Category: guest author

Guest Author: Gracie

Posted by helenboyd – May 4, 2006

Gracie wrote this piece in response to Donna’s question about internal gender identity, and I really liked it.

I don’t feel that I’ll ever be a woman or know what it’s like to feel like a woman because I wasn’t born with a woman’s body parts at birth. I think being a woman has many meanings, but when I hear other women say it to each other very rarely is it about is it about the social stuff when a serious point is being made. Hmmm.. ok, that’s not true. Ok.. not that it’s very rare, but when I hear women talk about things that are serious and refer to womanhood it’s about growing up a woman and the bond they have because of growing up a female which leads to womanhood. It feels like the describe a right of passage. The bond I pick up on is when they share the memories of doing things they had to do as girls that boys didn’t. Their experiences being young and their bodies maturing and the bond they formed then, then being looked at by boys as girls who had something the boys wanted versus just being girls with cooties they all have that in common. Then as they matured and men started treating them as objects instead of the girls they had once been (may be the wrong wording). Some women share the bond of knowing that their bodies can create life. Even if they don’t have children they know together what that bond is like. Then there’s “a mother’s love”. I’m not sure about this one and as women get older, to me they seem to diversify.

I feel as women get older (20′s and up) there’s not as much or less of a commonality between them that forces that womanly bond anymore. The body has finished developing and so it’s more about personality and life experience. One of the last things I think is HUGE (a big bonding thing) is pregnancy. Women hold that high and proud as a badge of womanhood. I don’t think any women rejoice when menopause comes along, but again women share in that bonding moment as well.

As a TS woman I missed all of that. I may be a female, but I’ll never have those experiences that women have. Can I define that as being the end all of womanhood? No. I can just tell those women who feel like they are a woman, I feel like I’m on the outside of that chain link fence looking in at womanhood. Though I can climb that fence and be in there and some men can’t figure out how to get in there at all or would be embarrassed to be seen in there. (most women would revolt and throw them out if they tried anyway) I had to climb in to the womanhood enclosed by the chain link fence I use as symbolism here. Women were given access inside the chain link fence by birth and walked in through a gate. They didn’t have to climb in like me. So I won’t ever know what it’s like to have that feeling of right of passage. I climbed in and will always feel like an outsider when they discuss womanhood.

I feel I relate with women who can’t have children, women who don’t want to have children, women who developed late in life, and women who never really felt like they truly identified with women. There’s not many of the latter I bet, but those are the women that after I climbed the fence and got in I’d seek out. Those are more likely the women who I’ll share a lot of “me too!!” moments with.

I’m not a woman because I wasn’t born one, but I am a TS woman because like women a lot of us grew up with the same kind of bonding. We knew at a young age we were girls. We were raised boys and knew that it didn’t feel right. We tried to be the boys we were told we were and like girls who are told “be a girl or else” we didn’t listen to those threats, but there were times when most of us had to. As a gal who likes women it was easier for me to fake that part, but for the ladies out there who have always craved men and shoved it to the back of their minds until after SRS or those who knew upfront they only wanted to be with a man they had it tougher, but they were still like me because they were born the wrong sex and forced to live as the wrong gender. We have a bond that others will not ever feel. It’s our right of passage too.

I think being a TS woman is just as profound as being a woman who was born in the right body, but it’s different and I won’t ever relate with women who, as girls, were raised to be women. I feel I can understand what it felt like, but I.. well.. I’ve said the same thing over and over so I think you know what I was going to say.

Whoa… I just remembered how in 8th grade I felt my sex was wrong (another of the billion times, but this one was reinforced every weekday). I just remembered when it was time for physical education (PE) and I wanted to go in the girls locker room like the rest of the girls, but I had to go to the boys locker room. That always sucked the most. I remember there were two ways to get to the locker rooms. There was sidewalk from one way and there was a sidewalk that if you went that way you walked to the boys locker room. I can remember hearing the girls chattering and walking by and seeing the entrance to the boys locker room. Wow.. the feeling of it sucking is still there! lol.. that’s deep and weird to me.

Ok.. my rambling alert just sounded so I better stop here. I love this topic and thanks because that’s the first time I’ve written my feelings down where I hear my own thoughts about this. It makes me even more sure that I haven’t lost anything by not feeling like a woman in the traditional sense because I share a bond with other TS women that others can’t understand, just like with womanhood for those who were born in the right body. *sorry I said that so much. I was trying to avoid GG.

Guest Author: Jill Barkley

Posted by helenboyd – March 19, 2006

Jill Barkley is the former partner of an FTM, femme-identified, and the very cool person I got to co-host a ‘trans relationships’ forum with at TIC both last year and this. It’s a pleasure to get to post something written by her:

Chipped Red Nail Polish

I made plans for a manicure and femme processing session when my sleepy roommate stumbled into our living room and into my arms that morning as I was struggling to put on my coat to leave for work. I had returned very late the night before from Philadelphia, where I was a presenter at the Trans-Health Conference for two workshops – one for partners of Transpeople and the other about Femme as a gender identity. The weekend before I had been at the Translating Identities Conference in Burlington doing much of the same work.

Looking at my hands as I drove across the bridge to work, I saw the remnants of stress in the chipping away of my red nail polish from each of my long fingernails. I felt the same stress in my shoulders, in the dull ache of my lower back and the pain shooting still through the balls of my feet as I climbed the stairs to my office.

My body looked and felt like I’d been climbing out of a cavern or scaling the side of a mountain or scrapping the colorful grips on the wall of a rock climbing gym.

This overall feeling of having pulled myself out of something is fitting for the last two weeks of intensity, overhaul and re-evaluation. I felt the opening of still recent wounds, the spreading out of bruises, the scars still pink and puffy. I had ended my relationship with my last partner, a Transman, in September, but decided to still attend these spring conferences and offer much needed partner and femme space to the other attendees through my workshops. As I sat at my desk, feeling the pain settle over my tired body, I wondered if it was all at my own expense.

On Friday after the partner’s workshop, I had let my body fall into a huge black cushioned chair, swinging my red high-heeled feet over the armrest. I was worn out from an hour and a half of similar stories, overlapping experiences, nods of understanding and sighs of shared hurts. These partner workshops always seemed like group therapy to me, similar to the support groups I ran for women surviving Domestic Violence in that everyone present always had an intense need for validation of their experiences, the desire to not feel so alone.

I’ve been asked countless times that if by holding these workshops or moderating my on-line community for partners of Trans-people I’m trying to suggest that relationships with someone who is Trans are somehow especially difficult. I think of the things that were most painful about my last relationship having little or nothing to do with the Trans-ness of my partner. However, the stories I’ll share and the experience I’ll reflect in my workshops is about his being Trans. I’ll talk about communication and preparing one’s heart for the changes to another’s body. I’ll speak to the importance of ‘securing your own oxygen mask before assisting others’ and finding partners who will let you safely vent without screaming accusations of Transphobia.

Any relationship is going to have its issues —not just relationships where one or both parties are Trans-identified. But there are definitely issues that are unique to a relationship of this kind and having a community of support is essential to working through the hard things and celebrating the common good.

When processing out loud about running partner’s workshops as someone who is no longer partnered with someone Trans, the words ‘I could be partnered to a Transman in the future’ slipped past my lips and anchored me in the truth of that statement.

Admittedly, I had joked that I might just walk into these workshops screaming ‘run’ to everyone seated in the circle. Looking at that sentence now, I know that isn’t funny and, actually, offensive. I think that unsolicited advice was coming from some kind of attempt at grounding myself in the reality of ‘what went wrong’ in my last relationship. Truthfully, what went wrong had nothing to do with gender identity, hormones or surgery.

