I Dreamed a Dream in Times Gone By...

 

This past week has been especially difficult because of the second coming out of 'Marcy' Michael's female alter gender identity. My strife is entirely internal. She is not dressing more, she has not come out at work (yet), she is not asking our son to call her mommy (yet), she hasn't even restarted hormones (yet). She just made a declaration of intention and my weary soul is numb with grief again. 

Grief. My old nemesis. We meet again. Last time I went through this I didn't make it. Grief is hard. I felt as though the pain would never end. I felt no one could ever understand the loss and pain I suffered. It was slow loss like terminal illness but without the kind words from friends and family. I suffered without people stopping by to hold my hand or bring me food, without the time off from work, or school. The very special grief feels very private and shameful.

 People understand grief over death. But I hear time and again of quiet suffering of people who endure loss of a different kind like fertility, independence, ability, or even their homes. These losses are misunderstood and seem like less, because everyone is still alive. 'You can always adopt.' 'At least you have someone to take care of you.' 'Plenty of people get by using a wheelchair.' 'You can build a new home somewhere else.' We are foolish when it comes to someone else's loss and pain. We can't know their desolation. We shouldn't compair it. Don't tell me it could be worse he could be dead, that is insult to injury. My life is changed for ever. My grief is not self indulgent whining's. My pain is real, and hot, and crushing.

 There is someone in your life who is celebrating this change. I used to say it all the time. She is joyfully attending Marcy's birthday and I can't stop crying because I am at Michael's funeral. I am happy for her, because I love to see her happy. But that can not lessen my grief because it is mine and not hers.

Last time I recall it being very hard to let go of the title. This is my husband. I am Michael's wife. I am Mrs. Reynolds. It seems like a silly thing to cling to. I didn't realize the status it had attached until I lost it. I have a partner now. My partner and I have a child. My partner. In polite conversation who knows what that means. We may have been together for a month, we may be gay, we may be starting a business, I may be the breadwinner, they may be stay at home with the kids. It was hard. That has gotten easier. 

I feel I may never have children with my partner again. I always imagined a large family. Marcy told me that she looked into sperm banking already and that it was not expensive. Do I really want to inseminated sometime down the line? I think she should bank before restarting testosterone blockers, to preserve her fertility. But I am not comfortable with the idea of having her babies. Which is funny. I have had baby fever the last few months. I probably just sensed this was coming. 

I think what it is is the change in family status is still uncomfortable for me. We are not a perfect traditional couple with a beautiful boy. We are morphing into a new mosaic family with more than one mom,  and an unusual history. Like adoption, step families, foster families, gay families, poly families, and friends who raise children together. I have always thought that there was no lesser family structure as long as everyone loved and protected the children. But this wasn't my dream. 

That what we have to grieve. The dream. The future that will never be. Like those who suffer infertility. I have to let go my desire to have my family the way I want to and surrender to having a family.

If you are not familiar with the stages of grief or you just want to laugh at this delightfully short and funny educational cartoon visit ;  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_Z3lmidmrY

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

  "Hope" is the thing with feathers - (314)
By Emily Dickinson

So the poem. My favorite poem. I chant it to myself sometimes to remind myself to listen to the song. I am here to grow. I hope for better understanding, acceptance, and serenity. The times of hope are small in comparison of the times of sadness and anger. I go to church, I pray, I light a candle and I fill my cup with hope. I carry that cup of light and its song with me through-out my week to stave off the darkness of despair. 

I don't know if I am more prepared to handle the changes then last time. But I know that I must grieve, I know that I must hope, and that I must grow.

How do you handle your grief?

Sexual Satisfactions

It came to my attention lately that few wives and gender variant partners talk about the specifics of their sexual relations. I understand the trepidation. I have danced around the subject many times. My sex-capades are my own and I really want them to be judged by my neighbors, friends, or coworkers. That being said the changes in my relationship touch every aspect of my life. Sex is no exception. I think that everyone has to negotiate the changes in this area their own way. I do wish more people were willing to talk about their sex life struggles as it might be helpful to see that individually we stand together in the insistence that, whatever they are, we have sexual needs that may be difficult to meet with the change. 

