Category: identity

Becoming a woman

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This post was originally published to my Substack blog on August 22, 2023.

I’m trans.

You mean you’re going to turn into a woman?

Not exactly. My internal sense of gender has always been feminine.

So why did you wait so long?

Because I didn’t know I was trans.

But you just said…I’m confused.

That makes two of us, hon.

When you realize you’re trans later in life, your mind lunges out in different directions, trying to make sense of it all. Am I a woman now? Was I always a woman? Why didn’t I see it before? Was this or that event a clue I should have seen?

However long it takes, the process of hatching is hard. You will look at the core of your being more closely than you ever have. You may wonder if you have two personalities. You may wonder who the real you is. You may wonder if there is a real you. You may ask yourself, “Is this my masculine face?” And you may ask yourself, “Is this my genuine voice?”

As the days go by, you may find yourself crying more in one week than you have in years. But at some point you will figure out who you really are. It may take a week, or a month. For some it may take years. But after you discover your authentic identity, one question may remain:

Who was I before?

I think about this question a lot. As I write this, it has been two weeks since I emerged from my existential uncertainty as a trans woman. I’m still equal parts terrified and excited–although I’m more joyous than either of those emotions. Every hour of every day, I celebrate who I am. 

I’ve never done that before. After years of ups and downs, dealing with depression and constant change, I had settled into a comfortable pattern of content existence. I felt like I wasn’t a special, unique individual, just another person making his way through life. The egg metaphor is significant. I feel like my life began the week I hatched.

So what does that say about who I was before?

Near the end of my hatching week, I confided in a new friend that I wasn’t ready to lose my old self, to let him fade away. (Dammit, Mae! Your webcomic is so beautifully poignant!) I was terrified of losing the person I was in order to transform into the person I would become.

But I realized that I don’t have two wolves inside of me. I’m not losing any part of myself that matters. The man who lived his life, trying to be a good person (failing more than I’d like to admit, but still trying), was always me. She will always be me. She just wasn’t a man.

So who or what was I?

I keep asking this question, and the only answer I have is, I was me. My “actual” gender was questionable. I lived most of my life as a man, not as a woman, at least performatively. I had everybody fooled…including myself. But it’s not that simple.

Gender is not a hard-coded binary attribute. (Neither is biological sex, but that’s a whole article in itself.) My transition was eased somewhat because I’ve long recognized some of my feminine traits. It’s been over 15 years since I tried to get my beard lasered away. At that time, I was back in school (long story), and my best friend was a classmate who happened to be a lesbian. We got along fantastically well from day one, and I opened up and let her see the real me. 

One thing she knew very well about me was that I was attracted to women, but also wanted to be friends with them (and had almost no interest in friendships with men). Because of this, she referred to me as “a lesbian trapped in a man’s skin.” In that way, she saw me better than I saw myself.

I’ve always had a strong feminine component to my personality, even when I ignored it, pushed it away, or hid it behind a mask of exaggerated masculinity. Does that mean I’ve always been a woman? I honestly don’t know. But the conclusion I’ve come to is,

It doesn’t matter!

I was me, and I am me. The person who was George is the person who is Violet. I’m just being more honest now, both with the world and with myself. Having a masculine body doesn’t make me less feminine. But having a feminine body will make me feel more complete. It will make me a more confident woman, fulfilling my deepest existential desire: to be one of the girls.

And, of course: more hair!

Are you normal?

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This post was originally published on my Substack blog on August 20, 2023.

Note: This article includes straightforward but non-explicit descriptions of kinky activities. It also mentions the word “sex” several times. You should be okay unless you’re too normal.

I’ve been socially transitioning for two weeks now. Officially, anyway. Looking back on the last couple of years, my interactions with the women in my life have been transitioning for quite a while. Dropping my “social shield” when talking to my friends was so liberating, it made me feel almost like one of the girls.

And despite the oh-so-subtle feminine affect I let show, no one thought I was weird. Everyone thought I was normal.

One of my coworkers used to get an artistic manicure every week or two. Her nails always looked fabulous. Every time I went to her office to talk about a project, I totally fan-girled over her nails. I hadn’t realized I was interested in nails because, after all, I was a man. But she talked about them with enthusiasm, as if my interest were completely normal.

