The "Wrong" Body

There's a common narrative in many trans* stories about being born "in the wrong body", or a being a woman in man's body, or vis versa. This has been exacerbated, and in some part perpetuated, by medical gate-keeping communities. (A shrink might say "Oh your story doesn't quite match up with everyone elses? No hormones for you." so what does the trans* person trying to get on hormones say? Exactly what the shrink wants hear.)
That's not to say that's the "wrong" trans* narrative. If that fits for you, then by all means use that to make sense of your identity.

But it's never really fit for me personally.

So I'm a pretty narcissistic person (understatement of the century).

I love mirrors as well as pictures of myself, but probably not for the reasons that one would expect.

I use these to gauge myself. To see how much of the person looking back at me is "me"

Usually it's not a lot. If I tilt my head a certain way, put on the right make-up, wear the right clothes and stand in specific ways, and the lighting is right, and planets are aligned, then I can almost begin to seethe person looking back at me as "me".
Pictures of me "in the wild" almost never are actually of me.

They're someone else. I remember getting the pictures taken, and I saw through the eyes of the person that was in that picture, but that was never me.

It was a puppet. I moved the strings, but the puppet was never me. Certainly mine, but never me.

This idea of ownership as well as identification I think is at the heart of dysphoria for myself.

When I look at a picture like this

Anybody who knows me would tell me that is me. But it doesn't feel that way for me. I mean technically, yes, It's me. But it feels like a puppet. A costume.

It's not a matter of poor body image. I dare say I was a pretty attractive person as a guy. I was fairly built, and didn't have any problem gaining muscle. I have a pretty good complexion and personally I think my eyes are pretty. (I told you I was narcissistic.) From the point of view of someone whose attracted to all sexes, dissociating myself from the fact that was a picture of my body, I think the guy in that picture is pretty attractive, and probably more so than I am now, presenting as a girl.

But that picture isn't me. I don't see that and see myself. That's not my body. That's not who I am. That's could just as well be some dude. But when I see that my brain has to mentally grapple with the fact that IS me.

And that's dysphoria for me.

It's not the wrong body. It's certainly mine. But it's not an indescribable "me". I don't see myself. I see a puppet.

Transitioning has and continues to make a huge difference. I can look in the mirror and seeing myself looking back at me rather than some puppet isn't a fleeting experience any longer.

It still requires some illusion, If I'm not wearing make-up or somewhat girly clothes the costume looks like it's back.

But I see photos like this that were taken as recently as this week:

 

And I see myself.

It's not perfect. I'm still transitioning. But that's an infinitely better representation of me than the last picture. Those photos are spaced at most seven or so months apart.

A lot can change in seven or so, and I'm curious about the next seven or so months.

And I'm hungry for more pictures. More pictures of me. 

I want to get know me better.

But also I want to show me to other people. I want my parents, my classmates and my sisters, my friends, and acquaintances, my lover, to all see me, and recognize me, not as some costume or puppet

But as me. 

As Natalie.

Because it makes a world of difference.

Stereotypical post after long break

So yeah, I'm still alive and still posting

Queue excuses for why I haven't posted in about a month.

My computer died for about 3 weeks, and I had to replace the fan, heatsink and thermal paste on the cpu. Due to her death and rebirth her name is now Lazarus. And I repaired her all by myself too, which made me feel like a big grown up girl. Go me.

Finals week was also hectic (not really I only had three exams) but I'll go ahead and keep saying it was. Got a 3.05 this quarter though so I guess it went decently, and got around my goal GPA for each quarter which is a 3.0 or above.

I've also spent all my time this break playing mass effect 3 and Skyrim, and hanging out with my roommates on my roof, which is sort of a quintessential way to spend spring break in my humble opinion.

(Seriously, who doesn't want to kill alien invaders as a bad ass starship captain?) 

But yeah really the only reason I haven't posted in a month is because I'm a lazy fuck. You're going to have to deal with that. You know, I have to deal with my lazy fuckery on a daily basis you know. How do you think that makes me feel? It's not all about you. God. (It's obviously all about me)

Joke.

Anyway. News.

