The least successful part of my transition so far has been Speech Therapy. But that’s more to do with my resistance than any failure on the part of the NHS. Both of my Speech Therapists were lovely and gave me the tools I require to successfully feminise my voice. I’m just inherently lazy when it comes to practicing. And a little bit scared. At the start of this I promised people they wouldn’t lose Chris. My voice is practically all that remains though. And that’s a hurdle I’ll have to get over. At least once a week I have a telephone conversation on the phone where I have to reveal my Trans status. It usually goes like this:-
Random Government Lackey: “Can I take your name?”
Random Government Lackey: “Ok Chris, how can I help you?”
Me: “If you don’t mind, it’s Chrissy, not Chris”
Random Government Lackey: “Oh sorry, What’s it short for?”
Me: “It’s short for Chrissy, that’s my name”
Small potatoes, you might think. But if it’s the fifth time in an hour then it gets a little grating. And it is pretty constant over the phone. Hourly and daily. But it’s entirely down to me to change this. It’s also entirely possible that I can. This confusion isn’t without benefits I suppose. You will never find anyone so helpful to you as when you’ve just revealed your status after they’ve called you Sir for 5 minutes. Over the sound of furious back pedalling and data protection concerns being mentally shredded, you usually have a new best friend. At least until you put the phone down. I’ll miss that level of co-operation if I do sort my voice out. It gives me an unexpected bargaining tool, something I willingly take advantage of when I can. But it has to stop sometime. Smart money would probably not bet on this month though.