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About KayleeEl

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  • Birthday 01/23/1983

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  1. Aw you poor, poor thing! I'm very happy that your wife was there to give you the cuddle you needed at the end. Someone just to hold you so it doesn't feel like your about to cry your own soul out. I empathise totally and I'm really glad someone was there for you : ) : )
  2. KayleeEl

    Coming out ... step-by-step

    Don't get me started! It happens all the time >:|
  3. KayleeEl

    Coming out ... step-by-step

    Great to hear : )
  4. KayleeEl

    Musings On Tomorrow's Couple's Therapy Meeting

    That's an interesting discussion point you raise. If I may chime in- I don't feel like a 'woman' either. I feel like me. I am a transgender woman. I don’t really think anyone actually feels like a ‘woman’, they just feel like them. In honesty, if I had the choice to be born female I don't know that I would: I actually quite like me the way that I am. Weird, right? It took a little while, but I'm a lot happier with my body and appearance now. I've not had surgery, but (lucky genetics?) I had quite soft facial features to start with. Basically the only things I've done are hormones, eaten lots to put on weight and had electrolysis. There is no gold standard. There's no minimum bar that you must be able to limbo under. I'm actually quite jealous of people who have had reassignment surgery... but not enough to really do it myself. I'd like larger breasts, but mine are presentable. It's about being comfortable being you, and being you takes time and exploration. Sincerely I apologise for talking about 'me' when I'm trying to make a more general point, I'm just my only point of reference : ( It seems that partly we spend huge amounts of time in our own heads. It's totally understandable, we have a lot to think about and naturally we fret about what the people around us will think. The bizarre reality seems to be, at least in the UK, that nobody honestly gives a flying flip. Genuinely. I've had occasional looks, but in honesty not for months. The only difference is that I'm better practiced dressing for my style and more confident. Nobody outside really gives a tinker's cuss one way or the other- they're wrapped up in their own heads, with their own problems. The same is true at work. I transitioned in my last job and everyone was nothing but supportive. Most people are pretty good natured. Now the caveat to that is those close to us. That's the real kick in the teeth. The ones who should support us most are (in my opinion) the most likely to do the most damage. They're more invested in us, you see. They have put much more of themselves into 'us' as they believe us to be, so when we turn around and show them who we really were all along they can't see the butterfly, they just miss the caterpillar and may be resentful of all the personal energy they put into knowing it. In order to be you, you need time and space. No, not like that. I know you're thinking about Sci Fi. You need the room to see how you want to evolve and you need the time to experiment with those evolutions. I went though a heavy goth phase as part of my transition, then dressing like a tramp, and now I'm just 'normal'. Those phases were very important, because it helped me learn what I liked, what I didn't like, what suited me, what made me happy. When I started, I was desperate for surgery. I wanted it yesterday. If my soul had been he asking price then you wouldn't have seen it but for the blur as I handed it over. Room and time. Now I'm not so fussed. I might actually prefer to use that money for a house deposit, or a car, or a monkey (and a hat for the monkey), or a beagle that I can name Smeagol. There are only two constraints to room and time. One is us, and our concern about upsetting people, going beyond the pale etc. and the other is those close to us. They're smallest reactions make much greater ripples than the overreactions of acquaintances. So, Emma. To be Emma you must know what it means to be Emma. To do that you need to try the stuff you want to try, and don't worry about protecting others by limiting yourself. You need to try, fail, learn and try some more. Maybe skirts won’t suit you, maybe they will. Maybe crossdressing in private will be enough, maybe it won’t. Maybe you will end up making it happen and doing the whole damned lot of facial surgery, reassignment surgery, breast augmentation, hormones, hair removal. Maybe your beloved will be sincerely happy that she now knows the real you. Maybe she’ll love you more. Maybe she won’t. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Ultimately whatever you do, it’s likely be the same as what everyone else does. We muddle along. We don’t know the outcomes and can’t see the future: we just sort of burble through it and try for the best. See if you can find a muddle-y way to experiment with your identity (clothes and makeup are only a part of it but they do help, given our society’s deeply ingrained gender roles). Muddling is all we can do. But trust me on the beagle, I will make that mofo happen. Sorry for the patronising garbage. I drew a picture to make it better:
  5. KayleeEl

    Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

    Good luck with the skirt :)
  6. KayleeEl

    An odd feeling

    It took a lot of coffee... But it is booked! *world's tiniest trumpet plays the world's most tiny fanfare* Thank you for the support, Emma have a great day!
  7. KayleeEl

    Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

    Hi Emma, It sounds like your sister at the meeting has some of the same qualities I see in others of her generation. Specifically, the idea that because it was hard for them then it should be hard for you. I should expect she had to spend a lot of her life being someone else, pretending. Finally, when she knew who she was, she probably had to spend a very long time explaining it. Justifying it. She may even feel like being transgender is almost a 'club', for which the price of admission is soul-searching, justification and suffering. Anyone who has not done those things is not really transgender and needs to shape up or find somewhere else to sling their hook. Naturally she's mistaken, and whilst I can only sympathise with her for whatever hardships have given her a flint-like edge you are well within your rights to feel hurt. She hurt you and must take responsibility for that. There is no admission cost, there is no minimum level of suffering or pain one must go through. Being transsexual is as much a part of us as the sheen on our eyes or the subdermal scattering of our skin. There's an old joke that goes something like this: Q: "How many transsexuals does it take to change a light bulb?" A: "One. But only after they have first lived in the dark for at least two years and have the agreement of two psychiatrists that the bulb is, indeed, blown." The lengths we have to go to 'prove' who we are can have bad effects on people. They must take responsibility for inflicting that down on to others. You don't have to prove anything, however. There is no timescale, no measure and no schedule except your own. I'm sure the shirt and ballet shoes looked very nice and suited you well. Personally I found the first time I wore a long skirt to be almost like breathing freedom. Kaylee.
  8. KayleeEl

    So what do I do?

    Thank you, Emma. I seem to only come here when I want to complain about something, so I'm very sorry for my late reply. You're right: in essence the whole thing with Gwen is in my head. She often goes quiet purely because she's busy moving house and getting settled into her job. She also, due to her very low self esteem, seems to 'expect' me to leave her. All I can do is try to get a handle on the thoughts and voices that rise up to fill that void of interaction. Noises that seem louder in the silence. It'll be fine, and I can only work at trying not to fret over things that are outside of my control. Precisely as you identify. Thank you for your thoughts and for taking the time to put them down to me. I really appreciate it. I hope you have a good week. Kaylee.
  9. KayleeEl

    An odd feeling

    It’s an odd feeling, hoping that there is something wrong with you. Really hoping that you’re sick, and that you can use that to explain what’s happening. I’m loathe to book the blood tests though, not only because they’re a nuisance that involves me taking time off of work but because I fully expect them to reveal nothing. The phlebotomist will take the samples, I like her; she’s a friend of a friend and always asks after him and what he’s been up to. Then the samples will disappear for a couple of weeks. Finally the surgery will send me a letter. It’ll look something like this: “We’ve had the results of your blood test. We can confirm that your cholesterol levels are very high, putting you at risk of serious health conditions, including stroke and heart attack. You’ll be pleased to know, however, that we found no other abnormal readings. Please make an appointment as soon as possible so we can discuss the results and your options.” My symptoms are weight gain, which I don’t mind as I like being heavier, depression, high cholesterol and very high fatigue. It’s the fatigue that’s ruining my life, it feels like every other day I have to ask to work from home because I can barely keep my eyes open. The cholesterol is also worrying, mostly because I know I’m fat but I’m happy as I am. I’m already a vegetarian, I don’t eat dairy (apart from chocolate and cheese) so that actually cuts out most sources of dietary cholesterol. In essence, I don’t want a formal confirmation of something that I can already hear in my head (naturally, in my father’s patronising, sanctimonious, calculating voice): “You’re depressed and have cholesterol problems because you don’t go to the gym and don’t eat like a nutritionist. If you got off your fat backside you would probably feel less tired, too.” My symptoms have all the hallmarks of an underachieve thyroid, which my maternal grandmother also has. The fact it’s such a perfect fit seems to make it all the more likely that it won’t be the culprit. I’d love an easy answer, for once. Something that explains why it’s damned hard to even get out of bed. Why my eyes are stingy and dry. Why just housework tires me out. Why I have such acute bouts of depression. Why my cholesterol is high enough to actually make the doctor raise their eyebrows (which is not a fun feeling). So, I’m on the sofa. I’m remoted in to work. The telephone is nearby. My coffee is slowly going cold. It’s nearly noon. I can’t bring myself to book the blood test. The coffee feels like it’s in another room. I’m too bleary-eyed to start work; I almost expect to be fired for working from home too much. The telephone feels like it’s in another country. Just like Gwen. I wish she were here. I wish Cloud was here too, my best friend in all the world. My girlfriend is in the Netherlands, and has gone radio-silent again. Cloud is in France visiting his family. It’s okay: Cloud will be back tomorrow, and I’ve learnt that Gwen being quiet doesn’t ‘mean’ anything (much as my neuroses try to twist it into one). She’ll be back soon enough. Work isn’t going anywhere. Not really. They need me, and my working from home is only just an inconvenience. In my defence, I also remoted in over the weekend and did a load of extra work for them just because I felt like it. I’ll start small. Coffee first. Everything else in time.
  10. KayleeEl

    So what do I do?

