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JayM

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Blog Entries posted by JayM

  1. JayM

    'Feminine' Traits

    By JayM,

    My feminine traits. They’re non-existent. Not that I haven’t tried. Over the years, I’ve attempted to be feminine, mostly for the benefit of my mother. After the trip to the doctor, where he suggested my mother should actively encourage female activities, take me out shopping for dresses, do stuff that mothers and daughters are supposed to do, that’s what she did. I went along with my mother’s wishes for a while, although it was plain to both of us that I wasn’t enjoying any of it. She kept it up for a few months and then gave up. Several times, I tried to explain to her that it just wasn’t me. That it wasn’t what I needed, because that wasn’t how I was built. But each time I tried to talk to her on the subject, she would get upset and tell me to shut up.

    For ten years, I made random attempts to talk to my mother about being transgender. She didn’t want to know. One time, she said to me that she already had a son and she didn’t want another one. It was only years later that I realised what I’d denied her. I had denied her the pleasure of having a daughter to teach how to cook, a daughter to teach how to apply makeup, a daughter to go shopping with. All the things that, I suppose, a mother looks forward to doing with her daughter, she never got to do with me. I still have guilt over that.

    I have, on occasion, made an effort - mainly for my mother but also for others - to be female. I also tried to be feminine for my husband, although not all the time, I admit. I couldn’t possibly do it all the time. It’s very draining to pretend to be something you’re not. It’s tiring to pretend to be enjoying something when you’re not enjoying it at all.

    One of the occasions I made the effort was my wedding day. I wore a dress. Not quite white, but ivory coloured. We didn’t want any photos of the wedding (my idea, I believe) but one of my husband’s friends took a bunch of photos anyway and then presented us with an album full of them. I look like the fairy that belongs on top of the Christmas tree.

    I hate having my photo taken at the best of times. But in a dress? That’s the worst. But I allowed it to happen again, at my brother’s wedding. I wore a lacy purple dress, mainly because I knew it was expected of me, and mainly to please my mother. I looked - and felt - horrendous. My mother didn’t even say anything about it afterwards. I was disappointed about that because I’d done it for her, not me.

    The last time I wore a dress was two years ago, at another wedding. The wedding of my cousin. Again, I did it because I knew it was expected, and because it was still a way for me to cover up what I am. There was a lot of family at that wedding. They don’t know about me, unless my mother shared with her sister at any point over the years. But I doubt she did. If she had, I’m pretty sure I’d have received funny looks or questions over the years, and I haven’t.

    So, occasionally I’ve worn a dress, to keep up appearances. And every time, I’ve felt like a freak. Uncomfortable and wrong. Deceitful and fraudulent.

    A few years ago, my husband and I were really struggling. To be honest, the marriage had become staid because we were taking each other for granted far too much. We had become complacent and uncaring. We somehow agreed to try to enliven things in the bedroom, which resulted in the both of us buying ridiculous amounts of lingerie for me to wear. I tried it. I really tried, for a month or two. But it didn’t fix any problems, and I felt guilty for trying to cover up the cracks in a way that I’d always known wouldn’t work. I don’t feel sexy in lingerie. I never have. I also felt guilty for letting down my husband like that. For pretending I was into it when I wasn’t. When I knew I wasn’t, and never would be. For basically lying to him, leading him on, faking it.

    I’m not feminine. I never have been. I’ve tried, when I have thought it was required of me or expected of me. I’ve faked, I’ve cheated, I’ve pretended, I’ve lied. I hate myself for doing it because I know it’s wrong. And because it has badly hurt my husband. And because it hurts me. It hurts me because it compounds the guilt I’m already feeling. It hurts me because I’m denying what I am, over and over again. I’ve spent most of my life pretending to be something I’m not, and I’m exhausted by it. The guilt and the shame eats at me. It keeps me awake at night.

  2. JayM

    A Good Day

    By JayM,

    I logged on here a couple of hours ago to post something, because it's been a few days since I last visited this site. I've been busy at work this week and too lazy to log on in the evenings. And I started reading instead of writing. And then I got totally distracted by a Twitter notification *rolls eyes*
    Last week, one of my all-time music heroes favourited one of my tweets and I was beside myself with excitement and glee (I know, I'm easily pleased!)
    Tonight it happened again. Different all-time music hero, same effect *rolls eyes once more*
    Is it just me? Or do other people do that? (Get excited, I mean, not roll their eyes...)
    I wanted to tell someone. I wanted to tell anyone who would listen. "He favourited my tweet! HE favourited my tweet! He read my ****ing tweet!"
    Anyway... I took part in that call at work today. The one where I talked to over 100 strangers about being transgender. I was nervous as hell last night (couldn't sleep), worried in case I was going to make a fool of myself. I was nervous as I waited for my turn to speak. And then when I opened my mouth I just couldn't shut up. I talked about some of the things I've already blogged about here - my mother, my brother, my husband, how they accepted me (or not) and how I've spent half my life hiding what I was and how I can't do that any more. I told everyone that I have to be me at work from now on; that I can't hide it any more. It's too tiring; it's too draining to lock it all away. I hinted that I'll probably be transitioning while I work there (and of course that's entirely dependent on whether I get the help I need from the medical profession - I have an appointment next Monday and my husband is coming with me).
    After the call, I was flooded with emails from people who had heard me speak. All of them were using words like "inspirational", "brave", "role model" and I felt like a fraud while reading them. How could they possibly think those things when I'm guilty of denying all of this for so long, terrified of how people would react? I can't get my head around it. I was even asked to attend a meeting in December to talk about the subject again in front of a bunch of execs - C-level suits. I quickly declined that offer.
    But the best thing to come out of it was an email from a guy I met in February. We attended a course together back then and he had told me how, after years of marriage (to a woman) he had finally admitted he was gay and they had amicably divorced and he had turned his life around. He heard me speaking on the call today and wrote to me to congratulate me. It really meant a lot to me to read his words. Back in February, I had been calling him brave and today he used that word on me. I accepted that word from him, because I admire him. It was him, and people like him, who had made me realise that I needed to do something with my own life and that it was always possible to turn your life around. It's never too late to do something that will help you reach for your dreams.
  3. JayM

    Busy week, again

    By JayM,

    Monday morning, first thing, I had an appointment with a GP. Not my GP but one at my practice. She was lovely. She was also not 100% surprised when I told her I was trans and that I wanted her to refer me to a GIC. She said that I was the third person in the past couple of months who had approached her about the same thing.
    There's more of us around, these days, it seems... Personally, I think it's just people like me, getting braver or at least less scared to poke their head above the parapet.
    The doc then went on to suggest that "Gender Services" in my area (those were her words, not mine) are really poor (I knew that already, of course, having done some research) and that it would take a while to get an appointment with gender identity specialists, but, in the meantime she would do two things. Firstly, she would get me an appointment with a psychologist, asap. I kind of expected that, although I'm not too thrilled about the thought of analysing my life with a stranger, only to have to do it all again when I do get to sit in front of a gender specialist. Secondly, the doc said she would call a meeting with all the other docs in the practice and work on a strategy for trans people who approach them in future, because she knows these docs are not being as useful as they should be right now. She wants to get all the GPs together to agree to a unified approach and get them all up to speed on what's available, what they should be doing, providing, etc. Which can't be a bad thing. So, although I'm still no better off, the fact that I turned up on Monday and she knew she couldn't help immediately means she has been spurred on to do something about it. Hopefully that will happen. I'm gonna make another appointment to see her in a couple of weeks.
    Monday night, I attended my first FtM group meeting at the local LGBT centre. There were around eighteen of us, and when the guy who was running it asked, "Who's new tonight?" around half of us stuck our hands up. So I didn't feel out of place on that front. I did feel out of place on the age front - they were all so much younger than me. But I was pretty pleased about that, in a funny way. Because, when I thought about it, that meant they had most of their lives ahead of them to live in the way they were supposed to live - as men. Me? I've lived over half my life already. Faking it as a woman. 
    It was a really good evening. Everyone was so nice and friendly. I'm going to make it a regular thing. They also have social evenings where significant others can join. My husband's looking forward to that.
    Work was crazily busy this week. Again. For two solid weeks, I've hardly had time to breathe. I've been falling asleep in front of the TV at night. But I feel more relaxed, even with the pressure of the workload. I'm sleeping better than I have in ages.
    The "coming out" call at work (the one I did last week) was recorded at the time, and this week the LGBT network sent out the replay details to everyone, so I've had a few more emails, messages and phone calls about it. All very positive and encouraging, which was nice. They're going to run a follow up call in early December and they've invited external speakers from Stonewall and GIRES as well as other helpful bodies who can provide advice. I've been invited to take part again; they want to run a Q&A session. Goodness only knows what kind of questions I'll be asked. Hopefully only polite ones.
    Since I started to come out more and more, I've had a couple of awkward questions. Well, frankly, rude questions. One person asked me how I have sex.  I told them it was none of their business. Another asked me how big my d**k is. For a moment, I was tempted to ask, "Which one?" Just to confuse them. In the end, I settled for, "It'll never be as big as yours, because you're just one huge d**k, aren't you?"
    I know, I know. I need to get myself in check. I'm sure I'll be asked worse things than that before all this is over. 
  4. JayM