So I just got my fourth month of hormones. Shits chugging along quite nicely. My body is definately still going through some pretty radical changes, my chest and ass are getting bigger, and I seem more slim (Although that may be more from malnutrition because I'm a poor-ass college student) My face also seems to be changing more, but that's more of my face looks different from 3 months ago, rather than my face looks different from last week.

I suppose that I'll be going full time next week (I sort of have already?), which is kind of a big thing

I mean the only change is that I'll be dressing to go to class and work the same way I want to dress when I'm hanging out around the house, or going the various queer meetings I go to.

I mean it's weird because when I say I'm going full time that doesn't necessarily mean what I think a lot of people thinks it means. I'm still going to be behaving the same goofy way I always do, it's just I'll have make-up on and hopefully strangers will get my pronouns right, and not ask me what my "real name" is (It's fucking Natalie. My name is Natalie, Nat, Natty, Natattack, whatever the fuck you want to call me so long as it's at least tangentially related to my real fucking name: Natalie, okay?)

I sent emails to all my professors though, I'd figure I'd post it up on here (I had originally stole it from tumblr, and then modified it to suit my purposes) because the orginal template is really formal and well done. I've gotten emails back from all but one of my professors, and the responses have all been positive, especially in my RA training class, which is the big thing that needed to happen. If one of my engineering proffesors is a dick, then I can deal with that, but if my RA training instructors are going to discriminate against me, then we have problem, because that's affecting me getting a job.

But yeah.

I'm not really nervous. I mean I'm going to be nervous about particular things. Like are these shorts too short and showing off my manly ass legs and going to affect me passing. Will wearing this shirt get me hatecrimed because my shoulders are obviously too massive to fit in it, that sort of bullshit.

But viewing it as a whole I don't really see anything to be worried about. My campus is liberal as hell, and I don't know a single person on a first name basis who doesn't already know. I'm pretty out, which is pretty awesome.

Honestly I'm just excited for Heidi to get back to me after being away for an entire week (Egads!? A whole week!? How did you survive!? I bet you're asking yourself right now), and for class to start.

Other cools news. Our band Much Much More (You should like us facebook, there's a good chance that will cause world peace, and personal happiness in your life.) is doing 3 gigs in April so here's to a busy month! With luck I'll try to get some video of one so I can post it up here.  

So I was going to wax on rhapsodical about my life a bit more but this is already long as fuck. So here's a picture of myself from today.

(Yes, my room is janky as fuck. Yes that is a christmas wreathe, and my dresser is broken, and I only have one curtain. This is why my life is awesome.)

Have a lovely day.

Post Anarchy / The interview

So this one post every two weeks thing is dumb.

So is once a week.

The thing is, my life doesn't happen in nice manageable chunks like that. So I'm just gonna update whenever.

Fuck the man.

(Shamelessly stolen from this chick I know's tumblr, also foxes are adorable)

Anyway.

So here's the thing that's been dominating my thoughts the past few days.

Job Interview.

Here's the deal.

I'm fucking poor.

I go to school full time, which thankfully is covered by my Dad working for the university. But as far as paying for bills rent, and food I'm on my own, and I'm getting loans out the ass for that. But loans aren't much. They cover my rent, and some transition cost, which are important things. Food and utilities are covered by my ten hour a week minimum wage job, which is actually only a five hour a week minimum wage job because my house got cut. I don't have much money left over.

And to be honest I don't much care for being fucking poor.

But here's the thing. Resident Assistants get a pretty much free dorm room, as well as a grand a semester. What's more is that there's special populations, like international students, or substance free, or in my case, gender neutral housing, which is pretty much designed for trans* people.  The job description fits me pretty damn well.

This sounds like a awesome job that I could do, and do well.

And I wouldn't be as poor. I'd have much more money that I could spend on transitioning, and buying pretty things. (Although I hate to sound stereotypical I would love some bitching shoes. Which are expensive, especially for a size 13 womens.)

So I'd get an extra two grand a year, and the 3.5 grand I'm already getting in student loans would be mine to keep. While I would be making payments on various bullshit (Phone bill from at&t that I got with army money, I'm looking at you), as well as paying back my parents for various stuff, I'd be able to keep a pretty hefty sum of that and possibly even begin saving up for some surgeries.

