This, dear readers, is a fact.

Not, I AM Transgendered, en|Gender, Beck’s Cafe, or a host of other well known, well read, nails broken whilst typing, brows furrowed in focused writing, and dog eared blogs….no….as well honed as these others may be, Femulate is indeed Queen.

This realization dawned on many of us two weeks ago.

(overheard whilst I drank goblets of cheap wine with dear, super smart, beer chugging chica, Michelle at a local run down dive inhabited by drunk truckers, out of work physicists, and dangerous women)

Becki: “Did you see that article on Tall Women on Femulate? That Staci has a great list. She makes me feel so normal”
Michelle: “So true Becki, so true. You know, I think she’s just like me actually the way she glides effortlessly through both genders. I just love her.”

I didn’t think anything of my interaction with Michelle. I mean, we had been drinking afterall.

Then it happened, again, amongst a group of women who were both well heeled and well known and I realized something cosmic was happening.

As many of my jittery, caffeine addicted, readers know, Beckscafe was in Provincetown for Women’s Week ending and Fantasia Fair’s beginning. That’s a cosmic nexus by itself. But then the real planetary alignment happened. Sitting at lunch at the Crowne and Anchor in Provincetown, with Miqqui Gilbert (yes THE Miqqi Gilbert) and Jamie Dailey, my colleague in marketing crime on the conferenc scene, and two new friends, Robin and Abbey.

Becki: “Well Miqqi I write a blog, as you may know, and I found your name on the web as I did research on various and odd topics.” (I smile my best Ms. Sophisticate Smile; New England clam chowder smeared across my MAC lipsticked lips)
Miqqi: “I read your blog; on occassion”
Becki: (me beaming) “Why thank you SO MUCH Miqqi. You know, another great blog is that Femulate blog. Great reading. I get so much traffic to Beck’s Cafe from her too.”
Jamie: (light dawning on her face look)“Femulate blog…(she turns to Miqqi)…You know, Miqqi, I think our Fantasia Fair web site gets all its traffic from Femulate too!”

Jamie and I stare at each other and we realize that Femulate has become the center of our known blog universe!

So go have a look. I mean, EVERYONE gets their traffic from her so go ahead…just pick up your ice espresso, mocca thingy a gogo and go ahead…go see Femulate; you’ll see for yourself…she really IS the center of the blog universe

For me that was a loss.

I had always been kinda touchy feely. I loved hugging people in church and welcoming them in. Such a nice thing to do. Nothing says “Jesus loves you” like a warm human accepting you unconditionally and hugging you.  When it was unclear what I was to my fellow parishoners, my soft hugs were met with a more professional, “at a distance” kind of “thing”. Not quite a hug and not quite a put off. More ambiguous than that. Oh well. Jesus was in there someplace I’m sure but I darn missed that hug!

I started reclaiming my huggability when I came into the transgender community and when genetic women accepted me. That was a nice suprise.

My first hug from a genetic woman who both knew about me and accepted me was quite the experience. She said, “Oh I’m pleased to meet you Rebecca” and then like a big cloud I was embraced and I embraced her. I felt normal! Like, wow, who woulda thunk it. I thought, for a long while, I’d become part of the NLG, “New Leper Generation”. Not nearly as trendy as the Pepsi Generation or being a Gen-X’r.

The best hugger by far is Mara Keisling. Mara is the Executive Director of the National Center for Transgender Equality. So she’s a mover and a shaker.  And, generally speaking, you don’t get great hugs from a  mover and shaker.  It’s just not becoming.

I saw Mara at First Event, one day. I’ll never forget that day. I welcomed Mara with a big smile and a ‘Hi Mara” and she opened her arms and gave me a huge welcoming hug. It was like someone had put their arms around me and gave me enough comfort that life would be okay for like 3 days. Now THAT was a hug.

First Event 2009 was a love/hug fest. So many wonderful women. So many teary, “oh I love you’s” so many hugs. I thought I was going to get a rash from hugging so many of my old and new friends. It was great. I talked to my therapist about it, she said, “so you really got some nurturing”. Mmmm now that’s a great word. I felt nurtured. I was learning a hug could be a poweful thing and I’d forgotten that.

I’d encourage everyone to hug each other warmly. Think about how we could reduce our need for foreign oil! And don’t be shy in public with them hugs, “what will people think, my goodness…” nah, they will be so jealous they aren’t getting a nice warm embrace and being let know they are welcome to be who they are, right where they are, right as they are.

I’m tearing up as I think about my Grandmother and reflecting on her life.

It’s sunset for her I’m realizing.