    Clarification

    By JayM,

    I thought I'd better clarify that last entry. Because, if anyone has been reading these entries, they might have noticed that, a few posts back, I was bemoaning the lengthy wait I had ahead of me for an appointment at the Gender Identity Clinic, and how it had pushed me to seek a T prescription from somewhere else in the meantime.
    Well, I did seek a T prescription, from a private source, and I received one. And I've been taking it for almost two months. No ill-effects, so far, but not a lot else happening, either. I feel good, and I've noticed a little redistribution of body fat, and perhaps a slight increase in muscle mass - but I've been working out so that muscle might be because of that.
    The T prescription was sought with the full knowledge of my GP - in fact, it was her idea for me to try to find some private treatment. And I decided that, if I was going to get interim private treatment, while waiting for the GIC to send for me, I might as well consider private treatment for the whole lot.
    And that's where the last entry comes in. The psychiatrist and the psychologist I mentioned in the last entry both work at one of the top GICs in this country, but I'm not on the waiting list for that particular GIC - instead, I've gone to them privately. And now I'm being officially, properly assessed by that GIC - and, judging by the report that the psychiatrist has written, he has few, if any, qualms about treating me. He believes me; he's not doubting the things I've told him; he's not questioning whether I have 'gender dysphoria' - and in the initial interview, he didn't give me a hard time or try to catch me out or ask any of the horrible questions that I had assumed he would.
    I've heard horror stories about how people are treated at GICs - about how they try to disprove your story or try to catch you in a lie or tell you you're not what you say you are. I didn't get any of that. Instead, I got a doctor who was sympathetic, maybe even empathetic, and when I left his office I felt happier than I've felt all year. I think I even had a stupid grin on my face as I walked out of the hospital.
    The night before, I hadn't slept. I had been too busy worrying about how it was all going to pan out. That night, I slept like a log.
    I'm still waiting for the second appointment - the one with the psychologist. I've called her number and left messages, and I've emailed her. But I'm not so worried anymore. I know the appointment will happen at some point fairly soon. And then I'll see where we go from there.
    In the meantime I reckon I need to go back to my GP and get her up to speed. She'll be getting a copy of the psychiatrist's report soon. He wants some blood tests - of course - to see what my hormone levels are, amongst other things. And so I'll have to get those done too.
    And then, I suppose I need to consider taking myself off the waiting list for the original GIC. I've been on that waiting list for eight months. But I've kind of jumped the queue now, having managed to get myself into this other GIC. It's amazing what throwing a little money around can do. I'm lucky that I can afford it. I find it annoying that private treatment can be obtained within a couple of weeks whereas NHS treatment can take years to materialise. I feel really bad for people who can't afford to do what I've just done. I also feel a little bad that it will appear to others that I've jumped the queue - but at the same time, I will be freeing up one spot on the waiting list, so that's the thought that is consoling me at the moment. The NHS system is in such a mess that just freeing up one spot for someone else to get assessed and treated a little sooner is probably a good thing.
    But I ain't removing myself from that waiting list until I'm sure I'm going to get proper treatment privately.
     
  5. JayM

    Clothes

    By JayM,

    I've spent a small fortune lately on clothes. And every single thing I've bought, I've loved - and everything has fit me perfectly.
    Two things about that surprise me.
    Firstly, when I used to shop for women's clothes, I'd buy something (without trying it on, invariably, because, in bricks and mortar shops, I hated using changing rooms so I didn't use them, and when buying online, you just don't try things on) and I'd get whatever it was home and try it on. And find that it didn't fit. It took me ages to work out that I always had an image of my own body that never really matched reality, for some reason. So, I would always get the sizes wrong. I was completely useless at buying female clothing. I had stacks of stuff I never wore and every six months I'd have a clear out and bag it all up and take it to a charity shop. All brand new, never worn, stuff.
    Secondly, I hate - loathe and detest - shopping. Always have. As soon as I was hooked up to the internet, that's when I started my online shopping. The world wide web and online stores were invented for me; I'm convinced of that. But, still, I don't like shopping at all. I do it when I have to, not because I want to. I'll wear clothes until they're pretty much falling apart and have to be replaced.
    Over the last couple of months I've bought loads of clothes, though. Casual shirts, cargo pants, jeans with button flies. And they have all fit me better than I would have expected. I've been wearing men's clothing at work for a few months and, either nobody has noticed, or if they have, they haven't mentioned it.
    Last week, I decided to buy a suit. I did desperately need a new one, admittedly. I've tried buying men's suits in the past and never found one that seemed to fit right or look good. I'd get the trousers to fit right and the jacket would be too big. Sleeves too long. Shoulders too big. That sort of thing. I know you can get suits where you buy the jacket and trousers separately and therefore in different sizes, but I've never been interested enough in buying clothes that I would make such an effort. So what I've tended to do is buy a black jacket (blazer type) and team that up with black trousers I already own. Not perfect, but at least they fit. Then I spotted a suit, online, last week, that was ridiculously cheap. And I thought, well, if it doesn't fit, I won't have wasted too much money on it. So I bought one. It was delivered the next day.
    When I tried it on, it was absolutely perfect. I mean, it could have been made for me. And, even if I say so myself, I looked effing good in it. I paraded in front of my husband and he agreed, it's the best suit I've ever bought. So yesterday I jumped online again and ordered two more, in the other colours that they have available. They will arrive tomorrow. And, while I was online yesterday, I bought half a dozen shirts and four ties. And then I just seemed to go mad after that, buying all kinds of clothes. I've spent an absolute fortune. And for some reason I couldn't explain, I was excited about all of it arriving.
    And then my husband pointed something out to me, not half an hour ago, that I hadn't considered. He reminded me I've been working out quite a bit lately. And I've been concentrating on my upper body more than I have in the past. And he told me it's working.
    That's why the clothes are fitting me better.
    Or maybe I'm just better at buying men's clothes than women's. 
  6. JayM

    Coming Out at Work

    By JayM,

    After my mother died, I spent a few months feeling guilty and a few months thinking about myself - perfectly selfishly, I realise. I needed to get my head around a few things.

    At work, the company started to make a big thing of diversity. The law was changing; gay marriage was grabbing all the headlines because it looked as though it was going to be legalised in the UK. Trans issues were also hitting the headlines. A few high profile sportsmen had come out as gay. The whole LGBT+ thing was out in the open, on the television, in the newspapers - and at work.

    In 2013 I joined the company LGBT network. I didn't tell anyone, but those who were also members of the network could see that I had joined. I started to get involved on the network discussion board. So, effectively, I came out to other members of the network. Initially, I just hinted that I was bisexual. I involved myself in discussions about that topic. Later, I admitted that I had an interest in the “T” as well as the “B”. Eventually, I openly discussed being transgender as well as bisexual, within the confines of the network’s private discussion board.