I would have loved to have gone into things with my last partner a little more aware, much more supported and with somewhere to create some space for what I was going to experience in terms of being a non-Trans person partnered with someone Trans-identified.

When I had asked for advice about how to deal with any change on our horizon, I was given ways to support my partner and advice for how to prepare to do so. Looking back, there are ways I needed to be more prepared for how everything might affect me. Instead, I was encouraged to grab my pom-poms and become a ‘perpetual cheerleader’, a ‘super partner’, a brave smiling face. As if one could be so strong and unwavering at all times. There were things that were hard for me and too often, I felt like there was no space for my feelings in what was suddenly my new community.

Spending time with friends from Ann Arbor, Michigan at the conference made me long for having shared a town when we shared similar couplings. He is recently transitioning from F to M and she is a non-Trans woman. To have had someone close by to relate to around the issues I was encountering around my own partner’s transition would have felt so supportive. I would have loved to have someone else to talk to about feelings I didn’t necessarily need to go to my partner with first, a ‘pre-process’ if you will, to work out the delivery and shed light on the hopeful end result about bringing the given issue to the surface.

In my experience, I was almost six months into my relationship before I met other partners at a support group my partner and I attended. One sunny fall day, we drove in silence to the middle of Maine and walked toward people seated in chairs in a circle. When we broke off into a separate meeting for just partners, I remember sitting facing two lesbian identified women who were five and ten years, respectively, into their relationships with Transmen and still experiencing struggle from time to time. I talked for two hours non-stop that Sunday as they listened, nodded and even cried with me. I am still so grateful for the gift of understanding they offered me. I didn’t know it could exist.

Since then, I’ve been in the trenches of all of this, struggling to understand, seeking validation, wanting desperately to feel not so alone. As I pull myself upward, I’m seeing the light above and trying to bring others along to bask in it.

Offering these workshops was cathartic – and not just for me, but for those who attended, I believe. It was good to be given gratitude and to feel it emitting right back at those who expressed it at the end of each session. I am convinced we all need that community – for an hour and a half at a conference and continuing support once we find our way back home. It still remains invaluable to me and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

When asked if I would return to these conferences next spring, I easily answered yes. It is still work I want to do, still space I want to offer. Over the last two years, I have been lucky to have met so many strong partners who love fiercely and generously. I wish them the same love and loyalty in return.

Jill can be contacted at femme_bull@yahoo.com.

Worried Like This Forever

Posted by helenboyd – March 3, 2006

I’m generally having a problem with the way things are going these days, what with the South Dakota bill and the news that the US Government didn’t only fuck up New Orleans and the other areas that got hit by Katrina at the time but are continuing to fuck it up now, & that Paul McCartney is trying to keep people from beating baby seals to death. It’s the last one that got to me the worst – I mean, didn’t we highlight how barbaric that crap was like 20 years ago? I was almost surprised to find out it’s still happening; I thought Canada was cooler than that. Then Megan delivered the news that increased air travel – accelerated by cheap fares – will eventually guarantee that we can’t see the stars.

I keep hoping we human beings take ourselves out before we wipe out every other species that calls this planet home.

But something Sandy posted made me feel a little better:

I sometimes feel so weighed down by everything that is so wrong, and so bad, about how we humans treat each other and the world.

I worry.

I worry about an all-out, probably nuclear, war between the Muslim world and everyone else. I worry about bird flu. I worry about resistant strains of bacteria (and would everyone PLEASE quit using “anti-bacterial” soap, you’re making the problem worse, and gaining no benefit in the meantime). I worry about overpopulation and food and water supplies. I worry about the crazy rise in the incidence of all types of cancers in our country. I worry about plastics and pesticides and volatile organic compounds. I worry about all the no-money-down mortgages and credit card debt that people are getting into and not out of. I worry about the incredible, collossal amounts of waste in every aspect of our fat American lives. I worry about how stupid and sinister our government is, and how just plain stupid we citizens appear to be. I worry about the dubious role of huge corporations in society. I worry about children whose parents are mean to them. Now too, I worry about the demise of astronomy as we know it. I’m not being facetious. I care about all of this stuff.

My husband even worries about living on the East coast, downwind of all the air pollution in the rest of the country. I don’t go quite that far. But if we moved to the west coast, I’d probably worry about missiles from North Korea.

There’s no automatic healthy dose of “fuckit” attitude in my life anymore, that feeling that used to kick in when the world looked too cruel. All I can do these days is limit the amount of news I take in. (Ah, parenthood. It takes away some humor, for sure; thank God it installs some new kinds as well.)

One thought that eases my mind a bit is that people have worried like this forever… and life continues, and it’s mostly really, really good.

Thanks, Sandy.

Something In-between: A GG Perspective on Partial Dressing

Posted by helenboyd – January 8, 2006

Marla Morley is the wife of a CD and a moderator of the crossdressers.com forums. Someone directed me to this short piece she wrote – because she quoted me (thank you, Marla!) – and I thought it deserved reprinting.

Something In-between: A GG Perspective on Partial Dressing
By Marla Morley

“My husband is beautiful as a man or a woman, but unbelievably beautiful when he’s something in-between.” –Helen Boyd, My Husband Betty

I have heard many crossdressers say that being fully en femme is the only experience that truly satisfies them. Their desire is to appear as a woman—with a wig, makeup, breast forms, and perhaps even a corset and padding to complete the feminine image. Some feel so strongly about this that they prefer to dress completely or not all; they find no comfort in wearing a pair of panties and a bra under their male clothing, or adding a few girly details to their masculine appearance for an androgynous look, or simply being a man in a dress. When they look in the mirror, they want to see the illusion of a woman looking back at them, not a man in women’s clothes. When they dress, they want to become someone feminine, someone beautiful–in short, someone else.

Well, each to his—or her—own. There is no call for the antagonism that seems to exist within our community between partial dressers and the “all or nothing” crowd. I understand that some are disturbed by images of crossdressers who make no effort to look female, but I don’t personally share their distaste – and neither do most of the wives and girlfriends I know. In fact, the majority of SOs find it easier to relate to their partner as a guy in girls’ clothes than as a “complete” woman. Very few women genuinely perceive their crossdressed partners as female anyway, even when they are fully dressed and made up. For us, the illusion of femininity that crossdressers see when they look at themselves is invariably undermined by the familiar features and gestures of the man we know so well underneath the clothes. In other words, as far as your wife is concerned, you don’t pass and never will. Does that make you less appealing to her? Probably not. It is your male self she is attracted to, after all, and the more of “him” that shows through, the better.

I do understand that there is a special thrill in “going all the way.” My husband Angel loves the experience of being fully en femme, and I love to help him achieve a womanly appearance. Assisting him with clothing, jewelry, accessories, and makeup is something I take great pleasure in. Spending time with Angel en femme, whether we go out or have a “girl’s night in,” is very special and rewarding for me. But both of us agree on one point: no matter what Angel is wearing, he—or she—is always the same person. True, when fully dressed, Angel’s feminine characteristics are more obvious and exaggerated. But Angel’s femininity is always present, even without the clothes. It is simply expressed in different ways and to different degrees depending on the circumstances. When Angel is en femme, she is still Angel. There is no “third person” in our marriage.

