Sometimes it's from a child

Sitting with a 2 y/o can teach you unbelievable insights into innocence. Here I am at age 56 starting all over with 2 girls ages 2 and 4. Many of you may be able to identify with my experience. As I looked into her eyes and listened carefully as she formed her words of which she has many. Struggling with making a sentence she frowned as I helped her say the words. I was impressed with her persistence to tell me what she wanted me to do. When I was embroiled with my career I was not the lucky one to see those same efforts in my own children now grown with children of their own. Do I deserve this chance to love again, to teach and guide? Am I worthy to lead them into a better life? Will I be there to see their triumphs and sorrows? Age has taught me many lessons, the most immutable of all, Love.

Why "Sex change" surgery is medically necessary.

Why "Sex chage" surgery is medically necessary.

The following information may be something that some of us feel to become the full person we always believed we should have been. The text can be redistributed as people feel fit, provided the text is not altered. Permission given by Mercedes Allen @ http://albertatrans.org.

Even at the age of 56 I feel this article hits straight to the heart of my feelings.

Popular opinion has it that Gender Reassignment Surgery (GRS, often popularly nicknamed "sex change surgery") is a cosmetic issue and motivated by a simple "want" to be female or male, by someone who was not born as such. However, extensive medical research into transsexuality dating as far back as the 1920s and continuing through modern studies have demonstrated otherwise, and consequently, the medical standards of care have included GRS as a necessary procedure for decades. In order to understand this, people will honestly need to put aside preconceptions for a moment -- and also realize at the same time that many transsexuals would rather see a health system in which preventative and quality-of-life treatments were uniformly covered, rather than one in which someone's eye surgery or tendon issues are not.

As recently as 50 years ago, being left-handed brought with it a stigma of being strange and socially unacceptable. In the Middle Ages, left-handed people were prosecuted as witches, under the accusation that being "backwards" meant that they were demon-possessed. In many languages, the word "sinister" and variants derive from the Latin word for "left."

This caused many left-handed people to attempt to hide their dexterity, switching to their right hand, restricting their comfort, agility and co-ordination. Many lived in constant fear of being found out.

"There was a lot of emotional stress and pain attached with it. I never understood why it was so “wrong” to be left handed. It caused me a lot of pain through the years that I was forced to be right handed all the while thinking “Why am I not using my left?” I tried to switch back other times but felt it was wrong and feared negative repercussions. So I finally had it and I fought through the pain and the ingrained negative stigmas about left handedness. Though I have only been back at it for a week it feels so natural, I cried and cried because I felt so so happy, like everything fell into place and that I was me again. All these years it had made me miserable I am so glad that I finally listened to myself." -- Mari Ongstad, in response to a speech given by left-handers' activist Murray Kaufman, 2006.

This is much the same experience of someone who is transsexual, except that their entire identity is at stake. They attempt to hide who they are, the hiding driven by a spiralling sense of shame and self-loathing, until it becomes an experience many liken to "suffocating," or vents itself in an explosion of frustration. Transsexuals are unable to explain why they feel that their gender should be something different than their birth sex, and sometimes spend years attempting to mask themselves, to "pass" as the gender that society expects them to be. This restricts their ability to function socially, emotionally, psychically, spiritually, economically (it’s hard to be productive while constantly feeling out of one’s element and/or “backwards”), maybe sexually, and leaves them often suicidal as a result. If this continues into later adulthood, often a crisis point is reached in which the person suffers a complete emotional collapse.

“Gender Dysphoria” is the name for this condition, and treatment follows the standards of care established by the World Professional Association of Transgender Health (WPATH, formerly HBIGDA), which includes GRS. No less than the American Medical Association has stepped forward advocating the necessity of surgery and its coverage. In fact, like the AMA, the American Psychiatric Association, the American Psychological Association and the Canadian counterparts of all three all support GRS as a medically necessary part of treatment. It was partly for this reason that the Ontario Human Rights Commission ruled last year that that Province should restore coverage of the procedure.