When I met moved to Vancouver, I made a new best friend. She is so awesome*, and one of her awesome aspects is her taste in shoes. I never knew I had an interest in women’s shoes until I met her. I went completely gaga over several of her pairs, which are so darn cute. And her work boots…I was so disappointed they only come in a B width so I can’t commit my soles to them. She thought I was normal too.

Earlier this year, when I firmly committed to myself that I was not going back into the closet from which I was finally emerging, I dyed my hair bright purple. I was a little anxious when I went to work the next day, but the most dramatic reaction I got was “Hey! Your hair is purple!” When someone new comes into the building, they don’t react at all. To them, I’m perfectly normal.

So what is normal?

“Normal is what everyone else is and you’re not.”

– Soran

When he said that, Malcolm McDowell’s character was trying to intimidate someone who looked different from everyone else. The deeper meaning is that we all have thoughts, feelings, and desires that we think are uniquely ours. We’re afraid to show them because we think they’re not normal. But if everyone shared their “abnormalities” at once, we’d probably find that they’re not as unique as we thought. In fact, they’re quite normal.

What’s that? Not you? You think I’d blush if I knew half of what you’re thinking? One of the best ways to get in touch with the normality of your weirdness is to join your local kink community. Yes. Those weirdos. Even if you’re not into stereotypical kinks like bondage and spanking, you will eventually find someone who shares your kink. Even if you enjoy having your toes painted green and slapped with a rubber band. Even if you enjoy sniffing other people’s knees. Even if you enjoy wearing white after Labour Day. And you’ll have so much fun, you’ll realize how normal we weirdos really are.

The truth is, no one is a carbon copy of anyone else, but at the same time, our unique quirks are similar enough to someone else’s unique quirks that we can all find a community. We all like things that we think other people think are strange, and we all try to fit in. To be normal. But guess what:

Normal does not exist.

Normal is an illusion created by our insecurities. It creates a wall between each of us and the rest of the world. It’s time to embrace weirdness. Your unique weirdness that, despite its uniqueness, will make someone somewhere say, “Hey! I can relate to that!”

Gender Norms

Sex!

Did I clear the room? Did anyone who stayed for the kinky talk get scared by the mention of the critically important biological activity that allows life on Earth to continue?

Sex is so important for our survival, it always boggles my mind that it’s such a taboo subject. That’s why discussion of gender tends to be uncomfortable in some environments even though gender has nothing to do with sex.

Nothing? Not even a little bit? Not really. Who we are, who we’re most comfortable with, how we behave in certain groups, what we wear, and what we’re interested in have nothing to do with the ins and outs of furthering the species.

I could dive into a deeper explanation of the nature of gender, but someone else has already done it far better than I ever could. This would be a good time to pause reading this post and go read this other one.

Is everyone back? Great. She’s amazing, right?

Where was I…

Sex and gender get conflated because for most of the population, their gender corresponds to their assigned sex at birth in a way our society has come to accept as normal. Could any other way be normal? Could “normal” men wear dresses and pantyhose? Could “normal” women be fearsome warriors and lead armies? Could “normal” transgender people be accepted in society without so much as an eyeblink?

Of course, because all of those things have been the norm at various points in history in various societies.

The norms and taboos of our society are not a constant, unbending, fundamental foundation that would collapse our whole world if they shifted. On a broad time scale they’re a passing thought, a momentary lapse of reason. Attempting to make everyone conform to them is pointless because they’ll shift, if only slightly, in a single generation.

So embrace your uniqueness. And, yes, even your weirdness! The more authentically we all live, the more we will all feel…normal.

*Yes, I know you’re reading this, and I know you’re blushing, but you are awesome!

A “Two-Cities” Kind of Day

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This post was originally published on my Substack blog on August 20, 2023.

I’m having a strange day. It’s not a bad day, but it’s also not a good day. A thought came to me when I realized I was going to put on my sandals to take out the garbage, exposing my painted toenails to the world for the first time.

Well, to the part of the world between my back door and my dumpster, showing them to probably 0.2 people at this time of day.

Right now I’m on the edge of wanting so badly to be seen, but also wanting to be able to hide in the man suit that everyone is used to. The last time I was on this edge, I dyed my hair bright purple. I love the color, so I’ve kept it for five months now. And I’ve had nothing but compliments.