Perhaps it is because we don’t see Angel as having two distinct identities that we both enjoy seeing him dressed in a way that blurs traditional gender lines. You can call it partial crossdressing, androgyny, gender blending, or any other name you like, but it amounts to being an obvious genetic male dressed in women’s clothes. For example, it is common for Angel to wear women’s jeans, tennis shoes with pink accents, satin-trimmed t-shirts, and women’s cardigans as his normal, everyday clothes. He wears a bra and panties every day, as well as various other undergarments such as camisoles and pantyhose. He may also wear a necklace and earrings, a ladies’ watch, perfume, subtle makeup, and pale nail polish. However, there is no way he could be mistaken for a woman when wearing these outfits. He appears as what he is: a feminized male, or as I affectionately call him, a girly boy. At home he often wears a blouse and skirt without making any attempt at a complete transformation, and I don’t think it looks silly at all. It may not be what most of us are used to seeing, but if the clothes look attractive on a woman, why can’t they look attractive on a man? Granted there are limits on what a man can wear in public without creating a stir, but that has very little to do with what looks inherently good or bad. It is, rather, a reflection of Western society’s insistence on a rigidly bi-gendered world.

There are some crossdressers who wouldn’t dream of displaying their femininity without simultaneously hiding their maleness, and I respect their preference. But I see it as a wonderful thing that Angel can show on the outside what he is on the inside, even when in male mode. I have always encouraged him to integrate his femininity into his male persona, and the mixed-gender style of dressing is an obvious way to do that. Nearly all of Angel’s clothes are women’s, but some are conspicuously feminine while others–including the ones he wears to work–are more gender neutral. This gives him a lot of freedom regarding his day-to-day appearance, which spans the entire continuum from drab to drag. The only thing he never looks like is a manly man. Ask him and he will tell you that he would rather die than wear a plaid flannel shirt.

How do I feel about all of this? Honestly? Well, I’d like to think that my acceptance has helped Angel to feel more comfortable with mixing masculine and feminine signals. Besides the fact that it seems psychologically healthy to strive for the integration of both genders into one’s identity, I also happen to find it attractive. Very attractive. Okay, downright irresistible. Ever since I can remember, I have been drawn to effeminate men. In my teenage years, those 80’s New Wave icons with their arched eyebrows, ruffled blouses and lipstick used to make me weak in the knees. I have an aversion to rugged masculinity and actually feel disgusted by body hair, big muscles, and tough guy attitudes. On the other hand, I am not a lesbian and don’t feel attracted to members of my own sex. What I like is being able to see, simultaneously, the man within the woman and the woman within the man. It reminds me that I am married to a guy who is delightfully different. I hope Angel knows that I love him whether he looks male or female…..but I’m glad he also feels free to be something in-between.

© Marla Morley 2005

Marla can be reached at Marla_gg@comcast.net.

They Just Aren’t Like Us

Posted by helenboyd – November 16, 2005

The following article is from a small GLBT community publication in Nashville, and I thought it made a nice bookend to the speech I gave in Albany.

***
“They just aren’t like us.”

I remember those words of several years ago, spoken about the transgender community.

“Like” and “us” both just beg to be defined. How “like” does someone have to be in order to be welcomed into the world of “us”? Who gets to define “us,” anyway? Whether by gender, gender identity, sexual orientation, race, age, “expendable income,” or such perennial favorites as “cute” or “hot” criteria—some make the cut, some don’t. We divide ourselves up into little “us” and “them” nooks and cranny’s, some self-selected, others imposed.

Last week Tim Toonen, CSFP publisher, and I were happy to be guests on WRFN’s “Gender Talk,” hosted by Roxie. It’s a program, she says, for which one primary purpose is to make it easier for individuals to come out. It’s also a way to help us get to know one another. As we were ending the conversation, she asked for a concluding thought. “Listen to each other,” I said, which is not exactly earth shattering or even remotely original. But I do believe we could do a better job of it.

I had a variety of chances, beyond the usual, to “listen” in the next few days. The Artrageous Pre-Party gathering was one opportunity. Another was the Queer Talk Saturday radio show I do with DJ Ron on WRVU, as Dwayne Jenkins came to talk about this weekend’s Nashville Black Pride celebration. Then there was Sunday night’s dinner for the Tennessee Transgender Political Action Committee.

I think one reason this whole “listen to each other” thing is ringing bells is because of a commentary piece I read a few weeks ago, one that feels very much like an example of not listening. Chris Crain’s column, in the Washington Blade, was headlined, “‘Trans or bust’ is still a bust.’” He uses the term, which I find offensive, “trans-jacking.” His argument is that it is wrong for the transgender community and “gay” supporters to insist that legislative efforts in the area of workplace rights include protection based on “gender identity” as well as “sexual orientation.” He writes that, “…the placement of gender identity on par with sexual orientation in many of our organizations has crippled needed activism against the ‘swishy fag’ and ‘diesel dyke’ stereotypes that still permeate the entertainment media and society generally.” “Swishy fag” and “diesel dyke” typecasting is the fault of the trans community?

Obviously I don’t know who Crain listened to, as he came to this conclusion, one he’s voiced in at least one earlier commentary. But as I’ve listened and learned over the years, what I’ve heard from those who are transgender, and those who support them, sounds nothing like “trans-jacking.” What it has sounded like are voices insisting they are as deserving of equal rights as any one else. It took a lot of work for some of the organizations Crain criticizes to get beyond a view similar to his. As it took years of efforts for lesbians to be considered an equal part of the “gay” organizers. As it took the (ongoing) hard work of the bisexual community. Listening to those who do the work, what you hear is an insistence that they be included in efforts to insure full civil rights. Will it be more complicated, to be inclusive rather than exclusive? Sure it will.

But that doesn’t mean it’s right to pick out those who may have the best chance of winning a round in the legislature, and tell the “others” they have to wait. That’s like a wink and a nod with the legislator, and the other insiders—hey, we’ll get ours first. In the meantime, we’ll also be quite happy to take any of the benefits that might come our way because of the work of those “others.” We’ll even use the whole GLBT alphabet (probably not the “Q” and “I,” though), when it suits our purposes. But for now, you others, you can come to the party. Just wait over there, quietly, until we let you know that you can also have a seat at the table.

When our listening is confined to the safety and comfort of “us,” we do to “others” what we rightfully argue shouldn’t be done to “us”—like being ignored and avoided; like being left out of conversations and decisions that vitally impact our lives. We really do need to listen to each other. Be warned, though, that once you do, “they” stop being “other,” and become a person, like “us.”

Copyright Joyce Arnold and Church Street Freedom Press.

Work that Skirt

Posted by helenboyd – November 11, 2005

My friend Lara is a tango dancer (and former belly dancer) and she sent me this today:

On Wednesdsay night Nola invited me to perform a “lascivious tango” at Ember’s Fetish Night Show in downtown Portland, to help promote her gay tango classes.

I arrived early and began to chat with a friendly woman whose forehead was decorated with small glued-on crystals. She appeared to be dressed up, but assured me that she would not be performing this evening.

I asked her what usually goes on during these shows. She replied, nonchalantly: “Sometimes spanking. Sometimes flogging. Sometimes clothespins clipped onto skin. That’s really hot.” I was warned that the act that followed us would be “really disgusting.” I didn’t want details, but felt relieved to know that we would get to perform before the floor turned sticky.

We followed the host who transformed from frumpy anonymous woman in sweatpants into a domanatrix wearing rubber corset, fishnets, and thigh high patent leather boots. She bound her two cohorts on stage as she lip-synched a love song to them.

Nola wore a suit; I wore thigh high fishnet stockings, four inch heels, and a tiny Buenos Aires special whose hem only just covered the bottom of my lacy red panties, which I showed off every time I leaned forward. I was one of the more modestly dressed patrons that evening. The crowd hooted and hollered every time Nola either pushed me away, or abruptly drew me close to her in an intimate embrace.

There was a fat older man wearing makeup, a wig, and a similar outfit to mine, except that his heels were bubble gum pink. I’ll keep the wig in mind for future performances.

