***Please don’t read if you don’t want spoilers***
Finally, after having waited for a very long time to watch it, I managed to get time to see the much hyped portrayal of the very brave Lili Elbe by Eddie Redmayne. I managed to sneak off for a night last week, while working away, to get a few hours in the cinema. I went on my own, which I regularly do, I have no issue with doing that. Well I thought I didn’t, until I realised that I was the only ‘man’ there on 'his' own. Lots of groups of women came in together with the odd forlorn looking guy who clearly had been dragged along by his wife and/or daughter! Disappointingly (or encouragingly) depending on how you look at it, there were no obviously trans people there. Once it started though, it was all good and I settled down.
As you can imagine, I was paying attention to their reactions to the film. The first time Lili ‘dressed’, my heart was in my throat. If I’m honest, I didn’t want her to do it. My reaction surprised me. People really liked ‘him’ by this point and I was worried it would mean they would go off him. There was a little bit of embarrassed laughter when he emerged but they quickly recovered. The other point that caused consternation was the first time Lili kissed a man. At that point, an almost outraged gasp was audible. I suspect it was because he was being unfaithful to his wife. After that, there was nothing by almost reverential silence, they were transfixed and you could almost feel a palpable togetherness in the room which was really encouraging.
I really like Eddie Redmayne. On the Sunday before I watched TDG, oddly, I’d watched ‘The Theory of Everything’ for the first time too. He really does have a very enigmatic personality and a screen presence and a dazzling smile that you just can’t help loving. Overall, as you are about to see, I have very mixed views of the film. But the thing that has to be acknowledged is that he is one gutsy guy and that he took some very brave steps as an actor to play the part. There were some scenes that really pushed him a long way and I think he did it well. Trans people know how hard it is to step outside your door - our own judgements of ourselves are bad enough, let alone others.
So in watching it, several things struck me that I thought were interesting:
The first thing that interested me, really surprised me. There is a debate that rages on about the film industry trying harder to hire trans actors for trans roles. Before watching the film, I didn’t really feel that strongly about it. I now do. He is a genuinely fantastic actor, but it really felt like he was battling his heterosexual, cis-normative natural reactions to play this role. Someone who is trans, spends years observing women and trying to emulate their mannerisms and behaviours. This is often to the point where you hear people saying that they have forgotten how to be a man. It becomes so ingrained in you that you know how to improvise in every situation and circumstance so that the presentation is almost perfect. Eddie doesn’t have that advantage and so his look was practically perfect, but at times, his mannerism and behaviour weren’t quite there and seemed very mannish. I guess, you could argue that the story is an evolving journey and that Lili would have been developing this, but the issue is that it just jarred. When I watched ‘Boy Meets Girl’ (the TV programme) with Rebecca Root, that didn’t happen. She reacted in the way a woman does, she didn’t feel like a man playing a woman. The same was true of the very fantastic Michelle Hendley in ‘Boy Meets Girl’ (the film). Every reaction felt authentic. There is something about them genuinely being women that they didn’t know how to play men. When Eddie reached a point where he didn’t know how to react or play it, he reverted to playing it as a man would think a woman would behave. So there was lots of eye lash batting, primping and preening that just seemed forced. I’ve listened to an interview with Eddie where he discussed this and he was so lovely and said that he was trying to show Lili’s 'adolescence' by being over the top and demonstrating uberfeminisation, but I’m not sure it worked really.
Hats off to the script writer, some of Lili’s experiences definitely mirrored my own. The idea of trying to break her wife into the idea of her ‘husband’ being a woman gently was something that definitely chimed with me. I hate to admit it, but I put on underwear under my clothes hoping my wife (then girlfriend) would discover it and find out. Lili also pretended that it was a game she played. When I told another girlfriend, I told her it was just something we should do for fun sometimes. Even though inside I knew its something I needed to do all the time. They also, later on in the film, captured the torment and desperation of feeling like this very well. They also had me desperate to stand up in the cinema and shout at the various Doctors who diagnosed her transgendered nature and forced her into dangerous quack solutions. There was definitely a lot that was good about it.
As we have already established on this blog, I am a complete cry baby, I ball my eyes out at pretty much everything. But I walked away from the cinema numb rather than having sobbed because of my empathy with Lili. The film worked much harder (maybe because she was the stand out star of the show) to push our sympathy towards Gerta, Lili’s hard-done-by-but-ever-so-faithful wife. Gerta was the strong one who fought and Lili was a little pathetic, self-centred, flouncy one who seemed like she had a split personality. I think that ultimately it was my inability to connect to Lili that really made me struggle with the film. I wanted it to be good so much and in many ways it was, but just not from a trans perspective. Where I suspect it will earn plaudits is in being a cog in the wheel of helping non-trans people to understand our experience a little bit more.
