group in action. I have no idea how long it'll be before I get out again but there's no hurry. Better to get it right than to have a bad experience.
The thing that most struck me was how natural it all felt. When I last did this back in May I had a lot of fun, but as you might expect I was rather nervous. This time it just felt right, no worries standing in a queue for a parking ticket, just enjoying the moment. Walking along the street, laughing at the incongruity of it all.
Our party included a group of regulars and someone on her first time out. Unfortunately for her, her presentation was significantly less than ideal, she was very nervous and her presence drew some attention to our party in the restaurant. This made my wife rather nervous too, but she made it and I'm proud of her.
I'm sure some of you who read this will have also have had encounters with similarly presenting members of our sisterhood. Hell, I'm pretty sure there are people who'd put me in that category because I'm under no illusions as to my passing ability, the best I can do is convey an impression of having made an effort. Sadly I'm afraid our companion had not achieved that.
So I felt guilty for judging her on her appearnace. My wife was my primary concern that evening and her comfort zone was definitely being eroded. But this is a support group and we are all there to give support no matter what.
Two regular attendees in Swindon are older trans women who adopt a "mother hen" role with people on their first time out. I have no idea if either of them read this blog so I hope they won't mind me describing them thus, but I am much indebted to them for helping me in this way back in May. They performed a similar role on Saturday with our newcomer. That's the real support in a support group, so much more than just a bunch of people sitting around drinking tea and talking shop.
So, a Saturday evening well spent, a big step for my wife and an ample demonstration of a support group in action. I have no idea how long it'll be before I get out again but there's no hurry. Better to get it right than to have a bad experience.
Tuesday, 14 September 2010
Busy in a good way
It feels strange to be sitting down in front of the Blogger writing screen after such a gap. Only a few days in reality, it seems like forever. It's not that I've had nothing to say, it's just that I've not had the time to say it. It's been a busy week.
The job's turning out well. A lot of my colleagues are female so the contrast could not be greater with my previous employer. And without the stress from an annoying commute and the office atmosphere I'm feeling a lot better too. I looked in the mirror the other day and saw the whites of my eyes. Not bloodshot, for the first time in nearly a year.
Last weekend brought little opportunity to sit down either. The support group meeting on Saturday was followed by a motorcycle rideout on Sunday. Saturday evening saw a new frontier for me, I drove home in girl mode with my wife. Though I got changed at my friend Dawn's house, her comfort zone has not previously been relaxed enough for us to do this. In reality driving a car for an hour in the dark is just as unexciting in girl mode as it is in bloke mode, but that's not the point, it was a step removed from our usual safe space. If anyone noticed the extra-large girl who parked up in Dawn's road that evening I hope they'd have seen her confidently making her way, I certainly felt natural and in control rather than nervous.
Then on Sunday, a rideout with a difference. By coincidence on the same weekend as the support group, five t-girls on bikes, two genetic girl pillions and one t-girl in an insanely fast car thrashing their way round the Berkshire and Wiltshire Downs. At the end of a perfect day we spent an hour just sitting in the sun near the Uffington White Horse gazing out across the Vale of the White Horse, perfect atmospheric conditions meaning we could see five counties.
As all's going so well it seems unfortunate that I report I'm still feeling the pangs of GD. In fact I'm feeling more of the girl about me than ever just as I write this, even though without the extra stress I've had in previous months it's a lot more bearable than it has been. I can handle being girl-brained just at the moment if the rest of my life is in order. A surprising conclusion is that there is a positive side to not being able to shake the GD, it helps lay to rest that lingering fear that all this might be some kind of delusion. A crazy thing to worry about, but everything's crazy in this game isn't it.
The job's turning out well. A lot of my colleagues are female so the contrast could not be greater with my previous employer. And without the stress from an annoying commute and the office atmosphere I'm feeling a lot better too. I looked in the mirror the other day and saw the whites of my eyes. Not bloodshot, for the first time in nearly a year.
Last weekend brought little opportunity to sit down either. The support group meeting on Saturday was followed by a motorcycle rideout on Sunday. Saturday evening saw a new frontier for me, I drove home in girl mode with my wife. Though I got changed at my friend Dawn's house, her comfort zone has not previously been relaxed enough for us to do this. In reality driving a car for an hour in the dark is just as unexciting in girl mode as it is in bloke mode, but that's not the point, it was a step removed from our usual safe space. If anyone noticed the extra-large girl who parked up in Dawn's road that evening I hope they'd have seen her confidently making her way, I certainly felt natural and in control rather than nervous.
