"She’s called Gillian Lynne, have you heard of her? Some have."

Kids know what they want, when they want it. Some things might seem a bit outlandish - candy, anything they can get their hands on at the checkout counter (even if they don't know what it is), and that toy that spins while you drip paint into it and creates exactly what you figured, a piece of paper covered with swirled paint (but if you do too much it's just a lot of colored paint on paper without much design at all) - but overall, they know.

A friend of mine asked for this link today, and mentioned that her "...son is 4, yes very young, but he only likes girl things. Plays dress up in princess dresses, plays with dolls and will get very upset if people try to get him to play with boy toys. Granted he is young, it doesn't bother me in the least bit! When you're little though, I think people feel 'tomboys' are more acceptable, and not the other way around. My husband and I will love and accept him regardless!"

This brought to mind a story I heard through Sir Ken Robinson in his TED Talk from 2006. It truly is one of my two favorite TED videos, the other being Clifford Stoll on everything. (links will follow) The story is about Gillian Lynne, the choreographer of Cats and Phantom of the Opera. As a child in the 1930's, she was doing terribly in school. She was fidgety, couldn't concentrate, and her parents were convinced that she had a learning disorder. Today she's probably be diagnosed with ADHD. Well they went to a specialist, and after awhile hearing about the problems that Gillian was having in school, he and her mother left the room - but as the doctor walked, he turned on the radio and then closed the door, and as soon as the door closed Gillian was up and dancing around the room. He turned to her mother and said, “Mrs. Lynne, Gillian isn’t sick; she’s a dancer. Take her to a dance school.” And as the saying goes, the rest is history. 

Now, I know this isn't the same exact situation - but kids know what they want. 

If your four year old son wants to play with (what are labeled as) girl's toys, and play dress up, and dance around the house in a tutu saying he's a ballerina and just wants a sensible pair of heels, let him. If he turns out to be transgendered, or super fabulous and gayer than Richard Simmons singing a duet with Elton John in a bath house, or just a straight man who knows his way around Nordstrom, it's going to be okay. 

Kids may not remember exactly what happened in every situation, but they will never forget how something made them feel. And if a parent makes their kid feel unwelcome, or unloved, or like there's something wrong with them, kids will not forget that. They will always remember how they felt when their parents told them to go make some friends that are girls, or be more 'ladylike' - when the kid was just doing what felt natural and right. 

Let them be a kid. 

But more importantly - let them be themselves. Whoever that may be. 

TED Talks

Sir Ken Robinson - (click here to watch) 

Clifford Stoll - (COMPLETELY UNRELATED but click here to watch that one)

Seeing is believing

So there's a new guy at work named John, and I'm training him. Apparently everyone in our department feels like it's time to move onto bigger and better things, and they're leaving. So they brought in John.

He's a smart guy. IT degree, trained and served with the ARMY, picking up things quickly, etc. So could I really fool him? Could I really be passing?

We're talking about working out, and I mention that I want to bulk up and get more muscle. He says it's really not too hard with the right diet, exercise, and attitude to keep with it. Then he mentions that he did steroids for a time, and that really helped him out. "I bet it did" - I reply, and keep working. Without even missing a beat he comes out with, "well you're still young, you got plenty of that natural testosterone still. When you hit like 35, that shit starts to tank. Be ready for that."

I almost died right then and there. I tried to ignore the fact that I could feel the heat crawling up my chest, over my ears, and onto my face. It was a good thing he was behind me and I could just keep staring at my computer screen and nod as if to say, "oh yes I will keep that in mind, thank you good sir please do not notice how my face is for some reason turning the color of a sun-burnt Irishman".

I turn and shoot a look to James that may have looked something like, 'DID HE JUST FUCKING SAY THAT?! I WIN. WE HAVE TO TALK LATER" and yet not a sound came from my mouth. Luckily he just nodded back to me, fully understanding, and trying not to let his body shake too much from laughing silently.

There are two possibilities.

One - He has no fucking idea that I have DD's under this binder shirt and my dick is ordered off of the internet. I'm passing and he has no idea.

Two (much more likely) - He knows exactly what is going on, and is being the nicest and most understanding person I have met so far that is not one of my closest friends. He knows what I'm doing, more than likely has known a few trans-men, and knows how to make us feel better than we've felt for a long time (or ever for that matter).



Either way, it's fucking awesome. Sláinte, John. I won't tell if you won't.

It's a boy Mrs. Walker it's a boy.

Today I changed my Facebook name. It may seem stupid to some people, or pointless. But honestly, it's a great support system for me. I can't always see my friends, and it's nice to know that even if I don't see them or talk to them all the time - that they're there to support me. I like to know that they're still rooting for me.