As some of you know my home is empty of some family members for whom the sun is rising, my daughters, and now my home is full of family members for whom the sun is setting, my Grandmother, recovering from her two heart attacks at age 91. It’s a bittersweet time of releasing. Releasing some for new life and others for death. It’s that simple

It didn’t really dawn on me where my Grandmother was in life until I saw her today in our kitchn. She was older and told me she wanted to go home. Of course, being the dutiful grand-daughter, I dropped everything and brought her home where she has lived for 70 years. The home her husband built for her, by hand, when he only had a single arm and they were in their early 20′s.

As I drove up to her home to drop her off I was finally able to understand better how her life must feel for her now. She has a few years, maybe, to live. There will only be so many days of tending her garden. So many days to say hi to her neighbors. Only so many days left to feel the soft grass under her feet or see the deer that compete with her for the earth’s produce.

She must be thinking of her little home, her brook, and her passed away husband I thought. She was smiling as I brought her home and she walked in. I was touched deeply realizing she was happy to be back in her home by her brook. She can’t stay there permanently. She is in some sense a visitor to her own place in our world. And, she still needs my help for life tasks for sure, but, for her, life is content in her home. I was jealous at some level frankly.

My Grandmother’s life in my home has been both blessing and frustration. We are blessed to help her and we are frustrated. Frustrated she will not take her meds on time, exercise or eat right. I find my heart torn between loving her and screaming she has to take care of herself or…sunset comes earlier than we all want.

Then I remember the word “dignity”…and I take a breath, smile my best Becki smile and hear her requests and supress my need to care for her. Her need to be her own person more important now. Even for a 91 year old woman, dignity is important.

I feel the warm summer breeze on my face and I take a breath realizing I’m not paying attention to a visitor who has stopped in to say “hi” this morning. I’ve been deep in my heart and writing. I smile, apologize, and say “Hi” and welcome her in. Good thing the coffee is extra good this morning

(Sunset Photo courtesy of MuffinMan photos, used under Creative Commons license)

But I did get invited to a wedding.

Ah weddings have to love them. Have you ever been to one?

The setting, the flowers, the dresses, the handsome groom, the pretty bride…the STRESS.

So my gal pal calls me and says, “hey, Becki, come to my wedding in Pennsylvania” and I said, “yeah sure, what species should I come as”.

She laughed; she knew what I meant.

“Well come as you”, she said, “I love you as you are, so come as you”.

And so that started the chain of events that led to my entering a fundamentalist church for the first time as me, hanging out with some cool people as me and getting my first drink bought for me. It was like spreading my wings and stepping from the nest and finding my wings worked.

who would know?

But first…the dress.

Scene I: The Dress
Once I was given the “all clear” to go to the wedding I became obsessed with what to wear. I mean, you don’t go to a wedding every day so you gotta wear something nice right? So I said, “heck with the budget, I’m going in style”. So I went to Chico’s, Lane Bryant (yeah I’m a thick chick), Dress Barn, Sears, Macy’s, Kohl’s, Models Resale, and found exactly…zippo. So I was pretty much in a panic. I started not my usual one hour ahead of time with that “deer in the headlights” look on my face showing up at Model’s Resale hoping my savior, Kimberly, would snap her fingers and make me gorgeous. Nope, I started 10 days ahead of time. That’s pretty good for me.

But the clock was ticking and I had……nuthin’.

So in desperation I called the bride to be (lucky girl!!)

“Can I wear black to your wedding” I asked, hope in my voice that a “yes” would give me some options I’d yet to consider at that point.

She paused and then said, “Black? Well I really would prefer if no one wore black to my wedding”.

My face dropped and panic instantly set in.

Not knowing what to do, I went in desperation to Walmart.

WALMART? They have fashion there? I had no idea. I was in a daze and sort of just wandered in there. But I was shocked to see they did indeed have something(s) for a woman like me. So I got the cutest black peasant skirt, a gold flecked maroon tunic and marched out. However, a good deal on some threads no more makes an outfit than a sow’s ear makes a purse.

Unless of course you accessorize…

ahhhh accessories…what would a girls life be without ‘em.

So in to see my friend Kimberly again. I showed her what I had.

She gave me her “thoughtful” look, hand on chin, mouth twitching. Then she said, looking at my threads hard trying to envision some visage of acceptability I might be able to attain.

“Well, everyone wears black at an afternoon wedding, I always do, you’ll be fine”. Then she pulled out a silk black shawl and gold earrings that were half moon shaped with small zirconia stones in them. My jaw dropped when I saw them. “Here, take these”, she said, “this will dress it up”.

Kimberly is the closest thing I have to a fairy God-Mother. I swear she has a wand in her handbag.

