Last night I got unexpectedly sideswiped. One of the groups I lead was having its annual Christmas party. In 2014, it was simply a case of going for a really nice curry to an Indian restaurant and I enjoyed myself. This year, a different group of people are in place after a number of staff changes. They wanted to organise the party themselves and just for me to turn up. They decided to go to one of these 'organised parties'. I had, in my head a template of the evening. You see, I recently went to another one: it was fun and very relaxed and I thought I knew what to expect. So I ‘dolled up’ man-style: pressed trousers, shirt and wool jumper - same as the last one. Grabbing my money, wallet and keys, I headed out.
The cab arrived and I hopped in the front without looking at the other passengers. We conversed on the way but I didn’t look round. We arrived and I gulped. As the other passengers got out of the car, they were all in suits, shirts and ties. The ladies we were with - who were all in their 20s and early 30s and who’d travelled ahead - were dressed for a prom ball. As I started to look around there were a lot of men in black tie and dinner jackets. If a pavement swallowing service had been available, I would have paid good money to disappear. Not only had I unexpectedly turned up to my worst nightmare - women in the most beautiful make up and dresses, I was the scruffiest person in the room and wasn't appropriate as a man either.
Needless to say, perhaps, that it got worse from there. We sat at the table. Men on one side, ladies on the other. Younger ladies (20s-30s) in low cut tight dresses one side, older men [me included :o(] aged 40-60 on the other side. People having fun, running around, enjoying themselves one side, me looking everywhere else trying not to appear lecherous on the other side. The thing is that my usual defence, of ‘I’m admiring the dresses and the clothes’ (which is true), feels so lame when you are a fat 41 year old looking at a 20 year old young lady with everything hanging out. Whilst I genuinely am not trying to cop a look, that is not going to be what it is going to seem like to them. Plus these are people that ultimately report to me and I don’t want them to feel like their boss is like that - they need to be able to come to me when they need to talk / have problems etc. They can’t think that I was the one who ogled their breasts at the party. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more uncomfortable in my whole life and I couldn't get my head back into a positive space. The men went into stereo-typical British middle aged man behaviour: we shouldn’t dance, we are embarrassed by this lively party atmosphere etc. Whereas at the last one I was appropriate, I fitted in and I ‘enjoyed’ it and danced. This time, being dressed wrong, even for a man, feeling old AND dysphoric - I’m not sure how I didn’t go and cry in the toilet, because I sure felt like it. In fact I want to cry now.
I just hid at our table all night, smiled as much and as widely as possible. I clearly didn’t do a good job of it. People were concernedly asking me if I was having a good time. Always happens when people think you aren’t having a good time. The trouble is that they don’t know about my dysphoria and transgenderness. My discomfort looks like social awkwardness and being a boring old bloke. Actually, I was just losing a massive fight against my demons for the night and instead contemplating running away from everyone and everything and hoping never to see anyone again. Ever. Quite literally for the rest of my life.
Monday, 14 December 2015
Sunday, 6 December 2015
Hiatus
Sorry, its been a while. Again. Even starting now, I don’t really know what I am going to say.
I guess my silence, as is often the case, is reflective of two things. Busyness and confusion. My word, has it been busy - work has been all enveloping. Every day something happens that means my main place to be Rhiannon has not been possible. Add in that I have lived on a building site for 6 months and Rhiannon-time becomes a little more challenging. That’s even if I wanted it.
Did I want Rhiannon-time over the last 6 months? I’ve just stared at that question for a while to try to think about my answer. Yes, desperately, is the answer. So why haven’t I? Why have things been fallow for so long. Searching inside and I know that the answer is shallow and stupid - there are a few. Weight and appearance is one. I know that it seems ridiculous and eminently fixable, but being 41 with a very large and obvious hernia and looking like a massive rugby player, is, in my own mind a real blocker for me. Others have commented on it too and what precious little self confidence and esteem I once possessed has of late floated into the breeze. In truth, it has made me very sad. I regularly find myself staring into space, frozen, unable to act. Not knowing where to turn or how to reboot my life. Or crying and not knowing where to reach out. Instead I google, 'why am I so sad' and find no answers.
