Adventures in Clothes Shopping

Since I will be traveling to Houston on Wednesday, I went clothes shopping yesterday. To this point, I've only managed to purchase two badly-fitted pair of men's jeans and a couple of long-sleeved polos, which I wear in addition to my stash of graphic t-shirts. (A large section of my old closet is filled with women's clothes that I need to donate.) It isn't that I couldn't afford new clothes; I was just avoiding the fitting room.

Yesterday, I thought, "Screw it!" and I went in search of better fitting clothes in the men's department at a major chain. I want to look decent when I go out to be with my sister as she has her surgery. I think that graphic tees and baggy jeans aren't the way to go. I wanted to try on some other pants and find something that truly fit. I wanted to stock up on some polo shirts.

I grabbed a few different brands of jeans in my size, a few polo shirts, and a nice button-down short-sleeved shirt and headed to the fitting room in that section of the store. Only one dressing stall was open, and it was at the very end of the row. Perfect. A young wife was waiting for her husband while he tried on clothes, and she gave me a double-take when I marched into the dressing room with my stack of things. The sign over the entryway says only "FITTING ROOM".

In the 10 minutes or so that I spent trying on clothes, more people gathered outside the entryway, waiting for a stall. It was snowing, raining, and sleeting outside, so indoor activities were popular yesterday. Shopping was high on that list. The parking lot was full. People were chattering in English and Spanish as they waited. When I was done, I folded up my things and walked out of the stall into a small crowd of people. All the chatter stopped. I'm being serious here. There were open-mouthed stares when I headed out, but I just walked past them like I owned the place.

Though I live in the sprawl of the Washington, D.C., metro area, my town is rather small and still contains many old-fashioned sorts. I live just below the Mason-Dixon line. If I'd been shopping in DC, no one would have batted an eye. It's a gender-neutral fitting room. I hesitate to put that in writing, because now there could be a movement to shut that down and put "MEN'S" and "WOMEN'S" over the doors. Another way to categorize and label folks who don't necessarily fit into one gender or the other. Like having a place to pee, having a place to try on clothes should be a right. It was my right to make sure my clothes fit before I spent a large sum of money on them.

I did manage to find a style of blue jeans that I really liked and which fit me well, so I grabbed another pair in a different color from the rack. The shirts all worked out, too. So I ended up with some nice additions to my wardrobe for the trip. Like most guys, I don't need a lot, but I do need a few shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans for a 5-day trip.

Thank goodness I no longer have to play that game of trying to accessorize or wear make-up (to which I developed an allergy) or take several pair of shoes. It's a relief, really. I'm learning to let go of all of those expectations that were placed on me in my family. I'm finally getting to relax into being who I've really always been -- just a guy.

But it does scare me, going into Houston. I've changed my appearance sufficiently that I might get challenged going into a women's bathroom. What will I say if I'm challenged? Put on my best girl voice and make nice? This is the place that passed a bathroom ordinance last year by scaring people, by saying that men dressed as women want to go into women's bathrooms to prey on defenseless women and children. It could happen. I'm really not being paranoid - just practical. I hate it that this has happened to the place where I grew up, but it has. I figure me putting myself out there means more people get to see folks like me NOT preying on anyone.

The bottom line, though, is that I'm going to be there for my sister. She needs me and the rest will just fall into place. At least I won't distract her with my baggy britches and teenage boy t-shirts.

Hey - you don't know my sister!

Peace, Jude

Even When There are Bigger Fish to Fry

In a perfect world, the only thing that would be happening in my life is this transition, but this isn't a perfect world.