    One day, I accidentally let something slip to a member of the team I work for, via something I said in an email. Panicking, and worried in case he said anything to the rest of the team, I immediately sent him another email, saying something along the lines of, “I think I just outed myself. How good are you at keeping secrets?” He responded by sending me a photo of him and his boyfriend. We had a short discussion and he told me that our manager was perfectly fine with him, when he’d come out. So before the end of the day, I came out to my manager.

    It took quite a while before I had the courage to come out to the rest of the team, but I did. And there wasn't one negative response. In fact, two were extremely positive. One guy told me that my revelation to him had inspired him. So much so, that while he usually ensures his nail polish is removed before turning up for work Monday mornings, that weekend he made the decision to leave it on, and the following Monday he arrived at work sporting sparkly blue nails.

    The man I had been most worried about telling sent me an email, simply saying, “High five!” and then he followed it up with another email saying, “That must have felt like jumping out of a plane without a parachute and then discovering you could fly. I'm so pleased for you.”

    Not one negative comment. Not one rejection. Plenty of support. I can’t explain how that made me feel.

    Contrast that with another time that I plucked up the courage to tell someone at work that I was bisexual. This was back in 2002. My husband and I had split up for a while and I had begun chatting with strangers online, partly because I was bored and miserable, partly for other reasons. Through the online chats I got to know someone called Sam that, initially, I thought was male but turned out to be female. She asked me out and I said yes.

    Back at work, a day or two later, at lunchtime, a colleague asked me what I had planned for the weekend. I thought about what I should say and then decided on the truth. I told her I was going out to meet a woman for drinks. She didn't say anything, so I asked, “Did you hear me?” to which she replied, “Yes, I heard. Do you mean like a date?” I nodded. She stood and walked away and she avoided contact with me after that. I don’t believe we have ever spoken since. I know she saw me as a woman (obviously) and therefore was probably shocked that I was meeting a woman. But that made me keep my mouth shut for another eleven years.

  7. JayM

    Early Years and Discoveries

    By JayM,

    It wasn’t until I was seven years old that I had it pointed out to me that I was different. Prior to that, I had never considered myself to be anything other than a happy child who played with all the boys who were my friends, and I enjoyed life. I hadn’t ever consciously thought there was anything odd about the fact that all my friends were boys, just as I hadn’t ever consciously thought that I didn’t behave like a typical girl. Looking back, I know now that it could have seemed odd to others but it never occurred to me that anything was amiss. I didn’t play with dolls and tea sets, even though my parents had given me plenty. I spent my days playing in the mud with the boys, climbing trees and making dens and I used their toys; the cars and fire engines and toy swords and guns that boys were given to play with. And I was perfectly happy with that until I was seven, when the mother of one of my friends pulled me away from the game we were all playing and she took me home, where she handed me over to my own mother and said she thought there was something wrong with it.

    I overheard the whole conversation even though I don’t believe they thought I could hear it. Or maybe they didn’t consider that I would understand what they were saying. But I did. My friend’s mother told my mother that it was wrong that I played with the boys. My mother defended me at the time - I remember so clearly - by saying I was “just a tomboy” and that there was nothing wrong with that. She said I was too young to know any better and I would grow out of it. And she told my friend’s mother to mind her own business. Their voices became raised and I recall feeling guilty because I had caused the argument.

    I wasn’t allowed to play at that boy’s house again.

    When it dawned on me that someone had thought my behaviour was wrong, and that I had been punished for it by losing a friend - my playmate - I began to change. I didn’t go in the opposite direction; I didn’t suddenly start playing with the girls’ toys, or take up any girly hobbies. Instead, I just stopped playing with my friends. I became introverted, although I didn’t know it at the time. I didn’t realise that until years later. Instead of playing, I used to read. I kept myself to myself. I kept my thoughts to myself. Realising that I missed the boys made me realise I missed what we’d had; that camaraderie that we had shared, the comfort of being with people like me - because I had thought they were like me and I was like them. That was when I first began to really consider that boys and girls were different and that we had our roles to play and that I wasn’t fitting at all well with the “girl” role I had been given. The role that was expected of me, I realised. I remember thinking how unfair it was.

    At ten years old, I hit puberty. I can’t possibly put down in writing how disgusted it made me feel. There was so much wrong with it. I found the whole thing gruesome and it made me feel dirty and I didn’t want it. As my body began to change I began to hate everything about it and I began to hate myself. That hatred of my own body has never gone away. I don’t like to have my photograph taken. I don’t like to be filmed. I don’t like to look at myself in the mirror. And, as my partners over the years can attest, I have never liked other people seeing my body or touching my body.

    At school, my friends were still male. The people I talked to, connected with, were male. That was the case until the age of eleven when I changed schools. My secondary school was an all-female affair. And I didn’t connect with anyone for a year or more. My teachers thought I was shy and quiet. School reports regularly had something written on them, by one teacher or another, suggesting that I needed to make friends and “come out of my shell”. I preferred not to be noticed. I kept my head down.

    I was never bullied at school. But I did eventually make friends with a girl who was being bullied. For some reason, I had felt it was my responsibility to step in, one day, and stop an act of bullying that I witnessed. I had felt the need to protect her from her tormentors. It was uncharacteristic behaviour for me, because it got me noticed. But it also got me interacting with females for the first time.

    Eventually there were three of us who always hung around together. Paula had most definitely gone through puberty in a major way. She had the body of a woman at the age of twelve, and she knew it and flaunted it. Voluptuous is the word I’d use to describe her. Huge boobs that most of the girls were envious of. Especially Debra, the third member of our little group. Debra was lithe and flat chested. I was somewhere in between the two, although I envied Debra’s body, not Paula’s. But while I wanted Debra’s body for myself, insofar as I wanted my own carbon copy of it, I appreciated Paula’s. I was attracted to Paula’s. Paula was my first crush.

    While, by this time I obviously wasn’t unaware of the fact that I was “female”, in our little group of three I was the closest thing there was to the alpha male. Both Paula and Debra deferred to me in the decision-making department - always - and I was in charge. Whether they knew it or not, they both managed to reinforce my feelings of being male and my desire to be male in body as well as spirit and mind. And that, if I’m honest, is the main reason I hung around with them. It wasn’t for their girly chats or their feminine pursuits.

    And that is an awful thing to admit, because it means I was using them. And it wouldn’t be the last time I used females to make me feel better about myself. That realisation, when it occurred to me, filled me with guilt for many years, because even though on some level I knew I was doing it, I never stopped myself from doing it. I feigned interest in their feminine activities, even though those activities bored me rigid, because it allowed me to remain a part of the group.

    I fancied Paula. There was no two ways about it. That was another reason I hung around with the two girls. And one evening, I plucked up the courage to tell her. Debra was missing that night. She was sick, if I recall correctly, and so it was just Paula and I. And while I was scared of what I was about to do - coming out for the first time - the guilt was eating at me and I had a compulsion to explain myself to someone I thought I trusted.

    So I told her. I told her I was attracted to her, and when her face betrayed her thoughts - confusion and then revulsion - I jumped in to explain further. I said it was alright because I wasn’t a girl. And I went on to explain what I meant by that. Paula walked away. And I didn’t go after her.

    Looking back, I can see now how much that rejection affected me. The knowledge that she found me revolting, after I’d told her what I was and how I felt, coupled with the fact that, back at school the next day, she immediately told anyone she could find to listen, made me take the decision not to share like that ever again. I also know now that it reinforced the feeling I’d had since the age of seven, that there was something wrong with me; that I was defective. I felt bad about losing friends again - because I did lose them - and I felt bad that the cause of it was me and the way I was. The way I am. And the fact that I’d opened my mouth. I should never have opened my mouth.

    I went back to being a loner. I withdrew to my bedroom every evening after school and I decided I didn’t need friends. It was too much hard work trying to cultivate friendships, especially when I was defective. Everyone could obviously see those defects so the best thing to do was to hide them. Initially I hid them by hiding myself away and not interacting with people, above the bare minimum required of me. Later, I would hide them by denying them.