I have had some contact with some great people and in particular, a few months ago, had a lovely lunch with a local trans-woman, Ruth, which was just lovely. We enjoyed lunch together and it was so relaxed from the first moment. I love it when I immediately connect with someone. Ruth is the epitome of a feminine personality: some trans people look the part, but the personality sometimes feels a little like their wrong gender. Ruth is female to the core of her being. Gorgeous inside and out.
I want so much to just get on with it it but I just find it so hard. Add in that I continue in my disapproving marriage and its just been on the back burner. Interestingly over the last few weeks, the urge has started to come back. I can feel that desperation growing again to spend time as who I really am and I’m glad. Maybe the hiatus is over?
I guess my silence, as is often the case, is reflective of two things. Busyness and confusion. My word, has it been busy - work has been all enveloping. Every day something happens that means my main place to be Rhiannon has not been possible. Add in that I have lived on a building site for 6 months and Rhiannon-time becomes a little more challenging. That’s even if I wanted it.
Did I want Rhiannon-time over the last 6 months? I’ve just stared at that question for a while to try to think about my answer. Yes, desperately, is the answer. So why haven’t I? Why have things been fallow for so long. Searching inside and I know that the answer is shallow and stupid - there are a few. Weight and appearance is one. I know that it seems ridiculous and eminently fixable, but being 41 with a very large and obvious hernia and looking like a massive rugby player, is, in my own mind a real blocker for me. Others have commented on it too and what precious little self confidence and esteem I once possessed has of late floated into the breeze. In truth, it has made me very sad. I regularly find myself staring into space, frozen, unable to act. Not knowing where to turn or how to reboot my life. Or crying and not knowing where to reach out. Instead I google, 'why am I so sad' and find no answers.
I have had some contact with some great people and in particular, a few months ago, had a lovely lunch with a local trans-woman, Ruth, which was just lovely. We enjoyed lunch together and it was so relaxed from the first moment. I love it when I immediately connect with someone. Ruth is the epitome of a feminine personality: some trans people look the part, but the personality sometimes feels a little like their wrong gender. Ruth is female to the core of her being. Gorgeous inside and out.
I want so much to just get on with it it but I just find it so hard. Add in that I continue in my disapproving marriage and its just been on the back burner. Interestingly over the last few weeks, the urge has started to come back. I can feel that desperation growing again to spend time as who I really am and I’m glad. Maybe the hiatus is over?
Monday, 20 July 2015
Struggling...
I can tell that this is not going to look or feel polished or even probably articulate. But some days I just don’t care about that to be honest. Honestly, I’m really struggling at the moment. Two things are bothering me and just won’t go away. The first and most important is that I know deep down that I am increasingly unhappy with my gender. It is getting harder and harder to live as a man when I know that I’m not of that gender. Sadness just fills me all the time and despite trying to put a brave face on it, its not working any more.
I know I need to do something about it, but the ramifications of the impact on the people around me continues to yell, ‘what are you thinking’ in my face at a ridiculous volume. Honestly, I’m probably more conflicted and in pain than I ever have been in my whole life. I’ve been reading several books recently about transwomen who have transitioned to full time and it just makes a huge amount of sense to me. But I still can’t believe that it could ever be me.
One of the things I am struck again and again with is just how much this has affected my whole life. I’ve just been fighting forever against myself and felt unhappy, tormented and in pain every hour of every day of my life and I just want it to stop. I need it to stop.
Even when I dress, I’m only 75% happy because I know that it is going to end. Sorry if this sounds moany, but the torment of taking off my make up and ‘changing back’ often causes such anguish inside that I just feel like getting in my car and running away. Although like most people who are trans (I assume) I have considered whether it is worth continuing with my life. I know that I could probably never go that far, but I have certainly considered just running away and disappearing to a place where no-one can find me and just starting again. Deleting my whole history to be someone new.