So far everything is going smoothly when it comes the hormones, but I think I'm going to start taking them once a week instead of once every two weeks. Believe it or not I can actually feel the difference after two weeks of taking it. I'm hoping that every week will be better than every two weeks. Still haven't really talked to Mom or Dad about it since our last chat, and Dad keeps asking me if I'm sick or losing my voice because it keeps cracking. And I'm really trying not to laugh.

Really.

Public Service Announcement

There are going to be times in life when you doubt yourself. I'm not talking about 'what kind of haircut should I get' or 'what outfit should I wear tonight', I'm talking real doubt. Like 'should I quit my awful job if I don't have anything else lined up', or 'should I move my whole family to a new state' (or even country), or those people who leave someone they thought they wanted to spend the rest of their life with at the altar.

Or - 'can I really make it through this transition'.


These are life-changing decisions here, people. But that doesn't mean that we should lose our shit over it. You have to know that as hard as it's going to get, it will be worth it. It gets better. We can't let people stop us, or even slow us down. The hardest things in life are the ones we work for, and some things are going to be even harder than others. I thought growing up alone was going to be hard, now I'm completely changing my life. And no matter what anyone thinks, or says, or does - I'm going to fucking do this.

I have enough people in my life who love me and support me, losing a few isn't going to be the end of the world.

It may be harder if they're family, but they're still just eggs.

And I want a fucking omelette.

"And you know what, you're gonna be miserable anyway, so it doesn't matter."

So Saturday night there was a graduation party for my cousin, Pat. And the more the night went on, the more I was getting more pissed about hearing people say "good girl" or "hey girlie" or call me "Aileen". I was fed up, and sick of it, and when I got home I posted a status on facebook that essentially was 'coming out' for me. Sortof a, hey everybody I'm calling it official now - if you're not cool with it then unfriend me and that's fine, no hard feelings - kindof thing.

I didn't tell my parents at the time for 2 reasons, and neither will be probably what you're thinking.

1. It was literally almost 1am, and everyone was sleeping. 

2. It's none of my parent's business what I post on Facebook, and honestly if they want to check they can because Mom and I are friends. (Dad can't work the computer-or even really technology- at all, let alone social networking.) I can post or not post whatever I want on Facebook. I wasn't hurting anyone, I wasn't bullying, I wasn't talking shit about anything - I was posting information, about myself, that is factual.

Sunday evening I get a text from Sarah saying that her mother is freaking out, yelling at her, about my facebook status that she heard about through the grape vine. I'm not even going to get into how mad that made me. Sarah had no idea I was even posting it, do not yell at her for something that I did. You want to be mad, be mad at me, not her. Anyway, it made me think that maybe I should tell Mom, just as a courtesy to let her know what was going on and what I did. But again, by this time, it was late and everyone was in bed. 

So this morning, I send her a text message. Let me make something clear here - I do not see text messaging as a way of 'backing out' or any less form of communication than talking when it comes to informing someone of something like, I posted on facebook about me being trans, but not about Sarah and my relationship yet. So just assume that everyone now knows about me. That is not any different than me telling you in person. Break ups, coming out to your parents, long deep conversations-not made for texting. But this? This was NOTHING LIKE THAT. Needless to say, I get no answer from her, and my day goes on. 

She picks me up from work, which was great because I had already had a rough day, and the whole ride home is silence. I know she's pissed now, but honestly I was going to wait for her to start. 

We make it all the way home, into the kitchen, and then it starts.... (my favorite lines are in white, please excuse any typos in advance)

        *                             *                               * 

me: Thanks for picking me up

her: thanks for the FUCKING text message. what was that?

me: I wanted to let you know. I didn't want to call you I was at work

her: And that's what I rate? a fucking text message? that's it? I'm your mother.

me: I was at work.

her: when did you post it?

me: Saturday night after the party. 

her: I was home all day with you yesterday. A fucking text message? you have got to be kidding me. You know what? you are incredibly selfish and self centered. You know what? no. Fuck you. The whole thing, Aileen, okay? The whole thing.

me: What whole thing?

her: Everything. all of it. the whole-the whole way you're handling this is selfish and self-centered and you're like fuck everybody else. You have NO compassion. You have no compassion for anybody. you have no sensibilities towards anybody else's feelings. You don't really give a shit. Everybody's supposed to be considerate of you, and accepting of you but you have NO compassion for anyone. You're rude about it, you're insensitive. You're-

me: How was I rude?

her: No. And you know what, you're gonna be miserable anyway, so it doesn't matter.

me: And why is that?