Treatment of Gender Dysphoria encorporates surgical and endocrine intervention, because analytical and aversion therapies have historically proven damaging. As much as mainstream society would like to believe that electroshock therapy, anti-psychotic drugs or conversion ("ex-gay") therapy would help transsexuals “just get over it,” modern medicine has realized that this approach simply does not work, and usually results in suicide or extreme anti-social behaviour. Aligning body to mind, however, has enabled transsexuals to become valued and successful people in society. There are, in fact, a few transsexuals who feel that they can live without having GRS, but they are the exception and not the rule.

Gender Dysphoria (sometimes called "Gender Identity Disorder," or GID) is currently listed as a mental health issue, but ongoing study of both genetic ”brain sex” and Endocrine Disrupting Chemicals (EDCs) show the possibility of some biological causal factor. In a study released in October 2003, UCLA researchers identified 54 genes in male and female mouse brains that led to measurable differences by gender, and went on to indicate the possibility of a brain being gendered differently to one's physical sex. According to Dr. Eric Vilain, "It's quite possible that sexual identity and physical attraction is 'hard-wired' by the brain. If we accept this concept, we must dismiss the myth that homosexuality is a 'choice' and examine our civil legal system accordingly." Studies of EDCs show another, possibly concurrent potential that exposure to chemicals that simulate hormone characteristics -- particularly between the third and eighth week of pregnancy -- can affect the signals sent out to determine psychological gender and biological sex, which appear to develop at different times during gestation. One EDC of particular research interest, the synthetic hormone diethylstilbestrol (DES), was administered to women for a time as a "vitamin" supplement to help prevent miscarriage, a practice which ceased in the early 1970s when it was linked to various cancers (although it remained in use with animal populations into the early 1990s). In all fairness, nothing is conclusively proven at this point, and there is not a lot of research money being put into further study, as most pharmaceutical companies do not yet see a payoff from doing so. But the anecdotal and observational data from EDC and brain studies of human and animal populations would tend to support an innate origin of transsexuality, and coincides with transsexuals' convictions that they "just knew" that they were female (in the case of male-to-female transsexuals) or male (in the case of female-to-males).

There is more. Current legislation asserts that most forms of identification and legal documentation can only be changed to reflect one's new gender after surgery has been verified. Without GRS, many pre-operative transsexuals experience severe limitations on employment, travel beyond Canada's border, and treatment in medical, legal and social settings in which verifying ID is necessary. Prior to GRS surgery, transsexuals also face limitations on where they can go (i.e. the spa or gym, or anywhere that involves changing clothes) and difficulties in establishing relationships -- as well as being in that "iffy" area where human rights are assumed to be protected, but have not yet been specifically established as such in policies and legislation. In hospitals, prisons and such, they are housed by physical sex rather than their gender identity, creating potentially risky situations, unless the authorities directly involved choose to keep them in isolation. And at the end of the day, without GRS surgery, one's gender is always subject to being challenged or stubbornly unacknowledged by those who don't realize that a transsexual's gender identity was not a matter of choice. There is also an extremely high risk of violence faced upon the accidental discovery that one's genitalia does not match their presentation.

Transsexuality is not widely known or understood in mainstream society, and should not be confused with other aspects of the larger transgender (an umbrella term) culture. Although much sensationalism can be made of something like medical coverage of Gender Reassignment Surgery, the realities paint a very different story.

The rampage of thoughts.

Now that I am living a full time woman's life many challenges are before me. I presume that many of you feel as I do 'that was not the first step' "that was a step in many".

My coming out was easy, not, it was step away from who I had to live toward the woman I was inside. I have learned many lessons, as all you have. I hope we can use this site to throw out experiences and comment on others. Come together with me and those who see life as an exchange of ideas and experiences, which strengthen us all.

Be the first….