I also know though that my health is suffering because of my weight and this is the second thing. The lack of control I feel about changing my gender is ‘coped with’ by eating and drinking. Despite all of my promises to myself to lose weight, I don’t. That internal desperation to find some way out has always been channeled to food and drink for me. I stand at the heaviest I’ve ever been. It used to be that dressing and going out was an answer, it relieved some of the pressure. It still does to a degree, but the dread of changing back and of being perceived as a man rather than as a woman is just to painful. I’m at the point where it has to be all or nothing, but I don’t think it can be.
My head is near to exploding and I needed to write it down. I’m not looking for answers, there aren’t any, only difficult choices. But thank you for reading and caring.
I know I need to do something about it, but the ramifications of the impact on the people around me continues to yell, ‘what are you thinking’ in my face at a ridiculous volume. Honestly, I’m probably more conflicted and in pain than I ever have been in my whole life. I’ve been reading several books recently about transwomen who have transitioned to full time and it just makes a huge amount of sense to me. But I still can’t believe that it could ever be me.
One of the things I am struck again and again with is just how much this has affected my whole life. I’ve just been fighting forever against myself and felt unhappy, tormented and in pain every hour of every day of my life and I just want it to stop. I need it to stop.
Even when I dress, I’m only 75% happy because I know that it is going to end. Sorry if this sounds moany, but the torment of taking off my make up and ‘changing back’ often causes such anguish inside that I just feel like getting in my car and running away. Although like most people who are trans (I assume) I have considered whether it is worth continuing with my life. I know that I could probably never go that far, but I have certainly considered just running away and disappearing to a place where no-one can find me and just starting again. Deleting my whole history to be someone new.
I also know though that my health is suffering because of my weight and this is the second thing. The lack of control I feel about changing my gender is ‘coped with’ by eating and drinking. Despite all of my promises to myself to lose weight, I don’t. That internal desperation to find some way out has always been channeled to food and drink for me. I stand at the heaviest I’ve ever been. It used to be that dressing and going out was an answer, it relieved some of the pressure. It still does to a degree, but the dread of changing back and of being perceived as a man rather than as a woman is just to painful. I’m at the point where it has to be all or nothing, but I don’t think it can be.
My head is near to exploding and I needed to write it down. I’m not looking for answers, there aren’t any, only difficult choices. But thank you for reading and caring.
Monday, 13 July 2015
Watch out, girl at work
As you are probably aware, I can, when I wish (a lot) go into Rhiannon mode in the office. The kind people I work with are lovely about it and treat me perfectly as a woman. It makes me very happy and I smile a lot as I work away. Thought I'd share these with you...one was today, one was a couple of months ago. Also a few outings coming up which I'm looking forward to reporting - a couple of lunches and my second Pink Punters night. The dress is selected as are the cute sandals (ones that actually fit this time!) :o)
Thursday, 2 July 2015
The case of the irritating sandal…
I really love sandals. There, I said it. Perhaps not the most glamourous of footwear, but comfy and shows off painted toenails a treat. Over the last few years the trend has been in my favour - lots of sandals with just a toe post and no back to them. Perfect. I have a size 10 wide (oaf) feet and that design works for me.
This year, naively, I decided to update my sandal collection. I love the fact that you can buy sparkly jewellery topped sandals. They are sooooo cute, I just couldn’t resist. They have a leather back but my foot still fits perfectly into them, they look wonderful. Cinderella shall go to the ball.
Except.
Except they have a mangle of straps that are supposed to go over the top of your foot and clearly the designers have not thought about oaf feet when they supplied the straps. The straps are about 4 inches (9-ish centimetres) too short. I have a lovely thing on my foot, but I can’t do it up. Irritating. Surely the fact that someone has bought a size 10-wide means that the rest of the foot is also larger and isn’t a weird flat shape - i.e. the length of an overgrown woman and the height of a prepubescent 8 year old.
