So let's get this all out in the open. I know why I like to do this, but I'm not exactly ultra-confident about my ability to communicate it effectively. I think that other transgendered women (transsexual or crossdresser) may be able to understand this better, but then, a lot of people who read this blog are not transgendered. So part of this lies in explaining a bit of my early life, and how it affects me today.
Please bear with me.
I have always been female inside, but I was born into a male body. I was treated as a boy, and was expected to act like a boy. End of discussion. I've done some research on the `net, and found out the following:
Both men and women speak louder to boys than girl infants; they are softer and express more "cooing" with girls
Girls are caressed and stroked more than boys.
Up to age 2, mothers tend to talk to and look at their daughters significantly more than than they do with their sons, and make more eye contact with the daughters as well.
Up to age 2, mothers tend to talk to and look at their daughters significantly more than than they do with their sons, and make more eye contact with the daughters as well.
Mothers show a wider range of emotional response to girls than boys. When girls showed anger, mothers faces showed greater facial disapproval than when boys showed anger. May influence why girls grow up smiling more, more social, and better able to interpret emotions than boys.
Girls use more terms of endearment than boys.
Girls who act as tomboys are accepted; boys who act like girls are severely reprimanded ("don't cry" "Don't be a sissy").
When puberty hit, it was worse. Body hair. Ugh. Facial hair. I wanted to scream! My face got harder-looking. I was just not comfortable with myself. I hated the way I looked. My role models were all women. Beautiful, sexy women. I not only desired to be with one, but even more so, I wanted to be one. "It's impossible for me to look anything like that," I thought. I was stuck looking (more or less) like I already did. I could feel the woman inside me - that I would sometimes acknowledge and sometimes deny - struggling to be seen... to be known.
Now, this is for the non-transgender (aka cisgender) women to try to imagine. Take all your memories of anything girlish, at any point in your life, and push them aside. Pretend for now that they never happened. You are treated just like a boy. You have friends who are girls, and you want their hair, their clothes, and just to be treated like they do. But no. Not for you. And how dare you even speak of that.
But... but...
Don't even think it! Get it out of your head right now!
Why are you so mad at me?
We are not discussing this! You are a boy. Little boys don't have girl things. They don't want to look like a girl. What's the matter with you? Do you want everyone to make fun of you? Do you?
Well... no...
Do you want the other boys to beat you up?
No...
You won't have any friends. And the other kids' parents will look at me, and wonder what the hell I did to you, that you want girls' clothes and girls' toys. We'll be the laughing stock of the neighborhood! Do you really want to do this to your parents? We take care of you, buy you things, take you to fun places, and this is what you want to do to us???
No, ma!
Fine, then. Dinner's on the table. Come eat.
I don't think it's possible for anyone who is not transgendered, to fully understand exactly what living like this feels like. Even a fine imagination and empathic ability has it's limits. It's just hard to imagine your entire life, the totality of your life, altered in such a way, from when you were young (so young that you can't remember what it was like, yet it did have an effect on you growing up), until when you're well into adulthood. It's just too much to fathom.
Time passes...
I got a job, so I figured I might have some freedom. It's my money, and I'm eighteen. I can buy whatever I want, right? Now it was such a struggle to even begin to buy these things. Dresses, blouses, skirts... lipstick, blush, mascara. Giggles behind the register and guffaws among the clothing racks. "It's for my girlfriend!" "Sure, sure... she likes... Berry Rose lipstick, huh?" Sneaking it into the house was a chore. Hiding it was a challenge. No matter how well I hid it, it would be gone in a few days. I'd be at work or school, and my mother would ransack my room and remove whatever I had bought. She would even get my car keys and go through my car. No place was safe.
First ever picture of Amy (as you know her), taken in 1997.
Fast forward to Summer of 2003. I had finally realized what a transsexual is (hooray for the internet!), and that I am one myself. I started taking hormone medication, and the woman that was stuck inside began to materialize. Soft, feathery hair. Softer skin. Body hair almost gone. Breasts! It was like a dream come true, though I had actually been stuck in some long nightmare until that point. Now I was finally awakening.
The facial hair was a lot harder to get rid of. For those not in the know, hormone medication does not get of facial hair. Mostly, anyway. There are about a dozen hairs (perhaps less) on each cheek that did vanish with the application of an estrogen supplement and a testosterone blocker. The rest I had to get rid of with laser hair removal (about $1600), and electrolysis (about $3000 worth). This took years. Once I was partway into the electrolysis treatments, my "shadow" was gone. I have naturally dark hair, so no matter how much cover-up I slathered on, I could still see a shadow on my chin and upper lip. With it gone, what a difference! It wasn't until late 2005 that I finally became satisfied with the way I looked.
Flip the pages of time to the present day, and look at me now. Or, rather, try to look at me through my eyes. My birthmark - a port wine stain on my left shoulder, arm, and part of my chest - has been replaced by a beautiful phoenix tattoo. My hair is red, and wow, do I love having red hair! My skin is tan, thanks to the awesome Arizona sun. I really like all these changes. That, and years of hormone replacement therapy has done its job well. My breasts are even bigger (Tanner Stage 4!), my lips a bit fuller, and people often say I look younger than I really am.
This is all still relatively new for me. I can never make up for my lost childhood. I can never hang out with a bunch of teenage girls and feel I truly belong. I can never go to prom in a dress. I can never go to clubs and experience my "roaring twenties." Those days are long gone. I know, many cisgendered women never went to prom or went to some wild clubs. In my case, it was denied me. I desperately wanted to go, to have those experiences. I was taught that I was wrong to even want that.
In a sense, I'm making up for lost time. Every woman wants to look sexy. Every woman wants to like the way they look. Women are concerned with issues relating to physical attractiveness. Changes in this area can be as difficult for them as changes for men in their financial status. Women use clothes and makeup as a way of expressing themselves. I never had that, and now I do. Sometimes I feel like I'd been deprived of that for so long, that now I just can't get enough. I don't see all transwomen posing in photos the way I do (ditto for cisgendered women), but I can't seem to get enough of just being me. Everyone saw me as a boy, and then a man, for so long... that now I want to show them how beautiful I can be. Please keep in mind I'm fully aware that true beauty comes from within. I want people to see the inner goddess radiating out of me, and, just for a moment, think, "wow."
Do I want to show off?
Yes, to an extent. I think it's well deserved, and it does help my well-being. I enjoy just being me. I enjoy looking the way I do.
Do I want to attract a sexual partner?
Hell, no! I have a beautiful, smart, loving woman with me, who means the world to me. Besides, I've never been the promiscuous sort. The only relationships I've ever had, were five long-term ones, including Nikki. I was with these partners from nine months to five years in length. I've never been intimate with anyone else. For me, the love has to be there before anything goes further.
Am I insecure?
Somewhat. It's not all black-and-white. There is a part of me that's still stuck in the "Before Time (tm)." A voice that says, "You look like a man there." Or, "I can see a little teeny bit of shadow riiiight there." Or, "Who are you to think you can look like a girl? Do you want everyone to make fun of you?"
They don't. Not anymore. But my formative years are still hanging around in the rafters of my head. Every compliment I get boosts my self-esteem. Some would think that I'm self-important, or full of myself. Don't be fooled. I'm nowhere close to that. I want people to see me as beautiful. Yes, I can see it... but I wonder how many others can.
But don't feel sorry for me. This is my time for living, and I'm enjoying it while I can. I'm happy, and I want to show it.