With the addition of a serpentine gold necklace she was right. I had an outfit that would blend into the wedding. For girls like me, blend is good. But I got way more than blended. Keep reading.

Scene II: Becki forgets how to drive
My friends who’ve braved a vehicle with me know that I am, at best, an average driver, and at worst a clear menace. My swerving to stay on a course of direction printed from Mapquest or Yahoo Maps is nothing short of a scene from some clown car derby.

So finishing work on a Friday I got my rump on the road and went to complete my shopping. First it was off to MAC for some refills, “oh your girlfriend will love these” the MAC person said to me as she handed me the items I’d chosen. I smiled my best Becki smile in boy mode, “Hey thanks, but these are for me I’m gonna love ‘em”. She looked at me, smiled, blinked twice and had a silly cartoon grin on her face like the one the coyote gets when the roadrunner drops an anvil on him, took my credit card and then wished me a good night.

So off I went 3 hours late but hey it’s only 6 hours to Pennsylvania and since I”m a night owl I figures that leaving at 10PM I’ll miss all the traffic AND I’ll get there by say 4AM, hit the hay get up at 10AM with two hours to get ready….

That was all well and good until four hours later, I looked up and realized I was in some part of NJ that was not on my map. I knew I was still in NJ due to the New Jersey State Police cars that seemed to be in abundance in this part of the state. But where? The fact my map was about 10 years old had nothing to do with it I’m sure.

So, not seeing anyone or anything in site, I made a u-turn and headed back to where I thought my last exit was supposed to be. I was, by some divine intervention, right.

So the girl pulls into in to her hotel at 10AM. 12 hours on the road. Hey I can do this on one hours sleep!

Scene III: The Wedding, The Drink, and The Girl who Learned to Fly
The wedding was beautiful. The bride was so beautiful I cried. The groom was so handsome I melted for my friend and thought, he’s such a catch, she’s so lucky. They look so beautiful together. My friend’s son was about as cute as can be. I would have taken him home in my pocketbook if I could have.

At the church a woman, sitting next to me, was choking up her lung. I mean she was HACKING. People were starring. So I got up to find some water for her. Figuring the kitchen was a good spot I sort of tiptoed in there.

A churchwoman halted me. “Why are you in here” she said to me suspiciously. “Well I need some water”, I said, confidently and hoping I didn’t get booted from the church, “a cup really, a woman sitting next to me is choking”.

“Oh, well just go the ladies room, we have some in there with cups”. She smiled at me. I smiled back. I felt normal. The woman got her water and was about as surprised someone had actually gotten her a glass of water as I had in being able to easily obtain one for her.

From there we headed over the reception with great mirth! Food was eaten, friends were made, smiles were smiled and pictures were taken. It was nice.

Then it happened.

I was at the bar and a man turned to me, smiled and said that I should try a Southern Comfort and Coke. He smiled again, then lingered looking into my eyes and said I’d really enjoy it. So I gave him my best Becki smile and said, “sure, that sounds like a great idea”. So he ordered one for me. Then he turned, taking his two cups to the table. One for him and one for his wife. The bartender smiled at me and poured me about the strongest and tastiest drink I’d ever had. Do bartenders do this for all the girls? The best part, the man who first saw me at the bar was looking over at me and smiled across the room at me as I showed him I had the drink and sipped it. Then he toasted me.

Then the girl learned to fly…

The blonde haired woman at my table said “Hey come catch the bouquet with me”. I said no, wiggled my wedding ring at her and mouthed to her, “I’m married”. And she smiled back at me, gave me a puzzled look and skipped off. I smiled too. I’d just learned to fly as me. It’s hard to put those feelings into words. Maybe it will never happen again – maybe I’ll go into the closet and cherish the day as one of those life highlights. But then again maybe I won’t. Maybe one day I’ll get to fly again.

So me being the one who generally takes the longest, (you have friends like that I’m sure, be kind to them, they are slow but have big hearts), I thought I’d wait just a bit longer and instead of shaving for the occasion I’d use…

Nair.

“It’s the hair; the hair is ALWAYS the problem with us.” Those words, spoken by one of the aforementioned friends portended only doom – little did I know.

So, examining my body, which vaguely resembles a Beluga whale, I thought, “hey skip the shavin’, I’m Nairin’, I’ll feel better I’m sure”. And so on it went.

Have you ever used Nair? Have you ever smelled it? The bottle is pretty. The smell is like something from a glue factory. It just smells like it’s bad for you, that it could hurt badly you if misused. More on that point; keep reading.