Then on Sunday, a rideout with a difference. By coincidence on the same weekend as the support group, five t-girls on bikes, two genetic girl pillions and one t-girl in an insanely fast car thrashing their way round the Berkshire and Wiltshire Downs. At the end of a perfect day we spent an hour just sitting in the sun near the Uffington White Horse gazing out across the Vale of the White Horse, perfect atmospheric conditions meaning we could see five counties.
As all's going so well it seems unfortunate that I report I'm still feeling the pangs of GD. In fact I'm feeling more of the girl about me than ever just as I write this, even though without the extra stress I've had in previous months it's a lot more bearable than it has been. I can handle being girl-brained just at the moment if the rest of my life is in order. A surprising conclusion is that there is a positive side to not being able to shake the GD, it helps lay to rest that lingering fear that all this might be some kind of delusion. A crazy thing to worry about, but everything's crazy in this game isn't it.
Sunday, 15 August 2010
Ain't never gonna be like that
I find myself rather sad today. For once not for the girl I never had the chance to grow up as, nor the woman I might be but am not, but for the bloke I've never successfully managed to be. I thought I had the whole bloke thing sorted, but can't honestly stick to that line any more, can I.
Yesterday in Swindon it rained. A lot. A "Free hugs" lady passed us while my wife was elsewhere and delivered on the promise on her t-shirt to my two companions, but passed me by. This amused me, for some unaccountable reason.
Yesterday in Swindon it rained. A lot. A "Free hugs" lady passed us while my wife was elsewhere and delivered on the promise on her t-shirt to my two companions, but passed me by. This amused me, for some unaccountable reason.
Saturday, 14 August 2010
Drab deflation
Tomorrow, in the company of some friends I will be attending Swindon Pride. (Looks at clock) No, today in the company of some friends I will be attending Swindon Pride. This one's been on the calendar for a while, anticipated because it's a rare chance for me for an outing in the real world en femme.
So far so good. Unfortunately though it probably isn't going to happen as I've described it above, I fully intend to be there but it's looking as though I'll be there in my everyday oversized bloke guise, scruffy jeans, stubble and all. Why? It has become obvious that such a lengthy public excursion en femme in her company has edged outside my wife's comfort zone. What was previously acceptable has retreated into the dangerous as the moment of its occurrence has approached, and to avoid a difficult afternoon for both of us it's probably easiest if I just forgo the dressing and go along in bloke mode.
On one side I don't think she's fully aware what the chance to go out as girl means in terms of my needing the feminine expression to stop myself going potty, but on the other side it's obvious that this has become too much for her at the moment and I have no desire to push things. This condition has told me more than I ever needed to know about stress and depression, so why should I wish to bestow those problems upon her?
So tomorrow the chances are I'll be bloke all day. It's not all bad, as bloke I avoid all that tedious getting ready, the endless agonising about my choice of outfit, makeup or even shoes. After all, who in their right mind would want that!
So far so good. Unfortunately though it probably isn't going to happen as I've described it above, I fully intend to be there but it's looking as though I'll be there in my everyday oversized bloke guise, scruffy jeans, stubble and all. Why? It has become obvious that such a lengthy public excursion en femme in her company has edged outside my wife's comfort zone. What was previously acceptable has retreated into the dangerous as the moment of its occurrence has approached, and to avoid a difficult afternoon for both of us it's probably easiest if I just forgo the dressing and go along in bloke mode.
On one side I don't think she's fully aware what the chance to go out as girl means in terms of my needing the feminine expression to stop myself going potty, but on the other side it's obvious that this has become too much for her at the moment and I have no desire to push things. This condition has told me more than I ever needed to know about stress and depression, so why should I wish to bestow those problems upon her?
So tomorrow the chances are I'll be bloke all day. It's not all bad, as bloke I avoid all that tedious getting ready, the endless agonising about my choice of outfit, makeup or even shoes. After all, who in their right mind would want that!
Monday, 12 July 2010
Women drivers eh!
Saturday saw a rare outing for me en femme in the real world, rather than changing on-site at the support group meeting my wife and I went beforehand to have dinner with another local couple whose situation mirrors ours. J and S are a bit older than us and J is lucky enough to have enviable presentation that puts mine in the shade, but J's battle to hang in there for S mirrors mine for my wife so we have a lot in common.
It is certainly a help to sit down face-to-face with someone on a similar path. I hope talking to me was of as much worth to J as talking to her was for me and I think our wives found similar benefit.
So off we went to Swindon while our other halves stayed behind to chat, drink wine and watch the sunset. I am pleased to note that I was happy with my presentation, I think I looked as if I'd made an effort. I certainly detected no adverse attention in my direction, a little work and confidence goes a long way.
