I’m Invisible

Over the last month I’ve been asked several times what I mean by the term “passing”. It’s a great question. I’ll get to it in a minute. But first, we’re going off-road for a small rant. If I read one more piece about Caitlyn Jenner or anybody else suddenly living their life as their “authentic” self, I will scream until my lungs explode outwards. It’s a nonsense. My sense of self may have changed somewhat but I was always living as myself. And generally happily. But whatever self I showed to the world, it was still me. Full stop. Or period, if you are American. It reflected my identity at the time. Authentically, ironically enough. Anyway, this was supposed to be about passing. Largely this refers to how well you are perceived in public in your desired gender. At the start I was extremely concerned about this. And unaware that the one thing holding me back was caring that much. Worrying about being “read”, i.e. acknowledged as a male, was a little crippling to be honest. And I don’t really know how I stopped. I just did. And then my environment caught up to me. Glasgow has a fearsome reputation. Some of which is entirely deserved, some of which is down to showmanship and the most useful accent in the world. But I really knew I was getting somewhere when somewhat menancing males started holding doors open for me with a cheery “Awright hen”. If you’re not Scottish that may need explanation.

hen¬†– term of endearment for a woman, equivalent to ‘love’ or ‘darling’ (“How ye dain the day, hen?”)

In a nutshell, hearing just that word told me I was doing fine. Doesn’t mean you’re attractive, doesn’t mean you’re ugly. But it does tell you that you are accepted. For what you are. And that’s what it means to pass.

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I Can’t Tell You The Way I Feel

Yesterday was one of those days when it was difficult not to feel loss. Father’s Day naturally led me to thinking of my own Dad. Gone almost 18 years but as large as life in my memory still. And from there it was unavoidable to think of the other family that I have “lost” for the time being. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t sitting at home wallowing in misery. That’s generally a Wednesday moment. If at all. I hugely enjoyed seeing people posting happy statuses on social media.  I’d have been doing the same in a heartbeat. But I did wonder whether I’d be estranged from my brothers had he lived. I just don’t think he’d have stood for it. My Dad was definitely far from perfect but he was amazingly open minded and forgiving too. And it did me no harm to recall that yesterday. It probably made my week to be honest. Because of my Dad, I will never forget that I do have brothers. I am going to talk to them again. Probably not tomorrow, that’s a given. But I’m more determined than ever to fix what I did wrong. He’d expect at least that much.

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Sheet Thin

Well there you go. I don’t blog for days on end and now a flurry of activity. Frankly sometimes I just have fuck all I want to say. And then something grabs me. This time it’s a Twitter outburst about something celebrity gay John Barrowman originally posted last August. Someone on Twitter got awfully bent out of shape about his use of the word “Tranny” at the start of the week. 10 months after the fact. There then followed a series of “outraged” comments on Facebook and Twitter from the so called Trans community. I may have missed the AGM but they don’t speak for me. I am happily a tranny, a He-She, a Tgirl, even my own blog reveals me as a Shemale. How dare anybody tell me what to think. I am fiercely proud of my progress as a Transwoman. Nobody gets to tell me how I define myself. John Barrowman is certainly not a Trans enemy and, in context, I completely understand his use of the word. It was literally months ago (yawn!). I live my life very publically. I can educate one person at a time. Does freaking out every time I hear a male or incorrect pronoun serve this? Simply no. As I have stated before, “Softly, softly, catchee monkey”. If you get upset every time you hear an expression that does’nt define you personally, get over it. In fact, grow a pair x

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Inscrutable

Awake at an ungodly hour, as sleep seems unlikely I may as well update this page. I’m pretty accustomed to the occasional stare and even double take from members of the public. It’s fine. I consider it amusing mostly. It gives me the chance to mess with people for my own twisted satisfaction. Like today, well yesterday now, minding my own business while walking down the street with a friend. A Mother and Daughter were walking towards us. At about 2 feet away Mother turns to Daughter and says “Is that a M…”. She never got to finish that sentence because, unfortunately for her, she caught my direct line of sight. In a single gaze I was able to communicate that A) Yes, it was, B) The sky would not fall on their heads and C) She should be ashamed of teaching her daughter to openly comment on passing strangers. Well, that’s what I was trying to say with my eyes. She may have interpreted it as “Shut the fuck up or I’ll slap you into next week”. I did smile, just to reassure her that I wasn’t one of those dangerous sort of transsexuals. Anyway, she had the decency to look embarrassed and slink off without further comment. I’d like to think I employ a reasonable amount of good grace in these situations. There is a choice in that. I prefer to think that maybe she’ll reflect on that moment. She certainly felt regret. Maybe just at being caught out, maybe at not really intending to offend me. On the plus side, she didn’t. I must have passed a thousand or more people in the course of the day. Only one of which felt the need for further scrutiny and comment within earshot. That’s a 0.001% instance of people being a dick ratio for the whole day. I’ll happily take those odds.

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But I Don’t, Feel Afraid

Right now is probably the most positive my life has ever felt. Neatly surfing a line between male and female but it feels good. I am no longer concerned about future surgery or where I fit. I’m just getting on with it and actually fairly happy. Whatever I eventually decide doesn’t matter right now. Life is good, people are generally brilliant and I have much to be thankful for. Those who actually know me might be thinking “Fuck, She’s been abducted into a positivity cult” but the truth is I am doing ok. I have great friends, a job I genuinely¬† love and mostly find myself accepted in my community and beyond. There is much to be happy about. Are there problems? Fuck yeah! Do you have none? But taking the rough with the smooth seems to work. Either way, I’m relatively sorted, not unhappy and full of future promise. Not a bad way to be heading into the weekend. Namaste!

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Lucky, Lucky Thing

Yet again I’ve proven to be a lazy blogger but I’m my own boss here and I’m happy I took some time off. You won’t have been stuck for transsexuals anyway. Laverne Cox, Caitlyn Jenner and, here in the UK, Kellie Maloney are ubiquitous enough that I need hardly bother turning up. Of the three women I mention, Laverne Cox is at least a Trans advocate and someone I respect. All of which, however, have a level of finance and attainability that eludes us garden variety transsexuals. But the thing that has struck me most with recent media hyperbole about a potential “transgender tipping point” is how virtually all of these role models succumb to now being defined by what or “who” they are wearing and flashing their tata’s in glossy yet tasteful photoshoots. Previously they were being defined by their own achievements. It just seems wrong that this is the message we’d want to send to young transfolk. But it’s been happening to women for years. And that’s what I’m aiming for so maybe I should get on board. I’d ideally like to be remembered for smashing an unfair law (any one will do) or being involved wholeheartedly in a campaign that meant something even if it failed. And if I had to do media in the process? Who would I be wearing? Galliano dahlinks! And don’t shoot me from the right.

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