So basically I could be financially secure, and afford nice things until I graduate and then I'll have a pretty engineering degree which will see me through having a job and being financially secure after graduation. (Thank the flying spaghetti monster the field I'm in love with actually has job prospects, unlike say, english, or theatre).

So yeah this would basically be a dream job for the next two years. So I sent in an application with some recommendations.

And I applied as a girl. (sort of)

I had to put my legal name and everything, but I put my preferred name next to it, and put female as the gender marker (Hey, they asked for gender).  I made it pretty explicitly clear that I am trans* in the application too, which should be okay, since gender identity is on my university's non-discrimination policy. (Which, as most people should know doesn't mean discrimination doesn't actually happen)

And surprisingly/awesomely enough, I got an interview.

Fuck yes.

Now in the past, I've interviewed pretty well. I've never gone into an interview and not gotten a job, although I've only done like 3. I'm pretty well-spoken if I do say so myself. (Although it doesn't hurt that I'm a better bullshitter, for the most part.)

But this is different. I was always really good at going in, and being the stereotypical all-american boy with a strong handshake and abusing the fuck out of my privilege to earn a job. This is how I got my prestigious four-year paid army scholarship (in addition to being decent at standardized like the ACT which I got a 31 or 32  on.)

I couldn't necessarily do that for this interview.

I know I'm definitely going to be full time presenting female by next school year regardless of whether or not I get this job, because at the rate I'm going my body on hormones won't let me do anything else (As well as the incredible mental relief that will bring). So I'd much rather be presenting female from the get go. Which is what I did.

Can I just say that I was nervous as fuck going into that interview?

The day before it really hit me that this was the route I chose, and I needed to figure out a semi-formal outfit to go into the interview. I was wigging the fuck out running around my room desperately trying to figure out what to wea, should I wear a sports bra and look like I don't actually have any boobs (sports bras are ridiculously comfy and at the moment make my chest still appear relatively flat), or should I wear a real big-girl bra, which will make it very obvious? Should I wear eyeliner? How about mascara? Shit I still have redness from laser the other day (Still hurt like hell) Is cover-up going to take care of that.

I was a fucking mess.

So I got my shit together, whined to my girlfriend for a little while via text (She's away at MBLGTACC a big LGBT conference in Iowa this weekend.) and figured everything out. Still nervous though. I half suspected walking in and them just being like "Why does this dude have eyeliner on and boobs?"

So interview came around, I walked in told them I was Nat (last name) (I usually go by Nat instead of Natalie in day to day, because it's shorter and won't immediately out me if I don't want to be outed) and did the interview.

And I think it went pretty well. I answered questions pretty decently, and explicitly mentioned I was trans* a few times, in regards to diversity and creating safe spaces, and the two interviewers were really nice.

But I don't find out for another week or two if I made it to the next round of the application process (A one quarter long class, which I'm pretty sure I will rock the shit out of)

So yeah. We'll see. It sounds almost too good, so something will get fucked up and it won't work out knowing my luck.

Here's a picture of me in my room after my interview.

(I really should figure out a way to take pictures on something other than my webcam.)

On an unrelated note I'm thinking about dying my hair the blackish/blue it was before it faded away. Right now it's pretty much my natural color, which is boring, but I don't really have any money to burn on hair dye right now either.

More updates when I feel like it (Hopefully shorter ones)

Week Seven

So this post is really late. I've been busy. My bad. (It seems to me like about half these post are going to end up with me starting with apologizing for being late. Perhaps I should just stop giving a shit and update whenever)

Oh well

My life more and more seems like a cheesy coming of age movie. It's developing in ways that I would have never expected to, and instead of the gorgeous Zach Braff as the protagonist it's my trans* ass.

(With feel-good indie pop constantly playing in the background)

For instance. People come over to my house and hangout on a regular basis. Me and my roommate actually host get-togethers where everyone gets really fucked up and plays video-games. Or goes down to the club. Or just hangs out.

And then we wake up in the morning and drink coffee, maybe make some breakfast.

It's glorious.

