The Shame of Failing To Look Feminine Enough

Yesterday was meant to be a great day but it's funny how little things can change everything so much.

The day started with me meeting my friends KGirl, Dooky, J Rock, KMan, Cath and the lovely DB for lunch before we went to the launch of a book of poetry called Stone Postcard by Paul Magee. The launch was great and I really enjoyed opening my mind to this unfamiliar form of expression. During the launch Paul read some of his poems and one stood out to me more than the others he read. I can't remember the title but it was called "Swimming in..something". Anyway, the poem was about Paul and his friend from Melbourne swimming at St Kilda Beach in winter. The last line of the poem that stood out to me went something along the lines of, "I'm thinking so I must be still alive.". This line stood out to me for two reasons: 1) I have been in situations whilst surfing where I have wiped out during biggish winter waves and, whilst underwater being tossed around by the whitewater, fought the panic of drowning by saying to myself, "OK, I am thinking so I must be alright." and, 2) Whilst feeling total panic about my own life, reigning in the fear of an uncertain future by remembering I was still functioning, i.e., "I know I am scared right now but I am talking to myself in reasonable tones and I have a lot of support so it's likely I can probably get myself back on track.". Whilst hanging with my friends yesterday, little did I know that some winter waves were rolling towards me and were due to break on the beach of my life that night. 

One of the things I have learnt from surfing is where waves come from. The best ones come from storms far out to sea where the ripples from that activity build into ordered sets of swell as they travel from the source of energy. If there's nothing between where the waves form and where you want to surf them these sets arrive as ground swell. In sets of ground swell some waves are bigger than others. We call these bombs. To get a wave you paddle out past where the waves are breaking and wait at a spot where you think they are going to break. This place is called the line up and it's usually easy to find because that's where other surfers will be sitting. You wait for the waves in the line up, which are usually about the same size on any given day and, when it's your turn you paddle towards the beach and hopefully stand up and ride it in. Apparently the bigger waves in the set can be seen coming but because I have really bad eyesight I usually know a bomb is on the way when I see other surfers madly paddling straight out towards the incoming wave. When this happens there are usually no words spoken by the group but there is a tangible sense of communication that comes from this collective movement and the message is clear, "Get the hell out of here!". It's hard to define the deep sense of being alive when you are paddling at a bomb and make it over the top without getting worked. However, when I am surfing by myself I usually get smashed by the big waves - which, in itself is an exhilarating experience.  Little did I know a bomb set was heading towards me last night. 

It started when I got an email from a former partner that i had lived with for a long time but eventually separated from. We had a tumultuous time together but, 8 years on we are at least able to communicate with each other. I was pleased to get the email so I left the table I was at with my friends at the pub we had gathered in after the book launch and went into to the toilet to sit down and respond. I was away for a little while and when I got back, my friends were all asking me if I was OK because, during my absence, KMan had bumped into an ex-girlfriend of mine. Everyone was a little nervous about telling me but I felt like I was OK. I asked if she looked happy and whether she was with a man and they said yes. Our break-up was rough. I really loved that girl and I was desperate just to see her face from a distance - even if she was happy with a new guy. As much as I said I was OK though, I really wasn't. I tried to fight the feeling of sadness but I just couldn't and that combined with the fact that my shoes were killing me just started to drag me down. I realised I hadn't paddled hard enough to get over the bomb and I was being worked by some pretty harsh metaphysical whitewater. 

Another thing about wiping out is that, once the wave lets you go, you often rise to the surface of the impact zone to be faced with the imminent arrival of the next wave which means you don't have much time to gather yourself before you are under again in that crazy mix of water, bubbles and swirling energy. 

So, when I surfaced from my first "OMG, I really want to see her again" wipe out it wasn't long before the next wave arrived. Like I said, my shoes were killing me and they were negating the effect of the gin and tonics and I was feeling down already so I decided to leave the party. I slunk off from the group with my tail between my legs. I thought, maybe if I go home and change my shoes I can come back in to town and get back into things but, whilst passing a group of men out the front of an adjacent night spot one of them said in a loud voice, "It's a man.". I stopped and went up to him and said something like, "Good observation skills, f***kwit." but because I did not want to get my nose smashed and I had a dress and heels on I quickly departed the scene. Now, I am not a beautiful woman. I am 6'1" with scars from the bumps and knocks of my 47 years as a man and, as much as I try, I obviously do not present a convincing feminine look. Nonetheless, I try to reserve my concerns about how I look as a woman and do my best to be presentable and gregarious, especially when I go out. But, I had just been worked by the first bomb and I didn't have much left in the tank to deal with this guy's comments. I immediately felt the shame of failing to look feminine enough. As i rose to the surface for the second time I was like, "That's it, I'm going back to the beach.". I got in the cab and headed for the safety of home. When I got there, I started having all these crazy thoughts like, "Who am I kidding about this trans stuff?", "Why aren't I normal?" and "If I wasn't trans maybe the ex-GF and I would be still together.". Thankfully, I got lots of support from KGirl but, in the end, I cried myself to sleep. 

This morning, I saw a FB post about Laverne Cox and I started the process of regrouping. I'm better now but that session last night was rough. I'm lucky I have such great friends and family to counteract the negativity which, as hurtful as it is, thankfully doesn't happen too much.

So, here I am on the beach and the swell is settling down. I survived and, because I am thinking, I must still be alive.