Coming out - when is enough enough?

The 'coming out' journey continues.  I don't wish to limit myself and to force myself into doing something because I have blogged about it, but I'm getting to a saturation point.  The number of people who know my secret has reached probably 40-50 people I really trust.  I don't mean to blasé but I'm nearly at the point where I'm thinking that everyone I who I wanted to know, knows.  I am also starting to wonder, based on the response I’ve had to date about whether I would mind if it came out more broadly now.  I read Alice's blog regularly and she has recently taken the move to tell her Facebook friends about herself.  Brave decision?  Probably, but part of me wonders if there is an inevitability to it.  And most of you will be acutely aware of the crushing weight of keeping secret something you don't think of as a negative anymore.  You start to wonder whether the crush is worth it?

If I'm honest, the people who don't know about me, don't know for one of two reasons.  The first is where it might affect my professional standing and by extension my chances of getting work.  The second is that in my limited ability to judge these things, there is a danger that it might lead to my kids being told.

The first is a practical one.  I'm self employed.  The people I work for may well be ok with it, or they may hate and feel uncomfortable with it.  In most cases, I don't know either way and I'm not yet ready to take the risk of finding out.  I'm not on the route to transition currently, so them knowing adds nothing except risking my livelihood.  If I decide to transition, then it doesn't matter - they would need to know.  As I'm highly highly unlikely currently to turn up to work for my clients in Rhiannon mode, they are better off in the dark.

The second is simple.  I really don't want my kids to find out before I think they are ready to cope with it.  That's a personal judgement I guess, maybe a better way of saying it is that I don't want them to know until they HAVE to cope with it.  Again, I'm not likely to start dressing in obvious girl mode with them around, so why is it necessary?

The thing that you can't control is what people do with the secret you place into their hands.  So far, so good.  But the more who find out, the more chance there is to lose control.  Nothing new, I've blogged on this before, but it is heightened by the fact that half a dozen people recently have passed on my secret when they've been told.  Mostly that is to other trustworthy people, but the effect on me is that I move inch by inch towards the mass inadvertent outing I have always feared.  But strangely no longer dread.

All this sounds very matter of fact.  Like its an operational exercise and to a degree it has been.  But I’m no longer ashamed of feeling like a girl and not being open about it, to a degree makes me feel like I still am embarrassed.  In some ways knowing that there is an inevitability to it being public knowledge makes me think, ‘just get on with it.’  Don’t worry, I’m not going to act rashly, but it all makes you wonder...

Cathartic TED talks...

Normal blogging service will resume soon, but I saw this a couple of days ago and its been gnawing ever since.  It really is worth watching.

It is the 'Most Beautiful Way to Stop a Bully I've Ever Seen':

Progress

This is a really short blog that is more of a marker for me in my Rhiannon journey.  I have been working hard on improving my make up skills, developing my look, undergoing painful waxing etc so that I can see what I want to see in the mirror.  So I can look at myself and be truly  happy for the first time ever.

Earlier this week, I was looking at a photo of me that I'd taken of myself and apart from slightly flushed cheeks (I was next to the radiator), I felt the start of feeling happy with myself.

I'm not suggesting I'm an oil painting (yet), but I was so overjoyed at just how much progress I'm making.   To boot, I've been really working hard on dieting and weight loss over the last week - I'm determined to get my weight down for lots of reasons.  So when I got on the scales and they said I was half a stone lighter, I was a very happy bunny.  And I resisted having a biscuit to celebrate!

Verdict: still a long way to go, but today, I'm smiling. :o)

Do we pick them well, or is the ground fallow already? Where is the line?

Over the weekend, I told an old school friend (its 20 years since school, not that she’s old, because she isn’t) about Rhiannon.  True to form, she was absolutely amazing in her response.  After the ‘are you pulling my leg question,’ she quickly took it in her stride, said I look fab and that she wouldn’t have recognised me.  When I was surprised at how ok she was with it, she made an interesting comment along the lines of: its 2013, why would I be bothered.

Clearly from the newspapers, certain ones in particular, there are some people who think its 1813, not 2013.  But its got me wondering.   I’ve told a fair few people about me now and they have all been very receptive and kind when I have delivered the message.  Up until now, I’ve been putting it down to the fact that I am good at choosing people to tell, that I have an instinct (self preservation?) for it, if you like.  But I am starting to wonder whether actually, the reality is that actually most people, these days, are just actually not bothered any more.  If you are trans, you are, its no biggie?

