It ebbs and it flows

I should be working right now.  I know that its 6am UK time, but at the moment, I really can’t stop to blog.  Yet, I want to get things down.  You know how it is: things bottle up don’t they?  Then a dam needs to burst out somewhere.

Life is somewhat confusing and frustrating at the moment.   I’m working harder than I’ve ever worked - keeping down (or trying to) two jobs that are both very demanding.  I was supposed to have stopped doing that some time ago, but it never happened.  The balance is about to change with me going part time in one to allow time for the other.  That was a blessed relief until this week.  This week was feedback week in the form of my annual review.  The backdrop is that I have worked harder this year than any other year, but also that I’m actually a relatively disorganised person, last minute person.  I’ve done loads to address this and made some progress, but from this week’s meeting, clearly not enough.  I’m redoubling my efforts because its what I do, but it was quite disheartening, even though it was deserved and I expected it.   Maybe the problem is that to hold two jobs, you need to be the most organised person in the world.  Maybe I’m really not playing to my strengths.

But all of that is bearable if I’m getting Rhiannon time.  But that is what has been ebbing and flowing.  Thinking about and being sad that I was born with a boy’s body hasn’t lessened.  I don’t know about you, but it very rarely escapes my mind.  At least every 5-10 minutes my mind wanders in that direction and I feel slightly choked at what I’ve missed out on.  But being busy has meant that I’ve just not been in a position to do anything about it.  This week I’ve been away from home: I left on Sunday and am going home today.  5 nights.  5 different hotels.  6 long days and have been out every evening.  All of the nights out have been really fun, mostly with people I care about.  But it does frustrate me that none of those evenings were able to be pretty.  Although in one case that will change in the future I think. Over the last couple of weeks I had two girl nights out planned, but both of them had to give way to work commitments.  Having gone through a period where I have been presenting as Rhiannon more, even if it was just to myself, it made things easier.

What’s also been weird at work that I just don’t get, is that transgender and dressing as the opposite sex jokes have recently become de rigueur in my presence.   Mainly by people who don’t know about me, so I don't think its targeted towards me, but its strange.  At a recent all day meeting there were at least 10 jokes about it.  On the face of it, you would think that I was wrong and that people just know and aren’t letting on.  But when the jokes are made, there is no embarrassment in the room or sideways looks at me - it is always genuinely good natured, albeit wildly offensive to me!   Then clearly I precipitated some more a couple of days ago by borrowing some hand cream for my very dry hands.  Not doing that again.  The comments from people who don’t know about me being a girl just for doing that were ridiculous.  Happy to be called a girl (I am one after all), but not through some attempt to embarrass me.

Its just a really frustrating and nondescript time where progress is slow and where, despite putting in loads of effort, I’m going backwards.

Plus - and this is the clincher.  I’ve been trying to get to buy a new handbag for at least 4 weeks and have not had a moment to do it.  I need shoes and a bag.  Retail therapy surely has to be the answer to my current out of sorts feeling? :o)

Still very fat :o(

I have to face up to it.  The diet has not made a very impressive start this month.  In fact, I have demonstrated a consummate ability to avoid starting it properly.  That has been good from a self-discovery perspective: I realise even more that I am excellent at planning to start to do things tomorrow.  

I have made a start though - 4 lbs came off (several times) and there were 4-5 days where no alcohol passed my lips.  But I didn’t set the dieting world alight and I didn’t drop any dress sizes.  That might sound rubbish, but some progress is better than no progress.  AND the more exciting thing is that I haven’t wasted the month completely: there are weight loss plans are afoot.  I know, I know... planning tomorrow etc etc.

I don’t know about you, but I find it very hard to motivate myself to do anything by half measures.  If I am working towards something and I know that it is just going to be ok, I won’t bother.  Whereas if I think it is going to be spectacular then I’ll work my (very pretty) socks off to accomplish it.  I need big goals and to really to drive towards.  Its the way I’m made I guess.  

Based on that build up, hopefully this doesn’t sound lame, but I’ve put myself forward for a 10k walk over big hills.  That's a huge deal for me - I've never achieved anything like that before.  3 months I have to prepare, which means I have to ring the gym up and get myself membership even despite the exorbitant cost.  I have also got a start date for a diet club.  April is really busy for me with meals out.  I have been saving them up for a while, so the diet club starts first week in May, but I am determined that I’m starting to lose some weight in April.