A strong woman emerged from within me now, the first years.

A strong woman emerges from within.

I have been thinking about this particular subject for awhile now. I figure I am never going to run for any public office, so I have no societal reason to hide anything. I am an open book and think it is about time for me to speak out on life from my eyes and experiences. Although I may reveal some things that may upset some, it may encourage others. I will be, as I said, open, candid, supportive to all who would like to ask me a question. "Love to live, Live to love!"

My earliest memories of my transgender feelings was at the age of five. I was so jealous of what my sisters were wearing I would "borrow" them for a time out of their drawers and closets, wear them and put them back after trying them on in the privacy of my bedroom or bathroom. This was the late 1950's and no father, especially mine, would allow that kind of activity from their son. From age seven - ten I "borrowed" my older sisters panties and a dress and spent as much time in them that I could, then back into the closet and hamper they would go. My brushes with my inner feelings got me closer and closer to getting caught by age ten. I started "keeping" certain items that became my favorites, the closet became my storage for them behind my other clothes. Then it happened. I was accidently "found out" by some friends, one older boy and his brother my age. I forgot about the clothes when he started rummaging around in the closet, they teased me into putting them on. As we pushed and shoved each other all around the room, the older brother of two years became increasingly more "touchy feely" . His touches and obvious increased aggressiveness stirred something within me I had never felt before. We were boys! Right? Confused with my head spinning I would have my first sexual encounter with him later that day. Our friendships quickly disappeared, I still wonder what happened to those brothers.

Back into the closet, I endured the next couple of years attempting to be "the boy" I was supposed to be. I joined a baseball league and soon found out I was pretty talented. My father wasn't around much, except for one summer he coached my baseball tem, so my mom ran the show. I watched the clothing my two sisters were wearing and was constantly reminded of how drab I was dressed. I stayed in the closet through my parents divorce when I was twelve. With that divorce came stress, doubt and fear. At the age of thirteen, completely confused and lost, I turned to God. My heart was broken, my worst fears were coming true and I just did not know how to move forward. I met my first "true friend" at High School, she brought me to her Pastor and I accepted Christ into my heart. From that moment I felt a stirring to become the 'best I could be' in my life. This was to remain with me for the rest of my life. My Youth Group asked for volunteers to work as 'lay' youth ministers in a Coffee House, famous in the inner cities during the late 60's. I had forgiven myself of my inner thoughts, those thoughts many of you have had as well, about that person inside straining to be free. In those coffee houses I talked and laid Christ in front of them to give them another chance like I perceived would be their way to new life too. I found myself against the wall as many of them, no the majority was involved in some type of drug use. It was the time of free love and self-indulgence. I kept asking myself, how can I talk to these people if I knew nothing about what they were facing. This thought would play itself out in a couple of years. My girl friend became more than a friend, she became my girlfriend for the next two years. She stayed my friend until her death many years later, but I will talk about her later.

That, summer at age fourteen, my mother looked at me and simply told me as 'the man of the house' I was going to have to help with money. We met a friend of hers at the local golf course who was the groundskeeper. All he asked was that I work hard for him over the summer clearing out trees and brush for a new nine holes he was adding to the course. I was a small boy, even effeminate. Each day I came home with a new set of blisters on my feet from boots that were to wide, my feet are an 'A' width. Blisters on my hands from pulling brush, chopping small trees all day in the heat and humidity. Every night my mom would tend to each of my blisters and tell me it would get better the longer I worked. It was a terribly hard but rewarding summer. The lessons of hard work and persevering longer than my competition took hold in my habitual living routines. That fall, now a Sophomore, my girlfriend and I began to discover relationships as we rode on a hayride together. As I kissed her tenderly she put my hand on her coat where her breasts would have been had it not been for the heavy coat she was wearing. Stranger feelings came over me as I wasn't sure how to begin a relationship with her, my feelings disturbed me and I tried hard to have normal boy girl feelings. During the football season I was growing more interested in girls, but it was all different. I did not see the girls as the guys my age did, I wanted to be around them, quiet but ready to jump into any girl talk. I watched as some of the girls in school slipped around to the side of the building and kissed a boy as he attempted to 'cop a feel'. It was a strange feeling I would get and I would quickly look away. I was an "A' 'B' student always working hard to be closer to the top of the class. I took on Cross Country and Track running the long distances gave me time to reflect. In the spring of my Sophomore, my math teacher would run a few miles after school with me. I felt closer to him than I had ever felt with a man. I was drawn to his gentleness, kind words, encouragement and the way he looked at me.