    By the age of fourteen, my mother was sick of me hiding away in my room and not acting like a normal teenager. Whatever a normal teenager is supposed to act like, I obviously wasn’t doing it, according to her. She dragged me to see a doctor. The pair of them discussed me as if I wasn’t there and I tried to pretend I was ignoring the conversation. I wasn’t, though. I heard it and I was getting annoyed by what they were saying because they didn’t have a clue. Eventually the doctor turned to me and asked me what was wrong. Frustrated by all the ridiculous conclusions they had drawn - one of which was that I was struggling at school (not true; my grades were good), another was that I was having “boyfriend trouble” (not true; I hadn’t even looked at a boy in that way at that age) - I told them what was wrong with me.

    My second disastrous attempt at coming out. My mother said I was too young to know what I was saying. She said I was talking rubbish. She got very angry and upset. The doctor backed up my mother. He said that I was just confused and that I could put that confusion down to puberty. My body was changing; the hormones were very active. It was normal to be anxious and confused but things would settle down in a year or two. In the meantime, take this prescription. That will sort you out.

    I later found out the medication was to treat anxiety and depression.

    Two attempts at explaining, to someone I trusted, what was going on with me and how I felt. Two rejections. Two reinforcements that I was most definitely broken. I wouldn't try it again for many years.

  8. JayM

    Everyone's so nice at work!

    By JayM,

    It can't last forever, surely?
    Two days ago, I composed an email to be sent out to selected people at work. I was going to send it out myself but then my mentor (I call her that, because she's been helping me a lot) suggested it might be better if the email was sent by my manager, with a few words from him to show he's supporting me. So I sent my composed email to him along with a list of people that I wanted him to send it to, and he wrote a very nice intro to it and sent it for me.
    Almost immediately, I received three replies from senior managers, saying stuff like, "Well done" and "I'm proud of you" and "I'm here if you need anything".
    Today, I arrived at my desk and a guy came over and said, "Thanks for sending me that email. Thanks for including me on the list because I could tell you chose that list of recipients carefully. So I thought maybe that means you see me as a friend." One of the reasons I'd sent it to him was because I can tell that he's pretty influential at work. He's not a senior manager but he's well respected. And when my mother died, he was the only person to say "I'm sorry" and offer me a hug. So I suppose I see him as someone I respect and I kind of hoped he might be on my side when he found out what I'm doing.
    And he confirmed that he is on my side. He said, "If you need anything, if anyone gives you any sh*t, if you want to talk to someone, I'm here."
    So I said, "There is one thing..." And I explained that, in January, when I will be full-time male after the HR systems and the IT systems have been changed, and my new name is there for all to see, I fully intend to use the male toilets from day one. He said, "And so you should!" But I explained that, because I haven't ventured in them yet, I don't know the layout and I want to know where the stalls are and where the urinals are so that, when the time comes, I can just walk in and go where I need to go, without looking like I'm lost. And without feeling like an intruder.
    So he took me inside and showed me around
    He said that when I go full-time in January, if I feel I need some backup, especially at the beginning, he'll go to the toilets with me. isn't that nice?
    So far, everyone who knows (and it's not a very long list yet) has been incredibly supportive.
    At work, anyway.
    The only fly in my ointment is my brother. He's still having a hard time with this. He's the only one who has had anything negative to say. I hope that changes soon.  
     
  9. JayM

    GIC

    By JayM,

    I went to my first appointment with the head psychiatrist at a well known GIC this week. He has already written his report, sent me a copy and asked for my permission to forward it to my GP and to the head psychologist at the GIC.
    Of course, I gave my permission and now I'm waiting for an appointment with said psychologist.
    The psychiatrist was nothing like I'd imagined and the session or interview or whatever you want to call it went well. Better than I'd anticipated.
    He's already said he wants to increase my T dosage. And he didn't question my sincerity or motives. Or try to trip me up.
    I'm getting treatment, officially, it would seem.
    Yay!   
     
  10. JayM

    Good night

    By JayM,

    It was a good night.
    My train arrived late into London and I had to double-time the walk to meet with the psychologist, but it all went well enough.
    I was hot and sweaty and feeling dishevelled by the time I arrived but, to be honest, I didn't look as bad as she did. It was evident that her office had no air con and she had had precious little fresh air all day. She looked more tired and dishevelled than me.
    The interview went well. We covered old ground but that didn't rattle me at all. I simply answered the questions honestly and straightforwardly. I've been asked the same questions so many times now, and while they would have annoyed me six months ago, they didn't yesterday. It's as if these people don't read each other's reports - or maybe they're trying to find a different answer. 
    Anyway, a little over one hour after meeting her, I was checking into my hotel.
    I found the gym and used it then took a shower and ordered room service. Great food, I have to say. I spent the rest of the evening reading and listening to music until my eyes started to close.
    This morning, after another trip to the gym, I showered and checked out before finding a great coffee shop along the street from my hotel, which is where I am now. My train departs in around 50 minutes so I'm just passing the time and reflecting on yesterday's interview.
    She told me to schedule a follow up appointment with the psychiatrist next month and then another one with her in January when she will recommend top surgery. She's already emailed the psychiatrist to agree with his assessment that I need a better T prescription than the one I currently have.
    All in all it's been a worthwhile trip to London. Again.
    Peace and love, everyone.
     
  11. JayM

    How I present myself

    By JayM,

    I don't like the term 'passing' because it sounds to me like I'm trying to fool people. I'm not 'passing' as male because as far as I'm concerned, I am male. These aren't 'tips for passing' as such, because it's just how I am and what I do, and my way of doing things won't work for, or resonate with, every trans male out there. I think we each need to find our own way of feeling comfortable with what we are and how we present that to the world. There is no right or wrong, and what feels natural for me won't necessarily feel good for another trans man. But here are my thoughts anyway.
    My husband has told me, more than once, that I have always 'walked like a man' - whatever that means  - so I thought I'd try to describe what that is for me. I have never attempted to walk in a consciously masculine or feminine fashion. I have to admit. I just walk. When I asked my husband to describe my walk to me, he said I take longer strides than the average cis woman, and I don't sway my hips. He also said I walk purposefully, as if I know where I'm going and want to get there. Since I ditched my last piece of 'female' clothing last year, he said he's noticed that I pull my shoulders back more and that sometimes I 'strut' when I walk. I'm not entirely sure what that means.
    I do think I'm more comfortable in myself, now that everyone knows who I am, and now that I don't have to dress in any female clothing anymore for appearances' sake, so maybe that extra comfort has made me a little more confident.
    I've never worn high heels. I've always been more comfortable in flat shoes and boots. Maybe that has influenced my walk.
    My hair is short. I cut it myself. I trim the back and sides with an electric hair trimmer and I cut the top with scissors. I admit that I haven't yet found the confidence to walk into a barbers' and ask them to cut it for me. But I hardly ever went to visit a 'female' hairdresser, even before I came out. I've always cut my own hair.
    I don't wear makeup and I didn't like to wear makeup even before I was out. Lipstick, on the odd occasions I wore it in the past (such as on my wedding day), never lasted more than ten minutes before I wiped it off - it always made my lips feel funny. I was never very good at putting on makeup when I had to and I always felt wrong in it, so it was something I avoided.
    ​I've always had a thing for aftershave rather than perfume (I think it smells nicer, generally) and I've bought 'male' deodorant for years because I preferred the scent. There's a thing I did discover, many years ago, about the difference between 'male' and 'female' deodorant. When I was supposed to be female, I shaved my armpits, as 'women' are encouraged to do in our society. If I had 'female' deodorant and used it after shaving, it stung horrendously - and women were supposed to buy special 'no sting' deodorant (which was more expensive) if they wanted to avoid that particular discomfort, not just use any old female deodorant. But here's the thing - 'male' deodorant doesn't sting after you've shaved your armpits. Whatever they put in 'female' deodorant that they don't put in 'male' deodorant is the culprit. But male deodorant smells nicer anyway so I've used that for years. And I stopped shaving my armpits a long time ago.
    My clothes are mostly casual. I have a couple of suits, dress shirts, ties and the like, but they don't come out often. Mostly I'm in jeans with button flies (I like button flies far more than zips) or chinos. I will wear a t-shirt over my binder and a long sleeved shirt over that. Sometimes I will button up the shirt but usually I like to leave it unbuttoned. I rarely tuck in my shirts. I find that if I tuck in a shirt, it's a little more obvious that my hips are larger than my waist. I haven't been taking the T long enough for it to have had a noticeable effect on the shape of my body (although it is happening, slowly - my waist is thicker and my thighs are thinner than before I started the hormone). When I do need to tuck in a shirt, I wear something over it, such as a jacket or waistcoat. My jeans and trousers sit on my hips, not my waist.
    Obviously, I wear a binder. Not only is it there to change my shape, it makes me feel more comfortable and confident. I've been wearing binders for years but only started wearing them seven days a week last year. It's probably more psychological than physical, but I feel more 'me' since I started wearing them full-time. I've bought binders from three different manufacturers but I prefer one of them over the others. It's easy to get them, too, because they're available online from a stockist in this country. I wear a packer, too, and they're available from the same stockist. That's also a psychological thing, I've found. I feel better when it's there. I feel bereft when it's not. When I bought my first packer, I soon realised that the one I'd bought was too big. I switched to a smaller size soon after and I tend to re-order the same 'make and model' when I need to.
    I have, in the past, spent a lot of money on STP devices - some very expensive ones have turned out to be a complete waste of money - but I didn't know that until I'd tried them. These days, I make my own. I know what works for me, now, but it did take a little experimentation.
    I don't think I'm 'fooling' anyone with how I look and behave and dress - but I do now feel more at ease with myself. Whether other people think I'm female, or male, or neither, doesn't matter to me as much as how it makes me feel to be presenting myself as me. 
    And I'm not trying to be a 'typical male' - because there is no such thing.
     