Right now I'm going through a messy divorce, have been really sick, and am worried about my sister, who is getting ready to have a brain tumor removed. I have all these really important things to deal with before taking the bigger steps in my journey. I've even postponed seeing my gender therapist, "A", until I get moved out of my house and get the divorce well on its way. A's fees are high (and she doesn't accept insurance), so I have to work something out with her. When the divorce is final, I'll be back on my own insurance plan and can easily file for reimbursement, but it hasn't been easy in the current situation. For now, I'm seeing my regular therapist, "W", who takes my insurance. She knows me very well, but she doesn't specialize like A does. We're working through all of my feelings of heartbreak and anger over this divorce, and I certainly need to do that. But I also miss talking to A about my plans and how I'm feeling. The gender dysphoria. The fears. The hopes.

Because I've been so sick this week, I'll be back at one of my specialists on Thursday. Hopefully we can get to the bottom of this problem, because lately I'm having trouble tolerating food. I know that stress is a part of it, but even when I'm doing alright, I'm unable to eat much. I need to make an appointment, too, to go to Chase-Brexton in Baltimore to talk to them about whether I'm okay to take T (testosterone). I don't know if any of my health issues will block me from that path. I hope not, but some people in my life have wondered aloud if I'm going to complicate my medical problems further. I need reassurances (and a plan) from an endocrinologist.

As for my sister, I'm catching a flight on the 23rd to go out and be with her during the surgery and a couple of days of her recovery. She's not alone. She and her husband reconciled over the holidays. But she's my sister and I'm worried. She's been a great support for me during my changes. People keep telling me that this is going to be okay and that these kinds of tumors are rarely cancerous, but it's growing quickly. One of the possible outcomes of the surgery is blindness, because of the proximity of the tumor to the optic nerve. Many other possible complications. But it has to come out, because if it stays in, the worst outcomes become more likely. I'm not a praying person, but I might do some of that as she goes into the OR for the (at least) 6 hour procedure.

As I've learned from a couple of my trans friends, our transitions can take time, because we're never just dealing with the transition. Whether it be family issues, grief, job loss, money problems, divorces, or whatever else life throws at us, we're always juggling - just like you - but we have the added pressures of figuring out how to be who we are without losing our jobs, housing, family, community, or lives.

I'm lucky. I have my family and some security. I work for a company that has policies in place to protect me, but that doesn't mean there won't be complications. No one is policing it. (It's the same for trans folks as it was for women when sexual harassment became a visible issue. You have to report it and risk being seen as a "problem" in the workplace.) When I was in the office yesterday, I wondered how the guys would feel when I complete my transition and am heading into the men's room, too. They've known me as a woman since I started at the company in 2004. Certainly they see my external changes, though. I've cut off my hair and am wearing men's clothing. I no longer even attempt to wear makeup, so I get the old, "You look tired" routine, essentially what my mom used to tell me. ("Wear a little lipstick," she'd say. "You need some color!") But as to men's rooms, I think I'll probably just hold it when I can. Lots of trans people learn to hold their bladder until they can get home. I think it will be okay, but these are things I have to think about that some people don't. Not complaining, just pointing it out.

Trans folks are often victims of violent crime. In 2015, 21 transgender people (that we know of) were murdered in the U.S. -- mostly women of color -- more than in any other year. Others who were reported under their gender of birth were not included in the list, because their deaths faded into the general population. We have to be careful.

If you're not trans but want to understand what it feels like to try to deal with coming out and embarking on a transition, do this. Just close your eyes for a minute and imagine all those things that are happening in your life, all that busyness that you're dealing with, and all those cares. Now, with yourself in that busy place, imagine that your body doesn't fit. Imagine that you're wearing a person suit that shows people an image of you that isn't real. If you're a cis-female (someone who was born female and identifies as female), imagine that you're suddenly a male on the outside. You have to use men's rooms and wear men's clothing and go through your life acting like a man - but it doesn't fit, does it? Imagine that in order to appear as the woman you know yourself to be, you have to start taking hormone supplements, getting electrolysis (in sometimes painful places), seeing doctors, explaining why you're dressing differently/growing out your hair/wearing makeup - over and over and over... Not easy, eh? Sound like a lot of fun? No! But it's necessary, because that feeling of being in the wrong body - the wrong life! - sometimes is so overwhelming that you just want the pain of it to stop. 