As soon as the dance ended, I hastily covered my stockings and bare bottom and ran out to catch the last part of the Wednesday night “alternative” milonga at Nocturnal, where casually dressed tango dancers dance to non-traditional music.

I knew that tango would take me places.

The Beauty Myth, & Your Wife

Posted by helenboyd – October 6, 2005

I got involved in an altercation in another group I’m in (what a surprise, right?) when I was trying to explain why partners might be put off by yet another make-up seminar.

But it was a CD, ultimately, who explained it best, and I decided to post what she had to say, here:

Keep this in mind. Ponder these fantastically offensive ideas.
- The most important thing about a woman is her appearance. That trumps intelligence, character, spirit, etc.
- Her appearance is not appropriate as-is. She must buy stuff and spent large amounts of time using it. If she does not, she should be ashamed. If she does, well, she’s still not OK. After all, there’s always a better airbrushed model on every billboard.

Horrible, evil claims? Things that nobody in the trans community would be scummy enough to believe? Definitely. And yet pretty much every woman alive has been told these things – implicitly or explicitly. The process of being a mature woman includes learning to rebel against these evil ideas. Defending her spirit against this kind of garbage is CRUCIAL.

So, when you accidentally trigger those defenses by saying something that maybe shouldn’t be interpreted as promoting these evil attitudes – but, then again, understandably could be – CUT HER SOME SLACK. Don’t split hairs of wording with her and tell her she had no business perceiving offense. Tell her you’re on her side, and leave it at that.

Are her defenses too touchy? Her very soul depends on those defenses. Better she defend herself vigorously, and occasionally unnecessarily, than to give the garbage any chance for a toehold in her.

At the same time, I can see why you’re tempted to answer, “Don’t be offended!” Because we’d be ashamed to hold such attitudes, and we don’t like the thought that we came across as believing that even for a moment. But the better way to bolster womankind is not to get bogged down arguing in who should or shouldn’t have been offended, but all to affirm together that allthe synthetic trappings of femininity are for totally voluntary use as we each please.

- Jade Catherine, http://alum.mit.edu/www/rebar

Sidney on Katrina

Posted by helenboyd – September 2, 2005

This piece was written by Sidney, a friend of a friend. She can be reached at jsoliver@cox.net.

These are random thoughts, feelings.

I’ve been immersed in this because my dearest friend of 40 years, and her family, live in Gulfport and there’s no way of knowing for sure whether they’re alive or not. She’s a life-long resident and a minister. I change my mind every second about whether she left or stayed, lived or died. The emotional roller coaster is text-book, but because it’s me, I’m feeling desperate and crazed.

If I’m feeling crazed, as safe, dry, fed, watered, and well as I am, and with all the support in the world that I need, I can begin to comprehend the desperation they and all the dear souls in New Orleans and on the Coast must be feeling.

I can’t express my shame and rage that this is occurring in my country. Past the grief and shock of the natural disaster is the utter shame at the boggling incompetence in response to, and the chaos in New Orleans. I can’t. I stammer. I find it hard to breathe. Sometimes I feel such rage and frustration that I think my chest will burst.

At last I hear somebody REAL on TV. CNN’s Jack Cafferty said something like “. . . and the elephant in the living room that nobody’s willing to talk about, the race and class factor going on here.” I could weep for relief that the glad-wrapped whiteout is finally beginning to break down. You know and I know that if this were Dallas, we’d be seeing a totally different play. That it took a — what, what do you call this? “Disaster?” I think frankly that we’re past that now — if it took an obliteration of this size to reach the flinty little hearts of the corporate newsfaces absolutely appalls me, but I’ll force myself to find the good news: At least it is happening now. Long may it reign.

I heard our ghoulish new national Director of Homeland Security first thing this morning give a press conference on how September would be “preparedness month.” The mind congeals. I heard the president say that looters should be dealth with ruthlessly. I had to laugh. I didn’t hear him say that about what’s happening in Baghdad. I had to laugh, for the first time in days. It wasn’t a happy laugh.

My questions are without end. I imagine Europe looking on. I imagine a whole world led for decades to believe that the mighty USA could clean up a mess like this in 24 hours, looking on in a wonder of grief and disillusion, slightly disoriented by the disconnect between what we’ve been told and what we are seeing. I imagine that they, like me, see themselves in the stinking, deadly soup that’s suffocating New Orleans. I imagine Osama tapping his bony fingers, thinking “Now would be a good time.” I imagine that all the world, like me, wonders what will happen to us when the big one comes. I fear I’m seeing the future. I think I’m watching the chickens coming home to roost.

This morning I opened one of the survivor link-up sites. I had posted two search messages there, one for each of my friends. The site format limited what I could say to listing the names and locations, and a drop-down menu of “alive,” “dead.” “missing,” and “unknown.” I had chosen “unknown.” I opened the site this morning, dully, numb and despairing, and clicked on my post for Jane Stanley, expecting what I’ve found for two days : no news. But someone has changed “unknown” to “alive.” I feel something shift inside. My heart ca-thunks. Ca-thunks again. I am clinging to this, using every power of faith I can muster to believe it. Believe. Believe. Believe. Don’t let go.

Memories of the Coast. The beach where caskets lie like pill boxes today is the beach I walked on almost every day for two years. I remember the sounds of the surf, the smell at low tide, the lovely pale sunrises. Girls in their whites around a huge bonfire. Happier days. My then best friend could watch the sea like no one else I’ve ever known. She seemed to meld with it, finding in it a consolation for wounds that no one knew but she. I learned something about that from her in that first year there.

My favorite teacher and I crossing 90, heading back to campus, when a dog darted across in front of us. I knew it would be hit. It was, and yet it fled too fast to rescue.

The very first time I ever got drunk was on that beach, the first week of my freshman year. I wasted no time sowing my wild oats. A pack of Keesler men had come to hunt us, bringing inner tubes with holes sewn closed on the bottom, to serve as coolers. They’d tie a rope to the tube and float it out into the water to chill the gin and Southern Comfort, vodka, bourbon, rum, and coke. Who knew not to drink in the hot sun? Who knew not to mix the liquors? Who knew even how much to drink? Certainly not I. There are half a dozen women alive now who may remember dunking me in ice cold water in the tub until I was sober enough to take the carefully meted-out hazing that the upper class dispensed at any act of serious idiocy. This particular act could have cost my parents their tuition and me my education, because drinking there was a shipping offense.

I remember walking west on 90, past the little Catholic church on a Sunday morning, to Little Man’s, the tiny cafe where we hid out from mandatory church attendance. We called it “St. Little Mans.” The damp chill of a wintry Coast morning. The sound and feel of the sand on the pavement under my feet, or in my dorm room. The glint of Biloxi lights on a moonlit night, and the scent of gardenias mixed with orange blossom on a warm Coast night.

I sit in wonder at the wealthy white men who are right this minute making decisions that will seal the fate of thousands of my countrymen and women, and, like every other American, I suppose, I wonder where I’d be if my fate depended on their wisdom and, dare I say it, compassion. I have a better sense where I’d be now than I had last week, that’s for sure.

I see Perry hogging the limelight for Texas, and while I am grateful for the aid, I want to ask him: “Governor Goodhair, do you plan to house queer refugees in your astrodome?”

I just heard that the Speaker of the US House, Dennis Hastert, thinks it’s a waste of good money to rebuild the Big Easy. What does that mean? I mean, What. Can. That. Possibly. Mean.

Somehow the Red Cross was able to pre-position — word of the week — its “assets.” Somehow the Coast Guard was able to get in there and get in gear. Wonder why the US government wasn’t? You know, it’s 5:47 pm, Thursday, September 1, 2005, and I STILL DON’T SEE THE GUARD in New Orleans. I STILL DON’T SEE 500 B-52s offloading troops, cots, blankets, medicines, food, water, toilets, walkie-talkies.