And the consistency. Never a gloppier substance has come from the beauty labs of America. On my bod it went, pink color harshly contrasting with my pasty white Irish skin. One false move by any of my limbs never mind my torso and *splat* some would whip onto the wall, the shower curtain or the floor. Then try and clean it! One move to clean leads to a veritable landslide of the gooey substance as it travels down your body. Your only option to while the time away while Nair does it’s dirty business?

Wait.

Wait and just breath the heavy fumes of that permeate your skin, your walls, your cat (should your cat be unlucky enough to be in the bathroom with you during this drama).

So one little factoid on the directions says DO NOT leave on your body beyond the specified time. Despite Nair smelling like the insides of buildings where you bring hobbled horses for a sort of last rights, I thought, “how can this be right I mean, I’m a genetic male, thick skin and all. I may be transgender but hey, this stuff can’t be THAT bad really can it? I’ll leave it on for 3x the time so I’m good and de-haired. I’m sure I’ll feel better.”

“It’s the hair; the hair is ALWAYS the problem with us”. My friends words echoed in my mind. Especially AFTER I took the Nair off.

One little side effect of leaving it on too long is simply that your skin burns. Mine was tingling all over by the time I took it off. You’d think I would have determined I was having a problem when that sensation appeared! Off the Nair went and I’ll be damned if my skin wasn’t RED and growing red bumps and a damn RASH. That’s right readers, the femme fatale, the adopted soccer mom of the trans-community was finding herself turning into a red pimpled, red rashed, Beluga sized MESS. Oh, rubbing my skin with a towel to try desperately to remove this only aggravated my situation.

Needless to say my wearing that low cut cute tank top and my pearls while celebrating was not going to work! Too bad it hadn’t been Winter, I look fetching in a turtle neck.

Moral of story? Those directions on Nair really ARE there for a good reason!
Bonus Moral? Never use an epilator on your face! It’s only for your arms or legs!

(photo of razor courtesy of John Wardell (Netinho’s) Photos, used under Creative Commons License)

First off I’m always “en femme” – I’m always Rebecca and genetically there doesn’t appear to be a whole lot I can do about it aside from a brain transplant. Even then who knows who’s brain I’d get? Teddy Roosevelt? Jeffrey Dallmer? Moe Fine? Groucho Marks? Best to stick with the cortex problems I have than get some other brain with it’s own baggage.

But I dont’ always present as a woman as I’m not “full time” yet, as we say in the community. But hey I prefer to present as “me” as we like to say in the community so when the chance came, I grabbed it thinking, “hey I’ll just change back in the parking garage, no biggie”. I would have been better off changing in a phone booth.

First of all, as most women know, changing clothes in a car is a challenge in itself. How do you get your jeans on when you have a skirt on? Well under the skirt silly then slip the skirt off. Ahhh of course! So here I am in my car, air conditioning on thank goodness, squiggling into my jeans under a perfectly fun skirt that I love that I am hoping desperately I don’t wrinkle, snag, or tear. Mission accomplished there. But the odd gyrations of my portly body in the car would have made a distant on looker wonder if the car I was in was on an earthquake fault: first one leg up against the steering wheel then YANK the jeans up then pull the skirt down then move a hip in the other direction to fit in a bit more. Imagine cramming a sausage full of the sausagy material that makes it so good but doing it by hand. You probably can imagine how I looked. Car swaying, my jeans getting caught over my backside, yanking them up. Good time had by all. Thank goodness there were no spectators – yet.

Removing my bra was no less an act in contorsionism. First unhook said bra then slither your arm out the arm hole then bring it back at an impossible angle so that the arm can actually fit out of the bra strap and then WHISK the bra deftly from your shirt. TA DA. Breasts freed from their imprisonment.

So far so good – piece o’ cake.

Then there’s the makeup. Ahhh the spackle. Some days it might just as well be that. A friend and I had talked earlier about this apparent obstacle, “makeup shmakeup; quick wipe down with a handy makeup removing wipe and be on your way”. On my way indeed! That’s when the spectators came by. As the first man walked past, I figured he wouldn’t notice as I was frantically scrubbing my face. I was right, he was oblivious. A second gentleman saw me from the corner of his eye, then looked away. No doubt he’d seen someone like me scrubbing their face in public before; nothing like a good face scrubbing in public to freshen one up, I’m sure he thought, and on his way he went, nothing unusual here. It was the third couple that got me.