It's unexpected though. I was always this little nerdy kid who would play elder scrolls games in her room for hours on end. Now people come in and out of my house, we enjoy each other's company. People crash on my couch. I'm actually being social. Voluntarily! Crazy!

It's weird. And I get to wake up next to my gorgeous girlfriend most mornings.

I've started a three ukulele band with a few friends named Much Much More (Yes this will probably be the most hipster thing I've ever done with my life.)

It's almost like I'm growing up a bit. I'm not as much of a kid anymore, hiding in my parent's basement, emerging only at midnight to feast on peanut butter and jelly.

It's like I'm almost a for-realsies adult, leading my own life, doing the things that I enjoy. It's a good feeling.

But anyways.

Trans-stuff.

Next week marks my second month of HRT. Go me.

Also, more body changes are happening, and much faster than I anticipated. I'm actually starting to grow boobs now instead of just having these nasty little headlights poking out of shirt. I mean don't get me wrong, they're not exactly developed, and I doubt that I would fit even the smallest cup size. But I do need to wear a sports bra pretty much all the time now. And it feels pretty awesome. And is really exciting.

Oh and I got my laser appointment this past Wednesday.

(Pew pew)

It hurt like fucking hell.

If you were to google to see if laser hurts you're probably going to read something along the lines of "It feels like someone snapping a rubber band on your face."

Let me tell you something.

That's fucking bullshit.

Laser was probably the most painful thing I've ever experienced in my life. And considering the things I've done to my body that's not a meaningless statement. I've got a scar on my right eyebrow from a staff sergeant kicking a fucking door into my face (funny story that) and subsequently getting 4-5 stitches. I used to do parkour and fall and hurt myself A LOT, and have more than a few scars from that. I've no less than 5 3rd degree burn scars on my body that will be with me for the rest of my life.

And while your experience may vary, none of that was up to par with getting laser done on my face.

I didn't have any anesthetic or numbing creme, maybe that would change things. And the lady doing it said the first time was going to be the worst because the hairs were the thickest.

But. FUCK.

The best analogy I can draw is someone heating up a needle strong enough to give you a second or third degree burns and then sticking it in your face repeatedly at a steady beat for 10 minutes, with it never cooling down.

Holy shit.

When I actually saw smoke from my facial hair being literally burned away, I had to just closed my eyes and just suffered in silence, til it was done, taking occasional breaks when it got a bit too intense.

It might be that hormones are affecting the way that I feel pain. It's just that, I've always been able to sort of grunt my way through any sort of pain. Finally it goes away I yell profanities for a few minutes and then I'm good to go.

Not this.

I literally just cried for about 20 minutes after I was done. I cried harder than I've ever cried for any sort of physical pain. I finally composed myself, payed my 200 bones to the doctor, left, found a bathroom (Thank the flying spaghetti monster for gender neutral, 1 stall, bathrooms) and then cried for another half-hour. Just weeping from the pain. I've never felt anything so intense. 

It. Fucking. sucked.

It doesn't help that your face has a metric shitton of nerve endings, especially around the lips (where there is a lot of fucking hair for me).

As far as effects, the doc said that it should take about 4 sessions and I should see a 80% or so reduction in permanent hair, which should rid me of my dreaded beard shadow, as well as the need to shave daily,. My hair is definately thinner on my face, and I definately see improvements. My face was red as hell afterwards, and felt like it was sunburned to hell, and it seems likely that it's causing me to break-out with acne right now, but that should go away.

Also another thing to mention right quick. I was under the impression that I would go in, they'd zap me, and my hair would be gone by the end of the appointment, burned away to oblivion.

That's actually not what happens. They zap the fuck out of the hair follicles and then the hair gradually falls out half a week to a week later. Which sucked because I wasn't able to shave until about a day after I had it done, and had already been growing the hair for a day or two prior, so the laser specialist would actually have something to zap. So I got to walk around feeling dysphoric as fuck from my facial hair for about half a week. Just something to mention I suppose.

So yeah, laser. I've got my next appointment next month, provided the salvation army actually fucking pays me so I can afford it (Don't get me started).

On a slightly different note one of my good friends (whose actually dating my roommate, also trans*) just came out as transgender (ftm), which is super super exciting for him. It's always fun to know people like yourself I suppose, but also it's such a big step for him to be going by different pronouns and whatnot. Luckily our circle of friends is really affirming, and have been really good about pronouns (for me and him).