Another shoe sadly consigned to the charity shop. Shame really as I saw a lady the other day wearing the same sandal. With jeans and a cute top, she looked amazing. I was looking forward to emulating the look, but clearly shoe designers (as ever) hate us…
Except.
Except they have a mangle of straps that are supposed to go over the top of your foot and clearly the designers have not thought about oaf feet when they supplied the straps. The straps are about 4 inches (9-ish centimetres) too short. I have a lovely thing on my foot, but I can’t do it up. Irritating. Surely the fact that someone has bought a size 10-wide means that the rest of the foot is also larger and isn’t a weird flat shape - i.e. the length of an overgrown woman and the height of a prepubescent 8 year old.
Another shoe sadly consigned to the charity shop. Shame really as I saw a lady the other day wearing the same sandal. With jeans and a cute top, she looked amazing. I was looking forward to emulating the look, but clearly shoe designers (as ever) hate us…
Saturday, 27 June 2015
A night out
As you will have seen, I have been trying to get my confidence levels back up and to begin to go out more again in Rhiannon-mode. I’m a firm believer in the idea of trying to make an easy start. Why tackle Mount Everest when you haven’t climbed the local hill?
The target of the next step in my ‘easy start’ was Pink Punters (a LGBT bar based in Milton Keynes, UK). As well as being known for having brilliant security and a zero tolerance approach to homophobia and transphobia, it has a (cheap and cheerful) hotel within a 2-minute walk from its front door. I have been planning the trip for a while and two cis-gendered girl-friends had kindly agreed to join me.
I got ready in my room: make up done, perfume squirted, nails polished, new wig placed on (still loving it), purple dress, nude tights, black clutch bag, black patent leather block heels and some sparkly jewellery. Accessorised by a glass or two of nice wine / dutch courage and I was ready.
There were lots of great highlights to the experience, but the first was simple. My two friends, L and T (who were wonderful the whole night), texted me to say that they were ready and so I went up to the room they were sharing. I got to join in the getting-ready-to-go-out ritual that I have longed to participate in rather than just watch. They complimented me on my make up and dress and how feminine I looked. T was still doing her hair, L was still in her socks and was joking about wearing them out tonight. It was relaxed girl time fun. Cheese straws, humous and a touch more wine was being consumed and I just felt part of the girl group rather than the outsider. We talked and laughed and eventually, at a fashionable time of night, got ready to go out.
Heels on all around, I took a deep breath and walked out the door. We passed several people who stared [am I really that attractive :o)] but I smiled and walked on. Cleavage out, lots of teeth on show. We took the short walk to the club and down to the door. Before we went in, L took a couple of photos for your viewing pleasure.
We went in and toured the place to scope out the best places to sit. It was not like any LGBT bars I’d been to before. Only one floor was open and it was like an outside bar with a roof for the large part with big fire pits located throughout. Given my propensity towards perspiration, that worked perfectly for me. Despite the high temperatures, I barely broke into a sweat all night. We grabbed (another) glass of wine and found some seats and just sat for hours talking and laughing and the time went past so fast. I just felt like I should have been able to do this for my whole life.
One of the early things that I put in my blog, here in fact, was that I always wanted to go to a club as a woman and dance. The night finally arrived and after we had talked for hours, we hit the dance floor. It was packed and I have to say the crowd was young. Made me feel very maternal!! There were only one or two other trans ladies there who appeared to be enjoying themselves too. We found a spot and honestly, I’m not sure that my dancing was much improved, but I did enjoy it more. Some of the self consciousness I feel as a male disappeared very quickly and I was shaking my booty like the best of them. Every so often I’d get excited to hear a song I knew and then they’d do something weirdly clubby to it. L and T danced with the confidence I expect from girls. I used the night as a chance to watch how girls were dancing and to emulate. I think that this is going to involve a learning curve. Does that mean I’m going to have to go back? Yes. The sacrifices we make for our art eh? :o)
All good things come to an end and eventually we got off the dance floor and went back to the bar. One final drink of the night ordered and we looked at our watches for the first time to realise that it was 2am! Standing up this time, we chatted, finished our drinks and left. My feet were killing me. I really need to work on having heels on for longer. Once back on the carpeted floor of the hotel, they were straight off! Goodnights were said and it was back to my room. Make up off, nightdress on and such a happy smile from a happy girl and sleep.