Walking past my car, two women walked up to their oversized white SUV (the kind that could tow a small home) that happened to tower over my little car right next to theirs. As they got in I saw them out of the corner of my eye noticing that the person in the car next to them (that would be me) was doing a good impersonation of someone trying to scrub their face with steel wool. Curiosity got the best of them and they had to look for a bit! Fortunately they did not walk UP to the car and gawk at me through the window, faces pressed firmly to the glass to get every detail. Instead they just kept their distance, no doubt hoping that something worse wasn’t happneing in the car next to them, like my skin catching fire due to the friction I was creating from the scrub of the “gentle” cloth. They eventually left and so did I. Unscathed, save for a bit of embarrassment though clearly having provided the afternoons entainment.

My little life lesson from this? Just relax and be myself, there’s probably not a whole lot I can do about it anyway!

(Phone booth pic used from BenoitNewton’s Photos, under Creative Commons License)

“So what brings up this topic up Becki” you might ask? Well, this whole fact dawned on me when my 16 year old said “Hey my friends and I are going to the park, I’ll bring my cellphone.” She’s practically an adult! I told her, “Yep, see ya later have fun”. No kiss, no hug goodbye I went on with my work, she went out the door. Life is good. No big deal.

But as she walked out I thought about Molly Bish and Gwen Araujo. I thought about other teens who said, “Hey I’m going to the park” or “I’m heading out with friends” then didn’t come back – ever. So I guess, with tears in my eyes, I just write this as an open reminder that we need to hug them when they are unhuggable and nurture them when they are unnuturable. It’s mostly safe “out there”, but not entirely so.

The Institute, located in Tewksbury, MA, is disarmilingly small. I half expected something like a building from Harvard, I mean afterall, with a name like Institute…well it wasn’t quite like that on the outisde. But it was more than that on the inside. First a bit though about my complete lack of directional ability. I don’t have an internal compass, or if I do, it needs it’s battery fixed or a major overhaul. I’ve gotten lost in the best places: my home town trying to find the grocery store, with explicit directions to locations right out on the street, to offices within the building I work in. You name it, I get lost in it. So it was no surprise I got lost coming here. Ah well, late as usual.

So the actual procedure wasn’t as painful as I thought it might be. We tried a bunch of places on my face: The less sensitive cheek area (that was actually more sensitive), the more sensitive upper lip area (that was actually less sensitive). We pretty much stuck with the Thermlysis approach, though at one point we tried FLASH Thermlysis. We tried different areas. It was okay. The reddness wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Though I worry about being ready for work and being ready to do what I need to do. I think I was more worried about the zealous joy the electrolygist had in zapping my face and plucking the dead hair follilcles from it. Truth be told, aside from the clear sadistic enjoyment they had working on me, they were about the nicest people I’d ever met. They were very welcoming, and as they put it, “we don’t care who ya are, as long as you’ve hair we can zap from your face”. I had fun (you read that right, fun at an electrolygist’s office).

To learn more about electrolysis, (and all hair removal methods) you can checkout the amazing Hair Facts consumer watchdog site by clicking here also, TransGender Care has a nice write up describing electrolygy at this link here.

(pic of person being electrocuted from I’m Fantastic Photos, used under Creative Commons License)

I know it’s been awhile since any content has thrown up (literally) onto the plates of the lovely patrons of Beck’s Cafe. But there’s a reason besides “oh we forgot to pay our bill and had no access”. Nay nay, fair reader. This excuse is far more serious. I was in the hospital. It appears my parting gift after my last trip to Toronto was to receive the very ugly and potentially fatal bacteria, streptococcus, whilst traveling for work. The little ugly quite literally started in my foot and, in a few hours, had infected my leg and most of my lymphatic system. I was in a bad way continuing to get badder until a few kind souls stepped in and hauled me to the hospital where they quickly diagnosed my malady and just as quickly decided I was staying for as long as it took to get my little bod out of the clutches of the streptococcus bacteria invasion. The first step in the treatment process is direct application of anti-biotics via IV, coupled with sleep and elevating the affected limb. I’m not sure I really want to know the the next treatment step as I think it involves surgeons. One came to visit my whilst I was in the hospital, measuring me up, so to speak.

Hope you all have been well – it’s nice to be back – oh and Happy Spring

The point of First Event though is to bring together the various groups
in the transgender community to talk about a variety of issues and have
some fun Afterall, that’s an important part of being a whole person! I think the seminars with the most impact to me were the ones on marriage (how to keep one intact) and on employment discrimination and how to deal with that. I’ll post more on both later since both were outstanding.

Oh one of the highlights for me was meeting this person here. Who would know she would not only be the worlds most bestest undiscovered beat reporter, but just a genuinely nice person. No doubt she kicked butt on the pool tables in the after hours!

I thought this was a smashing idea (in Boston we’d say that’s a wicked cool idea, but smashing is more in keeping here with my post).  SO what’s mine?