(Though my lovely girlfriend played a pretty huge role in getting my friends to switch to using she for me, since I always feel awkward asking people to use my preferred pronouns.)

The really funny thing is that prior to coming out as a guy he was what one would consider a super-dyke lesbian. Like unicorns eating glitter and shitting rainbows sort of gay. Fabulous, one might say.

(Fair approximation)

But since he came out as guy he started dating one of my roommates (also male), so ironically enough, he's still got the gay albeit in a different direction.

Go Team Queer.

Anyway.

That's pretty much it for this week. It's not that I don't have more to talk about but I do sort of have real obligations. Like you know, School. This fucking differential equations class may kill me (although it would be nice if the teacher had a working grasp of the English language). The life of being an engineering major. Good thing I fucking love it, otherwise I'd probably end up killing myself.

Here's a picture of me from this past saturday before heading out to gay night at the local bar.

Cheers.

Voice

So I originally was going to post this in my Week Five Update, but I sort of began to ramble and that became long as hell, and plus I figure this deserves it's own post anyway.


Probably more than anything but facial hair, my male voice right now makes me feel incredibly dysphoric. Which fucking sucks.I literally find myself talking less because I hate my voice so much. It's deep and somewhat gravelly, and not at all what I want to sound like.

What's worse is that when I'm in awkward conversations, which are pretty frequent for me, or when I'm feeling really dysphoric or out of my element in a conversation, I tend to drop my voice to a almost comically low tone. Which, as one might imagine, doesn't help the situation much for me, even though usually the person I'm talking to might not notice it.


So I've told quite a few of my friends that once school starts back up after the new year that I'm probably going to sound a bit different, and not to laugh at me, because it's going to sound horrible.


You see, I've been practicing my voice on and off since April, especially in the last month. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified to actually use in an actual conversation.

Here's the problem.

Well multiple problems.

First of all I'm struggling with what I talked about in a previous post, in that I'm worried that I'll try too hard and it will sound even less like a girls voice. I mean my "girl voice" (for lack of a better way to differentiate the way I've been practicing to speak) doesn't sound like minnie mouse or anything. It probably sounds more androgynous than anything else, but that leads me to the problem that I might not be making it feminine-sounding enough. It's difficult to tell if I'm landing on too low, too high, too much "chest" or "head" or a million other variables, with just my own ears to judge, even if I do record it with a mic and play it back to myself.

Which leads me to another problem. I've never actually used my voice in a conversation. It's always just been alone in my room talking into my computer and then playing it back to myself. Repeating the same thing over and over again. The most variable practice I've gotten is reading things occasionally. I have no way of knowing if I'll be able to maintain the right range when talking. Or if I'm scared, upset, happy, trying to think, drunk, using different tones or anything else. It's all incredibly foreign.

And all those things that use your voice but aren't actually talking, like laughing, coughing and a million of other things.

There's just so much room to fuck up.

And I mean I have really awesome friends. I doubt any of them would ever laugh at me because I accidentally slip back into "dude voice" mid-sentence. But still. I just don't want that to happen even though I know it will.

I mean in all honesty I'm going to absolutely suck in the beginning. But

 

(Adventure Time is basically win in purified form)

And I know Jake's right. I've done it with everything from teaching myself guitar to learning about computers, to school. Story of my life at this point.

.

I'll steadily get more used to sounding closer to what I want to sound like, and my fuck-ups will become less frequent. I'll eventually get down things like laughing and whatnot. And in the long-run everything will be totally spiffy.

But I am fucking terrified of those first steps. I know I'm gonna fuck up. A lot. I'm gonna need to force myself. And it's probably going to sound forced, which scares me even more.

Overdoing It

So when I first went into the endocrinologist, one who actually specialized in transgender care, I pretty much went fully in "Dude-mode" with a really good friend of mine who is cis-gender female and rocks a badass mohawk, and also tends to be fairly butch. The first thing the endo said when she walked in was "Okay, which of you is Nat?" Okay, definitely a fair enough question, and I sheepishly said I was.