These guys can set up a rally on the Mall for 250,000 in 24 hours, but they can’t fly in a few large speakers and microphones to begin to coordinate communications in New Orleans?

My mind spins one moment and melts to aspic the next.

I called McCain’s office. At the end of my enraged tirade, I said, “I suppose you’ve gotten lots of calls today.” “Yes,” she said. “Callers saying, ‘O I just LOVE George Bush! I think he’s the BEST president in US history!’” She said, “Not exactly.”

Copyright JS Oliver, 2005. All rights reserved.

“In 2001, FEMA warned that a hurricane striking New Orleans was one of the three most likely disasters in the U.S. But the Bush administration cut New Orleans flood control funding by 44 percent to pay for the Iraq war.”

Guest Author: Diana

Posted by helenboyd – April 10, 2005

In the Femme Fever group, Karen asked crossdressers to write something about crossdressing, and asked transsexuals to comment on their own decisions to transition. One of the first responses was this articulate piece by a transsexual who for many years identified as a crossdresser. I thought its reverse chronology helped illuminate how someone who has crossdressed for years realizes their transsexualism. Thanks to Diana for her permission to share it.

For about the first forty-years of life, I thought of myself as a crossdresser. Opportunities to dress were extremely infrequent. When an occasion did arise, I was tremendously disheartened when my appearance didn’t come anywhere close to what I both wanted and expected. Purging would then be an immediate action. “That’s it,” I’d tell myself. “This is crazy–I’m crazy–never again will I give-in to this idiotic fantasy!”

But, as the years passed, I continued the buy-dress-purge cycle. Might still be doing that had I not changed jobs. My new employer was very big on training. Their “academy” is located in America’s heartland–far from where I lived in New York. Since training classes can run anywhere from two-weeks to three-months in length, there was lotsa time spent away from home–away from my wife, kids, and all the other responsibilities that seemed to complicate crossdressing.

Although I would have denied it, in retrospect, my “crossdressing” behaviors became very much a compulsion. From 7:30 a.m. to 4 p.m., on Mondays through Fridays, I was just another of the thousand (or so) students attending various “academy” training classes. At all other moments I was “Diana.” Over time, I became better at achieving a more acceptable (to me) appearance. After a while, I began going out to clubs. One probably wouldn’t expect a well-developed gay community in what’s definitely Bible Belt country, but there were places to go seven-nights-a-week. The club scene was hopping–and I was a VERY active participant.

After a couple of years, I became aware of some rather (at that time) unsettling facts: It was getting harder and harder to go back to the male appearance. I also realized that happiness only existed when I was “Diana.” As a women there was (and still is) a comfort and self-satisfaction. That just did not happen when I was in “male” mode.

The actual turning point occurred somewhere around the year 1999. My class was ending but I didn’t wanna go back home. Lied to my spouse and told her that they’d added another two-week course. The “male” me didn’t make a single appearance during those two weeks. Finally, there was no other choice but to start driving back home. This time, though, instead of leaving all of Diana’s things in a storage facility, they were either packed in my car or shipped via U.P.S. to my home address. Although my spouse was aware of the “crossdressing,” she didn’t have a clue that it’d become much more than simply a part-time activity.

I remained “Diana” for the first four days of the cross-country drive. At a motel, about a day distant from my home, I sadly undressed, removed the acrylic fingernails, and promised myself that, one day, “Diana” would reappear as her true self–never again to be relegated to suitcases and packing boxes.

Fulfilling that promise turned out to be the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. (Y’all are just gonna hafta wait for my book to learn the details.)

The decision to transition has affected me on the inside in many ways–some expected and some that I never could have predicted. Most significantly, is a sense of serenity that says all’s right in my world. I’ve now come to realize that pretending to be someone who I really wasn’t–and living-up to society’s expectations for that person–took a tremendous amount of effort. Today, being myself is virtually effortless. Please don’t misunderstand that statement. I strive to be feminine, and this does indeed require quite a bit of effort. Yet, it’s an effort which is in-accord with how I truly see myself. In the past, I worked to achieve something that was totally at-odds with my real inner-self. The difference between these two, types of effort is absolutely amazing. Achieving my feminine best invigorates; working at trying to be a male took everything I had–leaving me physically and psychologically drained.

Because I decided to follow the S.O.C., my journey included countless sessions with gender therapists. This process helped to refine not only my perceptions of self, but it also brought about changes in how I felt about those with whom I share this world. A biggie here revolves around my new ability not to take the slightest degree of ownership in any “problems” others may have with me. That’s critical during the transition–and pretty neat thereafter. Alas, there are always going to be those who view the entire transgender community as subjects worthy of ridicule and abasement. This is also sometimes/often true when it comes to our families. Buying into such “problems” held by others–including family–has derailed any number of transition plans.

Another thing I learned during therapy was that it’s perfectly acceptable to think of myself in a positive light. I’m not a bad person–although I useta believe otherwise–and it’s quite healthy to focus on assets. Of course, one should also be aware of the not-so-good stuff if there’s to be any degree of self-improvement.

In preparing for transitioning I needed to squarely address the issue of guilt. It took a good year before I could “talk the talk,” and almost another year until I was able to also “walk the walk.” In other words, I learned to accept that guilt can not exist when being transgendered is totally beyond one’s ability to control. This ties directly to self-acceptance. The transitioning process is very much one in which we must come-to-terms with the “who” and “what” of our essential being. I accept that “who” and “what” without qualifications.

It’s said that when someone transitions, the inner person doesn’t change. Although my basic tenets and ethos are still firmly in-place, I have indeed changed. Mostly, however, those changes have resulted from the new-found freedom to be myself, 24/7, without any pretense or other constraints arising from unrealistic attempts at conforming to society’s expectation(s) for a man. I’m plainly a woman and, as such, there’s absolutely no expectation(s) that I act otherwise. Hooray!

Guest Author: Dana Johnson

Posted by helenboyd – March 29, 2005

One of our MHB faithful wrote a piece called “Why Not Passing Ruins My Day,” and I thought it deserved a larger audience. – Helen

When we talk around TG issues, we are very careful.

We phrase things such that we do our best to respect and support one another. I am, in general, an enormous fan of this.

Unfortunately, it’s possible for that very politeness to mask out feelings we have, or to make us less willing to bring them up and feel legitimate doing so.

So I’m going to drop that pretense, and describe what this is like from inside my own head as clearly as I can. This is how I feel about what is going on with me, and may or may not have any real match-up with reality. It is, however, how this whole thing feels to me.

I begin at the beginning.

I am a woman.

I am not “expressing myself as a woman”. I am not “presenting as a woman.” I am a woman.

Nobody else sees a woman when they look at me, for the most part.

It was worse when I was a girl. Not only did nobody see me as a girl, but a lot of effort was put into making sure I was being a proper boy. It was quite clear to me that I wasn’t a boy, but everybody else insisted. I knew that I was supposed to be a boy, so I did everything I could to do what I was told.

Everything.

I drove myself half-mad, over the years, trying to convince myself that I was a boy, against my own perception of the facts. I tried to be interested in sports. I tried to date girls.

I succeeded at convincing most people that I was a geek boy, although I never managed to convince myself, really. Which is why it became such a problem.

I don’t try living as a man anymore. I live as a transsexual. That is, a man who is largely perceived to be mad, and who is generally recognized as attempting to live as a woman. This is not the same as being a woman, but it’s better than being a guy.

I may be seen as a guy in a dress, but at least I get to wear a dress.