Wednesday, 20 January 2016
Friday, 1 January 2016
2016: A Fresh Start?
Down in the mouth doesn’t begin to describe where I’ve been for a long time now. I offer up a succession of painfully sad blogs in evidence to you. I’m not a believer in artificial New Year dates as a prospect for renewal, but I have to say that yesterday, as I reflected on the previous year, I found something very encouraging. I always make a list of goals for the year ahead. Amorphous, badly thought through resolutions clearly don’t work. So, instead, underneath a series of headings that I have used for a while, I create a total of 20-30 goals for the year — a ‘bucket list’ if you like. My headings are:
Work
Personal Finances
Relationship
Personal Development
Weight and health
Philanthropy
Rhiannon
Fun
Generally I use them to beat myself up and it becomes a toxic document by which I realise just how far I am away from where I would like to be as a person. Yesterday was different. In searching for last year’s document, I actually found instead, the one I wrote in 2012. Sad probably that I keep them, but as I went down the list, I realised that about 75-80% of them had been achieved. They weren’t all done in 2012, but clearly they bubbled away at my consciousness and many of them - including some challenging and exciting ones got done. My spirits lifted and I realised that maybe if I focus, I could get more of this year’s actually done and perhaps, while 2016 is still around! So I created my list yesterday with a good deal of hope in my heart.
I’ve been sadder of late than I have let on in this blog. I guess here there is a self editing filter that I use to not be seen as a bleak, flaky weirdo. But I have had some very tough decisions to make and I have faced (and continue to face) some intractable challenges that gnaw away at me. Some that I doubt my ability to resolve, but I have to anyway. I have found myself in some very dark places which for an overly enthusiastic extroverted optimist has been very scary and has rocked my self-confidence.
Its amazing the bizarre places where wisdom comes to meet you, especially when you are not searching for it. The other day, I was watching ‘Kinky Boots’ on TV. There is a line at the end of the film that hit me between the eyes - Lauren (one of the factory workers) says to her boss (the instigator of shoe creation), “So here we are again. Charlie Price, standing in front of me, saying, ‘It's not my fault. What can I do?’” I face a similar cross-roads. I wondered whether I would take responsibility for all of these challenges or whether I just need to give up and say, ‘It's not my fault. What can I do?’ A lot of the time, the ‘what can I do’ eludes me. But hopefully this blog explains the determination left in my heart to try. There are so many things I want to experience and do as the real me and maybe…hopefully…2016 is the year to take of the stabilisers and to try again.
Work
Personal Finances
Relationship
Personal Development
Weight and health
Philanthropy
Rhiannon
Fun
Generally I use them to beat myself up and it becomes a toxic document by which I realise just how far I am away from where I would like to be as a person. Yesterday was different. In searching for last year’s document, I actually found instead, the one I wrote in 2012. Sad probably that I keep them, but as I went down the list, I realised that about 75-80% of them had been achieved. They weren’t all done in 2012, but clearly they bubbled away at my consciousness and many of them - including some challenging and exciting ones got done. My spirits lifted and I realised that maybe if I focus, I could get more of this year’s actually done and perhaps, while 2016 is still around! So I created my list yesterday with a good deal of hope in my heart.
I’ve been sadder of late than I have let on in this blog. I guess here there is a self editing filter that I use to not be seen as a bleak, flaky weirdo. But I have had some very tough decisions to make and I have faced (and continue to face) some intractable challenges that gnaw away at me. Some that I doubt my ability to resolve, but I have to anyway. I have found myself in some very dark places which for an overly enthusiastic extroverted optimist has been very scary and has rocked my self-confidence.
Its amazing the bizarre places where wisdom comes to meet you, especially when you are not searching for it. The other day, I was watching ‘Kinky Boots’ on TV. There is a line at the end of the film that hit me between the eyes - Lauren (one of the factory workers) says to her boss (the instigator of shoe creation), “So here we are again. Charlie Price, standing in front of me, saying, ‘It's not my fault. What can I do?’” I face a similar cross-roads. I wondered whether I would take responsibility for all of these challenges or whether I just need to give up and say, ‘It's not my fault. What can I do?’ A lot of the time, the ‘what can I do’ eludes me. But hopefully this blog explains the determination left in my heart to try. There are so many things I want to experience and do as the real me and maybe…hopefully…2016 is the year to take of the stabilisers and to try again.
Monday, 14 December 2015
Another party night
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.
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.
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…
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