her: Because you're never happy. you're never happy with whatever is here for you, whatever you have, you have never been. You have always been a grass is greener person, you're always looking at the other side, wanting what's over there. Or wanting what you can't have, or wanting the friends that you can't be friends with, or the people who don't want to hang around with you-

me: What makes you say that? I don't know where you're getting all of this. I really don't. 'cause I am happy.

her: No. You're not gonna be happy. If you this this is gonna make you happy-

me: I am happy. I'm not saying "I'm gonna be", I am. 

her: So then that's all that matters. Fuck everybody else, fuck everybody else-

me: I'm already happier than I was. I'm not gonna stop doing what makes me happy.

her: and that's all that matters, is that you're happy. and FUCK everyone else.....you said "I don't give a shit what anybody else says or thinks".

me: When did I say that?

her: you posted it on FB ages ago.... "those that matter don't mind and those that mind don't matter." SO I guess I don't matter.

me: Dr. Suess? I'm quoting Dr. Suess. 

her: And why are you quoting Dr. suess?

me: because there are gonna be people that aren't happy with the way that I live. There are gonna be people everywhere I'm not saying the people I know. I'm saying people I don't know. There are parts of society that are never going to accept what's going on and that's-they don't matter. People who think that gays shouldn't get married. I'm not gonna have them matter in my life, I'm not gonna lose sleep over them. That's what I mean by that quote that's how I take that quote. I'm not gonna let someone else who I've never met, affect me. 

her: Really? because It really comes off more like fuck you all. 

me: No-

her:  I think you are making the biggest mistake you have ever made. Biggest mistake ever. And I think you're gonna regret it.

me: I don't understand why it's a mistake. Wh-why is this considered a mistake?

her: Because I think you're not being true to yourself.

me: I think you have no idea what you're talking about.

her: Fine, I have no idea what I'm talking about. Then we won't talk about it.

       *                            *                               *

I want to be able to look back on this - years from now, when I'm happy and have a family and friends that love me, and know that I proved my mother wrong. For years I have been trying to be something that I'm not - for her, for everyone. Now it's my turn. And I'm finally learning who I really am. 

If she's not happy with that and can't come to terms with that, then it's going to be her loss, and she'll have to live with it - without me.

Hard truths and hard days

Maybe, just maybe, sometimes honesty isn't the best policy. Maybe I just want to be able to lie to myself and say that it's going to be fine, and one day I'll fit in. It seems more and more like that day isn't going to come. And I'm going to be stuck between sexes, and worlds, forever. I know that I'm not going to be seen as "one of the guys" for a long time yet, but that doesn't mean that I want attention drawn to the fact that yes, I still have tits. And yes, I'm still a female in the name of science.

I'm open about what I'm doing to my body. I would rather teach someone about myself than have them wonder in solitude, and judge, and be ignorant. Because even if they're ignorant towards me, maybe I can teach them something for the next trans person they meet. That doesn't mean that jokes about me still being a girl are going to be funny every single time. I can handle ballbusting, but it's starting to actually bother me. Questions I can handle, but some of the jokes just aren't funny. 

I really want to be part of the guys, I do. And being told that it's not really going to happen, is true, but discouraging. And it hurt. He pretty much said "well did you really expect to (be part of the guys)?" and damnit, yes. I do expect that. It's not fair that every day I wake up and I'm reminded that my body doesn't match, but to have it rubbed in by people is just starting to break me down. The anger is fading, now I'm just feeling tired. And defeated. 

*                    *                    *

In other news, Sarah told her parents Sunday night that we're in a relationship. Which is exciting, and apparently went well. So that's great. I'm happy that her dad didn't lose his shit. I mean, I didn't really expect him to, but the word is that his reaction was much better than anticipated. I'm really just glad that it's finally out there and we can talk about it like adults. I hope. Her mom is in emotion overload, which is fine and understandable, but suggested maybe we talk Saturday morning over coffee. I hope we do, it would be nice. 

Fuck this shit can get exhausting. 

Relearning Basic Skills

Taking a Leak:

I wish it wasn't such an ordeal to pee. I won't go into detail, but yes I can pee standing up. And it's awesome, but my body is not at all used to it. And it's even harder when public bathrooms have been terrifying for quite some time now. Never feeling right in the women's room, and never being allowed in the men's room. Now, finally in the men's room, and the pee anxiety that has always been present is now in overdrive.

It's frustrating. I just want to take a piss.