The target of the next step in my ‘easy start’ was Pink Punters (a LGBT bar based in Milton Keynes, UK). As well as being known for having brilliant security and a zero tolerance approach to homophobia and transphobia, it has a (cheap and cheerful) hotel within a 2-minute walk from its front door. I have been planning the trip for a while and two cis-gendered girl-friends had kindly agreed to join me.
I got ready in my room: make up done, perfume squirted, nails polished, new wig placed on (still loving it), purple dress, nude tights, black clutch bag, black patent leather block heels and some sparkly jewellery. Accessorised by a glass or two of nice wine / dutch courage and I was ready.
There were lots of great highlights to the experience, but the first was simple. My two friends, L and T (who were wonderful the whole night), texted me to say that they were ready and so I went up to the room they were sharing. I got to join in the getting-ready-to-go-out ritual that I have longed to participate in rather than just watch. They complimented me on my make up and dress and how feminine I looked. T was still doing her hair, L was still in her socks and was joking about wearing them out tonight. It was relaxed girl time fun. Cheese straws, humous and a touch more wine was being consumed and I just felt part of the girl group rather than the outsider. We talked and laughed and eventually, at a fashionable time of night, got ready to go out.
Heels on all around, I took a deep breath and walked out the door. We passed several people who stared [am I really that attractive :o)] but I smiled and walked on. Cleavage out, lots of teeth on show. We took the short walk to the club and down to the door. Before we went in, L took a couple of photos for your viewing pleasure.
One of the early things that I put in my blog, here in fact, was that I always wanted to go to a club as a woman and dance. The night finally arrived and after we had talked for hours, we hit the dance floor. It was packed and I have to say the crowd was young. Made me feel very maternal!! There were only one or two other trans ladies there who appeared to be enjoying themselves too. We found a spot and honestly, I’m not sure that my dancing was much improved, but I did enjoy it more. Some of the self consciousness I feel as a male disappeared very quickly and I was shaking my booty like the best of them. Every so often I’d get excited to hear a song I knew and then they’d do something weirdly clubby to it. L and T danced with the confidence I expect from girls. I used the night as a chance to watch how girls were dancing and to emulate. I think that this is going to involve a learning curve. Does that mean I’m going to have to go back? Yes. The sacrifices we make for our art eh? :o)
All good things come to an end and eventually we got off the dance floor and went back to the bar. One final drink of the night ordered and we looked at our watches for the first time to realise that it was 2am! Standing up this time, we chatted, finished our drinks and left. My feet were killing me. I really need to work on having heels on for longer. Once back on the carpeted floor of the hotel, they were straight off! Goodnights were said and it was back to my room. Make up off, nightdress on and such a happy smile from a happy girl and sleep.
Sunday, 24 May 2015
What a difference a day makes…
Its been a while (again), sorry. Things have been very busy and work and other charitable interests have kind of taken over my life for months now. To be honest, I’m always up and down, but I’ve been in a downward funk for a while too. You could probably tell that from my recent posts - its all been a bit half hearted. Over the last year and a bit, the issue I’ve had is diminishing confidence. You will recall that last time I went out publicly in Rhiannon mode, I was sirred for the whole night by the waiters. This set me off and together with spending increasingly less time as me, I just gave up on myself.
Of late, the desperation and longing to stop pretending that I’m male has grown. The internal voice that reminds me that my outside doesn’t match the inside, has been bellowing louder and louder. Several months ago, this voice caused me, almost without thinking to make a very out of character hair related decision.
Since I began presenting as Rhiannon, I have had a succession of relatively inexpensive, lower quality wigs. They have been perfectly serviceable, but I obtained them in the least obvious way - i.e. not going into a shop and saying, “I’m trans, give me hair.” but more either on eBay or when I was visiting the lovely Tracey at the now defunct Trans-Femme.
