I'm not going to make the same mistake again. When I came out as lesbian a number of years ago, I felt the need to put up a facade for the people in the LGBT community who questioned whether I was "really" gay, or if I was bisexual, or fill in the blank. Being challenged like that is really uncomfortable when all you really want to do is be yourself and find your community. It surprised me to find out that there was just as much pressure in the gay community to adhere to certain norms as there are in the straight community. So I exaggerated, sometimes, my definitions and accepted labels that maybe didn't fit me.
Truth is, I felt I must be a lesbian because I was attracted to women, but there was so much more about me that seemingly had no explanation. What about the fact that I railed at being labeled "femme" (because people need to place those labels, yes they do)? What about the fact I still related more to men than to women, yet I was surrounded by women who were somewhat uncomfortable with straight men? I'm generalizing a bit here, but I have run into many women who have had bad experiences with men and just don't like being around them.
This time I'm wiser. I'm not going to exaggerate the depth of my dysphoria or the length of time I've felt male in order to fit into some kind of norm in the trans community. Some people have indeed felt their dysphoria from a very young age, but I wasn't one of those kids (at least I don't think I was) who said, "I'm a boy. I want you to call me Jude." What I do remember are the battles.
I wanted a pair of jeans, and not those silly girl jeans but real Levis! Oh the fights I had with my mother over that. Finally she caved in and got me a pair...of girl jeans. Not enough pockets. Ugly material. Not sturdy. And I looked horrible in them, because I was a chubster. I dealt with my emotions by eating. Still do.
I wanted to hang out with my older brother, wanted to work on the old Dodge Dart in the driveway with him (I won that battle - and he taught me to go through the motions of driving a stick in that musty old car). I wanted to go to work with my brothers on Dad's construction sites.
I was lousy at sports, though, other than rollerskating and a little basketball, so you wouldn't have seen me as a tomboy in the traditional sense. It was much later that I learned I have Chiari Malformation, possible Ehlers-Danlos, and tethered cord. No wonder I've been a clumsy galoot all my life. No track or softball games for me--more like software.
If you knew me back then, you would have seen me as rather girly, because I grew up in a strict, Southern Baptist household that had clear rules for the boys and the girls. We girls didn't get to do much. We basically had a dress code and As one of the younger children, I had to deal with the increasing violence and craziness in my parents' marriage, and that meant the iron fist came down even harder. It's disheartening to know that if my father were alive, he would want to see me destroyed. He would disown me. There wasn't much I could ever do that pleased him.
So you would think that with as much as my parents pushed me to be feminine, they would want me to like boys. I guess there was a timeline for that, too, but it was unspoken. (My mother married my father when she was 17 and he was 24.) When I was 15, there was a boy at school who caught my eye - or rather I caught his. He was so beautiful, with his lightly tanned skin, blue eyes, white blonde hair, a pukka shell necklace resting on his hairless chest. We met in my favorite class - English. Because he was always in trouble, he had to pull his desk over by the filing cabinet, away from everyone else on that side of the room but, as it turned out, closer to me. Sometimes my eyes, as they scanned the room, met with his, and he would flash a half-smile my way. At least once, I turned to look behind me to see who he was smiling at. It didn't dawn on me for awhile that he was looking at me. He was what I later realized was my "type" - feminine looking, with long hair and beautiful features.
Our flirtation continued for a little while. (I can honestly say it was the first and last time that I was ever distracted from an English or literature course, as they've always been my favorite subjects.) This beautiful boy and I actually got to the point of exchanging phone numbers, and he told me he would call me that evening, a Friday.
While my mother hung out the laundry that afternoon and my sister played on the swing set, I sat - flushed and breathless - in my room, waiting for the old black rotary phone to ring. I had pulled it as far into my room as I could, but the door would have to stay open.
It finally rang, and the beautiful boy and I made awkward and sweet conversation...for about two minutes. Then the call waiting tone interrupted us. I asked him to hold while I took the other call. It was my father, saying he would be home late. Getting Dad off of the phone as quickly as I could, I returned to my halting conversation with what I hoped would be my first boyfriend. But I neglected to make that second click.
For those of you born after 1980 or so, here's how we had to do the telephone thing. To pick up a call waiting, you pressed the switch hook once. To return to the original call, you pressed the switch hook again. If you were lucky and had conference calling capability, that first click simply brought all calls together. You had to press the switch hook twice to cancel out of that extra call. That was my mistake. My father was listening in on my secret call, and I was, after all, only fifteen.
Soon, Dad was shouting at me to get off the phone with that BOY and that he'd be right home. I was in big trouble. Not only had I been caught talking to a boy, but now Dad was coming home straightaway when he had planned to work late. Not good. I had to go into the backyard, with my knees shaking, to tell Mom what had happened, and then SHE was made at me, too, because now we were all going to get it. Her lack of supervision had resulted in me being a little slut, daring to talk to a member of the opposite sex at such a young age! That beautiful boy and I never talked on the phone again. He moved on.
Instead of continuing to try and find a boyfriend, I became friends with boys and hung on the phone with my girlfriends for long hours. Dad did not object to that.
These sorts of stories are typical of my youth and probably resulted in my continuing to stuff down my feelings. If only my parents knew that my best girlfriend and I had fooled around from the age of 5! Jen and I were both born into strict Baptist families, so I suppose we had to get it where we could. It took me years to acknowledge our relationship for what it was, though. It was not okay to be a young dyke in the 70s. I had relationships with men, too, including a long marriage to my best friend and father of my children.
Each person I've known, lover or not, gave me something special, and I hope I did the same for them. I find I can have an attraction to people of any gender identity, although I tried not to feel that when I was deep in the lesbian community.
(It is worthy of note here that at least one of my former hangout groups is not open to allowing trans-guys like me to attend their outings. Lesbians only, which can include trans-women who like women. So many labels, so many rules!)
I know some people who say they would die if they couldn't transition, that maybe they would commit suicide. Well, I'm not sure that's the case with me. Although my depression has gotten better since I came out as trans at Christmas, this is all still a work in progress for me. All those small confessions to people I felt safe with over the years, all those moments of wishing I could be done with being a girl, all those times of feeling so damned awkward and out of place...they've all come down to this. I finally have the opportunity to make that change. I can finally stop trying so damned hard to look the part and be something I'm not.
To say that I know exactly where I'll end up and how I'll feel would be naive and foolish. No one can know that. What I do know is that I'm going to play it as it lays, giving myself full permission to experience the richness of this later-in-life self-discovery that's happening to me. I'm single again and able to explore all of my feelings without fear that I will upset someone else's happiness. I'm going to be like a tumbleweed, unencumbered and always moving, always exploring and picking up knowledge as I blow along this path.
Peace, Jude
