20 Weeks HRT, Yin and Yang

Warning, this blog post will end up discussing bigotry-inspired violence towards transgender women.

So first there’s this. At the end of work on Thursday, I talked some with my colleague at the desk next to mine. I told her last summer about how I was going to transition and she’s been a solid friend, never casting doubt on me and she watched the NatGeo documentary done by Katie Couric which is one of the best resources for cisgender people to watch if they want to understand transgender people better. Since I got the work transition date set, ever since I’ve been thinking some about how amazing this is, something which for so long I had thought impossible.

I’ve thought about the incredible courage of the transgender women who broke open the path before me, the ones who went to their supervisors and HR departments with no company policies in place stating non-discrimination towards employees and their gender identities. So I’ve thought how amazingly lucky I am that I will have the support of my HR department and supervisor. And I’ve thought about how lucky I’ve been to have this coworker next to me as I haven’t had to feel so alone and I’ve had a way to vent some frustrations over the past year as I’ve lived this life that’s been half in and half out of the closet.

So because of that, I turned to her as we were the last ones to leave the offices that day and said thank you, my eyes filling with tears, my heart filled with a sense of wonder and gratitude that I will have this chance to live fully as myself.

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And then there’s this. It’s part of every trans woman’s thoughts in some fashion. For me it manifested in a nightmare overnight. I was in guy mode in it and found myself among people who at first seemed normal and safe. But then clues began dropping into the dream. A man was in it and he had a swastika tattooed onto his arm. I overheard another person make a joke about a tranny. And suddenly I knew that I was unsafe, that if it was somehow revealed that I am transgender, I would be a target for harassment and violence, maybe death.

I have nightmares like that because I hear the news and stories about women like me being killed and violated for no other reason than because we’re transgender. Our lives, when we’re not in familiar places and with those we trust, are constantly nagged by a fear that there may be that one or more, those who have been steeped in a long cultural history of prejudice and bigotry, who will think it give them justification to harass us, to attack us, to make us unsafe.

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I had my worst boobsmash ever this past week. In a hurry to get to bowling league, I grabbed the bag with its ball by its strap and then slung it over my right shoulder. As a result, the half-fist formed by my left hand fairly punched the developing right boob squarely on its nipple and I let out a half-scream of shock and pain. It basically throbbed for the next day or so.

Also this past week we had a day of heavy rain, the first really rainy day here in a while. The boobs really ached that day.

I also had a dream in which I saw an old high school acquaintance who I haven’t seen since high school. I caught up to her and said, “Hey it’s me” and she didn’t recognize me at all…

getting out versus staying in

I had a half-nightmare last night. In it I dreamed that I had gotten dressed up to go to therapy, with it all topped off with a large red hat. But as I went towards the door and looked out the window, I saw the odd sight of a large forklift dropping off a house onto the front lawn. Instantly I was seized with fear that someone might see me so I ducked my head down to hide my face behind the large brim of the hat and then dashed back to my room.

In there I checked my cellphone and saw that the therapy appointment was only 15 minutes from then, which put a bolt through my heart because I knew I needed 30 minutes to get there. I began texting a message to the doctor that I would be late, when suddenly I heard banging on the bedroom door and masculine voice demanding to be let in. I threw myself against the door to hold off whoever it was, but I could feel him slowly pushing the door open no matter how hard I tried to push back.

And then I woke up, with my heart pounding some.

It’s not too hard to see the symbolism of things in it. Fear of going out and being seen and identified before I’m ready, fear of moving from an old residence, the masculine self to the feminine self, fear driving me back into what seemed safe and then finding that I would fail to make my commitments, then fear of the masculine self overwhelming me and trapping me.

But I still plan to go to my therapy appointment tomorrow evening, dressed as Izabela. I have my outfit decided upon and look forward to talking over some ideas.

And this past Saturday evening, I got dressed up and went to Pride Bowling Night at an alley within reasonable driving distance. There I had to chance to meetup again with some other transgenders I had met the prior week at a monthly meeting and others from the LGBTQ community. It felt good to go out in a public space but where I also knew I would have allies.

The first game I rolled was pretty bad. I had never bowled that alley before so I was trying to figure out the oil and I also wasn’t throwing very well. But in the second game, I got some things figured out and went into the 10th frame with a chance to roll my highest game ever.  I didn’t pull that off, but can feel good that I’ve now got a high game of 244 as Izabela.

And during my time at the alley, I found myself needing to pee. So I used a ladies’ room for the first time and nothing dramatic happened. It was empty and the only oddity was that someone had left a faucet running. So I shut it off, went and sat down to pee, then got up and washed my hands and left.

But there was certainly no way that I wanted to use a men’s room dressed as I was, in a pencil skirt and woman’s tank top. One thing that I continue to become more acutely aware of as I grow stronger in my feminine identity and conviction to transition is how there is so much violence directed at women and transgenders in this world, where too often men are raised to believe that violence is something they’re entitled to use against those they don’t like or fear.

But it was good, spending some more time as Izabela in the company of others. Now I just need to keep moving things along to the day when I will be able to spend all my time as Izabela, as my true self.