Reading this, I think that this is probably the case really.  But I have in mind a test.   A fair chunk of the people I have told have been either women who are quite open minded already or are men who are my age or younger (I’m 38).  Tonight, I’m meeting a older man who I used to work with, who I haven’t seen for a while. I know that the subject is very likely to come up.  I’m not sure where he stands on such issues, but I’m interested to see how he responds on the basis that he is outside of my ‘norm’ group.  He is a great chap, so I’m sure it’ll be ok, but it’ll be interesting.

Maybe this isn't the question I need to ask anyway.  Of course people are more responsive in general now, especially as they think, what harm can that news be to me.  If anything, its an interesting conversation.  Instead what I maybe need to ask is where is the line that changes open minded people into being more reserved?  Is there a point where general societal positivity reaches its limit?  Is it when they see some of my photos?  In the group of people who know about me, some draw the line there and don't want to see them.  Or maybe its meeting me in private when I’m dressed.  Is the line there?  I have noticed that when I tell people, some offer to go out with me when I'm presenting as Rhiannon.  To me, those are the bravest, but even some in that group avoid me afterwards. I feel that maybe their spur of the moment offer, once considered, is where they found their line.  Everyone must have a line somewhere?  Or have they?  I have found two people who seem to genuinely seem to have no line and go beyond the pail compared to others.  In fact, they are the people who push my line forward rather than the other way around.  They cause me to be brave.

If people, in general, are open minded and liberal about this, why is it that in a crowded room when I’m dressed, I think that all eyes are on me?  I know part of it is that I'm insecure, but it is probably for most people, that seeing a big fat man in a dress has already crossed their line, whatever amount of effort I've put into looking my best.  Maybe society is ready for so much, but in the future, hopefully, will be ready for even more.  But not quite yet...?

Yo-yos have it easy

I’m tempted sometimes to blog more regularly.  This is not least because I know that there are many people out there who care about me.  So, knowing what’s going on is helpful.  But at the moment, I think I would either confuse, or worse, frustrate everyone.  A potted history of the last month would be up, down, up, up, down, down, down, up, down etc.  You get the idea.

The old saying struck me when I came to write this blog: 'I’m up and down like a yo-yo', hence the title.  I also remembered the saying, ‘up and down like a whore’s drawers’ but thought that the blog title, ‘whore's drawers have it easy’ would a) give you the wrong impression, b) be censured by blogger and c) get me into trouble with the sex industry.  So I resisted.  But it is accurate, so I used it anyway.

Many of the ups have been great highs. I’ve been working very hard recently at my job and have been getting great feedback.  To a level of quality that I’ve not really seen before - I guess it happens when you put your mind to it.  I have a couple of slow moving, frustrating projects too, but I’m even enjoying them because I’m working with some fantastic people who empathise with my snail’s pace situation.

Another high was my first trip to New York which was fab - I really enjoyed it.  I kicked back and did everything a tourist is expected to do.  I also wanted to take the train from New York to Washington for the day.  It was so cool, but why did no-one mention that the walk from the Capitol to the Lincoln Memorial is quite so long and more importantly so freakishly windy.  Brrrrr.  I spent the afternoon of that day trolley busing - I love guided tours.

Oh - and another waxing session.  Little bit more painful this time, but so worth it.  Followed by a shopping trip where I got the most super cute cardigan and top combination in the world.  It feels so pretty.  The more life goes on, the more I realise I can’t live without allowing my girl side to flourish - and more and more I want her to take over.

My friends have been fantastic.  3-4 in particular has never stopped checking on me, making sure that  I’m ok.  Last week, one of my friends who I haven’t talked to much about Rhiannon and I went for dinner.  It was a very frank and open conversation with us both sharing our current issues.  At one point he said basically that of all his friends, he thinks of me much more as a girl than a boy and that he would find it hard to be this open with his other male friends.  A couple of conversations with him over the last few months have been touch.

And there in lies the hideous paradox.  In my mind, I completely think like a girl.  Everyone who ever speaks to me always says it.  Feminine traits just seep from every pore.  So why oh why did I get this 5’11 big fat bloke body.  Someone recently, when I said that I do the best I can with it, replied, "I've seen worse!"  That pretty much summed it up for me - its the level I've reached! :o)  Nooooooo!  How could it ever change or be different?