I discovered recently that some of my own sexual behavior could be considered fetishistic. I have a phallic fetish, on men. It sounds a little absurd, as most men are born with there very own phallus, and purportedly heterosexual and bisexual women are attracted to men; it doesn't seem like a stretch that I would be attracted to dick. I think I enjoy dick more than the average women (well, androphile, you know what I am getting at). One of the greatest things about becoming sexually active was being allowed to play with penis (and testis). I am so grateful that my first partner didn't make fun of me. I didn't know that my penis fetish was unusual. I figured my friends were just tight lipped about how much they love, touching, gazing, exciting, kissing...their partners genitals. I had male friends who talk about loving to do cunnilingus; certainly I was not the only female who need not to be cajoled into giving head? Well I have enjoyed several partners now. Each and everyone of them commented on my adoration of their genitalia. ::shrug:: So I decided to call it a penis fetish. When someone says what so important about dick (as has happened since I entered the gender variant community) I want to gasp and cover my mouth scandalized. I just can't understand. That is not my experience. I also enjoy gay male porn. (Which is more common than you think).

So that being said. What happens if my partner no longer wants theirs? It is their penis. I can't claim it. But it is the only one I have to play with. I would have a need that is unfulfilled if it became less than functional or was removed. This is just theoretical at the moment, as my partner rarely talks about SRS. She only thinks it would be a reality if we were no longer having sex with each other. Which may very well happen.

I am not attracted to her as a female. Long hair, painted fingernails, lipstick, a fashionable scarf, matching bra and panties. She is a cutie. I think she is adorable but not sexy. I have to close my eyes and picture my husband with his army haircut, in jeans and a Star Wars t-shirt to get in the mood. Sex while she is en femme is very difficult for me. It involves lots of imagination and often results in less than orgasmic results. Also I feel like I am lying when we have sex when she is presenting female. Even pegging is less satisfactory because well that fantasy has to do with 2 phallus toting men.

This is problematic. My penis fetish remains. Part of me is certain that we will be fine so long as I can get her naked and worship the bits of her that don't match the high heeled shoes, and lovely earrings. Part of me believes that sex will disappear. It is not really that simple so much goes into sexual attraction.

A sexual relationship with my partner will be a very hard thing for me to let go of.

I am not sure how to conclude this entry except to point out that my partner as sexual need that are less than fully fulfilled by me. I know she likes the idea of being with a man as a women. I know that she wants to have sex as a women, and enjoys being more passive. These are things that are difficult (or physically impossible) for me to give her.

I am not opening my sex life up for comment, I am sure we will find a way to make it work or give it up. I just want you to know as a reader that these are very real issue to do with transition that are universal to spouses, regardless of that actual nuts and bolts of the conflict. Feel free to share here, if you are comfortable. We have to talk about these things. If we can't talk about them to each other who can we share them with?

On Rage

I recall, I felt my life was like a child's beloved macaroni art work, in which, pieces were falling off, during last transition. I couldn't stop them: No matter how hard I tried I couldn't make them glue back in place.

I described myself as crazy. I wasn't: that word is used too often. I was sad. I mourned the loss of things I was not sure I had lost. I was afraid of things to come. Of things I didn't yet have a plan for. I did not ever identify my feelings as futility or anger. I think women are taught not the should not feel anger. If a women expresses anger she is labeled bitchy, hormonal, or out of control.

In Fluidity I spoke about my coming out. How I was received and perceived as the wife of a Cross Dresser (or more accurately transgender). How unpleasant it was. The post was selfish, the feelings are self absorbed. It feels good to be selfish about this and to acknowledge my own pain. My discomfort over my new sensationalized relationship did not push me to feeling unglued. It made me feel enraged.

I don't know how other people live with bigotry, discrimination, or ignorance. I don't know how people can calmly live there lives when someone hates them enough to kill without ever having met. I witnessed a hate crime during this period of anger. I was on duty. I assisted man beaten for holding hands with his boyfriend. I cried, privately. I wanted the perpetrator to die, for his ignorance, for his hate. I doubt the victim pressed charges because it would have been a hardship on them, but it really shook me. These things happen.

My spouse would tell me how people reacted when she went out alone. She told me about the woman who reported a Tranny in the locker room to the gym management. When asked by management what inappropriateness had been witness she said that my spouse had been fully clothed, and had wash washed its hands. Management told my spouse that she could not use the communal bathrooms of either gender. I was angry for weeks, at the management. People say and do stupid things all the time. You don't have any right or responsibility to enforce stupid.