As an aside, as you will recall from my previous posts, I have my toenails painted most of the time.  What do you girls do when you go to the gym - do you just take it off or is there a way around it?  Especially when you have to go for a shower.  Tart-red nails are presumably quite noticeable?  (Actually it's grape sorbet at the moment, but I'm planning for a change this week! :o) )

The thing is that a lot of the over-eating and over-drinking is stress related for me.  I know other people handle it differently, but I respond to a really tense work situation, this whole weird gender thing and a tough familial challenge with food and wine.  The trick I’ve never managed to find is a healthy alternative stress relief.  (Did you notice I didn't even consider reducing the actual stress level?!)  Exercise has never really appealed or excited me and I’m not a hobby type of person.  A bit lazy out of work really.  Oh well, I'm going to try exercise again as a way to avoid it.  We’ll see.  Got to do something, I am getting quite sad about the current state of my weight and am worrying about the long term implications for my health.   Added to which, I keep being sent emails from all of the main clothes shops about the lovely clothes they have that I can’t fit into.  Now that’s annoying.  Hopefully worry (or frustration) at the very least will drive me to actually start.

Postscript: told another person yesterday about my secret.  An old schoolfriend.  She couldn’t have been lovelier.  Made me smile.  She was concerned for me, but so accepting.  Although we were chatting on-line, I felt so hugged.

The cage

As usual having an email exchange with my good friend Becca of Mutterings fame, she, as she invariably does, set my thinking going again about my situation.  And this time with an analogy.  Of a cage.  Becca noted that, “I think that you have so much of you locked away that Rhiannon will always find a way to get out of the cage.”

I thought about it long and hard and with one exception this life does feel like being held in a cage.  I feel like I live in a carefully defined small space designed to trap me in and to hide away what I really am.  The cage has a big lock that can’t easily be opened.  The weight of expectations keeps it firmly shut.  Mrs A.  Family.  Work.  Friends who want the best for me.  Society.

There is one really important thing that a cage is designed to do.  It is to trap and confine the inhabitant, restricting their freedom.  But I said that there was one exception with this particular cage.  The exception is that unfortunately, I made the cage and its locked from the inside.  I let the scary monsters back me into it.  And so afraid of them I was, that brick by brick I built it around myself.  Shielding them from seeing what I really am.  Then, when I’d built it, I added the biggest lock to it that I could find, so that they couldn’t see me and they couldn’t know what I was doing inside.

When they stop patrolling outside the cage, aren’t looking or are asleep, I unlock it carefully and sneak out.  I run free.  Happy.  Hopeful.  Squealing with pleasure.  And just as they are about to spot that I’ve escaped, I quickly creep back, in the hope that I never get seen missing.  Sometimes I think they’ve noticed, but fortunately, for a long while, they haven’t.  They think that I have stopped unlocking the door and escaping.  They believe that I’m sitting in my cage being happy, content that I’m enjoying my life.  They surmise that I now take pleasure in my new cage-life.  But I don’t.  I really don’t.  I hit my head against it everyday.  I cry that I am trapped.  I wish I could knock the walls down.  But I built it really well.  Really well.  And I’m not sure that I’m strong enough to demolish it.  Or that if I did destroy it, whether the monsters would devour me anyway once I got out.

There is no prince or princess coming to rescue me.  Its just me.  I need to change the story.  I need some strength and some bravery to face the expectations and the monsters.  I need to bust free of these confines.  I need to take hold of what Becca says and find my way out.

On nail polish alone...

I absolutely love the stuff.  Don’t know what it is, but when I have painted fingernails and I catch a glance of them, or particularly when I’m typing and I see my digits whizzing across the keyboard with a whole load of colour on them, I feel so womanly and there is a leap of tinglyness that happens inside me.  Why is that?  Its just a coloured nail for heaven’s sake.

One of the huge risks I take in my daily life is that pretty much all the time, my toe nails are painted.  I’ve given up to a large degree on trying to blend my girl side into my boy side.  It was distracting and made me nervous about whether I’d be caught etc.  And whilst I don’t mind these days if people do find out, in some ways its a relief, I don’t necessarily want to make it really obvious either.  But there is something delicious, that makes me smile, when I’m in a boring meeting and I remember that my nails are painted.  It somehow immediately connects me back to my girl side and in the macho world of work, gives me a Rhiannon moment when I least expect it.  Clearly there are logistical issues around wearing nail polish and I have even developed a routine that means Mrs A rarely sees my feet without socks on.  Devious and wrong I know, but a small sacrifice for her I’m sure.