I’m not hiding who I am inside anymore, and despite a sudden shift in my voice and mannerisms as a result, no one has said anything negative, in public or at work.

I know I don’t have to hide, but this man suit feels so comfortable. The main character in the novel I’m writing seeks comfort in her old persona’s worn old sweatshirt after her abrupt, unintended transformation. This morning I put on the old sweatshirt I was thinking of when I wrote that scene.

Sometimes we try to linger on the edge, deciding which way to go. But the thing about edges is, you can’t balance on one forever. I already know which side I’ll step off. But my sense of balance is pretty good, so I’m just going to stay up here a little longer.

Me, but Not Me

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This post was originally published on my Substack blog on August 24, 2023.

After the grand revelation that I had lived (mostly) in hiding for five decades, I experienced a great deal of confusion. One source of consternation was the fact that I didn’t think anyone would ever see me as feminine, including myself. I looked at myself in the mirror, and it was wrong.

I didn’t hate my appearance. After years of not liking my face, I had reached the point where I saw myself as reasonably good looking, and I had worked enough on my body that it was fit and functional. Actually, pretty darn good for a fifty-year-old man. I had even come to terms with my age, and the road ahead into the “second act.”

So, while my revelation shook me to my core, I was more ready to accept it than I would have been at any previous point in my life. But my face… My face was now doubly wrong. I had long wished for a more attractive face, none of this annoying facial hair, and more hair up top. Oh, how I’ve always longed to have hair!

I actually gave up on my hair at a young age. I tried letting it grow long, but it would only grow up. I had that kind of hair. I felt like a cotton ball in a washed-out medium brown. So one day in my late twenties I shaved it all off, and I kept shaving it for twenty-five-odd years.

Until last year. After my wife moved away, I was on my own for the first time in many years. Without the expectation to play a role, I began to discover myself. The girly tendencies I had felt forever started to resurface. I discovered an interest in cute shoes. And I basically inverted my shaving routine; I stopped shaving my head but started shaving everything else. I had always shaved my beard because I hated having facial hair. But the first time I got out of the bathtub with my legs smooth for the first time in four and a half decades (I was an early bloomer), I knew I would never stop shaving them again.

In letting my hair grow, I knew I would never achieve my achingly profound hair goals. After all, I was over fifty. I’m thin on top and there’s a point right at the crown of my head that’s just a tiny bit bald. Yes, I overuse adverbs when I’m in denial. It’s a bald spot. But I was happy with the result when my hair grew in. It felt right… but not half as right as when I first dyed it purple earlier this year. For the first time I looked not just okay, but fabulous!

My awakening was touched off by Doc Impossible’s blog, Stained Glass Woman. I’ve read that blog cover to cover, and I eagerly await her next entry. The article that’s relevant to my post today is Part Five: Panic. I wasn’t quite panicking at that point; I pushed that down until it bubbled up a couple of days later. In that post, Doc Impossible describes putting her face into an app that shows an example of how you would look as the “opposite” gender.

I had to know. I have Stable Diffusion installed on my computer. I installed it locally so I wouldn’t be sending a bunch of information into the cloud. The advantage of Stable Diffusion over a generic app (aside from the privacy issues) is that you can craft your prompt to control certain aspects of the result—and prevent the deformities that demonstrate that artificial “intelligence” deserves those quotation marks.

I dragged the selfie I had been using online into the “img2img” interface and wrote a prompt to turn it into a picture of a fifty-three-year-old woman with purple hair and glasses. When I saw the result, I wondered why whoever trained that model thought fifty-three was absolutely geriatric, so I reduced the age to fifty and specified that the result should have long hair.

I generated a series of images. I couldn’t stop staring at this one. I still can’t

Those are my eyes (for the most part; the algorithm hates different colors, so my blue eyes are a little bit of a gray-purple). That’s my mouth. My nose, my neck, even the cheekbones are all mine!

But I’m not gorgeous!

Could I be? Could a few years of HRT and some surgery on my heavy brows make me look even a little bit like this? And the big question: Is there any modicum of possibility that I could have that hair?

This picture is both me and not me. But the more I look at it, the more I see the me I’d love to be.