Because, you see, even when there are really big fish to fry in your life, you still go around feeling awkward in your body. I used to be able to stuff that feeling down, but these days, my male energy is screaming to be acknowledged. I want to be who I really am before I leave this earth. So I'm juggling. And, you know, maybe that's why my stomach hurts. But I'm going to be alright. I'm taking it a step at a time. It might feel slow to anyone watching from the outside, but it is like going through puberty; it doesn't happen overnight. The result will be so worth it!

Thank you for reading, Jude.

My hairy legs

My first act of defiance against gender norms was to throw away my razor. Well, I did continue to shave my pits for awhile, because I just couldn't wrap my head around not doing that, but even that went away. Baby steps.

The problem with hairy legs is the lack of acceptance among the mainstream public, or at least my perceived version of them. The irony is that if I were younger, it might be seen as a quirk, but because I'm older, it's just gross, right? What would you do if you encountered me at the gym, or walking along the mall in shorts, with my hairy legs on display?

About that gym. My gym has a great pool, and I want so much to take advantage of it. There are many awkward things about the gym all of a sudden. First, I don't intend to dress in a women's suit. I was thinking of men's swim trunks and a tank. The boobs can be addressed with a lightweight chest binder under the tank (now compare that to someone born male who can just throw on the trunks and hop in the pool). That's all well and good until you consider I can't drive home in a wet suit. I'll be in the women's locker room, changing (tugging off that chest binder) and showing off the leg and pit hair. The stares I'll get (unless I go at a really quiet time).

Have you ever had to put this much thought into going for a swim? Or changing out at the gym? Suddenly it's a problem for me, and I'm paying for a gym membership I'm not using. I figure once I'm on hormones for awhile, once I've gotten the boobs removed (which is still a long way off, because I have to be on hormones for a year first), and once I look more male, I will be able to have the privilege of using the men's changing room (also not a great option) and wearing just the trunks. That will take some getting used to.

I haven't come out to my healthcare providers yet, but I was in the ER last night to get fluids and get checked out for a severe bout of gastrointestinal problems. There were my hairy legs. When I had surgery a few weeks ago for a broken and dislocated finger, the nurse took a beat when she pulled back the covers to put the squeeze bags on my legs to prevent DVT. To her credit, that hesitation was all that happened. I imagine, though, as medical personnel tend to do, she shared the story later.

In a few weeks, I have an appointment with my gynecologist who once told me that if certain functions didn't improve after my pelvic mesh surgery, "Prayer helps." A doctor who would say that might not take kindly to having a trans guy as a patient. It will be weird enough to have to see a gynecologist for certain healthcare needs, but I'm sure he and his nurse will be impressed by my very hairy legs. The thing is, I need to have my ovaries taken out so that any estrogen still leaking into my body will stop, but I'm not sure he will do it. I might end up at Chase-Brexton in Baltimore for that, though, since they have a major LGBT clinic that takes care of our needs. I just don't know yet.

If it were just the hairy legs, you know, it would be a lifestyle choice. I remember a Puerto Rican girl I worked with in the 80s. She said she never shaved anything. "My husband likes my hairy legs!" she proclaimed. In a world full of bikini waxes, full Brazilians, and aestheticians who will take it all off for you, hairy legs are a major deal!

But it's more than that. It's my only outward sign (other than the men's haircut) that says, "I'm not doing this girl thing anymore. I'm not conforming to the gender I was assigned at birth."

Can you tell I'm a person who overthinks everything? So much change. Yes, the outcome will be worth it, but I'm not young anymore and I don't like change, necessarily. But I can't live like this anymore. The thought of finally looking on the outside the way I feel on the inside makes it worth it. And when I think that way, the black cloud stays away. Gender dysphoria. That's for another post (or maybe several).

Don't even get me started on bathrooms. If you haven't watched this TED talk, please do. All anybody needs when nature calls is a safe place to pee. Peace, Jude.