I don’t go to a nail polish, they do it for you, shop, it is all self applied.   This has meant up to press that a) it was a slightly wonky application and that b) I was using my own real stumpy nails.  Recently, I’ve been practicing.  So I’m actually now getting much better and I’ve been secretly growing my nails so that they aren’t stumpy.  By that I don’t mean I’ve taken them off and am growing them in a flower pot somewhere.  Honestly, keep up :o).  No, I’ve just been allowing them to grow a little beyond the end of the finger.  And apart from the lovely L, who ALWAYS notices, clever lady that she is, no-one has spotted it.

But the other difficulty I had was which nail polish to use.  I hate those bigger bottles with the long applicator with about three strands of brush at the end.  They are a nightmare to apply and getting the stuff off is horrendous.  And I put on finger nail polish and take it off with an alarming frequency, so I need something that is more gentle and easy to remove.  Up until recently I was using the really small little bottles of Max Factor’s Max Effect Mini nail varnish.  They are a pain because you get through their contents so quickly, but the really short applicator is easier for clumsy clots like me to use.

But recently, on a trip to have my photos done, the world of nail polish opened up for me.  Tracey of Trans-Femme fame introduced me to the world of Rimmel Pro.  Have you tried that stuff?  It is fantastic.  Not only does it come off easily, but the applicator is designed for putting the polish on in only a few quick strokes, so it is really wide, which is also good for us girls for whom nature has blessed with wider nails.  You get a great result.  So anyway, for those of you who like nailing up - go Rimmel!!  And they do that bemusing make up company thing of coming up with fantastic names too.  So I am currently enjoying my: Heart on Fire, Desire and Grape Sorbet bottles.  *big smile*

I know I could go false and they'd probably look better or last longer etc, but why miss out on all this fun?

Friendship with normal folk

Far be it for me to label myself, in any way, as not-normal.  Clearly, just a normal woman me.  Nothing unusual here.  All perfectly usual and what you would expect.  I don’t know why I feel the need to start this blog in that way - nerves perhaps?

I’ve got the chance to meet (dressed) with a ‘normal‘ friend - a genetic girl / natal female / real girl - whatever you want to call her.   For the purposes of this blog, I shall refer to her henceforth as Slim-girl.  And deservedly so, she’s gone from big girl, to fit small girl in the last 5-6 years and I am so proud of her.  But I’m not sure what to do really to be perfectly honest.  She is such a great friend, really lovely, I value my relationship with her really highly which is why I am nervous about meeting her in Rhiannon-mode.  Does that sound odd?  I’ve got some explaining to do...

I’ve never met a non-trans community person, who is a friend, in full Rhiannon-mode.  I’ve stayed with a couple of people who are good friends who were subjected to the sight of me in my nightdress in the morning!  Did I mention I sleep in girl clothes?  Probably not.  But when Mrs A is not in the bed, I do.  And I’ve met the very lovely Sarah in half and half mode - androgynous girl clothes and heeled boots.  But I’ve not met anyone fully dressed up yet who knows me in boy mode.  Its a big step -- or is it just another small step in the journey?

There are four things that are making me nervous - and I want to outlay them before you in complete honesty:

1. The two people who had the nightdress experience have either not been in contact or have been a bit funny since.  Despite reassurances that they are ok with it, my completely over-reacting, hyper sensitive self has been worried about their lack of enthusiasm.  I know I’m probably mis-interpreting things, but it is a worry.
2. I am worried that this will change the nature of our relationship.  I mean this in the sense that I don’t want her to feel obliged to have to put up with me dressing every time we meet.  In turn, I don't want that to put her off from meeting me in the future.  I asked her if she was sure and she said she had fully considered it before she offered and that it was up to me.  
3. She doesn’t like what she sees, decides she can’t tell me and avoids me.  I know, we think that's unlikely - and she's seen photos, but its a natural thing to worry about.
4. Clearly I don’t want her to be forever jealous of just how girly I look to such a degree that she becomes despondent because she can’t compete.  Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.  Clearly unlikely.