  12. JayM

    Inquiry Report

    By JayM,

    Here in the UK, the Women & Equalities Select Committee (a government thing) has been conducting an inquiry into trans* issues for around six months. Last week, they published their much-anticipated report on their findings and their recommendations. Rumours had already abounded regarding the recommendations their report was likely to make, and it turns out most of the rumours were true.
    So, maybe life will get a little easier for trans* people over here, if any of those recommendations are taken forward by the government. I certainly hope so.
    I spent a couple of hours yesterday, reading through the report from start to finish. It took a while because it was lengthy, but they seem to have covered most of the things I was expecting, such as how the National Health Service is failing us, and in fact, discriminating against us, how the Prison Service needs to be reformed, how education - in schools, colleges, universities, the NHS, the government departments - everywhere, basically - has to improve. How non-binary people are discriminated against in ways that are just too heartless for me to find the words.
    Most of their recommendations are sensible, long-overdue, and not difficult to implement. Other countries have already implemented such simple changes as self-determination of gender identity, making the processes in England (and Wales to some extent) outdated and discriminatory.
    Currently, as the process stands here, I will have to wait 17 months for my initial appointment at the Gender Identity Clinic that I've been referred to, rather than the required maximum waiting time for any NHS appointment of 18 weeks. Once I finally get to see someone at that GIC, I then have an assessment process that will take between three and six months, after which someone will decide whether I have 'gender dysphoria' and am in fact transgender, as I claim to be. They will decide that - not me - and their decision will determine whether I get any treatment. That means, time elapsed could be close to two years before someone tells me whether I'm a good candidate for testosterone treatment. Then, as I understand it, they will suggest to me that - if I am hoping for any kind of surgery - I should try living 'in role' so that I can prepare myself for how it will feel to be 'male' for the rest of my life.
    Pfft!
    I believe I know what it feels like to be male. That's the whole point! And I've been living as male for a f'kin long time already! I may have only 'officially' changed my name last November, but what's a name anyway? I could have chosen a gender neutral name if I'd wanted to. And, at the moment, while I'm already dressing in my male clothing, with my male haircut, and my male mannerisms and my male name, I wonder if I should have done that - chosen a gender neutral name. Because I know what people see when they look at me. Because I can still see it, too. I have a female face. I look like a drag king. Or maybe I look like a butch lesbian. Or perhaps, to some people, I look androgynous. I don't know. But what I do know is that I'm actually getting more anxious now, knowing that I am on a waiting list and that it's such a f'kin long wait. My 'dysphoria' (I hate that word!) has actually become worse as I think about how far away that appointment is. I spent a chunk of time yesterday looking online for what I know is illegal T. And looking for the so-called 'natural' alternatives to T. I need to do something. I can't wait two years.
    Dammit! What started out as a fairly positive post ended up as a miserable one. I'm sorry. My original purpose when I started to write this was to say how pleased I was after reading the Inquiry report. How optimistic it had made me feel. How, I had started to think that, by the time I do get to see someone in the GIC, the laws may have changed, or the waiting lists may have shrunk. Or that the government and the medical profession might have actually stopped thinking of 'gender dysphoria' as a mental illness. I'm not mentally ill. I'm certainly not mentally unstable. My problem is that I have the wrong sex organs, that's all.
  13. JayM

    Introduction to Me

    By JayM,

    I’m not gay. Someone once asked me if I was, having spied the rainbow-coloured bangle that I kept hidden under the sleeve of my shirt. I laughed nervously, shoved the bangle back up my arm and replied, “If only it was so simple.” That’s not to say that being gay is simple. It’s just that, sometimes I think that being gay would be simpler for me. I am attracted to women and men. I am attracted to people. I fall in love with people. I used to think of myself as pansexual, until I read a definition of that term which made me wonder if that was what I really was. I don’t like men and women equally. I prefer men to women - physically speaking. I’m attracted to both, but I’m more attracted to men. Emotionally speaking, I’m attracted to all areas of the gender spectrum. I can fall in love with men and women, and people who land somewhere in between. How do I know this? Because I have.

    The physical attraction to the gender spectrum definitely leans towards the male form. But that hasn’t always been the case with me. When I was younger, much younger, I was almost exclusively physically attracted to the female form. Or, at least, I told myself that. Over the years, that has changed. Today, far more often than not, it’s the male form that catches my eye. So what does that mean for my sexuality? It’s often easier to refer to myself as bisexual even though I don’t believe that term really applies to me. People seem to “get” bisexuality a lot easier than other terms such as panromantic or pansexual or poly-something-or-other, or all the other terms that people use to try to define themselves and each other. Although, a lot of people don’t “get” bisexuality either.

    So when it comes down to it, I’d rather not label my sexuality. But what I do now label is my gender identity. I am transgender. And I always have been, even if I denied it to others and to myself. I’m not gender-fluid. I’m not non-binary. I know what I am; what I have always been, even though for too many years I pretended it wasn’t the case. My body is female but the rest is not. And it’s not the case that sometimes I feel female and sometimes I feel male. It’s not the case that sometimes I feel like I don’t fit into either sex. I know what sex I’d rather be. What sex I should have been. I have never felt female. But I was given a female body.

  14. JayM

    Introspection

    By JayM,

    I've been seeing a psychotherapist for a few weeks. It was a recommended course of action by the psychiatrist at the GIC and so I signed up.
    AI couple of weeks ago, I had a moment of clarity in one of our sessions. Yesterday I had another one. 
    I have to give myself more time to grow into myself. Into the 'new' me.
    I've spent so much time and energy in the past year trying to speed things along, with GPs and the medical profession; trying to prove to others that I need treatment and I need to transition; trying to convince everyone that I am what I say I am, that I haven't given myself time to experience it. 
    To feel it.
    I am changing - and I have refused to acknowledge or even recognise those changes. I've been so wrapped up in trying to get from A to B that I haven't stopped to admire the scenery or enjoy the ride.
    So I am slowing down. I'm not going to get anxious about the T not affecting my body as rapidly as I'd hoped. Because, it IS affecting my body. And it's affecting my mind. My personality and my disposition.
    Last month, my prescription was late. The delivery of the hormone was late. I went five days without it. At first, I was annoyed and anxious. By the time it arrived, I had realised that I was actually calmer and less aggressive than I'd been for a few months.
    That was a surprise at the time. I hadn't noticed how much it had bumped up my aggressive tendencies until it was gone. I explained to the therapist that I had noticed this about myself. Guess what she said?
    "That's why the RLE is so important. It's not just about proving you mean what you say to the medical professionals. It's about giving yourself time to experience and understand the changes you're making. To your personality as well as to your body. You're becoming a different person even if you've always thought of yourself as that person."
    That was a bit of a light bulb moment for me. Sounds silly, but I really hadn't thought in those terms before.
    I'm a little embarrassed to admit that.
    I had always thought that I knew who and what I was. I thought the RLE was a step I had to take to prove who I was to others. 
    Now I know it's more important to me to view it as a step to take to learn and accept who I'm becoming.
  15. JayM

