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.          

About a Nose

I'm in Sydney right now recovering from a septo-rhinoplasty, i.e., a nose job. It's pretty early in the morning the day after surgery. I woke up about 4 am when the pain killers I took before bed wore off. As a result, I have had some time to reflect on the fact that, maybe for the first time in my life, I have a straight nose with an un-deviated septum. I think my nose may have been naturally deviated to the left from birth but a couple of broken noses from playing football plus one caused by a headbutt only made it's non-straightness worse. Anyway, the kink is gone, at least from my nose, and I am looking forward to being more confident about how I look. In the meantime, check out my bandages.

No More Lies

OK, I am back. Lot's of water under the bridge since my last - and first - blog entry. Am going to try and be a bit more regular with my postings. That means they'll be shorter (thank god, I heard someone say).

So, to the title. Over the last year I have managed to come out as a transgender woman to most of my family, my close friends, acquaintances, neighbours, shopkeepers...basically anyone that gave me half a chance to share.

However, the one group that I was the most nervous about sharing with were my two children. Last week, I told my eldest (19) and yesterday I told my youngest (17). I should have realised how it would go down....N-O P-R-O-B-L-E-M :)

Today, after telling them, I think I am closer to them than I ever have been. It feels like a massive weight has been lifted from my hormonally-induced feminine shoulders.

I just cannot believe it. I instinctively go to do something to hide my girlishness and realise I do not have to do it anymore.

So happy. OMG, so, so happy.

Andi
xoxoxo

My Male to Female Transition - Introduction

Hi. My Name is Andi and I'm a male-to-female (MtF) transgender from Australia. When I made the decision to take a more serious approach to living a transgender life I started calling myself Harmony but that didn't get a great reception from certain parties so I decided to use a version of the name my parents gave me when I was born, which was Andrew, hence Andi. 

Anyway, after reading through the blog of a good friend (which is really funny) and being encouraged to document my transition by another (a great, amazing, beautiful, loving person that I will talk more about in the future) I decided to give blogging a go. 

A quick note to start with though. I am really conscious of starting off with a lengthy, boring background because some of my psychologist friends have told me that they find it hard to stay awake when their patients tell them long and detailed context setting stories. However, I think it's important to at least set the scene with a few details. So, here goes, my very first blog entry. How exciting!

To start with, as you can tell from my pic, I am no spring chicken. In fact, I'm 47. I was born in Sydney, Australia and spent the first 14 years of my life living in, what was then, the working class suburb of Concord. I was the first boy born in my family but I have 5 older sisters and I also have a younger brother. 

I have a very lovely set of memories from this part of my life and, even though I don't live there any more, Sydney has a special place in my heart. My dad is 4th generation Australian and is descended from Irish Catholics who came to Australia in about 1854. My mum was born here but her Mum was from Aberdeen in Scotland. There are a few stories about where my maternal grandfather came from but the one I like most is that he was the illegitimate son of a Jamaican sailor and a woman from somewhere in England. 

I have two children from a marriage that ended some time ago and am currently single. I work for the Australian Government and recently graduated with a Masters degree which I attempted mainly to right the wrongs of taking advantage of a free university education in the 80s but also to prove to myself that I am not as dumb as a box of hammers.  

From the age of about 10 I started to realise that there was something different about me but found it difficult to define what that difference was in a way that made sense to my young mind. As is what I think is the case with many people of my gender, I could only arrive at the conclusion that something was terribly wrong with me - a conclusion that my Catholic surroundings no doubt helped to establish. Without travelling down the victim rabbit hole let me just say that I am, right now and more than ever in my life, determined to live an authentic life that is true to who I am. 

Picture: My younger brother Brendan and I in Sydney sometime in the 70s. 

So, to the present...or at least the not too distant past. In January of this year (2013) I ended a relationship with someone whom I loved very much but who wanted children. I knew that I had to pursue my authentic self so children for me is out of the question. I loved that girl very much and I think of her every day. After making that decision everything else about starting my transition journey seemed easy. As such, I started engaging with the trans community in Canberra as well as investigating hormone replacement therapy (HRT) . As of the date of this entry I have almost finished my second month on HRT which involves a daily does of estrogen (4 mg) and testosterone blockers(200 mg). 

Anyway, this blog is about following my journey so I hope to help anyone who reads it to get an insight into what being transgender means. Taking such a course of action might help me better understand being transgender too.

To finish though, I want to touch on a lighter note. I have some amazing friends, none more so than my amazing friend whom I will call in this blog K Girl. Just two night ago K Girl helped me arrange a coming out party at which a close circle of friends came along to witness me as Andi for the first time. We had a great night - amazing really - that involved great food, great cocktails, fantastic company, dancing and a general orginess of niceness. The night ended as K Girl, my mate Kendall and I wandered home under a rising sun after an extended period of clubbing. I was elated. I had been accepted and loved as Andi. Here's a pic of me doing the obligatory selfie in the bathroom of the club....

and another one of me smiling my head off with the happiness of it all...

I'm gonna end this first post now but next time I am going to talk very seriously about transgender fashion so, if you are interested in tapping into the future of this burgeoning niche, stay tuned.

Lots of love

Andi