My workplace fired my spouse after she came out on Facebook. I wanted to walked around with a chip on my shoulder. I wanted to kick peoples faces in. The ones who took double takes, the ones who used terms like He-She, or It. I wanted to calmly retort to inappropriate questions about genitalia and surgeries with equally inappropriate questions like; how is your wife's infertility? What are the dimensions of your penis? Have you ever had homosexual sex? That was the plan in my head, but I couldn't calm my rage enough. I cried in anger, quietly when I was alone.

My friends, our friends had just as hard of time with the whole gender change thing as I did. Well, I should say almost, because really I lived with 14 year old girl version of my husband, while they saw her occasionally. Much more occasionally than before too. We were uninvited to a picnic because there would be children present. Another time I was invited to a friends birthday but told not to bring my spouse because the birthday girl's new boyfriend was christian and they were not sure if he would be comfortable with a trans-women sharing cake and wine with him. It was just simpler not to see him. I hated them. I saw red.

What do people say about those who stick with you when your ship is sinking...they are worth it and those who abandon you are not. Well they weren't abandonning me, just him. They made that perfectly clear. I hated them. I wanted to shout at them, I wanted them to feel ashamed.

Shame is all anyone should feel when they are confronted by there own bigotry.

I yelled at some. I estranged my parents, my best friend, my co-workers. But mostly, and quite confusingly I understood. Even my biggest champions were not ready to endanger their reputations for his gender presentation, their place in the church, in there family. Would you risk losing visitation of your children by having your crazy ex-wife meet an excentric friend in a dress? How about your job? How about your spouse? I hated understanding them, it interfered with my loathing and did nothing to lessen the pain or betrayl.

I was not angry at my husband. I am still not. The anger is back though. I fear that she will come out again without my knowledge or input as before. That I will be drafted into a war I never volunteered fore.That is the place I don't want to be in again.

Inapproperiate Power

I left my transgendered husband a year ago.

The time leading up to the end of our marriage was full of grief and pain. I read books. I talked endlessly with my spouse about my feelings of loss and fear. I even when to a Tri Ess meeting (which I highly recommend if your partner is closeted and identifies as a Cross-dresser (CD)). Tri Ess wasn't for me because the wives exact a totalitarian amount of control over there partners gender expressions that was not conducive to my partnership style. I am not comfortable telling my mate when and how to dress, if he can go out, what procedures are okay and what are not. He is not my ward, he is my husband, and it would be a disservice to our relationship to take such control. That was the advice I got over and over by friends and family. 'Put your foot down,' they would say. 'Tell him your not going to put up with this.' 'Just let him know that this in not what you signed up for.' As if he didn't know that I was drowning in sorrow. He knew. He just didn't know what to do about it. I felt unsupported.

He would hold me and tell me over and over again, If you want to me to live as a man then I will.  The question became, do I have the right as a human being to ask someone I love to not be who they are? Does anyone? The answer was always, no: now what?

I realized that if I stayed I would force him to smoother this awaking understanding of self that was so joyfully being discovering. If he did 'regress' how long would it last? A week, a month, maybe a year if I was very intolerant. No. I could love him as he was, then I needed to let him go. I had to end our marriage. Most importantly I had to make my self a promise not to go back to him no matter what happened. My presence would only hinder his personal growth. If he could not fully understand his gender because all he thought about was losing me, then I would make everything possible.

I left my husband one year ago because I could not and would not ask him to stay a man for me. Love was not enough to keep us together, it was enough for me to let him go. I left emotionally exhausted.

My ex was living as a man when I came home. He insisted that he wanted to live as a man and that was that. I didn't believe that, but I know he did. Marcy doesn't lie, except perhaps sometimes to himself. We bonded over drawing up the divorce and custody papers. We have always been best friends. I had missed him so much. Slowly I let our lives re-entangle, I forgot why I left.

We were content. Life was a blur of vacation, shared burdens of childcare, finances, and physical support. When we first got back together I was super intolerant of any CDing, I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to see it. I would be anxious, angry, and sad. Marcy insisted it was, again, just a hobby. I knew better, but told myself it was his decision to live the way he did. Who am I to judge, he choose me.