It is,  "Just be yourself".  That’s really it for 2006, I just want to be myself.  That takes a great deal more work than you’d think on the surface, (as I’m slooowly learning), but, for me in 2006, that’s actually a very good goal.

You can read how Koan threw the gauntlet down on personal mantra’s at this link here.

One of the questions I often hear is “how do I find a qualified therapist”. This is an important point as most therapists do not have experience or education in dealing with transgender patients. If you end up choosing such a therapist, you may find you spend more time educating your therapist about what your dealing with rather than getting the help you need. That’s a bad deal (unless you are charging them $150 per hour, then you have a good gig going). There are two things you need (1) a list from a qualified source and (2) references from people where you live…

Both of these will drive you mad if you are in the closet – which is where all of us generally start, wondering what is going on inside us
while finding our lives spinning increasingly out of control. Let’s talk about these two points as they are the critical first step to getting your going forward – which is what you must do. Generally speaking for most trans-folk, sitting back is not the best option.

Let’s take point (2) first then point (1) second (confused yet?). If you can get a suggestion from a live person, that is best. But, you
might not be able to get a reference from another trans-woman or trans-man if your in the closet; you simply won’t know anyone to ask and you might not even know where to begin. That’s where some chat lines and Yahoo groups can be invaluable since you can interact with real transgender men and women who’ve been there, done that and are in the midst of it. Generally speaking, a yahoo group that caters to transgender folks where you post a question are less intimidating than a chat line. Also, there are more transgender writers of blogs out there today and many of those authors are living, breathing people who more than likely will help you or give you some of their life’s knowledge if you ask them.

Now onto point (1) regarding a list of qualified sources. One of the best lists, perhaps the best, is done by Dr. Becky Allison, M.D.. Her list is sorted by state and country and is made up of referrals done to her by other trans-folk. You can reach it by clicking this link here. I started with her list when I had reached the literal end of my rope and knew that I had to start talking to someone. Another list that parallels Dr. Allison’s, though primarily targeted at New England, is Laura5′s resource site. You can reach her site at this link here.

What I did that may help you, is that I just randomly chose three – and then I prayed and hoped I’d find the right one who would take me seriously. It turned out I did not have to worry. My first call to my first therapist was met with someone who was heartfelt and made me feel like I was not insane. Those put me right at ease and opened a little door to my closet that had been pretty much closed and locked up to that point. I put things a bit backwards and actually found out later that other trans people I had met and become friends with used my therapist. That was a nice confirmation but likely would have been better had I found out up front.

And don’t be afraid to try out one or two or three till you find the right one. You are the consumer here. These are your dollars your spending and your health you are dealing with. I started with one who was outstanding for me, but, my spouse did not click with that therapist, so off to look for another. The second one was a good fit for us both.

Many insurance plans will cover your talking to a psychologist, psychiatrist or social worker who specialized in gender issues, but, here’s the catch, you will likely have to ask your therapist to report it as depression. Frankly, such a diagnosis will not be very far from the truth anyway for many of us since depression is a symptom of Gender Identity Dysphoria (GID). And, it will more easily be covered by your insurance and, be less likely to cause someone to wonder what is going on with you as your medical bills are filed and paid for by you or your insurance.

Some additional resources that may be of help to you and well worth reading on this topic:

• How to tell if your therapist sucks like a bilge pump? Click for this story here
• Andrea James @ TS Roadmap with advice on therapy: Click for this story here
• A Teen’s Guide to Choosing a Therapist:  Click for this story here.
• Youth Resources Guide for Trans-Teens.  Click for their resource guide here.
• TYRA Links for Trans-Youth Resources; please click here.
• If you live in Massachusetts, MTPC has put together an excellent list of therapists and their contact information.  Some of this is duplicated in Dr. Becky Allison’s list but there is additional information that you may find helpful.  You may reach the MTPC list at their Wiki here.

12/23/2009 Update
Changed trans-youth guide to a new set of more helpful links for transgender youth under the TYRA umbrella

7/6/2009 Update
The link to “A Teen’s Guide to Choosing a Therapist” was blocked.  It has been replaced with a link to the Youth Resources Guide for Trans-Teens which also has the article, “A Teen’s Guide to Choosing a Therapist”.    We have also added the MTPC guide to therapists in Massachusetts.

4/14/2008 Update
Diane Ellaborn, LICSW, a well respected gender therapist in Massachusetts, wrote an excellent article to help teens choose a therapist.  We’ve included it above under “A Teen’s Guide to Choosing at Therapist”.