About 8-9 months ago, the very lovely Ruth from the blog Ruth’s Odyssey, who also lives in this part of the country, recommended Andrea’s Hairroom in her blog. I went once and got new hair - as featured here previously. Despite it being a big step up, it wasn’t my forever hair (!) and I wanted something that matched more closely to my eyebrows and that fitted my head a little better. Andrea is genuinely joyful to visit - an amazing ball of lively and engaging Trans-friendly energy. I started talking about what I was looking for and Andrea responded that what I probably needed was something that was fitted properly for me so that it was more difficult to tell that it wasn’t my real hair. We discussed the options and I decided to really go for it to get a very high quality human hair - from the right sources - wig specifically created for my head. I knew that it was going to be expensive and in the aftermath, it seemed very frivolous. What had I done? I don’t even present as me very much before. But she was right, it was what was needed, so I went with it.
Three and a half months past and last Monday, the date for my fitting arrived. I was excited and scared at the same time. Excited to see how I might look, but nervous because it could be that despite spending all of this money, I might still not look that great. Would it really make any difference? Even nice hair doesn’t change the confidence that you feel inside, surely?
So I went along for the fitting. The first challenge for someone with my confidence levels was that this time it needed to be in Rhiannon-mode. To properly see the effect of it, to make sure it worked with me as a woman, I needed to be presenting correctly. I haven’t been out publicly since I can’t remember when. The thought just terrified me and I was tempted to welch on the appointment. So I did what any girl would do, I sought moral support. I asked a girl pal, A, to accompany me to and thank goodness, she graciously agreed.
I arrived early to work, got ready and spent the day very happily working as me. Its amazing how my whole mood and countenance changes when I get the chance to present in this way. Then after several telephone conferences, at 2pm, the time arrived. The toughest part for me is always ‘the walk of shame’. Getting from my office to the car is the most difficult part - will I be seen by people who otherwise see me as a boy every day? Will they put two and two together? With A there by this stage, I was calm and a grumpy stare from one man didn’t phase me too badly.
Once I was in my car, I was ok. Surprisingly calm and by the time we arrived for the fitting, I was relaxing. Andrea was her usual amazing self and I was immediately sucked into a time of acceptance and happiness. But more than that, new hair. I’ve never really thought of myself as the type of girl who has epiphanies. But at that fitting I had one. To say that I walked out completely different is probably overstating the case, but its not a million miles from the truth.
I messaged a few friends that evening with a text along the lines of: “I got my new wig today. Felt amazing. Very happy. I don't think I've ever felt so amazing, relaxed, unafraid and happy. So exhilarated. x such a big smile.” I will do another blog about the mechanics of the new wig at another time (with more, better photos!), but for now, I want to focus on the effect of it. I’ve never worn a wig that wasn’t in some way flawed. It never quite looked, from all angles, like hair should. It never really passed as hair. In the last week, just simply having something that looks like it grew out of my scalp and that it has always been there has almost, in one go, restored my confidence to where it was before I lost it.
Immediately following my fitting, A and I had discussed going out for dinner which I never for a moment thought I would actually do. I thought that I would chicken out. Whereas actually, this time, I felt so lovely that I wanted to go. So we went. I’m sure I got clocked, but actually, I didn’t care, I just was floating on a cloud of confidence. So much so, I went shopping afterwards in Rhiannon mode too. I’m not sure what’s happened, but something just clicked into place in my head. Two days later, I spent the whole day in the office in Rhiannon mode again and usually when I’m like that and we have visitors (e.g. deliveries), I scuttle out of the room and hide. That day, I felt happy with how I looked and just smiled sweetly and stayed at my desk. The next day I was desperate to be me again. The weekend has disappointed because I’m at home and can’t be me.