    My therapist tells me that we seek out similar relationships to those that we’ve had before. We have the deep-seated need to try again, but to win this time. To get it right. It’s why we follow destructive relationship patterns. So, here we are and there we are. I’m back in a destructive pattern and I genuinely don’t know what to do. All I can do is jot it down here. Perhaps the act of writing it out will help. So, my girlfriend and I have been dating for not far off a year now. I came on too strong in the beginning- you know what it’s like. You meet someone who you’re really into and you just want to wrap them up and not let them go. We rowed about that briefly. She was angry with me for pressuring her to make promises about what her future plans were: would she stay in the Netherlands? Would she return to the UK? I agreed I’d been far too pushy and that I’d roll it back. I backed off. The problem was, I was angry with her too. This had obviously been a problem for a little while, and she had ignored it (and me). I’d been left dangling for weeks with no contact, wondering if I’d gotten dumped or if something bad had happened to her. We got through it. I spent Christmas and New Year with her. I really like her. I don’t like how she won’t share. She won’t say when something bothers her. She won’t say what she wants. She won’t let me in or see what she’s really thinking. That’s like crack to me. It appeals to everything damaged about me in a perfect way. It’s not just a honey-pot trap, it’s a trap perfectly designed for every intricacy of my personality. Damaged, lovable loner. Wants love but doesn’t know how to show it. Veers between loving and generous to distant and unreachable (but never cruel or nasty) An enigma for me to unravel. Lets my imagination run away with possibilities to fill the silence. So, she went silent again recently. I finally managed to get her to talk to me, and (for some reason) I believe her when she says she was too busy. She’s buying a house in NL and wasn’t sure if that meant she was explicitly dumping me. Her phrasing. She was afraid that she couldn’t give me what I wanted: to be ‘together’ together because she was staying out there for the foreseeable future. I called her. We talked through it. We’re actually quite good at talking through stuff: it’s the silence that kills it. And me. Basically I said that I really loved her and, as a result, if she wanted to stay there then that was fine. It’s less than a 2 hour flight away, and who knows what the future may hold? She seemed happy with that. She said that she wanted to keep me in her life. She had just been worried about screwing me over by dragging me across country to see her. She’s very logical. Possibly mildly autistic. It’s fine, I’m not in any position to judge someone because they are neuro-atypical. We straightened it out. Then I immediately opened another tin of worms by suggesting we should promise to be exclusive: to not see other people. She didn’t say yes or no- she wanted to know why. She wanted to know what I was afraid of, what I was trying to prevent. Why would I do something like that for her when she genuinely believes I’m ‘better’ than her? That was tough to answer. Not least of all because explaining why you want someone to yourself is hard. There’s no actual reason. It’s just something I feel: I don’t want to share her. More importantly, I think, were her beliefs. I forget how inferior she can feel. See, she’s frighteningly intelligent (and knows it) but has low self esteem about her looks. I don’t think it’s that she wants to cheat on me… it’s that she doesn’t even see it as a possibility that she would find someone else wanting to sleep with her, but wonders why I would want to commit myself to her. I’ve been sending her emails for the last couple of days. With her frantic schedule it’s just easier. I’ve had no replies to them yet. Maybe she’s read them, maybe she hasn’t. I also tend to write a little rhetorically, and she doesn’t pick up on that much. Generally she will only answer if I ask a direct question. The emails I send are genuine. They hark back to how I felt and what I let myself feel before we rowed about my pushiness. You see, when I stopped being pushy I’d let something better slip away too: I stopped making it clear how much I cared for and liked her. I told her some of the things about her I liked. Her eyes. Her hair. Laughing with her. Her scent. The way she stores up bizarrely obscure knowledge on niche subjects (she’s explained before how certain types of wires are made and how a factory in GTA V was designed wrong). I told her I’d move countries to be with her if necessary. She’s tough to understand. She’s withdrawn, quiet, emotionally hard to read. She has periods of being just unreachable. She has a hard time understanding why I’d be interested in her, and if it’s not just me ‘settling for less’ or believing I can’t do better. Like I said, that’s like crack to me. It’s a chance for me to ‘do it right’. She’s a lot like my mother was. A lot like at least two former lovers from my University years. She doesn’t dole out love, compassion or attention. You have to earn it. It’s a bad dynamic. But I don’t think she’s a bad person. I think she’s actually a very good person. It’s not that she doesn’t have feelings, she doesn’t know how to express them. So she’s silent instead. I don’t want to give up. At least I’m aware that this dynamic is one I’ve been in before. It’s never worked out before… but perhaps this time. That’s the catch, the hook. I suppose it’s about balance: it might work, and it is only right that I’m willing to listen, be attentive and understand what she needs but can’t find words to say. I just need to also be aware that it’s not for me to ‘fix’, nor my sole responsibility to maintain the relationship. It’s a touch one. It doesn’t help that, during those weeks where she was unreachable, I say she’d been online that very day on the dating website where we met. That one’s hard to rationalise, perhaps it’s just her self esteem.
  11. KayleeEl


