It's been a very long six months leading up to this point. Epic battles waged by (many) different people who I am forever grateful to help me secure the funding I need to go forward with this. My partner getting cut into the redundancy side of the workforce. Starting a new business. Phew.
I knew 2010 was going to be a cracker but we're only in March!
Last Tuesday I got partially paid the huge wack of commission money owed to me by the company I work for, which was the final barrier against actually starting my transition process. After 8 years of research, wistful wandering around the net viewing transmen sites and wishing, I'm finally in a position to get the outside of me to match the inside.
Let me explain a little more about GID and how I feel on a daily basis. Imagine, if you can, waking up each morning and feeling like you're wearing a very ill-fitting sumo suit. It's not only baggy, but parts of it are unweildy and you can't move very well inside of this thing.. it sort of.. sits 'on' you. You adjust your gait, slouch your shoulders and kind of fold in on yourself as you travel through the day.
You can't hug the people you love properly with it on, you can't have sex without being acutely aware that it's there which effects your ability to be 'in the moment'. You don't like your lover actually touching the suit so it becomes awkward for any deep level of intimacy and things become very one sided in the bedroom. You have difficulty in standing up in front of a crowd and speaking because you know they're seeing you through the suit, and not what you actually are.
To try and deal better with the suit you put on several layers of support around the chest area by way of bra's/sports bras/anything that will stop the reminding movement that's present with every step. While this provides a small measure of relief, your shoulders ache from the increased force needed to strap tightly enough, then your back aches and most afternoon's you end up with a raging headache.
You go to bed, uncomfortable but at least free of the supporting strapping so your shoulders can take a break, and then your partner tries to cuddle into you and rest her head on your chest, but again, the suit gets in the way.
And each day that you wake up you know one very important and crushing thing.
You can't take it off. It never stops.
So that's me, I walk down the streets of my life not fitting. It's a different feeling to being on the outskirts of a social group, or a racial group, because while I completely acknowledge people struggle greatly with those challenges, it's very, very hard not being able to 'fit' within yourself on such a fundamental scale as your gender identity.
Throughout most of my life there was a large focus on my mane of long hair. It was a living, breathing thing that my mother had proudly displayed to her social set during my childhood and earned me many a pat on the head. As soon as I was old enough to understand I carried a brush with me everywhere and took great pains to ensure it was tanglefree and in best possible condition for show.
This naturally translated into my teen set and my hair became a defining point as a method of identity. The women in my social circle would stroke it, it was commented on, and yet for some reason I was incredibly uncomfortable looking in the mirror while having it cut by a stylist, so it remained growing and wild for most of my teenage years.
Come adulthood and the requirements of a workplace where such hair isn't considered a professional asset, trips to the hairdresser are done once every 6-8 months on the outside. It's a horrible, horrible experience having my hair cut and styled, albeit ever so basically, in a feminine cut. I spend most of the 2+ hour sessions staring at the floor. Yet the accumulated weight of reinforcement about how important my hair is to my existence remains and it's just something to be tolerated.
Flash forward to around 2 years ago when my partner Mel helped me work up the courage to get it cut correctly to a male style. She thought, like the hairdresser who did the actual deed, that I would freak out once it was gone but both I think were incredibly surprised in how overjoyed I was with the result. I'm still not quite sure if the stylist really realises how much of a difference she made to my life.
I love getting my hair cut now and have it done around once every 3 weeks. It's a relaxing, enjoyable experience. This may seem trivial but it's a fundamental thing.. my hair now fits me. The me who I am, not this suit that you see.
I can only imagine at this point how good it's going to be when the rest of me experiences the same thing.
First blog post
8 years ago
0 comments:
Post a Comment