[It has been a while since I have posted, I am kind of re-working my blog. I am going to use only my photos, or those with whom I have permission. This has been an oversight on my part, mainly from laziness. I will be going back through the blog later to purge any photos that are not mine from older entries. Nothing has prompted this, I have wanted to correct this for a while and I kept procrastinating.]
I still have things to do towards my transition. I am living about 90% of my life as myself, while 10% (work) is still as the mask. I must get that 10% out of my life, either by making it work with my current position or quitting the old and starting a new job. Given our finances, my transition will pretty much stop at the orchiectomy, though I would not be opposed to breast enhancement, but I want to give it two or three years because HRT will still be changing my breasts and I don’t want to create problems. I will probably never be able to do sex reassignment surgery, it’s far too costly. Though I am also not opposed to doing it if the chance presents itself. So essentially, I’m on the slow HRT train, just riding the hormones, getting laser hair removal and waiting the next steps to happen. I find myself in almost an anti-climactic area of my transition, that isn’t a bad thing, it’s a good time to assess things and look at what I have planned.
My main efforts in the next few months, since I am doing the monthly LHR and my daily HRT, will be to work on feminizing my voice. I am completely tired of having to change clothes for strangers who come to our house, like pizza or Lowes delivery people. I am so self-conscious of my voice that if I know I have to talk to someone I manage to freak myself out and I panic. So, I really have to work on this part of me. If anyone has found a voice feminization program that has worked for them, I am open to trying anything.
My wife, while supportive to the over-all process of my transition, still has some hang ups that range from annoying to hurtful. I don’t pressure her about anything to do with my transition. I do ask her how I look when I do my makeup and get dressed to go out, but most women do this. I just want to make sure I don’t commit a fashion faux pas or have too much makeup on, which I can be prone to do. I will make a comment on how my boobs hurt, but no more than our teenage daughter did when she first went through puberty. I let her know where I am and what my plans are. I always work around money issues with a good budget and common sense. However, she still won’t use my name, still using my deadname and the wrong pronouns. It hurts me that she will make the effort for our son, but with me that same effort isn’t applied. I have told her that I want her to call me by the correct name and pronoun, but she claims she forgets. If you never do it, it’s not forgetting, it’s refusing. She also contradicts me about facts of HRT which I know due to research and actually living through. That fat will redistribute and muscle mass will decrease are facts of MtF HRT. Her contradiction of this is more annoying than anything else, considering she seems to have no problem understanding that our son, who is going through FtM HRT, is gaining muscle mass and fat distribution is changing his body. Anyway, our relationship isn’t perfect, we both have things to work on and I don’t want this to be a bitch session about my wife.
It’s that time of year when the women around me at work wear cute summer dresses. I feel a little despondent when I am still wearing the same 4 men’s shirts to work. I know it’s temporary, but my whole life has been doing this, I know I have to pretend not to care to keep up the mask. I took my daughter to shop for a bikini this weekend, and though I was happy to do it, I also feel cheated that I wasn’t able to do this when I was a child, fate put the wrong genetics to my brain. I had to resort to sneaking around wearing my step-sister’s or step-mother’s clothes for very short periods of time the few times the house was empty. I will never get that time back, I didn’t have the courage it took to be me. Sigh, it’s always the same lament I know, the dangers of hindsight. It’s small consolation when those close to me tell me it worked out how it was supposed to. As much as they mean well, they didn’t pretend to be a completely different person from their childhood and through adulthood so that other people could feel comfortable. It’s not an easy feeling to shake, it haunts me.