    It's Dark

    By JayM,

    I'm looking outside as I type this and the clouds have just rolled in - and they're black. I think we're in for one huge storm any minute. Yesterday, we had one. The rain was monsoon-like. It flooded everywhere, and yet the water had all disappeared half an hour after the rain ceased. Presumably because we've had a couple of weeks of almost unbroken sunshine.
    I know I'm rambling about inconsequential rubbish but it's because I don't know how to articulate what I want to say. I've been away for a while. And now that I've remembered to come back, I feel like I need to apologise. That may be a little weird, really, considering I don't actually know anyone on here, although I did convince myself for a while that I did know people.
    The reality is, I'm here for a distraction because I'm angry. Although I had been told, six months ago, that I had maybe between 73 and 84 weeks to wait before the Gender Identity Clinic sent for me, I recently discovered that wasn't accurate - and it's more likely to be over two years. Now, that might be only an additional 20 weeks, but that's another four or five months. And I changed my name and went full-time last December. Without a sniff of any hormones. And it's driving me mad, because I'm constantly meeting new people, or speaking to strangers on the phone, and feeling somewhat obliged to explain the situation to them. Which I don't want to do - not to complete strangers, because it's none of their business. And it's awkward and it makes me feel uncomfortable. 
    Here comes the rain.
    I feel like people at work are looking at me, waiting to see changes that aren't happening. Everyone's being polite and they're using my name and the correct pronouns, but I see them looking at me questioningly. I have to keep reminding myself it's probably strange for them, and a new experience. Although I know there are other trans* people who work for the company, none of them are in the same location as I am, so I'm something of a novelty. And I may be wrong about this, but I believe I'm the only out trans male at work. All the other out trans* people I know at work are either non-binary or trans women.
    So I decided I couldn't wait much longer. I couldn't wait for the GIC to send for me in another 18 months or 2 years from now.  I have looked into private treatment and I have discussed it with my GP, who agrees that would be a good move, at least in the interim, while I wait and wait for the GIC. And I found someone who is willing to treat me - prescribe the T for me - if I pass her assessment process. So far, all the correspondence has been via emails. But I've just sent an email that was difficult to write.
    A couple of days ago, the remote doctor sent me a bunch of questions to answer, as a prelude to an appointment with an assessment counsellor. The questions were very probing, rude at times, and bordering on offensive in some cases. Now, I expected to have to answer intrusive questions in a one-to-one assessment scenario, face to face with a trained individual, but I didn't expect to have to sit down and compose responses like I just have, and send them via email. The experience has left me very wound up and angry, and at the same time I'm wondering if I've just dashed my chances of receiving treatment from her. What if my answers tell her something about me that make her think I'm not suitable for treatment? What if I've just messed up big-style?
    I'm worried. But I'm also still annoyed at the impudence of some of the questions. I need to find a way to calm down and just wait for her response. So I'm going for a walk in the rain.
     
    I hope everyone is ok. Take care of yourselves.
     
  16. JayM

    It's really gonna happen

    By JayM,

    I had a chat today, with my manager, and we're drawing up a plan of who to tell, how to tell them and when to tell them.
    It's scarily daunting. It's not only the people I work with, such as my immediate team; it's the people I interact with or the people I see every day. Such as the woman in the restaurant who makes my hazelnut latte each morning, or the guy who delivers parcels to our desks, or the security guards at reception, or the cleaners. Those people don't know me but they see me and they talk to me and they think they know me - and they will be surprised (shocked?) by the upcoming name change. So I can't avoid telling them; not really.
    The guy I sit next to... we're on a first name basis and I know he likes cycling and he knows I like cycling and we've had chats about the Tour de France and the Vuelta and the Giro... but that's about it. He knows nothing else about me. But I still have to tell him.
    Everyone at work will know. And I mean everyone. As soon as my email address changes... well, everything changes. People I don't actually know will see my dead name disappear from the directory and a new name appear. And therefore I have to be prepared to receive enquiries and questions from a bunch of people who thought they knew me and a bunch of complete strangers too. And I'm talking about a company that has 100,000 employees.
    Bring it on!!!
  17. JayM

    Male

    By JayM,

    That was my first Christmas as a man. Officially, that is. Unofficially, I've been that way for years  
    But all the documentation, and the websites, and the bank cards and credit cards that I have in my possession, showing my new, real name, they all tell me that I'm officially a man now. (Notwithstanding the fact that my birth certificate still says "girl" on it, but it'll be a long time before that gets changed, so I'm not counting that).
    I've just changed my gender on here, in that little dropdown thingy on the profile page. That's a technical term, for all the non-IT people out there - "dropdown thingy"  
    I just changed it. From "Transgender" to "Male". Because when I logged in, I looked at my profile and thought, "My gender isn't transgender. That's an adjective to describe me, maybe, but it's not my gender." At best I would choose "Trans male" if it was there, or "Trans man". Or maybe "AFAB". But, hey, I'm male and I'm proud of it. So I changed the dropdown thingy.
    I'd like to take this opportunity to wish everyone on here a fabulous 2016 and I hope it brings each and every one of you everything you desire. Personally, I desire the T, but I'm in for a long wait, it seems. Maybe this time next year my voice will be a little deeper and I'll be moaning about having to shave every morning before I go to work, but who knows...?
    Hey... and before I forget... if anyone in the UK happens to read this and they are planning a visit to Sparkle 2016, and they feel inclined to have a wee dram or a cup of tea with a Mancunian who is also planning a visit to Sparkle 2016... well, as long as you're not an axe murderer or something... 
    My thanks go to all you guys and girls who have provided such valuable advice to me this year. Much respect. And hugs. Ok, maybe just one hug. A quick one. Before anyone sees.
    Have a Happy New Year. xx
     
  18. JayM

    My Body and My Mind

    By JayM,

    I haven’t had very much sex in my life. Not compared to others. I haven’t had many partners. I don’t like having sex.

    I don’t like my body. In fact, I hate my body and everything it stands for. For me, it’s just wrong. I don’t like to be photographed. I don’t like to look at photos if I'm in them. I don’t like to see myself in the mirror. I don’t like people looking at me. I don’t like people to see my body and I don’t like people to touch my body.

    My body is a constant reminder of the fact that I'm female. There have been many times when the sensation of someone touching me has made me feel physically sick. There have been times when I have pushed my husband’s hands away, as he will confirm. And I know how that must have seemed to him. He would have taken that as a rejection; an invalidation of his prowess, his masculinity, his love. And I hate myself for that. It was never my intention to treat him so badly. I loved him. I thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. And part of that life would include sex and I thought I could do it, if I loved him enough.

    But I've failed. He will confirm that we haven’t had anywhere near the amount of sex that a normal, happily married couple should have. I know that. I'm well aware of it. It’s just another thing to feel guilty about. But I still can’t bring myself to do it, even if it would ease the guilt a little. It isn't his fault. It’s mine. He’s a good lover. He’s attentive and caring. I'm the one who is useless in bed.

    My body has been fat and it has been thin. At one point I was a UK woman’s size eighteen and I didn't care. Because it meant that people wouldn't look at me. Or, if they did look at me, they would probably look with disgust. And I deserved that. Because my body is disgusting. Around a year ago, people started to tell me I was too thin. I know that I had lost a lot of weight but I wasn't concerned and I didn't care because it didn't make my body any nicer. Not to me, anyway. But when they told me I was too thin, I weighed myself and found that I was less than nine and a half stone. What’s that in American terms? 130 lb maybe. I hadn't been that light since I was twelve or thirteen. So I started to eat more to put some weight back on. Not to make myself feel better, but to shut people up. Because, if they were pointing out that I was thin, then they were looking at my body. They were noticing me. I don’t like to be noticed.