And one final 'high' shout out.  I didn't get to the live performance - but I love it when great people take big risks.  Lynn Jones of YATGB fame did live stand up recently and she was really good - a great start.  Watching that made my day.  It always does when people push themselves beyond what they think they can do and it succeeds.

But as high as the highs have been, the lows have been so low.  Putting aside the fact that my mobile (cell) phone was stolen from under my nose when I was in central London.  Ignore that the death of my nan really hit me hard over the last couple of days, the heartbreak of separation continues.  I know lots of you have been though it and know.  But the pain of it sometimes leaves me breathless.  The loneliness, the aching.  I sometimes am in a meeting or out and about and my mind strays to my kids and the sense of palpable loss is overwhelming.  Its like every bit of life has been sucked from my body and I could just sob.  Clearly in meetings, that is not best thing in the world, but I’ve had some close calls.

Despite my earlier comments, the temptation to try to give all of this up and to be ‘normal’ is crushing, because I want my old life back.  Deep down I know I would never be able to really do that.  So I go on.  It feels like a half-life, with so much missing, like there is an empty gap that used to be joyously filled and now its void and painful even to look at.

That’s the thing, I know it’ll pass.  Mrs A constantly asks me if I’ve decided to come back and, by implication, to stop being Rhiannon.  I find it a trial every time because I want to say yes and to jump straight back into her arms.  That would make everyone happy, only to disappoint them all again down the track when I can't stick to it.  And when I do fail, they’ll hate me because I gave them hope and snatched it away again. So every day I spend time resisting my natural inclination to solve the problem, to make it better, knowing that the best I can do is a temporary patch.  And inside, I grow cold as I realise that my dream family is over.  In reality that means something new will form.  But Family 2.0 is not as good (in my eyes).  I just hope that if I can work hard at it, things might be ok.

If you reached this far without needing to resort to alcohol, well done.  But you were warned, I am very up and down at the moment...

Missing what he had

I haven’t blogged for a while, to be honest, because blogging requires two things from me.   Honesty and a semblance of self reflection.  Of late, facing up to either has been easier to avoid.  And I’m not finding it straight-forward right now, but I woke up this morning knowing that it was a blog day.

But its why I should blog more often, because the moment I do, crystal clear, stark answers stare back at me.  I started the first version of this blog thinking that I was confused about my gender and that things were all up in the air.  The latter part of that is true, but the reasons why I am unsettled are simple and are not to do with confusion.  I am intensely missing all the things I got to have when I was him.  And I’m teetering at the edge of our acquaintances and beyond finding out the true reason for the split.

Let’s consider the equation for a moment.  As him: married 16 years, enjoyment with the kids, people understand your situation and think well of you for it, good job, fantastic family holidays, meals out with someone you love, a familial support network when you are unhappy, solvency because you aren’t supporting two households, good standing in the local church (I know, I’ve never mentioned that one before, but there it stands), respectability, normality, easy life.

Then I contrast it with now.  Don’t get me wrong, I still have some (well a couple) of those things.  But I don’t have the things off that list that I really value.  Family holidays have firmly been taken off the list - ironically they were high on the list of things I valued about my old lifestyle.  Meals with a loved one.  Having some respectability.  I am grateful for the things I have now.  Sitting, writing this, in my fluffy pink dressing gown and my pretty nightdress, I am happy.  But Jekyll and Hyde that I am, I’m also insanely jealous of what he had and I miss it so much.  Even to the point where I wonder, not for the first time you’ll recall, whether I should go back.  I have to question what is important.  Forgive my French, but having made four other humans, I purport to love, so unhappy to get what I want is just a little bit shit and feels a lot selfish.  Why should I be happy at their expense?

But worse, and I’m going to be excruciatingly honest here.  I’m really not comfortable with the whole world knowing that I'm transgendered.  How’s that for out, loud and proud?