Coming into it

Blue rooms.

This is my second blue room in a row. It's up a switchback flight of stairs and a little to the right off the landing, across from the laundry room. It's a much deeper blue than that of my last room; the difference between the shallows and the deepest part of the ocean. Fitting, considering that I'm entering unfamiliar waters. I may indeed be out of my depth.

I'm not the only person who has come out as transgender this late in life. At 53 I'm starting over...really starting over. I'm trying to figure it all out, and it's a little terrifying.

Can I tell you that I've suffered from depression for as long as I can remember?

Wait...that's not right. I've been depressed since puberty. Until then, I was a fairly happy child, despite having the misfortune to be born into a family with a violent father and a mother who knew how to push his buttons. Despite the frilly dresses I had to wear and the many expectations of a girl in the south. Somehow, I just thought I would remain in that happy, genderless state forever (as that is how we all are in the beginning; yes, maybe one can pee standing up and the other not so much, but we are all flat-chested, prepubescent little saplings). At that point in my life, I thought it would all work out alright. I thought that I would eventually get to be like my brother - driving and wearing blue jeans and riding motorcycles. I thought the world would ease off the frilly dresses.

But when puberty hit, I felt as though I'd been thrown - at 100 mph - from a motorcycle that had come to a dead stop. The total loss of control. My body was doing something it did not have my permission to do. My mind raced back to health class, when 40 or 50 giggling girls had sat in the dark, sweaty from recess, staring at a screen filled with strange images of internal organs and passing around sanitary napkins and belts. When the blood began to flow from me, my mother and older sister wanted to celebrate my becoming a woman. I went to my room and lay on the bed, facing the wall. That was when the sadness came, but I lived through it. 

Upon reaching adulthood, in addition to getting what jobs I could find and trying to make some kind of living, I did what the world expected me to do. I was a woman, so I married a man who was my best friend, and we had a beautiful family -- the two best kids anyone ever had. But I was the world's worst wife. Part of me was incredibly happy, but a larger part of me was growing uneasy and increasingly unhappy. I did some terrible things, which I'll save for another time. I can't hit you with it all at once.

In 2009, one of our beautiful children, our daughter, died of a prescription drug overdose. She was only 25 but had suffered from mental illness since she hit puberty. Apparently that's a bad time for us in my family.

Not long after her death, I packed up my car to go on vacation for a couple of weeks and ended up staying in the Blue Ridge mountains with a woman who had been a high school friend. Since childhood, I had been attracted to women and had had affairs with them. But I never wanted to divorce my husband or divide my family. In the wake of my daughter's death, however, I felt as though each moment of my life needed to mean something, and it must be savored!

That relationship fell apart within a year. The next one fell apart in a matter of months. And the last, a marriage, is dissolving. I am living in this beautiful blue room in my son's house.

I wasn't, in fact, a lesbian. Last fall, I finally admitted out loud (because I had known consciously for some time) that I was transgender. I'm not transgender just because being a lesbian didn't work out. I just finally feel safe being who I am.

The temptation, as I came to this realization, was to continue to live in this body, stick it out for the years I have left. But would I be lying on my death bed in 20...25 years and saying, "What the hell did I do? I missed out!" Yes. That propelled me toward my truth. 

Would I continue to live in that closet out of fear? Knowing that plenty of people in the world hate, maim, and kill trans people every day? Knowing that I could be attacked just for using the men's room? No, I could not. I can't be peaceful if I'm coming from a place of fear. That propelled me toward my truth. 

So here I am, learning what I should have learned during that pubescent period - how to be a man. I hope you will stick with me on this journey. I have butterflies in my stomach just thinking of what the future holds.

And you know what? I'm not suffering so much from the depression now. My low days are related to situations rather than to a black cloud hanging pointlessly over my head. I can lie in this beautiful blue room and begin to sort out my new life, with the excitement of a child jumping into the deep water for the first time. A little scared, but a lot elated!

Peace, Jude