    Not wishing to be noticed has caused problems at work. In a company where you’re supposed to sell yourself to get ahead, to get promotions, to receive praise and rewards, I have avoided it. I know my pay packet has suffered because of it. I know there are people who work there, who have been there for much less time than I have, who earn plenty more than I do. But that’s because they seek out the opportunities to get themselves noticed. They are welcome to the additional money. They have sold themselves to earn it.

    My manager is frustrated by my lack of enthusiasm to try to progress and “put myself out there” to be noticed. But he doesn't understand how much I hate standing in front of a room full of people and speaking or presenting on a topic. He doesn't understand why I don’t want to do it. He thinks I'm shy or nervous about public speaking, but that’s not it at all. Years and years of hiding myself away so that people don’t see the things I don’t want them to see, that’s the reason. I've taught myself to stay in the shadows and it’s a hard habit to unlearn.

    I know what they see and what they perceive. They see a woman and they treat me accordingly. I don’t want to be treated like that, but at the same time, years of hiding and denying (even to myself at times) what I am means I'm still too scared to fully come out and tell people about me. So, what do I do? I get annoyed when I perceive that I'm being treated as a woman. Which is ridiculous, I know, because why would they act any differently when they don’t know? I have never really allowed anyone to know the real me. That’s what it boils down to. And that is nobody’s fault but mine.

    So how, after all these years of pretending, denying, faking, do I finally come clean? I don’t know. My main fear, now, is that people just won’t believe me. Why should they? I've done a pretty good job over the years of covering all of it up. It started with my mother refusing to discuss it. She denied it all those years ago, and that, combined with Paula’s rejection, made me think it was safer to keep all of it to myself.

    So I suppressed it all for a while. Only when I went to university did I allow a little of the real me to show. I even saw a doctor, while I was there, and tried to explain it all. And I was surprised to find they were sympathetic. I began to be more male. I dressed accordingly; I behaved more like I really wanted to behave. But people started asking questions and I still wasn't comfortable with the idea of telling them what I was and it stressed me out. I failed my exams. I retook them and failed them again. I failed at university. And at the time, I blamed it on the fact that I was trying to be more “me”.

    I had to go back home to the parents, because I hadn't gained the qualifications I needed and I had no job prospects. And I had to put away the men’s clothes. I gave them away to charity shops. I was miserable. I managed to secure poor jobs that didn't pay very well and I had no prospects. I met other people with poor jobs and no prospects and problems of their own. I fell in with that crowd. They were a bunch of people who saw themselves as misfits, and I was definitely one of those. I had always been a misfit so finally I fitted in somewhere. I used to drink with them. I used to take drugs with them. A pattern of behaviour that I can see now was very destructive and didn't help anything at all. But, if nothing else, it gave me something more to be ashamed of.

    Shame and guilt. Fairly constant companions, really. Shame at what I was. Guilt at the way I have treated people over the years, because of what I was, or because I was so busy denying what I was.

    My temper is terrible. I explode when I'm angry. I can get annoyed at the most insignificant and trivial things. Meaningless things. I get offended at things that I perceive as a slight, even when it’s pretty obvious that they were never intended as a slight. I'm the only one who would ever have seen them that way and maybe it’s because I was looking for them. Looking for them to prove what I already know; that I'm not a nice person and that I'm unworthy of anything other than slights. I read a book, a while back, where the author suggested it’s all about validation, or lack of validation. Not receiving the validation that a person needs causes anger; regular invalidation turns that anger to a deep seated rage. I realise that I need validation of what I am but I don’t receive it. Well, I wouldn't receive it, if nobody knows what they’re supposed to be validating; I understand that now.

    So I've caused this mess. I have failed to progress at work. I have failed in my marriage. I have failed at multiple relationships - with family and friends. I have always failed to hold onto friends. That’s probably because I'm not a very nice person, deep down. I have twisted myself into this bitter, resentful, quick-tempered individual who locks away feelings until they find the wrong kind of outlet. I have lied, I have covered up, I have faked and I have denied. How can people like me if they don’t even know me? How can I expect people to love me if they have never known the real me? I'm essentially unlovable.

  19. JayM

    My Parents

    By JayM,

    The manner of my mother’s death was one that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. It was hard to watch her go and it was a terrible, evil disease that took her.

    Her death changed me. My husband noticed almost immediately that I had changed, but he didn't know the reason why I changed. He probably thought I was devastated. I was devastated at first, but that wasn't the whole story.

    The reality is I felt relief after she had gone. And then I felt incredibly guilty for feeling relieved. The relief wasn't just that her suffering had ended. Of course I didn't want her to suffer. But the real relief was that the person who I had been trying to gain acceptance from, for all those years, no longer needed me to conform to her image of what I should be.

    My mother was a nineteen-fifties wife. That’s not to say she was a wife in the fifties, just that she modelled herself on that kind of wife. She stayed at home, took care of the kids and the house, cooked the meals, did the cleaning, washing, all of that. From my perspective, she never really had a life of her own. She never had outside interests that I saw. She sacrificed herself to the “housewife” life and allowed her husband to go out and earn the money. She was caring and attentive when I was a child, and she liked nothing better than to spoil her kids and her husband at Christmas and on birthdays. She always overspent at Christmas and the sheer number of gifts she purchased for me and my brother was overwhelming and embarrassing. We weren't rich. But she controlled the money that my dad earned (he allowed her to do that so he didn't have to worry about anything except his trip to the pub on a Friday night) and she managed to save enough every year to spend a fortune on our presents.

    She liked shopping - a lot. I hated (and still hate) shopping. She loved cooking. I don’t like cooking and I'm a hopeless cook. She would have loved for me to follow in her footsteps. But at fourteen I spoiled that for her. And, apart from the times I tried to talk to her about it - and almost always failed - she never wanted to discuss it again.

    But my mother was very good at conveying her thoughts and opinions with just a look. I received enough disapproving stares to last more than a lifetime. And while she never said anything openly, within earshot of others - about the fact that I didn't invite her to come with me to buy my wedding dress, about the fact that I didn't want children, about her dislike of the first boyfriend I took home to meet her, about a myriad other things - she said things to me in private and she threw the dirty looks my way often enough that I felt plenty of guilt at going against her wishes. And I regularly found myself trying to make it up to her, or defending her when others didn't agree with her - which was often. She was stubborn and opinionated. And so am I. I seem to have inherited those traits. She was also old fashioned in her views and closed-minded.

    But on the surface, she loved me. She adored my brother, and equally adored my nephew; my brother’s son. Of course, she was never going to receive any grandchildren from me.

    My father was more distant when we were kids. My father was out of the house a lot because he worked long hours - he left for work early and came home late. He allowed himself one or two evenings each week to visit the pub with his friends and handed the rest of his earnings over to my mother to manage. When he wasn't at the pub, he sat in front of the television until he fell asleep. The only occasions I remember spending quality time with my dad were spent watching football and science fiction on television. The only connection I really made with my father was through the shared love of football. We support different teams but I believe he appreciated (and still appreciates) that I can hold my own in a real discussion about football. My brother isn't really interested in football.

    My father is kind of lost without my mother. Ironically, I appear to have found myself again. Now that my mother’s no longer around, the only things I can talk to my dad about are her or football. And that’s sad.

    So yes, I have changed. It has caused a lot of friction between me and my husband over the last couple of years, unfortunately. I wish it hadn't, but it is what it is.

  20. JayM
    For almost a week now, I've been arguing with our IT service desk about how my company email address  needs to change.
    They want to add my new name as an alias which isn't what I need. They also just want to change the name that is displayed to people. Both of those changes would leave my old, dead name visible for anyone to see. I don't want that.
    I want my dead name to disappear. That isn't unreasonable. I don't want someone to stumble across my dead name a couple of years from now.
    They don't get it. Someone has just changed my displayed name and if anyone clicks on it they can still see my dead name. I have explained to them FOUR times now that this is incorrect. They have tried to close the request on me four times and I keep reopening it because they still haven't got it right.
    The latest insult is that I could see the notes that someone had written against the request. "User is not happy. She wants her name to be changed everywhere."
    She? SHE?
    Ffs!!!
    I'm gonna cry before the week is over.
     