The meeting attracted a smaller than usual turnout, some of the regulars being off at Sparkle. Biscuits and coffee in a community hall in Swindon may have less to offer than a huge celebration of transgender identity up in Manchester attracting thousands from all over the place, but it had its usual friendly and relaxed atmosphere and best of all those nice people at Swindon council had replaced the hard plastic chairs with ones sporting nifty red cushions. The glamour of a provincial transgendered lifestyle!
J drives an eminently respectable estate car that happens to have an engine which would leave the Turbocharged Rollerskate in the dust. The perfect machine for burning away Swindon's chavs in their farty little hatchbacks. The ignominy of being left for dead by two respectable ladies in a car that looks more suited for taking the Labrador up to the Ridgeway. Women drivers eh!
It is certainly a help to sit down face-to-face with someone on a similar path. I hope talking to me was of as much worth to J as talking to her was for me and I think our wives found similar benefit.
So off we went to Swindon while our other halves stayed behind to chat, drink wine and watch the sunset. I am pleased to note that I was happy with my presentation, I think I looked as if I'd made an effort. I certainly detected no adverse attention in my direction, a little work and confidence goes a long way.
The meeting attracted a smaller than usual turnout, some of the regulars being off at Sparkle. Biscuits and coffee in a community hall in Swindon may have less to offer than a huge celebration of transgender identity up in Manchester attracting thousands from all over the place, but it had its usual friendly and relaxed atmosphere and best of all those nice people at Swindon council had replaced the hard plastic chairs with ones sporting nifty red cushions. The glamour of a provincial transgendered lifestyle!
J drives an eminently respectable estate car that happens to have an engine which would leave the Turbocharged Rollerskate in the dust. The perfect machine for burning away Swindon's chavs in their farty little hatchbacks. The ignominy of being left for dead by two respectable ladies in a car that looks more suited for taking the Labrador up to the Ridgeway. Women drivers eh!
Sunday, 13 June 2010
Must be my sister or something
I've got the stature to be a drag queen, but not the Yubaba wig. Yesterday afternoon was spent sitting in a park in my home town having a picnic with a few local t-girls and flying a very small metaphorical flag at our local LGBT Pride. A sort of LGBt, if you see what I mean. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, especially the police officers because their other choice was an animal rights demo on the other side of town.
It was a bit too close to home for my wife's comfort zone so I was there as my day-to-day unremarkable bloke. Stubble and scruffy. Come four o'clock I made my excuses and left, I had a bit of preparation to do because yesterday evening was my local support group meeting. Attending in full-on seven foot guise thanks to the folks at Le Dame and going the distance, demonstrating standing on one leg, even toc-toc-tocing across the floor. My proving ground found at last! I have to admit though, changing into a pair of trainers afterwards was blessed relief.
You know you've made a success of your female presentation when someone who knows you in bloke mode but has never seen you as girl genuinely doesn't realise who you are. Even when you've spent the afternoon with them and announced that you'll see them in the evening at the support group. Yes, I'm pretty sure she was genuinely surprised. Made my evening, it did.
It was a bit too close to home for my wife's comfort zone so I was there as my day-to-day unremarkable bloke. Stubble and scruffy. Come four o'clock I made my excuses and left, I had a bit of preparation to do because yesterday evening was my local support group meeting. Attending in full-on seven foot guise thanks to the folks at Le Dame and going the distance, demonstrating standing on one leg, even toc-toc-tocing across the floor. My proving ground found at last! I have to admit though, changing into a pair of trainers afterwards was blessed relief.
You know you've made a success of your female presentation when someone who knows you in bloke mode but has never seen you as girl genuinely doesn't realise who you are. Even when you've spent the afternoon with them and announced that you'll see them in the evening at the support group. Yes, I'm pretty sure she was genuinely surprised. Made my evening, it did.
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Gonna bag me a banker
My letter to Graham Beale at Nationwide.