    The Kaylee’s back in town! (D’ner! D’ner! D’ner!) Yes, my pretties, after a two week absence I've returned from the Far Side with news and updates. How lucky are you? So, my date went very well. Very well. We spent the whole long weekend together and we’ll meet again soon, probably when she's back in the Netherlands after visiting her family. We've got loads in common, she has a gorgeous kind face and is very caring. I actually felt happy. For the first time: actually truly happy. I was with someone I really liked, and they liked me, and I didn't feel like I had to pretend. I was able to just be me… And she still liked me! Maybe I don't suck after all… Maybe I'm actually generous, sweet, intelligent and pretty. It's done me so much good. All I must keep doing is reminding myself: it's okay. You're a great person. If it doesn't work out, then you're STILL a great person. Be proud and happy. I'm actually learning to be happy! This is genuinely wonderful. It's even more euphoric to have spent such an incredible weekend. I'm keeping my hopes high that this will work out really well. I think it might, because I deserve someone like this in my life. Even my therapist says that he feels something has changed, that I've turned a corner. I'm not ‘cured’, years of abuse don't work like that, but I'm so much better! So, my crazy dream continues. Only a short update this time! Take care of yourself x
  12. KayleeEl

    Focus on you

    Focus on You. Wise words. God, I went to pieces last weekend. My entry, Gibberish, is just a scattering of desperate thoughts. I was in quite a mess but I coped. I actually curled up in a ball, crying, and almost like a split personality, stroked my hair and told myself I was a good girl. That it was okay and I was fine. I'd done nothing wrong. That poor German girl! If only she knew how much all that affected me! She of course did nothing wrong and knows nothing about it. We’re still chatting, I really like her. She has an unpretentious honesty that is adorable. She also has competition from Gwen. Gwen and I have a lot in common and something about her just makes me want to hug her and never let go. We’re going out on a date next weekend. I'm very conscious how close together all this is, and I’m working hard to keep my head in line: I need to focus on me. I can't just fall (or bounce) straight into another relationship, I need to listen to me and feel what I want and what I am. Gwen’s only visiting her family for a week before going back to Amsterdam for a while. I figure there's no harm in a date: if it goes well, great. If not, no harm done. But it can't be about me needing someone, about me desperately wanting someone… Anyone in my life to make up for everything that's happened to me. It has to be because I want it and because I feel ready for it. I have to focus on me and listen to my heart, not my neuroses and not the sad, crying child that lives inside me. Last weekend, for the first time, that crying child didn't take over. Neither did I shut them out. I faced it and worked through it. I've never done that before, and I hope it points to a more positive way for me to cope. Home life is awkward. My housemate and I are friends, but it's so awkward when you were together for 7 years. If it's still awkward in a month or so, we’ll probably move elsewhere separately. I'm doing better at taking compliments as well. At actually believing when people say nice things to me that they might be telling the truth. That maybe I'm pretty enough to attract two sweet girls at once. And so, my crazy dream continues. Kaylee is a pansexual, trans-woman. She is pre-op and has been on hormones since June 2013. She is a size 14 gender/sexuality/sex/size advocate. Curvy, cute, bi and proud. She is a successful technology expert in the UK.
  13. KayleeEl

    I'm better...