  21. JayM

    Names

    By JayM,

    So, I spent a fair amount of time on the web yesterday, researching the various ways I can change my name. While there are some very simple ways to do it, there seems to be one best way that is accepted as 'official' with regards to obtaining a passport and driving licence in the new name, so I reckon I'll have to go with that.
    And then it got me thinking about names. For years, I thought I would be going for James as my new name. It just seemed like "me". I can't explain it any other way. Then I liked Jamie for a while too - and with Scottish blood in my family line, James gets converted to Jamie quite often in Scotland, so if I went for James as my official name, I could still let people call me Jamie, I suppose, if that was what I wanted.
    For the purposes of registering on this website, I called myself Jay. And I realised I like that name lots too. Last night I came to the conclusion I was still undecided on what I'll end up choosing, although all my favourites begin with J. My birth name begins with J so maybe it's for that reason that I'm seemingly sticking with something beginning with J. My signature could remain the same, if I have a first name beginning with J. My last name isn't going to change any time soon, it would appear, now that my husband is backing me in my desire to transition. But I'm pretty sure that's not the reason I initially decided on James, all those years ago. Changing a signature isn't a big thing. Changing a name is. Choosing something that will work for the rest of my life is a big deal.
    But there are millions of names out there to choose from, so how does one choose the perfect new name?
    I work for a company that has over 100k employees. There is only one other person, in the whole of the company, who has the same last name as me. Given the size of the population, that's a little surprising. Guess what his first name is? It's Jay. I only remembered that fact last night while lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.
    But today, I think I'm a James, after all. And I think I always have been.
  22. JayM

    New Man

    By JayM,

    My husband has really changed his opinions and outlook since that chat we had back in October. I can't quite get my head around how supportive he's being. And even though he'll probably never read this, I want to thank him. He's being wonderful.
    The other night, while I was at my FtM meeting, he went to a pub to watch the football, but they wouldn't let him in because the place was crowded already. So he wandered back to Canal Street. Canal Street is the heart of the 'Gay Village' here in Manchester. In the past, my husband wouldn't have gone there altogether voluntarily, by which I mean it wouldn't have been his suggestion to go there. But on Monday, I took him there before my meeting and took him into one of my favourite bars. After the bouncers wouldn't allow him in the pub of his choice, he went back to Canal Street and visited a couple of bars, then went back into Taurus (the bar I'd taken him to).
    Inside, one of the barmen recognised him from earlier and said, "Hey, weren't you here before, with your wife?" My husband replied, "No, I was here with my husband."
    He told me all this after I left my meeting and met up with him. He said they'd had a great chat and the barman had welcomed him as if he'd been a regular at the place.
    We visited another place before we headed home - Churchills. My husband had never been in there before, either. It's the kind of place he probably wouldn't have dreamed of setting foot inside, only a few months ago. Saturday nights in Churchills are a riot of diversity and I love them but it's not really my husband's thing. Or, it wasn't. Before we left, he suggested I should take him back on a Saturday night.
    When we got home that night, he said he'd really enjoyed himself in the bars on Canal Street and that we should go more often. I've been going there for years but not with him. But it seems that's going to change.
  23. JayM

    Next Steps?

    By JayM,

    Hi
    I'm going to be a good boy today  and I'm not going to complain (much).
    Feeling fairly upbeat, actually - certainly compared to the last time I visited the site. Since I last wrote, my questionnaire responses were passed to an assessment counsellor, and she emailed me to arrange an appointment to talk. We spoke on the phone a few days ago. The worst part was that she covered ground that had already been covered in the questionnaire, in that she asked similar questions that touched on the same subjects, and while I kept my calm and provided the responses in a polite manner, I was still thinking to myself, "Why do you want to know intimate details about my sex life?" and, "Didn't you read the questionnaire?" She asked me what kind of lower surgery I want and I could feel myself getting exasperated (because my answer was on the questionnaire) so I had to take a few breaths before I responded. I don't even have a hormone prescription. At this point in time, surgery of any kind is quite possibly years away, judging by the pace of things in Gender Services. Can't they just give me the T before we get to that kind of discussion?  I didn't say that out loud, of course.
    Anyhow, I managed to get through the interrogation without messing up too much, I think, because the next day, the online GP emailed to ask if I was ok after the conversation, and ask whether I needed any more 'counselling'. I hadn't felt as if I'd had any 'counselling' though. If I'm totally honest, I feel that the conversation with the so-called assessment counsellor was a waste of her time because we basically rehashed the questionnaire. But what do I know? Maybe she was reading between the lines, or monitoring stress levels in my voice, or drawing conclusions from the pauses in my answers to the questions. Or maybe she was checking that I was giving the same answers as I'd already provided. I haven't a clue. It's part of the process, I realise that. And I have to play the game.
    The truth is, I don't need any counselling from her. I have a very nice counsellor already. I've been seeing him on a weekly basis for a couple of months. He's great. And I can continue to see him for as long as I want. He has boosted my confidence and reassured me about many things. I always feel better after I've had a session with him. And I had a session with him yesterday.
    I know I said, a while back, that I didn't want to see a psychologist or psychiatrist, but I think I was being stubborn back then. I can recommend it now. Even though, when I first visited him, I didn't think it was going to be a useful exercise, I can say now that it has been.
    So, I still don't know whether I'm going to get a T prescription from this online doc anytime soon, but do you know what? I've survived this long without one, so I have decided I can survive as long as it takes. And if I have to wait another two years, I'll wait another two years.
     
    Gotta go now. The football is starting soon. I'm sitting here, resplendent in my Republic of Ireland jersey, waiting for kickoff. Come on, Ireland!
  24. JayM
    I have been quiet over the past few months. I have visited the site but have not written anything. Not commented on anything, not added an entry to the blog, etc. All I've done is read what others are writing about. I've noticed a few people sign off lately; saying goodbye; moving on. I've wondered about their reasons for leaving. I've also wondered what I'm doing here. 
    To be honest, one of the things that has bothered me is whether it's safe to post here. I've thought about the way the political landscape has changed in the USA and what that might mean for people who are based in the USA - and also what it might mean for people like me who are not based in the USA but whose words are, in all likelihood, being stored in a US data centre as I type. Am I being paranoid? Probably. Do I have cause to be paranoid? Not sure, yet. Probably not. But I am also wondering whether I have anything useful or interesting to say anymore.
    I could tell people about how I've visited the gender specialists three times since i last added an entry to this blog, and how I have another two appointments lined up - one later this week and one next month. I could talk about the fact that my GP still isn't prescribing my testosterone and I'm still getting it via a private prescription, and that my GP has received written instructions from the gender specialists about what to prescribe and how to monitor my blood, but that she still doesn't seem inclined to do it. I could talk about my relationship with my husband, or my brother, or how things are going at work, or how one phone call from me to the psychologist at the gender clinic is all it would take to set up a referral to a surgeon for top surgery. 
    But I don't really want to. I've realised that I'm being self-indulgent on here. I've recently read through some of my previous posts and it seems to me that I've felt sorry for myself quite a lot and I don't want to do that anymore.
    Everyone has problems. Everyone has things they need to work out or work through. I have it quite easy, really. I have a good life and I have family and friends who care about me and respect me. When I come here I seem to forget that and I only dwell on the negatives. I've used this site to moan and complain when, really, I have nothing to moan or complain about. 
    I wish everyone well. I hope you all get what you want out of life and I hope your journeys progress the way you want them to. I hope the destination is as wonderful as you envisage it to be. 
    Peace and long life.

     
  25. JayM

    Oh, and talking of...

    By JayM,

    ...Smashwords... because I just did...
    I just went on there to check on my story downloads - and they have almost doubled since I last looked at the stats. 
    I've never uploaded a pic on here before so I hope it works.  Knowing me, I've probably got it wrong.
    But this is some of that positive reinforcement we could all use now and then. I took a leaf out of someone else's book on here because, well, why not!
    It made me feel good, seeing those download stats. We all need to know we're loved, don't we?

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