4/1/2007 Update
The site, Laura5, has been permanently disabled by the owner.

What makes her story different is that she’s the first Mormon I’ve ever read about who’s transitioned. Her story sounds like many of ours who are trans (whether Male-to-Female or Female-to-Male). But her being a part of the Mormon church is an interesting piece that is well worth reading. Sadly, she was ex-communicated. This is also a common theme among many of us who are transgender and belong to a faith community of some type. Generally speaking, we get the axe. I’m not sure why this is. If one were a Christian, say, then decided that Christianity was simply groundless and then committed to preach a different alien gospel in that church body, well that would certainly be grounds for expulsion. But, to try and be a healthy whole person, follow the teachings of Christ, and then be tossed? Quite a puzzlement.

Then I put this song on, and sang, and life, was better…

Say to those who are fearful hearted,
Do not be afraid
The Lord your God is Strong
And with His mighty arms
When you call out His Name
He will come and save

He will come and save you
He will come and save you
Say to the weary one
Your God will surely come
He will come and save you

He will come and save you
He will come and save you
Lift up your eyes to Him
You will arise again
He will come and save you

Say to those who are broken hearted
Do not lose your faith
The Lord your God is strong
With His loving arms
When you call on His name
He will come and save

(repeat chorus)

He is our refuge in the day of trouble
He is our shelter in the time of storm
He is our tower in the day of sorrow
Our fortress in the time of war

(repeat chorus 2x)

Lift up your eyes to Him
You will arise again
He will come and save you
Lift up y our eyes to Him
You will arise again
He will come and save you

(He Will Come & Save You, Bob Fitts & Gary Sadler, 1995, Integrity Hosanna! Music/ASCAP)

On one level we are people. We are just like everyone else. We hold down jobs (hopefully, though that is a very, very big issue for some of us sadly I have to say), we pay taxes, we shop (especially when it’s on sale!). Generally speaking we are no different than anyone else is. Except for how we look – or rather, how we don’t look. This weird incongruence between our inside-self and outside reality seems to vary in intensity but without a doubt this is an overwhelming theme. And that is what appears to be the main focus. Look in the mirror, get addressed on the street, or talk on the phone and be known to both yourself and to others as the gender you really are. The person you really are.

I’m totally for that and for that having GID is partly a genetic issue. But here’s where my doubts lie. What if you found that the very characteristics of you, your personality quirks, kindness traits, and general demeanor that led you on your gender journey, that led you to question the very fabric of who you are at the core of your being, what if these things started to disappear? What if instead, whilst moving steadily but slowly (or quickly – depending on your rate of working out being transgendered to some place of balance) forward you found you were less caring, less empathetic, less able to build friends, love your children or nurture those around you? What if you
found your transgendered nature had you so tied up in knots (reading, researching, learning makeup, clothes, trying to un-grip your
birth gender cues and getting a new grip on your correct gender cues) that the very traits of who you are that led you to the conclusion, and subsequent diagnosis of being transsexual – what if they disappeared?

What do you do then?

For me, this has been a truly niggling issue for the past month. Being who I am seems to be moving me away from those whom I love the most and have responsibility for the most. I do not know many women who would abandon children in a marriage, or other relationships simply to attain balance in their life. I know plenty who skip mammograms or pap smears so their kids can eat, and those who work three jobs so their kids can go to college. In my life, what I’ve found of late, is that my trans issues have been driving me not to be more open, loving, kind, embracing and nurturing. But have driven me to be more selfish, more guarded, and characteristically less of the kind of person I really admire frankly. This puzzles me as I’m out to some people, and others are on a need-to-know basis only. I’m not by nature secretive. So how did the very traits of who I am that made me start to wonder about who I am, how did my search after some answer, some peace with who I am and ultimately some balance, how did these things result in me being the opposite of who I want to be in the first place.

I don’t have any easy answers for this. I suppose they partly come down to not accepting myself, or not being even more open than I am now. Perhaps if I finally accepted my therapist suggestion of HRT & anti-androgens I’d see things differently. But surely for those of us who are trans, this has to be something we all think through – maybe must think through? For though our outside and inside image is important – indeed critical – I would wager that who we are as people is even more important.