One of the reasons it’s better to live this way than as a man is that I get brief windows into what it would be like if everybody just agreed with me that, yes, I am a woman. These windows are called “passing”.

If I am passing, and someone “clocks” me, well, it’s a grounding of a particularly painful sort. You see, there’s only two ways I am made aware of the fact that I’m not a woman. If I’m made aware of some component of my own anatomy (ie, facial hair, voice, plumbing) or if someone else points it out. Otherwise, I’m fairly oblivious. I am a woman, as far as my ability to discern and categorize myself is concerned.

I’m not necessarily aware that I’m anything other than a woman unless some idiot says, “Damn! It’s a Man!” or something of the sort, at which point I’m buried by the avalanche of an entire lifetime of bitter frustration.

Luckily, I’ve learned to cope with this a bit. It generally doesn’t result in days or weeks of navel gazing and depression. No, it’s now down to a few hours or an afternoon.

People don’t really understand why this is hard to get over. I mean, nobody gets what they want in life. So why should I expect to? In many ways, I suppose they’re right.

The problem I have is that I have found no way of successfully reprogramming my brain about this stuff. As far as it’s concerned, I am a woman. It’s not a question of not getting what I want, it’s a question of something I’m sure I already have not being there — kind of like when you go for your keys and they’re missing. You were certain they were there, and now they aren’t — where could they have gone. Someone saying, “No you aren’t a woman” always comes with that kind of cognitive dissonance — “I was certain that vagina was there a moment ago, but now it’s a penis.” Empirically, I have learned that “they” are right. But emotionally it has never sunk in. I still wake up every morning a woman, and have to readjust to the fact that there’s a penis down there for some reason.

I have to readjust, every damn day, to the fact that I’m a woman who is balding, has a deep voice, and has a penis. Thankfully, my breasts are no longer missing. Still, it only gets so easy to do this. It always seems a bit off. Why would I have a penis? Are you sure it’s really there? Yes, yes it is. Why? I dunno. Can we get rid of it? Well, yes. Whew! Okay, so how do we ditch it? Um, well, it’ll take a few months/years/decades…

Once I manage to get over that little early-morning hurdle, I can ignore for the most part the fact that reality doesn’t match up with what my brain keeps insisting on. Except for every time I get a weird look, or I have to pee. Or some idiot says, “Damn! It’s a Man!” When one of those things happens, it’s painfully obvious, again, and I have to readjust, again.

Some days I’m just better at that than others.

It would still be nice to move from being a transsexual to being a woman, but I’m not holding my breath. I’m trying to be as pragmatic about all this as possible, and as respectful of others point of view — ie, that I’m not a woman — as I can. If I’m a transsexual and people are polite, well, it’s better than being a guy, and I do get to wear a dress. And every once in awhile, I pass, and I get to be normal for a brief window of time — the world and my brain in harmony with one another. I try to enjoy it while it lasts.

It’s always over soon. And it will never last the way it’s supposed to.

Guest Author: Lynne Whitehorn-Umphres

Posted by helenboyd – December 6, 2004

Today, on the MHB Message Boards, one of our regulars, Lynne Whitehorn-Umphres, posted an insightful piece about the mysteries of being a recently transitioned woman. I found it quite in keeping with my reputation as Helen ‘Pulls No Punches’ Boyd, and so it found its way to my blog.

Lynne called her post “Dirty Little Secrets: Passing.”


**
The Short Version:
– Don’t transition if you don’t or can’t pass.

The Long Version:
–
Every few weeks I have a conversation with someone who wants advice about transitioning. Leaving aside the issue about the value of free advice, or my capabilities to say useful things in this regard, a recent conversation brought up a point that forced me to clarify and distill some thoughts.

A lot of the questions in these conversations revolve around material issues such as surgery, voice, etc. In this case, though, I had a very specific thought, which is that passing may well be the single most important issue in post-transition happiness. I know that I’m covering old ground, but that’s the miracle of the Web, that everything old is new again. And again. And again.

Here’s the deal. If you transition and don’t pass, for the rest of your life, on every day that you interact with the mundane world, people will treat you like a pariah, at best. Perhaps you don’t care what they think, or how they treat you, but it’s going to affect your ability to get a job, etc.

I’ve never met any vaguely normal person who absolutely had no concern about how others perceived them. You’re not one of them, otherwise you’d be a sociopath.

Happiness for a lot of people seems to be the ability to lead a life that maximizes happiness and minimizes hassle. If you don’t pass, you’re going to get hassled. It’s not fair, and it’s certainly not just, but like Microsoft in the software world, it *is* the dominant factor in most social environments. You can’t ignore it.

Passing has a lot of aspects, of which appearance is probably the most important, followed by behavior and then voice. A lot of MTFs don’t seem to understand what it takes to pass. A fat wallet isn’t enough. I’ve met a number of MTF folks in the last few years who’ve had very expensive facial surgery, implants, hair-removal, voice training, and you know what? They don’t pass. And after a few minutes in their company, other people treat them poorly, because they’re being perceived as weirdos (at a minimum) and perverts (at the worst).

Are there exceptions? Sure, and somebody wins every single lottery, but it’s not going to be you. In fact, if you’re not sure whether you can do it, you probably can’t, at least not until you’re sure.

In my case, I pass most of the time *except* on the phone with strangers (and friends, I suspect) when I *never* pass, and this after lots of voice and social-voice training and practice. And when people call me “sir” on the phone, it makes me feel bad, although I’d like to be able to shrug it off.

My advice was, and is: Do everything possible to avoid transitioning. Others have written this screed, I know, but it bears repeating, that many people aren’t going to pass, especially late-transitioners. At the very minimum you *must* find a psychologist who specializes in gender issues *and* who will let you speak with existing patients.

You *must* have a comprehensive physical to rule out organic issues. Maybe you don’t feel like a man because you have very low testosterone. Perhaps you have a pituitary or adrenal tumor or other endocrine problem. You. Don’t. Know. If you make a decision about transitioning without investigating all these possibilities you’re doing your family, friends, and self a huge disservice.

And there’s another rub: Many, if not all of these changes take money and time. Fair? No. Just as Helen is tired of having to repeat herself about her approach to feminism, I’m tired of talking about whether the binary gender system is fair, and whether certain aspects of semi-free-market economies are fair. They’re not, Ok? And it sucks. But you still have to live with it, like it or not. Why? Because if you won’t pay attention to the outside world, you’re literally insane. I’m going to talk about resources and whining in another inflammatory post, coming soon to a MHB forum near you.

Don’t do it. Don’t transition. Do anything and everything you can to work out some other solution. If you’re depressed a few days a month because you have to be a man, would you rather be depressed for a few weeks every month because no one will accept you as a woman?

I’m much happier now that I’ve transitioned, but I’m the exception in almost every respect. I got the Lucky Sperm Club neutral facial structure, neutral hand/foot size, and enough resources that counseling, electrolysis, and surgery did not represent an insurmountable burden. I have a spouse and friends who weren’t happy with me at first, but they didn’t actively interfere with my project and many of them helped and are helping me to learn to act like the person I want to be.

In addition, I work hard at passing every single day that I’m going to interact with The Man. Makeup, shoes, clothes, behaviors that match my age and apparent social background. I’m 43, so I selected a name that was statistically likely both in terms of frequency and social group. I work with financial institutions and MBAs, so I wear makeup and clothes suitable for that environment. I’m a nerd so I also present as a nerd by carrying the appropriate amount of geer (geek-gear). If I don’t, someone will kill me with sticks, or refuse to hire me, which actually has longer-term personal consequences.

