Once again, my blog is being neglected. I have been trying to post here, but lately everything I write seems… terrible. I suppose I have been trying to keep a certain standard here and when something just doesn’t work I do not even begin to know how to fix it. I’m sure some of what I have been working on lately will make it to this space soon enough. The truth is, I need to blog a lot more. Use it or lose it, right?
Generally, I write a blog post in Word first and then work it until I am satisfied and copy and paste it to this blog. I often tweak it a bit once I see how it looks on WordPress. But tonight, I’m writing directly into the posting box, so this is live. Well, kind of.
I was going to post something I wrote tonight which I am still not happy with, but I have been inspired from reading some of my old LiveJournal entries from a few years ago, so change of plans.
That was a challenging time for me. I had kicked down so many walls I hid behind for my entire life, and I was exposed and not quite sure what my next move was. At that time, in January of 2008, I had come to a crossroads and needed to move in some direction. One cannot stand at a crossroads too long – the devil visits after some time. Everyone knows that.
I attended my very first trans-support group meeting on the same January night that I told my mom I was transgender. I had told my younger brother in June of the previous year and over that time I was sure he had told my mom, as since then she had been making provocative remarks to me. I was SURE she knew, and it was just a matter of me making it official.
I guess moms have powers of illusion because my mom did NOT know, it turns out. When I told her, her reply was simply, “Huh. That’s weird. Well, I can’t help you there.” It wasn’t what I had expected and I was happy it wasn’t a hostile reply. So many people I know have been literally disowned by their families for daring to be themselves. It’s sad.
The support meeting went well and one thing I noted was I didn’t feel out of place there. As much as I was trying to fight it still, being transsexual, and needing to transition, were still on the radar. Shortly afterwards I found a therapist in Vancouver who specializes in gender identity issues. I was pretty messed up when I first saw her. Two years later she told me that when I first walked in the door she hadn’t given me much chance for a successful transition. I was lugging around too much baggage, stuck in addictions, and had so little self confidence and self esteem.
Tonight I read a post I had done at that time, about how impossible everything felt to me. Back then, I could not imagine what my future would look like if I transitioned. I couldn’t even imagine what I would look like (turns out it’s more like my mom and other female relatives than Nicole Kidman, which is a bit of a shock). And yet I could not imagine staying where I was, or worse, going back. Reading this today, I am filled with pride at yester-me, that person who pushed us off shore and set sail for this new found land of True Self. That was not an easy thing to do, for I had lived a life of gender repudiation, and declaring myself to be one or the other, male or female, seemed to cross my convictions. Except, maybe they weren’t conviction so much as they were a way of defusing the bomb that had ticked in me since birth. If gender did not matter, then what did it matter that I was born the wrong gender physically? This was the premise that enabled me to limp through life.
I shall let yester-me tell her feelings and fears, from January 16, 2008:
“So trying to conjure up this vision of completion, progress, happiness, fulfillment….seems slippery. I sometimes think I almost get it, that I could almost do this thing for myself….and then it slides through my fingers and I wonder how the hell I think I could ever acheive something so monumental and life changing.
And yet…. there’s this urge that’s been rising up in me to start swimming, to be done with the witless drifting and strike out for land before it’s too late. But the currents drag me, and I am scared I may swim the wrong way, or strike out for land that is too far to reach, or worse yet, reach land but discover it remains foreign soil under my feet.
I’m not sure I can occupy binary gender land.
So why would I try?
But this Sea of Drifting isn’t doing anything for me. I’m tiring. I think I see blood in the water.”
So I swam.
I put my head down and just started swimming. In June of 2009, I rode over the hard white water of the reefs, and then pulled myself up and onto the beach. I was finally on solid ground, after a lifetime of floundering. I was home.