Getting Dressed:

I wish it wasn't such an ordeal to get dressed. Whether an FtM trans person is wrapping, binding, wearing two+ bras, or wearing a full binder shirt (I suggest the Underworks 998 model, I love it), it's a process to get dressed in the morning. Add humid heat and what used to take 2 minutes to put clothes on could now become almost 10 minutes. And breathing in humid heat is already difficult, now with chest compression? And did I mention that I have asthma? It's exhausting.

Now imagine your body fighting foreign hormones on the inside - which involves hot flashes and sweating - and clothes can get very uncomfortable very fast.




So keep in mind of your trans friends, because I'm sure MtF trans persons also have these issues, I'm just giving my side of it. This is not meant to generalize in any way. But seriously, when we complain about it being hot, keep in mind we may be wearing more than two layers even when it's 85 degrees out.

And maybe buy us a bottle of water.
Seriously they're like a dollar.
You can spare a dollar.

Work is working and home is suffocating.

Well it seems to be working out just fine. Everyone is working on pronouns, the men's bathroom is being used, and there are stupid boy jokes left and right. I'm getting better at the job itself, and figuring out where things are and who to go to with what issues. Room for growth, raises, overtime, things like that.

My parents still have not mentioned hormones at all. Or my transition. And my brother is an extremely irritating pothead with no respect for other people unless it directly affects him. I'm so sick of living at home.

I have a packet from PFLAG called "Our Transgender Children" and considering it's bothering me how much of a point everyone at home is making lately to address me as a girl, I might just leave it in the bathroom for people to read. Because it's actually killing me more now that all day I can be Aidan and use the men's room, and then I come home and it's all "she" and "daughter" and "good girl" left and right. I'm going out of my mind here.

Hopefully this job will get me enough income to get an apartment by the end of the year, because I have to get out of here. ASAP.

Pronoun Pride

Today was my first day at the new job! It was awesome. Everyone is nice, and seemingly non-judgemental.

The pronouns are the hard part. And the bathroom issue, but that's always a given. I managed to sneak in today when no one was in there, and as long as I don't get the shit beaten out of me - no pun intended - then we're good.

So as long as we can get the pronouns right, we're good to go. I was told today that I am officially the first transgender to work in the office, and I think it's going to be a great opportunity to teach people and help people be a little more understanding. Maybe I'm over optimistic, but I guess we'll find out. I had to correct a few people today but they all took it in stride and readjusted pretty quickly.

The office section I work in is all men, and they're ball busters, and it's fucking fantastic. They're loud, don't give a fuck who hears them, and didn't even miss a beat with me in the room. It's reassuring.

The work is tedious, but not hard, and from the looks of it - mostly sitting as a computer. And maybe I'm excited about that. Is that a bad thing? To be going from a (already and it's early in the year) blazing hot kitchen, to a temperature controlled office, sounds great. Not to mention the fact that I'm NOT standing on my feet all day, just some of it, sounds great. Now I just have to make sure I get a solid running in the morning routine so the office work doesn't affect my weight gain.

So my first day went great. And I got the code for the men's room.

Win? I think so.

Take your time.

So I'm hoping (if it's not already happening) that other transgenders will be reading this blog. It's my hope that I not only teach my friends who read the blog, but also anyone who gets referred here or even just stumbles upon it. So this is a teaching entry.

Today was my second self-injected shot of testosterone, and my fourth shot overall. Two weeks ago when I did my first self injection, I went too fast. I was excited, and that's expected, but it clouded my vision when it came to the injection process.

First, flex the muscle a bit before injection. My friend suggested it and it seems to help. I have only injected in my leg, but I'm assuming it will help in any other muscle injection sites.

Secondly and seriously, take your time. Push a bit, and pause-take a breath, then keep going. Don't rush it. And make sure you don't hit a vein because it will hurt like a bitch. In Sarah's parent's house, in the bathroom, there's a red heating lamp and I like to use that to check where my veins are, and mentally mark the spot on my leg where I can inject and not hit a vein. I know not everyone has a heating lamp, but do the best you can.

Another hint of advice - pull your skin to the side and then inject, holding the skin while injecting, then remove the needle and let the skin slide back again. This will help if the injection site seems to ooze a bit after injection.

And lastly, don't overdo it. I know this sounds like common sense, but some people just assume that more testosterone, or injecting more often, will cause faster results. This is NOT TRUE. Too much testosterone will not help, it's just a waste. After a certain amount of testosterone is in the female body, it can be changed into estrogen. So more testosterone can actually hurt your efforts in hormone replacement therapy. The point is to become more masculine, and having more estrogen in your body is NOT going to help you.

So always trust your doctor, and seriously listen to them. Trying to cheat and get ahead could hinder you.

This is a huge life decision, and not something to be taken lightly. So the process matters.

Pay attention. Do it right. Make it count.