-Lynne Whitehorn-Umphres

Gianna Israel article about “Transgenderists”

Posted by helenboyd – July 1, 2004

Transgenderists: When Self-Identification Challenges Transgender Stereotypes

By Gianna E. Israel
Copyright 1996, all rights reserved.

There has been an interesting development in the transgender community in recent years, specifically of persons who do not identify with the social and clinical definitions which apply to individuals with gender identity issues. Traditionally, those who comprise what is frequently referred to as the “transgender community” include transsexuals and crossdressers. In part, the definitions on who is a transsexual and who is a crossdresser are defined by social stereotypes and clinical literature; however they are also defined by those unique persons who have transgender experiences.

A transsexual is a person who transitions and permanently lives as a member of the opposite gender. These persons seek out sex hormones and cosmetic surgery. This includes breast augmentation or mastectomy depending on the direction of change. In addition, transsexuals are interested in Genital Reassignment Surgery or what is also known as Sex Reassignment Surgery. It is common knowledge that there is a larger proportion of individuals who self-identify as transsexual, than the actual number of people who have genital reassignment. This in part is due to the high financial, emotional and social costs associated with living as a member of the opposite gender as well as the surgical procedure itself. There also exists a number of individuals who are unable to undergo Genital Reassignment. More information about those persons will be briefly addressed later in this article.

Crossdressers are persons who temporarily wear clothing of the opposite gender to fulfill an inner sense of need or reduce gender related anxiety. Typically crossdressing is done privately, although some persons do so publicly when circumstances appear safe. Some also crossdress for sexual fulfillment, such as in “transvestic fetishism.” While crossdressers do not experience the many difficulties transsexuals face during the pursuit of transition or Genital Reassignment, they do experience emotional turbulence, social isolation, or concerns regarding privacy and whether to tell others about their secret. Like transsexuals, these factors are particularly evident when a crossdresser is unaware of transgender resources or is unable to resolve stereotype induced feelings of guilt, shame or fear. Both transsexuals and crossdressers are at risk of victimization by persons who cannot tolerate differences in others. Although, transsexuals face slightly higher risks because they are more visible than crossdressers who tend to be more hidden.

Transgenderists are persons who consistently live as members of the opposite gender either on a part or full-time basis. Some maintain their original identity in the work place or during formal occasions. Others appear in their new identity during all aspects of daily life. Transgenderists are unique because maintaining both masculine and feminine characteristics is integral to having a sense of balance. However, the outward presentation of these characteristics varies subtly depending on the individual’s needs and sense of connection to each gender. Like transsexuals, many are interested in obtaining electrolysis, hormones and even cosmetic surgery to bring their outward presentation in line with their inner sense of self. However, like crossdressers, transgenderists are not interested in Genital Reassignment Surgery.

To elaborate on this distinction, even if a transgenderists lives “in role” as a member of the opposite gender on a full-time basis, what separates them from transsexuals, is that they derive pleasure from and value their genitals as originally developed. However, in most circumstances, it is unlikely that a transgenderist who lives in role full-time will disclose such private information without good reason. Because transgenderists are not interested in genital reassignment, they should not be confused with “non-operative” transsexuals or persons who are unable to have surgery due to financial or medical hardship. Although the majority of non-operative transsexuals live “in role” permanently, most need to adjust to a period of internalized incongruency during the time they are unable to have genital reassignment, if at all. Transgenderists do not go through this period of adjustment, because they are not interested in altering their genitals.

Like transsexuals who are at the very beginning of transition, transgenderists frequently experience incongruent feelings regarding their gender identity. Unlike crossdressers these feelings persist “after the clothes come off” and the person dresses in their original gender. These incongruent feelings typically can be continuous, lasting for days and even weeks, until the individual recognizes a pattern in his or her needs. Transgenderists stop feeling incongruent when their needs are consistently met by maintaining characteristics from both genders.

Understanding a transgenderist identity becomes particularly interesting when the subject of differentiating these from other transgender persons is looked at in further detail. Upon hearing about transgenderists, many people are inclined to believe that transgenderists are actually undecided about or simply unaware of genital reassignment. Others believe transgenderists are crossdressers, who somehow have managed to arrange unique living situations, so as to live out their fantasy. While the potential for such circumstances exists, a person usually self identifies as a transgenderist because their internal needs do not meet the narrow definitions associated with transsexuals or crossdressers.

As we try understanding the process of differentiating one type of transgender person from another, it is important to recognize where transgender persons get their definitions and role models. In coming to terms with crossdressing or gender identity issues, most people consult clinical as well as community resources, so as to compare their experiences with others. Access to resources can vary immensely depending upon the individual’s location, cultural background, social status, educational and investigative skills.

For example, the standards which validates a person having a transgender identity vary greatly depending on location. In India, many transgender people have a choice between conforming to traditional gender stereotypes or becoming part of the Hijra caste. This is particularly so if they intend to live out their lives as members of the opposite gender. Within the caste, ritual castration without anesthesia is performed on new members by the caste. Also, hand plucking of facial and body hair is widely encouraged over shaving. Subsequently, while crossdressers and transgenderists may participate in Hijra activities to some extent, none are really considered a full member until they have suffered the pain of beautification and ritual castration.

These practices can seem quite removed from the experiences of transgender persons living in the North America or Europe. These individuals find out about electrolysis, coping with crossdressing, or making a gender transition through relatively similar gender clinics or organizations. For the transgenderist, information addressing their needs has come forth slowly as clinicians began documenting gender identity issues only 20 years ago. In fact, the process of disseminating clinical information about gender issues is so slow, most people are not aware that transgender persons may have specialized medical needs. They may also not be aware that having a transgender identity is not in and of itself mentally disordered, medically diseased or pathological.

Because the majority of clinical resources make no reference to transgenderists, it is important to recognize that differentiating this specialized sub-population is not much different than other transgender persons. Whereas most clinical resources use “consistency” in determining who is a crossdresser as well as who is a transsexual (and therefore an appropriate candidate for hormone administration and genital reassignment), this criterion is equally valuable in identifying transgenderists and their needs. Consistency is defined as person having consistent thoughts, actions, requests or demands for a set period of time. Professionals who utilize consistency as a factor for assessing crossdresser and transsexual treatment plans, may also do so for transgenderists. For example, within the Recommended Guidelines for Transgender Care, Dr. Donald Tarver and I recommend (in part) that “transgender individuals appropriate for hormone administration include those who have in the preceding three months consistently expressed interest in the permanent physical changes brought forward by hormones, in order to bring the body in line with an intended masculine, feminine or androgynous appearance.”

On the surface the preceding recommendation may appear vague because it does not distinguish between transgender sub-populations. This lack of distinction, however, reflects an increasing trend among care providers to encourage transgender persons to adopt a gender-identification based on their needs and experiences, rather than force clients to conform to a provider or clinic’s stereotypes. Encouraging self-determination has encouraged a relaxation of gender boundaries, which meets the needs of all transgender persons.

Because there is not an overabundance of clinical literature portraying the specialized needs and issues transgenderists face, frequently these people cannot locate or are turned away from medical, surgical and psychological services. Those given incorrect information suffer needlessly and are often at risk. For example, those believing they are crossdressers and ineligible for professional services frequently end up self-prescribing, or seeking black market hormones and substandard cosmetic surgeries. Others, believing they are transsexuals, mistakenly proceed with a full-time transition or undergo Genital Reassignment Surgery. As a result these persons end up making huge sacrifices in order to validate themselves, and those who go through with genital reassignment may find themselves regretting having done so for the remainder of their lives. Recognition by professionals and the transgender community of transgenderist needs can help reduce these types of incidents.