That summer my mom accepted a new job in Dallas, I was shocked, disappointed and angry. I was having to leave behind all my girl friends and all my hopes for High School academics and sports. I enrolled at Hillcrest High School and was told I had enough credits to graduate as a 'Junior', I was re-energized. I did my very best that Junior year, this was my chance to be free and on track with who I wanted to be. In the spring of that same year, which I had laid low to avoid any trouble in the big city, my School records were re-examined and I lacked World History. OMG, this meant I had to spend one more year in this school I had come to hate immensely. Dazed, confused and even angrier I shuffled through the remainder of the year. I had left everything behind, including the girl inside of me, I thought. The end of my junior year 1970.

In June I turned sixteen and had two fulltime jobs to purchase my first car, a 1971 Ford Pinto right off the showroom floor. $1,800+ interest. I worked one position in new car make ready at a Chevrolet dealership and another at a filling station pumping gas at night, these two jobs made it possible for me to feel independent. I was a boy, no girls in my life, just guys. The crowd I fell into over the summer, admittedly, were not good for me. In my rebellion against my mother who took all my hopes and dreams away alienated me from her authority and I started smoking marijuana with my friends. One day I was working at the filling station, Pete the mechanic, began nicely teaching me how to service cars that needed oil changes and lubrication. The more I learned, the more he wanted to teach me. I didn't want to be a auto mechanic but it was my job and my persevering and hard work attitude began to get me "raises"! My first life lesson was paying off, I was a hardworking 'boy'. It was July and my jobs and friends consumed most of my time, raises at both jobs. Pete was spending more time with me teaching me about the station and how it was run from front to back. At the Chevy dealership I had an additional job given to me, running car exchanges between dealerships for customer purchases. I was very happy it seemed I was doing well in the game of life. My friends and work were all guys and I enjoyed being the center of attention. My feelings were not sexually based although many of them did turn my eye a few times.

I was working my last night of the week at the filling station when Pete asked me if I would like to hang out the next evening, movie and pizza on him. He was nice, my father's age, so I said I would see if it was ok. Instead he said he would call my mom and ask she gave her approval. I was not curious when he told her if the movie was too late then we would stay at his house and go to work with him Sunday morning. I met him at the station after my day at the dealership, he was just finishing up and said we needed to stop at his house and he was going to clean up. When we arrived at his house, he told me to get comfortable and went to the kitchen. When he came back through he handed me a drink, I did not drink, but I asked him what it was. He said just a little whiskey in seven-up as he said he would be out in a few minutes. I was nervous, alone with a drink in a strange house but I took a sip of the drink and then gulped a couple of swallows. I don't remember how long it was, it seemed like a long time, he yelled to me asking if I was doing alright. I was feeling quite giddy and laughed back at him I was good. A short time after that I started feeling woozy and tired, I put the drink on the coffee table and sat back. Lights out, what happened next would set me on the most frightening time of my life.

I hit an emotional moment and decided to post this first entry.

A strong woman emerged from within.

This is the first blog on this new site.

I hope that I can get some real support from my readers.

My blogspot is intended for the edification and support for all those who are searching for the woman inside. We live lives together and separate from our male lives. My blogs will be viewed from my eyes and the impact on my life living transsexual.

Welcome to "A strong woman emerged from within."