The progression is already happening.  As this is a separation, we have not publicised it, but all parents know that kids, by their very nature publicise everything.  We have not told them about why we’ve split up.  But over and over again, as people are, bit by bit finding out, the question they arrive at is why.  Why are, to all intents and purposes, a happy couple splitting up?  And how do you answer that?  Thanks to a wise friend, we have a script, “Mr A has some problems that he needs to resolve, there is no-one else involved, but we needed some time apart.”  It washes some of the time.  But the kids don’t buy it because its their whole world thrown into turmoil.  I know they don’t buy it because they are still asking why.   We are not telling them the real reason and they can tell.  Mrs A and I might get back together and once I’ve told them, it can’t be untold.  Life’s ‘undo’ button is greyed out on this one.  And the moment they know, everyone does.

I’m not sure if I’ve explained myself well at all here.  Or if anyone else even get’s what I mean.  Suffice to say, there are days I would trade being transgender.  Even if feeling pretty is the best feeling ever.

Bringing you up to date

Life, of late, has been a set of very mixed feelings.  On balance, I would say, sadness has won out, but some moments of joy have forced their way into the mix.  I have just re-read my last blog so that I could catch you up on the latest news - and didn’t realise that it really was about 3-4 weeks and SO much has happened in that time.

Having taken the painful decision to break, I began my search for a new place to live.  This proved remarkably easy really.  I did not want to go much further than 10 minutes from our family house so that I could see the little people as much as possible.  I found a perfect apartment that had so many of the features I was looking for on my first trawl through rightmove.co.uk.  I rang up, visited it, offered and within the space of 24 hours, I was renting.  It happened dizzyingly quickly.  I picked up the keys early in January and have been at work, building a place for the uncertain future ahead.

Despite a couple of reconciliation attempts and deep discussions to try to resolve our differences, we failed and agreed that it was definitely going to happen.  I am still not resigned to the fact that this has to be a forever split.  I’m hoping against hope that we find a way.  She is a lovely, knock out woman and I love her.  Yes, she is not up for trans-ness, but there are a lot of women out there who are like that.  I have lots of female friends who are lovely, supportive, kind - and quite happy to be seen out and about with me.  But when I ask the question, “what if it was your husband who was trans”, a quiet, non-answer is the usual response.  Putting myself in Mrs A’s shoes, I’m not sure I can judge her too harshly for her actions.

But the decision being taken, set in course a train of steps that would lead to me having to do the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my whole life.  I had to tell the kids that mummy and daddy were not going to be living together anymore.  Having only done this on Saturday just gone, it is still a little bit raw.  I have spent a very long time agonising and crying over telling them.  My ‘avoiding something at all costs’ instinct kicked in and I tried to do everything I could to procrastinate.  But I did it in the end.  Three tough conversations with three upset little people.  More crying from me.  Lots of crying from me.  They took it better than I expected.  I didn’t deliver the whole shebang.  My transgenderedness is not something I need to burden them with right now.  I’ll tell them that when I have my own head straight on how I want to progress.  Its enough pain to know your parents are splitting up for now.   On Sunday, they visited my new place and decided that they love it a lot.  I chose it partly because I thought there would be things they liked about it.  The path ahead is the tough one for them, but it was nice that they have taken the first baby step.

I said things were mixed at the moment and that’s because in what has been an awful period of time, there has also been some good stuff.  I’ve done another day at work in Rhiannon mode.  My hair, despite being a curly mop is growing out well - I have to achieve a semblance of a professional look as a boy which I am just about managing.  Living by myself means lots more Rhiannon time than I’ve ever had before.  I’ve had some nice meals and conversations with people who despite everything, clearly love me still.  A notable shout out for Becca Pink of Mutterings fame who I met in central London for dinner.  She’s not owning up to this on her blog, but she rocked the girl look for our dinner together.  I was going to, but bravery (and time to get ready) lost out - and then I was glad I wasn’t brave.  I walked, in boy mode, through thousands of people in rush hour Waterloo Station knowing instantly that I would have been overwhelmed at that many people being able to see me in Rhiannon-mode at once.  I have added that particular “walk of shame” to my 2013 objectives though - I WILL do it.

This blog probably sounds very upbeat given all that’s happened.  I guess its partly its about how you feel in the moment.  Its a snow day today - and I have so much to do.  But I put some make up on this morning, got into my favourite wooly tights, black skater dress and purple cardigan and settled down to work.  And honestly, a feeling of comfort and normality overwhelmed me.  Despite all that is horrible and tough in my world, I’m being who I really am today and that counts for a lot.

Hope you have a great day too. x