Anyway, the conclusion of this first endo-visit was this little gem. The endocrinologist had told me that basically that "most trans-women who came in had a tendency to over play any sort of femininity, they caked on make-up, they wore skirts, were excited to show off their shoes and it wasn't until later that they usually fell into a type of femininity that fit them better" I was wearing boys jeans, a baggy t-shirt, and some old running shoes. I had a therapist letter, but she decided that she just wanted to start me out on testerone blockers so she could give me some more time to "settle into my role, and make sure it was right for me before starting out on actual hrt"

(The next time I came in I had on way too much eyeliner, my tightest jeans, and a cute sweatshirt, and she perscribed me HRT. My letter from my therapist was the same it was the first time I went in, and the only change to my convictions was that now I knew that I functioned better without testosterone, rather than suspected it.)

While plenty could be said about gate-keeping as a larger societal problem for the trans* community from this experience, what I got from it at the time was this.

I was and continue to be absolutely terrified of over-doing my feminity and looking "false"

I don't want to look like a cross-dresser

I don't want to look like a "drag-queen". That was what kept in the closet to myself for so long

 (although I've since realized that there are MANY incredibly gorgeous drag queens, like Manila Luzon) 

I'm not even super-femme to begin with. I don't know that I'd describe myself as butch, but I definately prefer jeans over dresses.

It's not that I hate dresses, or make-up.

It's just that I often feel super-dysphoric wearing them. I feel like I'm trying too hard. That, as my mother puts it, I'll be "a mockery of women" (God, I hate that phrase)

I'll be honest, I like to pretend confidence, because when you're confident in yourself people tend to be confident in you, but wearing make-up in public, or wearing explicitly female clothes?

That terrifies me.

That I could try my hardest but know that's not going to be good enough. That people will perceive as a "man in a dress" instead of what I am, a girl.

I can play off tight jeans, and shirts. I like having my nails painted pretty colors. But those are all things that I can do without immediately advertising that I'm trans*.

In my one-month photo, I was convinced that I would look awful wearing a flower in my hair and some make-up. I was nervous and the only reason I was able to pull it off is because I consumed quite a bit of alcohol and the person standing next to me in that photo, whose one of my best friends, had to validate that I didn't look awful. I can't put on eyeliner without first asking my friends if I should, when I should, by all means, be able to own that sort of shit.

And I'll be honest, I like that picture a lot. It may damn well be the best I've taken so far. I wish I could look like that everyday!

But I would never have been able to do something like that in public (or in this case at a Christmas party) by myself.

And I'm not even dressed that femininely in that picture! I'm wearing a button down and jeans (even if they are girls). I simply cannot imagine myself pulling off something that shows my shoulders, or anything without legs. I can't do the nylon-stocking-birdseed-breast.

One day I really hope that I can (things like sundresses that is; I'd much rather have my own breast attached to my body, thank-you very much), and in all honestly I'll probably ease presenting more "femininely". But I can't just do it right off the bat. I'll feel like a "guy in a dress", that I'll try too hard and only look like a parody instead. That terrifies me.

The problem is that I'm incredibly afraid of being perceived as a "fake-woman", and not even by others. It's more a struggle with myself than anything else. It makes me more dysphoric to look down and see fake breast, than it does to see my flat chest. The former only reminds me of male body more. Which sucks.

And that may be non-politically-trans*-correct. Being trans* is something that no-one should ever have to be ashamed of, or afraid to broadcast. Call it internalized trans* phobia, but I have difficulty acting as though that were true, even when I know in my head that it's just as valid to be trans* as it is to be cis-gender.

And I'm openly out as a trans-woman to pretty much everyone I know! I shouldn't have to worry about this shit! But it's not really about other people. It's about me.

I think it's awesome that a lot of trans-women who are transitioning can leap to super feminine and then gradually slide back on the scale until they reach a point where they're comfortable.

But I can't do that. Instead, my way of figuring out where I land on the broad, complicated scale of gender expression is to gradually slide over from male to female, keep the male things I like and slowly adopt the female things I like. I know my comfort range will expand though, especially as my body changes, but I'll be damned if it will expand easily, without me fighting myself each step of the way.