    I don't know what happened last night, I think I went a little bit mad! I'm okay now ^_^
  14. KayleeEl


    They're not really into me. I thought it might just be a cultural thing but the lady I was chatting to isn't really interested. Or is it just me? Am I going too fast? We've been exchanging messages for a week, and I only want to move the conversation to WhatsApp instead of tsdating.com. God I'm a freak. I panic, overthink and then scare people off. I'm so needy it actually throws me into a tizzy that someone I've only spent a week talking to online isn't as ‘into’ me as I feel they should be. Least ways, I really interested in them and I'm just not sure it's being reciprocated. Maybe that's totally unfair. Maybe I'm misreading it. Christ listen to me. Honestly, what's the matter with me? Why is this sending me into a spiral? Let's take it slow. I was feeling low and unhappy. I saw someone with a really cute photo and some similar interests. I messaged them, they messaged back. We have a lot in common. They said I was cute. I said they were pretty. I became invested. Burning inside to be needed. To be loved. To be desired. It makes me needy, makes me crave attention that just isn't practical from a one week old relationship. The problem is that I've put my intentions out there: I think they're cute, I want to take that forward. They're not, they're keeping it very much in the friend zone, with only hints that they might be interested in me. That makes me chase. When I chase, I get needy. I want. I start running to catch. It's an old pattern that I've repeated many times in relationships. I find someone I like, I put all the right noises out there, then nothing happens (or doesn't happen the way I want it to). Then I start overthinking. Overanalysing. I wind up here. You're here with me now, so at least I have company. I dreamed about this person, they became important to me very quickly because they were attractive to me and I believed I was attractive to them. Now my brain is freaking out because I've gone way off the deep end and they are still just wanting to chat and be friends by a short message every few days on a forum. Am I this desperate for love? Am I this affection starved? Do I really fall for people so quickly and end up in this mess? Yes it would seem I am and I do. Now I don't know what I want or what I want to do. It's not my fault. I have to remember that. It isn't my fault and I'm not bad. I'm kind and pretty and it's not impossible for someone I find attractive to find me attractive. I'm not twisted. I'm not unlovable. I'm a mess with this, I really am. I need to stop somehow, but I don't know how. I'm projecting my former partner onto this: needing to instantly replace him with someone else who loves me. To give me value. To make me worth something. I'm so glad I'm seeing my therapist tomorrow. They still haven't told me their name, any name. I don't know who to say hello to. Kaylee, you're a silly thing. Very silly. Look at the state you're in, all because someone pretty answered a message and carried on a conversation. Try to remember you are loveable. Pretty and kind. You do deserve someone like that. Maybe not this person, but someone. The world seems small to me again. I let fantasy get carried away from reality and I've landed with a sharp bump. Structureless. Formless. My heart hurts. Thank God for the antidepressants. Tomorrow will be another day. Confusion. Fog. I'm so not ready. What utter gibberish this post is. It makes no sense.
  15. KayleeEl


    Therapy is odd. It reminds me of hormones, or electrolysis: nothing happens for ages, then suddenly you look in the mirror and see a girl’s hips, chest, thighs and skin staring back at you and realise that, even though you haven't shaved, your skin is still smooth. Nothing changes for ages then it feels like, overnight, it all flips. Antidepressants have got me back on an even keel, and my therapist finally managed to get me to realise what happened to me. Why I'm here and why I'm like this. I was always different, even when I was tiny. Even as a newborn. I was different. An androgynous little child who thought they were a girl. My mother left when I was five, and I internalised that it was because I was different. My father did everything he could to make me feel different and to make me feel like everything that happened was my fault. It wasn't. I'm a pretty, kind, generous girl. Bad stuff happens: sometimes it's the other person’s fault, sometimes it's mine, often it's just one of those things. It's not a personal failing or because I'm bad. The word I discovered that summarised how I've always felt about myself is ‘twisted’. I've always felt twisted and unnatural. I'm not. I'm natural, normal and a good person. I'm just a little different and different is not bad. Now I need to reevaluate my life. Everything I've ever blamed myself for. All the guilt. All the times I've felt worthless. I need to reconstruct my life around this new narrative, and it's going to take time. Whenever I feel like crying to my housemate to let us be ‘partners’ again, I remind myself of all of this. I want us to be friends, not lovers. And that's not because I'm wicked or ungrateful: I'm a good person and a good friend. I'm getting very into a t-girl my age from Germany. We're talking a lot online and really connecting. But if that doesn't work out, it's not because I'm inherently bad or twisted. It'll just be one of those things. I hope it goes well, but like me (and so many of us) they're damaged. Unsympathetic family, feeling trapped, unable to be ‘them’. I think I can help just a little by listening and understanding. They don't even have a female name yet and she's really self-conscious. She's not alone. We've all been there. It's a long journey, and mine just opened out into somewhere new. So my crazy dream continues. What a new vista it is… Kaylee is a pansexual, trans-woman. She is pre-op and has been on hormones since June 2013. She is a size 14 gender/sexuality/sex/size advocate. Curvy, cute, bi and proud. She is a successful technology expert in the UK.