Frequently I receive requests for information from physicians who are uncertain about how to address hormone administration in transgenderists. Because hormone administration is a routine medical procedure, providing it to transgenderists is for the most part identical to that of pre-operative transsexuals. I always advise physicians to take into account the patient’s general health, blood laboratory testing, prescription side effects and cosmetic predisposition. The only significant differences include the possibility that the transgenderist may ask that the prescription strength does not interfere with sexual performance, or that cosmetic growth be focused on moderate development or androgenization.

One of the most exciting developments in understanding transgenderist issues, is the recognition that these their experiences can sharply differ in regard to pre-existing relationships such as marriages. Unlike transsexuals who are more likely to face divorce as a consequence of transition, and unlike closeted crossdressers who are the least likely to share “their secret” with a spouse, transgender issues become a significant dynamic within relationships. This is particularly true for those who live in role. In most circumstances the person’s spouse or significant other is clearly supportive of the transgenderist’s needs. Frequently many couples find that the relaxation of gender roles allows both persons to get their internal needs met, whereas they might not get through traditional role play.

It may be assumed that the majority of transgenderist persons deny a desire to have Genital Reassignment Surgery in order to save a pre-existing marital relationship. In some circumstances that maybe the case. However, within my counseling practice only 1 out of every 4 transgenderists state that he or she would “possibly be interested” in genital reassignment if not involved in a pre-existing relationship. Frequently, this ambiguity diminishes the more accepted the person is by others, particularly when acceptance comes from their spouse.

Other issues where transgenderists find difficulties include disclosure and isolation. Disclosing one’s transgender status to others is a challenging prospect fraught with risks. However for the transgenderist, in addition to potential rejection from family and friends, they face the possibility of being turned away by professionals and rejected by the transgender community at large. This is particularly so when transgenderists encounter crossdressers who prefer keeping their behavior hidden, and subsequently feel uncomfortable being around someone who is so visible. Likewise, transsexuals may not be interested in socializing with a transgenderist for fear of having a desire or lack of desire in seeking Genital Reassignment Surgery invalidated.

Like other transgender persons who are hidden or who have not found resources, transgenderists tend to live very isolated, painful lives. This can be overcome by organizations and professionals encouraging differences in others, even when a person’s gender identification challenges transgender stereotypes.

GENDER ARTICLES. This educational column authored by Gianna E. Israel is regularly featured on the 3rd Monday of each month in Tg-Forum, the Internet’s most up-to-date, weekly Transgender Magazine . Several weeks later each article is forwarded to Usenet and AOL . Each column has been written to inspire contemplation and dialogue. Columns may be reprinted in any medium insofar as each article, its introduction, and the author’s contact information remains unaltered.

GIANNA E. ISRAEL provides nationwide telephone consultation, individual & relationship counseling, evaluations and referrals. She is principal author of the Transgender Care (Temple University / in press 1997). She also writes Transgender Tapestry’s “Ask Gianna” column; is an AEGIS board member and HBIGDA member.She can be contacted at (415) 558-8058, at P.O. Box 424447 San Francisco, CA 94142, or via e-mail at Gianna@counselsuite.com.

Copyright 2001 by Diane Wilson. All rights reserved.

Transgender Veterans

Posted by helenboyd – May 13, 2004

The Transgender Americans Veterans Association recently visited DC and laid a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

Here’s Phyllis Frye’s report from www.texastriangle.com:

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, Don’t Cry
TG veterans lay wreath at Tomb of Unknown Soldier
By Phyllis Randolph Frye

We met in D.C. as part of an event sponsored by the Transgender American Veterans Association (TAVA) (www.tavausa.org).

In our group that weekend were over forty veterans who are transgendered, including a WWII TG Vet, a TG Korean Vet and two who had been in the Gulf War. The rest of us were of various ages and had served our nation in uniform between those conflicts. Significantly, not all of us were white and not all of us were male to female. Those attending reflected the diversity of our country and of our current military.

On Saturday morning, May 1, we loaded up at the event hotel onto a chartered bus and were escorted with sirens and flashing lights by a D.C. police car driven by a member of the gay liaison in the police department. It was strictly V.I.T. treatment.

We offloaded at the Vietnam Veterans Wall and spent several hours with other tourists at the Wall, at the Korean Memorial and at the newly opened World War II Memorial.

As we initially began to walk along the Wall, one of the transgender veterans that I was walking behind began to falter. I quickly came up to her and said, “you have someone on this wall.” She said yes, a cousin, and that this was her first time here, and she did not know it would affect her so strongly. Another vet and I took her to get the cousin’s name location. When we found the cousin’s name, it was high up on one of the tallest panels. The Park Ranger set up a ladder and took a rubbing off of the wall. This transgendered veteran began to sob, and I held her close for several minutes.

I have been to the Wall six times now, and it is always a powerful experience.

We went to the Korean Memorial and to the World War II Memorial. While at WWII, we sat to rest and a woman approached us, saying that she and her husband had met some in our group and were curious as to the name of our group. We gave them the full story. and they sat down to visit and to learn. They were very proud of our coming that day and said they wanted to attend the placing of our wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier scheduled for 3:05 that afternoon.

Throughout the weekend, our entire TAVA group shared similar stories of ordinary citizens, touring the memorials, and showing respect for our being veterans.

Next we bused to the Iwo Jima Memorial for a short visit and picture taking.

Then we bused to Arlington National Cemetery and walked to the Tomb of the Unknown Solder. If there was ever an appropriate place for transgender veterans to be, it was here. For it is truly unknown as to just how many we are.

We were asked that question by people throughout the day. My answer was ‘many.’ When you think of it, what more masculine occupation would an emerging FTM want to try than the military? Indeed there are documented stories of FTM folks serving and fighting in the American Revolution and the Civil War. And for an MTF who is doing everything possible to deny or trying to kill-off the feminine impulse, what better way to try. That is why so many of us MTFs are Eagle Scouts and veterans as well as police officers, firefighters and paramedics. Yes, lots of us.

We watched a Changing of the Guard (twice each hour on the half-hours) and a Laying of the Wreath (four times each hour at 5, 20, 35 and 50 minutes past the hour) for another group.

We learned later that our wreath had been somehow lost, but members of our Transgender Honor Guard (selected by drawing of names from a hat at the previous night’s reception, sponsored by Mara Keisling’s organization, National Center for Transgender Education, located in D.C.) would have none of that. They went up the chain of command and within five minutes, our wreath was found.

And as it was placed, the Sergeant of the Guard announced in his clear and bold voice, just as he had done for the previous group, ‘This wreath is being placed by the Transgender American Veterans Association.’

I began to cry. Others did too. For those of you who do not know, I began to be an out activist on August 20th of 1974 – almost three decades ago. It is always a struggle to get people to give us the simply human dignity of using our name. I was expecting him to short us by saying TAVA, or tgvets, or something less. But as he stood in his dress blues, at that sacred site and proclaimed the words, ‘This wreath is being placed by the Transgender American Veterans Association,’ I began to cry.

Then there was a salute.

And then there was TAPS.

After the ceremony, I went with two transgender veterans to find the markers of people that were significant to them who were buried there. It was a beautiful thing to do.

That night we had a dinner. Speeches were made. More healing took place. The next morning many of us shared breakfast and then we went our ways to our homes.

As much as I have been through for transgender rights in the past, almost thirty years, this was different. I was changed by it.

I hope that the leaders of TAVA do it again.

I hope that you come with us next time.

Phyllis Randolph Frye is a nationally-acclaimed transgender activist and attorney. She received an Honorable Discharge after serving 1971-72 as 1 LT (Reg.) in the U.S. Army Medical Service Corps in Landstuhl, Germany.

There are pictures of the event online, too, at http://www.sheck.com/gallery2/tavatrip?page=1