One of my closes friends, Floria, visited us. Floria had helped me through the separation. She took me aside and asked me what the hell I was doing. I was very surprised that Floria was not upset that I had gone back. She was most troubled that I was intolerant of the CDing. She told me her parents story. Floria's father loved being a dad, and loved her mother but he was transgender and it was too much for their marriage. They separated and got back together over and over. There were tears and shouting matches. Floria's father was never happy. He could have the children and his wife or his gender. Floria was adamant, I have to leave Marcy or let her be how she is. There is no in between.

It was a wake up call. We couldn't live like this. Over the last month I have  made an effort to be much more laisse-faire. I have said things like, do what you need to, and maybe you should. Last week Marcy told me that she wants go to work as a women, and grow her hair out, go back on anti-androgen's, and get laser hair removal. She wants to live as a women. Except on weekends with me she says.

No surprise. After all I have known that for almost 2 years. I still feel like kicking myself.

Play it again, Sam. At least she told me and didn't ask. 

Marcy says that she feel much more deliberate about transitioning this time. Like somehow there is a configuration and speed that will make the loss bearable. I know that she has come to the conclusion to transition again because she has love, support, and resources. If those things went away so would her desire. That his what happened last time. Loving her means, supporting her or leaving. If I leave I am certain the cycle will repeat.

I am still very uncomfortable with the power dynamic. It makes it hard to share my pain with others. They don't understand my hesitance to ask for...well anything that has to do with his gender. It is not my place, only it is my relationship.

Please share your experiences with the control factor of gender expressions in your s/o.

Fluidity

Hello,
Many Queer (I use it as an umbrella term) people have had such a hard road to carve out space for themselves. I feel I am a bit of an interloper. I am a tom-boy (I type of gender queer I suppose), man-loving, women. My husband announced he needed to live as a women. It was very hard for both of us. Coming out was as hard for me as it was for her. Our co-workers asked me infuriating questions about how we had sex, and what my spouse genitalia were, if he were planning surgery. All subjects my spouse was not shy about but I would cut off my arm before feed the water-cooler gossip more fodder. My spouse was fired quietly (and legally), while I had to work double shifts under the o try and make the chauvinist pig that did it to try and make the difference. Our oldest friends asked us not to come to family friendly functions, or worse asked only me to come. My family decided I was gay. Neighbors reported to Child Protective Service that were deviants and abusing our son, as we have a beautiful baby.

During this timed I went on a personal journey to discover my own gender identity as a women, what it means to be a women, and most importantly my sexual orientation. I left my spouse when I decided I was not attracted to women, or worse I wasn't attracted to her. But it is not that simple.
While we dated he had cross-dressed occasionally and privately and I had enjoyed it. I took her out of that closet. I helped propelled her into transition. I enjoy sex acts that are typically male. I enjoy male gay porn.

More relevantly I love the person I married.  When I returned home (from a deployment) I found that she had begun living as a man again. He identifies as gender fluid. I missed him so much during the last year and a half.

I moved out of state for a better quality of life. I brought my spouse with and we are trying to make domesticity work. It has been great. But I know this masculine swing isn't going to last. I am afraid. I am anxious of what it will be like when he feels he needs to be woman again. I am afraid of the neighbors. I hated being asked things, being mistook for a lesbian, being turned off by the female trappings. I hated his self hate, I love his body, his broad shoulders, his narrow hips, and manly arms.
I know gender fluid is different for everyone. He and I talk all the time it doesn't put me at ease like I want it to. I wish there were people who could understand. My friends know, they respect my decision but they don't understand why we are together again. I want a husband. I want my husband. I want to support him in his identity but I did that once and it was horrific. It caused havoc in my life, and my heart I am not soon to forget.

Where do we go from here? What is fluidity mean, in my life, for my family?

Dis-Orientation

Broad shoulders, deep voices, and whiskers on jawlines, these are a few of my favorite things ::sings:: I love how easily men can be distracted and stimulated. I love awkward advances from men who are certain that they are about to be rejected. I could write a lovely lewd ode to the wonders of male genitalia. I love men, this was never uncertain. However, CD's are adorable. I have always found them brave and earnest in their gender expressions.  Put me in a room full of men and I will find the gender variant one the most attractive. It is my six sense. He will be manly, charismatic, and a secret gender outlaw. This affinity and apparent attraction has caused me some confusion. So what am I?