Sometimes i’m a fake

Sometimes i’m a hypocrite that everybody hates

Sometimes i’m a poet

Sometimes i’m a preacher

Sometimes i watch life go by sitting on the bleacher

But, i’ve never been left alone in any problem that i’ve known even though i’m to blame, there were times when things were dark and i’ve been known to miss the mark but someone fixed my aim

Sometimes i’m a man of God, sometimes i’m all right, sometimes i lay down close my eyes and pray to God

Sometimes I don’t feel good, it’s hard to start the day, it’s hard to climb the obstacles that sometimes come my way…if I make it, I’m a good man, am I bad man if I fail? i know I’m never good enough, so I let grace prevail

Oh I’ve never been left alone in any problem that I’ve known even though I’m to blame there were times when things were dark and I’ve been known to miss the mark but someone fixed my aim

Sometimes I’m a man of God, sometimes i’m all right, sometimes I lay down, close my eyes and pray to God…I’m ready for the night.

(Audio Adreneline, 1996)

I’m so messed up right now I can barely think straight, let alone string together words cogently enough to make sense. I have no idea
why these “dips” happen. The best I can make of them, they happen when I don’t take care of myself, burying my being transgendered deep inside me to the degree that it drives me to a depression that I can’t really deal with. I know there are medications for this soft of thing. And my therapist has recommended them on more than one occasion. So why not avail myself of them and get back to some normalcy? Mainly, I think, because I don’t like the side effects, the increased tendency for suicide, the unknowns of taking them for so long. So I chose to ride out these periods and then I come to my senses after two days of not sleeping, of hiding, and realize I’m really in a bad sorts, pull myself together and drag myself up and out and see that the sun really is shining, the air really is filled with oxygen and that maybe things aren’t so bad after all.

Expressing my transgendered nature really does help me in these situations. Generally, it’s about crossdressing. In doing that, I am able to bring some level of congruity between my body and my mind and that makes all the difference, calming me, making my little world line up and then letting me sort of just go on with life. That going on with life is what most if not all folk who are transgendered really want. They just want some measure of peace and then to live and work and love. It’s pretty simple stuff really. I don’t know a single transgendered man or woman who would ask to have Gender Identity Dysphoria (GID). The general complications that it causes are just mind boggling. MOST of those complications are the result of societal pressure that being transgendered is somehow so weird that it demands stomping out or to be relegated to some sensational talk show. Many of those complications are caused by the transgendered persons own fears as well.

So it’s nice to be out and about. I don’t feel particularly comfortable in my own skin right now, but I’m not in some darkcavernous place at least.

I read this about D in the link above & I thought to myself "this is just so wrong, this didn’t have to happen".  It didn’t.  The real issue here is discrimination based on someone being transgendered.  But D could have been Asian, Mexican, mentally ill or Islamic and the same thing may have happened.

A re-reading of The Parable of the Good Samaritan helps here I think:
The Good Samaritan

What’s really been rattling my brain is acceptance.  Self-acceptance, if your different.  And especially if your transgendered.  Self-acceptance is the number one issue.  I thought I had vanquished this dragon until I engaged in some very meaningful dialog with some trans-folk at an email group I’m a part of run by the very talented Lacey Leigh.

As Lacey states it, so rightly in words I cannot, she says “The
greatest hurdle with being transgendered is self acceptance; once that
is achieved, everything else falls into place”.   The equally gifted
Andrea James, on her site TS Roadmap, states it as well.  “Self-acceptance and coming to terms with your feelings
are the first order of business in transition. If you are not emotionally
grounded from the onset, you are going to have a difficult transition. Transition
is a minor issue in comparison to self-acceptance”.

As for me, I had thought that I’d have accepted or at least come to
terms with being transgendered.  I would have thought by now that I’d
be completely self-accepting.   But if the definition of self-accpeting
is loving ourselves  & accepting ourselves the way we are, then, I
don’t think I’m there yet.  I’ve got a ways to go it appears.  I’ve
traveled all over the world and seen many things in life, but, it
appears, I’ve not traveled to my own heart to see what’s there and the
work I need to do in accepting who I am as a transgendered person.

I’m not sure exactly what that means,
but, I think it has to do with loving myself as much as I’d love
someone else.  I think it means giving myself room to be me, and
in that knowing and trusting that I won’t become this self-centered
shrew hoarding what she has till the last day.   The funny
thing is, in those moments when I’ve accepted myself the most, I’ve
been freer to give away the most.

some links that are helping me:
The
journey to self-acceptance

Self
Acceptance at TS Roadmap

The
Successful Crossdresser

Changing your self-image

Self-esteem what does the Bible Say?

6/13/2010 Update
Lacey Leigh’s sight, “The Successful Crossdresser” has been taken off the net

It’s amazing how life works.  Tonight, I was having a "moment".  My moments generally come when I’m not doing anything.  Then, like a tidal wave of emotions, the reality of my GID crashes over me as an uninvited dilemma till I’m terribly sad, crying, or grabbing the LARGE bag of M&M’s.

Mask was nice to read…now where are my M&M’s.