I just can’t wait for the next chance to go out publicly as me. Maybe you could argue that I’ve just found a new crutch that has helped. but if that’s the case, I don’t care. I’ve not felt like this for a long time, I’m enjoying being me, again. I’m excited to push the boundaries, again and finally, again, it starts.
Of late, the desperation and longing to stop pretending that I’m male has grown. The internal voice that reminds me that my outside doesn’t match the inside, has been bellowing louder and louder. Several months ago, this voice caused me, almost without thinking to make a very out of character hair related decision.
Since I began presenting as Rhiannon, I have had a succession of relatively inexpensive, lower quality wigs. They have been perfectly serviceable, but I obtained them in the least obvious way - i.e. not going into a shop and saying, “I’m trans, give me hair.” but more either on eBay or when I was visiting the lovely Tracey at the now defunct Trans-Femme.
About 8-9 months ago, the very lovely Ruth from the blog Ruth’s Odyssey, who also lives in this part of the country, recommended Andrea’s Hairroom in her blog. I went once and got new hair - as featured here previously. Despite it being a big step up, it wasn’t my forever hair (!) and I wanted something that matched more closely to my eyebrows and that fitted my head a little better. Andrea is genuinely joyful to visit - an amazing ball of lively and engaging Trans-friendly energy. I started talking about what I was looking for and Andrea responded that what I probably needed was something that was fitted properly for me so that it was more difficult to tell that it wasn’t my real hair. We discussed the options and I decided to really go for it to get a very high quality human hair - from the right sources - wig specifically created for my head. I knew that it was going to be expensive and in the aftermath, it seemed very frivolous. What had I done? I don’t even present as me very much before. But she was right, it was what was needed, so I went with it.
Three and a half months past and last Monday, the date for my fitting arrived. I was excited and scared at the same time. Excited to see how I might look, but nervous because it could be that despite spending all of this money, I might still not look that great. Would it really make any difference? Even nice hair doesn’t change the confidence that you feel inside, surely?
So I went along for the fitting. The first challenge for someone with my confidence levels was that this time it needed to be in Rhiannon-mode. To properly see the effect of it, to make sure it worked with me as a woman, I needed to be presenting correctly. I haven’t been out publicly since I can’t remember when. The thought just terrified me and I was tempted to welch on the appointment. So I did what any girl would do, I sought moral support. I asked a girl pal, A, to accompany me to and thank goodness, she graciously agreed.
I arrived early to work, got ready and spent the day very happily working as me. Its amazing how my whole mood and countenance changes when I get the chance to present in this way. Then after several telephone conferences, at 2pm, the time arrived. The toughest part for me is always ‘the walk of shame’. Getting from my office to the car is the most difficult part - will I be seen by people who otherwise see me as a boy every day? Will they put two and two together? With A there by this stage, I was calm and a grumpy stare from one man didn’t phase me too badly.
Once I was in my car, I was ok. Surprisingly calm and by the time we arrived for the fitting, I was relaxing. Andrea was her usual amazing self and I was immediately sucked into a time of acceptance and happiness. But more than that, new hair. I’ve never really thought of myself as the type of girl who has epiphanies. But at that fitting I had one. To say that I walked out completely different is probably overstating the case, but its not a million miles from the truth.
I messaged a few friends that evening with a text along the lines of: “I got my new wig today. Felt amazing. Very happy. I don't think I've ever felt so amazing, relaxed, unafraid and happy. So exhilarated. x such a big smile.” I will do another blog about the mechanics of the new wig at another time (with more, better photos!), but for now, I want to focus on the effect of it. I’ve never worn a wig that wasn’t in some way flawed. It never quite looked, from all angles, like hair should. It never really passed as hair. In the last week, just simply having something that looks like it grew out of my scalp and that it has always been there has almost, in one go, restored my confidence to where it was before I lost it.
I just can’t wait for the next chance to go out publicly as me. Maybe you could argue that I’ve just found a new crutch that has helped. but if that’s the case, I don’t care. I’ve not felt like this for a long time, I’m enjoying being me, again. I’m excited to push the boundaries, again and finally, again, it starts.
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