Dear Sir,I wish to register my concern at your recent television commercial featuring David Walliams and Matt Lucas of Little Britain fame in their guise as the transvestite characters Florence and Emily.I feel you have been misled by your advertising people on two counts.First, these particular characters are grossly offensive to the transgendered community with their grotesque portrayal of the worst possible stereotype. These are not a drag act portraying genetic female characters such as Lilly Savage or Brenda and Audrey from the Bounty/Plenty kitchen towel adverts, these are a pair of comedians seeking cheap laughs at the expense of a vulnerable and marginalised group that does not need such negative mainstream portrayals of themselves forced on the public at large. Because of these idiots, transgendered and transsexual people in the real world have to endure a new set of insults, and now you are helping perpetuate them.Second, I do not think you are aware just how many transgendered people will see these adverts and be offended by your brand. You might be thinking “So what? A few transsexuals are a bit hot under the collar, a storm in a teacup, really!”. To which I'd answer this: the transsexuals who are living in the female role are merely the tip of the iceberg. Take a look around your office, or better still take a look around your busiest branch. Your customers, that is. I can't speak for the women, but as many as ten percent of the men will have transgendered tendencies. If you saw me in the street for example you wouldn't give me a second look, yet though I look like just another happily married bloke I'm transgendered and have the medical diagnosis of gender dysphoria to prove it. There are a lot of people out there with the same condition who like me for whatever reason can't transition to a female role, and when you add in the far higher numbers of part-time transvestites, genderqueers and other groups within our community you are looking at a huge number of potential customers. For instance I am a member of a couple of organisations for transgendered people who number their membership in the tens of thousands. And that is only in my particular segment of the community. I've even heard it said by the statisticians among us that there are more gender variant people than there are people with red hair. We walk among you, and you just don't see us. As you look around you ask yourself this: not “Are any of these guys trans?”, but “Which of these guys are trans?”, because I guarantee some of them will be and they won't be the ones you'd expect.In conclusion, by hiring Lucas and Walliams to do this advert your advertising people have offended a far larger unseen potential customer base than you realise, and have firmly associated that offence with your brand.I'd like to urge you to do the decent thing and dump this despicable advert. If you wish to broaden your mind on the transgendered community as a whole, I attend your local transgender support group in Swindon and would be happy to take you to one of its meetings.Yours faithfully, (Me-as-bloke)
Sunday, 9 May 2010
Débutante
Sadly there was no white ballgown for me to wear and I didn't meet the Queen.
Yesterday evening, I made my debut in the real world presenting as female. There was very little of the worry I expected, it all felt completely natural and I had a great time.
First up was my normal support group meeting with its usual attendees. A convoluted plan involving changing at a friends house having worked to perfection and the drive having passed uneventfully, I was outside the hall and ready to go. A quick makeup and hair check in the rear-view mirror and off I went. Remember the posture, lose the bloke walk. Blimey, that was easy!
A grand entrance is ruined slightly when you have to duck for the damn door frame.
After the meeting a load of us went for our usual meal at a very nice Italian restaurant. A very friendly place with excellent food, though a slight challenge for me because it is situated in a rather busy town centre, and this being Saturday night you get all sorts out on the street. Including us. :)
Hell, just go for it.
I doubt I was fooling anyone, but I couldn't care less. Being large and loud and with an ability to be somewhat in-your-face I was just stealing a hefty slice of bloke self-confidence and seizing the role. And having a lot of fun in the process.
So, I've done it. And come away grinning ear-to-ear. I'd say that's a result.
Yesterday evening, I made my debut in the real world presenting as female. There was very little of the worry I expected, it all felt completely natural and I had a great time.
First up was my normal support group meeting with its usual attendees. A convoluted plan involving changing at a friends house having worked to perfection and the drive having passed uneventfully, I was outside the hall and ready to go. A quick makeup and hair check in the rear-view mirror and off I went. Remember the posture, lose the bloke walk. Blimey, that was easy!
A grand entrance is ruined slightly when you have to duck for the damn door frame.
After the meeting a load of us went for our usual meal at a very nice Italian restaurant. A very friendly place with excellent food, though a slight challenge for me because it is situated in a rather busy town centre, and this being Saturday night you get all sorts out on the street. Including us. :)
Hell, just go for it.
I doubt I was fooling anyone, but I couldn't care less. Being large and loud and with an ability to be somewhat in-your-face I was just stealing a hefty slice of bloke self-confidence and seizing the role. And having a lot of fun in the process.
So, I've done it. And come away grinning ear-to-ear. I'd say that's a result.
Saturday, 20 February 2010
Swindon TG group
Just a quick post, last weekend my wife and I attended the Swindon TG group for the first time. And I have to say I'm glad we did. A very friendly bunch of both trans ladies and their partners, mostly a little bit older than me. I was there in bloke form because I was too wuss-ass to dress first time but hey! you have to take things at your own pace.
Definitely worth attending, if I can find my way through the impenetrable Swindon suburbia we'll be back again next month. Who knows, a giant-sized girl might even make an appearance.
Definitely worth attending, if I can find my way through the impenetrable Swindon suburbia we'll be back again next month. Who knows, a giant-sized girl might even make an appearance.
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