My CDing husband confided in me that he felt he needed to live as a women three years into our marriage. Perhaps I will recount the happenings of trying months that lead up to his revelation but today I would like to share what happened to me when I supported his journey and stayed at his side while our colleagues, friends, and family watched with shock and awe as he transformed. I, a self identified lover of men, suddenly was a lesbian.

Many of my personal heroines are feminist, brash, lady-loving women. I am drawn to tough jobs, military, law enforcement, mining, etc. that call for tough women who are, at a higher rate than the general population, stereotypically, lesbians (or bi-sexual). I had been always proud to be counted in the ranks with my LGBT friends.

I was struck by the positive and negative attention my new status gained me. Acquaintances came out to me assuring me I wasn't the only lesbian in the joint. Others emphatically announced they had lesbian relatives in hopes of making me feel at ease. My father confided that he knew all along that I was one. Some suddenly avoided me as if it was rumored I carried a dreadful antibiotic resistant disease. I was hit on by women (which had happened in the past but not with such frequency or gusto).

I became angry. I wanted to shout I am not a lesbian! In denying the label I was perceived as homophobic, sadly confused, or, in the truest sense, a deviant. If there is a term for a women who enjoys sex and romance with a CD surely it would have almost fit. Right? It was not I who was confused but the public. If I insisted my husband was a women and I loved her I would have to love a women. No one can tell me who I am oriented towards; but they sure tried. I was miserable. My husband laughed off the attention. She took some pleasure from the befuddled looks, answered the personal questions with ease. She took no offense from the mislabels or confusion. Yes, saint like, I know.

I had an identity crisis. I shaved my head. I questioned my motives and inspected myself for signs of hatred. I looked long and hard at definitions of seemingly simple terms like Women or Homosexual. If I had sex with a women once would I forever be a Bisexual? How about if I found the female form attractive and sexual? but what if I disliked sex with a women? What if I found that you could enjoy the touch of a women but could never bring myself to return the that pleasure? No I think one must love women and enjoy sex with women to be a Homosexual women. 

I was not homosexual by my own definition. Why still did being assumed so bother me? So what if the world has got it all wrong? Should I really be bent on setting each and everyone straight? They are wrong. It is very hard to be labeled something you are not even when that label is not negative. Like being called George instead of Jorge, or being (God forgive!) Sir-ed instead of Ma'am-ed, or being mistaken for Mexican when you are Hawaiian. They are just plain wrong.

When my husband came out I felt I entered a closet. I am a dick loving Heterosexual. It is easier let the world think I am a normal lesbian. It is not fair. My husband is back in the closet, and I am out as a Hetero women again. It is good for me. Bad for him, I think. Perhaps he is more resilient than I am. Perhaps I am just cruel for not being more flexible and understanding. I do know that having gone through the coming out with her once. I will not do it again for so many reasons.

Cross-Dressing vs. Gender Dissonance

I knew my partner was a Cross-Dresser when I married him. I should be grateful. I am not. I am the first in a new generation of wives of CDers. We are the generation that gets to make informed decision about their lives in regards to their husbands gender. I have always let my heart choose and it will choose love every time. Maybe that is the right answer. I don't know. I don't have answers for you. I do know that I searched as if I was on a holy quest for truth; and no women had the answer for me. No one could tell me what would make me happy. I do know that his Cross-Dressing didn't make me terribly unhappy, but eventually his gender dissonance did. Or perhaps it is my gender that makes me so uncomfortable.

According to Wiki:
Gender variance, or gender nonconformity, is behaviour or gender expression that does not conform to dominant gender norms of male and female. People who exhibit gender variance may be called gender variant, gender non-conforming, or gender atypical.^[1]


I identify in this blog as a wife of a Cross-Dresser because that is how my husband presented when I married him and now. There are so many colors in the rainbow that is gender don't ever feel boxed in by terminology. Gender is much less straight forward than sexual orientation or sex I discovered.  

I was, and am afraid that he is unhappy living as the handsome charismatic man I fell in love with. I am afraid that he will need more than I ever can provide. I am afraid that I am already living with a woman. In this safe space I have carved for myself I will share my journey that has not ended.