Truth be told, I would love to spend the evening with Slim-girl.  She is smart, bright, funny.  She is everything that embodies what a woman should be like.  She even shows off a lot of leg and she’s not trans.

You know that thing we’ve all been discussing about me overthinking things.  I think I might be doing that again...

What to do?

A very ordinary night...

Possibly the most boring (and short) blog of the year or of the ever.  But I wanted to share that tonight, I was happy.   Really happy.

Had a bit of a tough day what with one thing and another and the rest of my week is shaping up to be a challenge too.  But I am staying away at a hotel tonight working and I haven’t spent time in Rhiannon mode much recently for various reasons.  And I was feeling grumpy about it.  I arrived back tonight and just didn’t feel like it at all.  I watched some TV and then thought, actually, I’m going to do it.  Full on tonight and that’s it.

So I got everything out and put it all on.  My make up worked really well, the new wig was perfect, my new pink top is so cute and goes well with my red cardigan.  The new nude shoes were quite literally everything I dreamed they would be.  My new forms brought some authenticity and I just felt great.  I spent the whole evening relaxing, went on line, drank a couple of glasses of red and just was happy.

I don’t like tempting fate by posting such blogs normally.  But it was one of those nights where you know that being a girl is actually what you were born to be.  But, instead of that fact turning into overwhelming frustration at the gap between actual and what should be, it turned into a very satisfied, nice (sorry horrible word) experience.

There has to be a downside and the only two downsides were that I had to take it all off.  And that I know, at the moment, that I can’t do it all the time.  But given my last post and that actually I felt cute and feminine, it meant that more journies out have to be on the cards.  Surely.

Don't burst my bubble (and allow for it being a basic camera and less than ideal lighting!), but here you go:

Cross that I’m not braver

I’ve been using the weekend to get stuff in order.  No bad reason.  Just was feeling out of control in terms of what I had committed to do for people.  But its amazing that when you begin to get stuff sorted out that it frees up your brain to think.  So this weekend, I also thunked.

There is surely a balance between stupidity and bravery?  You can’t be daft with your girliness and just flaunt it?  Just saying ‘f**k it’ and going out irrespective of convincingness isn’t something people do is it?  Mini-skirts and fat legs are wrong aren’t they?  37 year old men in mainstream situations wearing women’s clothes is a hanging offense right?  Telling people that you are trans is tantamount to jumping off a cliff with no parachute isn’t it?

What’s the point?  There are people in this blogosphere of ours who do all of the above. They enjoy their girliness.  They don’t care about passing.  They (God forbid) wear mini-skirts without any regard for the prettiness of their legs.  They go into the mainstream.  They are open and honest with most people about who they are.

Let’s just make one thing very very clear.  I’m not one of them.  On the miniskirt front, you should be very grateful for that.  Although once upon a time, the pins weren’t bad.  But what is it that stops me? Why don’t I just get stuck in?  Instead, what I do is to constantly overthink the situation.  Most situations actually.  Last week's fashion event for example.  I play the mind games of "what are people thinking?" and are they are thinking negative thoughts about me. I should just get in there and enjoy myself.  Ironically, part of what I am thinking is that they might get the wrong idea about me.  Let’s just play that one through a second.  For fun.  A man, presenting as a man, at a ladies fashion event, trawling through stalls of ladies clothes, looking comfortable and happy.  What conclusion would you draw other than the one that is 100% spot on correct?  Why am I bothered about the fact that people draw that conclusion?  Its what I am -- and if I’m going to such events, surely I am putting myself out there as it is already.  So worrying about it means I end up not enjoying myself as much as I should have.

The thing is that I need to get a bit braver and just do it.  I need to stop worrying about what people think all the time and worry about the fact that I am missing out and not getting any younger while I’m doing it.  Sarah posted on my last blog saying that I need to, “stop beating yourself up and start living.”  She has known me a long time and she’s right.  I know that some of the above points are correct: there is definitely a balance between stupidity and bravery.  Turning up at work and knocking on the Director's door as Rhiannon without warning might be seen as silly.  Shocking Mrs A with my favourite dress would definitely be a negative life changing experience.   But there is more enjoyment of life to be had than I’m having at the moment.  Much more.  And I want it really badly.

I want to be one of them.