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Thoughts, hints, opinions, ideas, etc., on being transgendered

Jane's Journey
By Jane Fleming


There are times when I find myself able to think consecutively.  This is not one of them.  So what follows will be some random thoughts and observations.

There are many factors involved when one decides to transition, not the least of which is the decision itself.  In my late teens and early twenties I came to the decision that it would not be practical for me to try to live as a woman.  I was too tall, too wide, too hairy, too deep-voiced, too masculine looking, etc. etc.  And a few forays across the line in subsequent years, when I was consistently read, reinforced that decision.  When I considered going out again thereafter, my late wife would say, "We tried that and it didn’t work."

It was many years later that I found that it could in fact work.  Electrolysis and hormones helped.  Without the work I’ve done on the voice I never would have had the nerve to try to function in society.  And I think that aging overall brings with it some benefit.  Younger women are scrutinized as sex fodder by men and as competition by women; at age fifty, people don’t seem to pay me a whole lot of attention.  But perhaps most important was my inner perspective.  A friend who has known about my gender quandary for decades said succinctly, "Back then you were out playing Jane.  Now you’re out being Jane."

We’ve heard so much advice as to how important our attitude is when we’re interacting with the world.  Experience bears witness to that.  It seems to be a fact that if I question who I am, others will as well

In prior years, if I went into a store as a man I’d be focused on what I was there to buy - not on whether I was being ‘read’ or on what I might be wearing.  I was un self-conscious, in other words.  Eventually that un self-consciousness began to happen as a woman for periods of time. It was eye-opening to me in my period of part-time living to find patches of time - a few hours, perhaps - when I would be totally unaware of anything incongruous about myself and what I was doing.  Then on occasion things would be going swimmingly until I would ‘wake up’ to my situation - "My God, am I really doing this?".  At that point it was helpful to remind myself consciously: "This is just who you are now.  You’re not trying to fool anyone."

At that time I developed my own sense and definition of ‘passing’.  This is basically an attitude of: "I would prefer that people assume I’m a genetic woman, but I can never know what anybody really thinks about me unless he says something.  As long as I can lead my life how and as who I want to without conflict, I consider that I’m passing adequately."  I realized that some people were bound to have doubts.  And the most effective counter to those doubts would be my own certainty.  Much as I dislike expressing it this way, in some ways the juxtaposition of doubt and certainty is almost akin to a psychic game of ‘chicken’ - except that instead of cars heading at each other, it may be attitudes.  And my certainty that "this is who I am" will prevail over any others’ doubts.

That psychic shield faltered most dramatically one night about half past midnight in a redneck bar in Elkridge, Maryland.  I knew from the pickup trucks parked outside that I was pushing the envelope, but I’d had a long cross-country flight, the town was rolled up tight, and I wanted a bedtime beer.  A drunk slurring his words wandered over to my table and asked me several times whether I was male or female.  I kept replying ‘female’ to his persistent questioning, finally asked what he was, and he went muttering back to his table. (Geez - I wasn’t even dressed like a hooker !)  I had a funeral to go to that morning, and the evening had lost its charm, so it seemed time for a dignified exit.  Obviously, I wouldn’t recommend putting oneself in such a situation.  But even though it was not at all elegantly played out, I felt that my inner certainty kept the situation from getting ugly.

The phrase "Real Life Test" grates on me in a way.  Yet I constructed my own - not to satisfy a therapist, but to test for myself whether I could satisfactorily live as a woman.  During a period of several months I went into male mode for a few days a month to let the face grow out enough for electrolysis.  But I saved all other interactions with the world for the days when I could do them en femme.  Needless to say, being unemployed at the time made it much easier to do this.

This test period settled my doubts before I committed to living full time. It really was an experiment, as I did not know what to expect.  I likely would not have had the courage to proceed if I had discovered that the quality of my life would have been unbearable - if I had been greeted by peasants bearing torches and pitchforks from every direction.  But that turned out not to be the case.

I suppose that from a therapist’s viewpoint the move to living full time would be considered when I entered RLT.  But to me it was just RL - Real Life.  It was not a decision or a change enacted in order to qualify for surgery, but just to be living as the person I was comfortable being.

Transition is really a process, not a goal.  The poet e.e. cummings wrote a verse that began:  "dying is fine) but death…."  That sentiment was also phrased by Bob Dylan as "he  not busy being born is busy dying."

A piece of music is played outside of time.  If the goal were to get to the last note of a symphony, the greatest conductor would be the one whose orchestra played the fastest.  Meaning is in the moment, in the movement - not focused on a goal down the road.

With the way the Standards of Care are structured, the movement toward surgery is of necessity a progression involving certain steps and goals.  But I think it is a mistake to fixate on that one event.  Ultimately, the only thing cured by SRS is the absence of a vagina.  And after that is dealt with, we still have all the challenges of the rest of mankind:  old age, sickness, death, loneliness, lack of meaning, emptiness, etc.

So it disturbed me the other day to hear a pre-op friend say how she’s looking forward to getting through SRS "so I can get on with my life."  Because so much of the life that is to be got on with then is also now.
  ©1998 by Jane Fleming. All rights reserved.

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