Give Me The Strength To Lay It Down

Not entirely sure if this wants to be a serious post. But it might be. We’ll see how it develops. But if it is serious then today’s music choice will be a little incongruous as it totally buoys my soul.

I heard it by accident and for 5 or so minutes, absolutely everything in the world was ok. I love when music does that. And I often forget how easily it can. I should let it do more of that. It’s going to a late resolution for this year.

Have always loved the original Annie Lennox track and was already planning to use it today when social media threw up this surprisingly perfect alternative. I think that might be synchronicity at play. If not, the word escapes me.

Anyway, up till then I was starting to feel a little bit sorry for myself. Between being ill, my less than normal life and still occasionally feeling kicked from the family nest, it just wasn’t a good week. And then life threw this tune up. Instantly reminded of what it was to just dance, mangled amongst your friends, lost in that moment, finally falling out of dingy clubs as dawn rose. And everything else fell to one side for just long enough.

Long enough to persuade myself that life is still pretty good again. This is a pay weekend and an Easter Bank holiday. I have plenty of plans that only await financial solvency to take fervent flight. No matter how shitty a week might be, sometimes you have to roll with it. Then allow yourself to rise again. And I won’t be apologising for Easter related imagery either. Once a Catholic etc. I will wish the very best of weekends to you though. Be that bird that flies.


What Would Your Parents Say?

If you read this blog at all, you’ll perhaps know I’ve been getting increasingly unpleasant transphobic abuse online for the last six months.

And it’s not because the world is awful, it’s just not. This falls squarely at the door of the sad little individual who keeps targeting me. Absolutely dying for my attention, he keeps upping the ante with more and more desperate shock tactics.

So far he’s asked if my father abused me, claimed to be a necrophiliac, equated being Trans with being a child molester and used every single low insult he can to try to make me respond. Never going to happen. He’s not worth the time.

My only response will be to see him prosecuted because that’s the best way to deal with trolls. His latest questions included how my Father would feel about me being Trans. As if I didn’t already know the answer.

That’s simple. Prouder than his parents will be when he is revealed for the awful little coward he is. And that day is coming. He is not remotely anonymous, despite his misplaced confidence. His friends and family will get to see the real him. But he’ll always have my pity. That’s all I have to give him. Not anger, not outrage. I genuinely feel sorry for him. But not for what’s coming his way. He did that himself.


It All Works Out In The End

An apprehensive week, wondering if my contacting my brother would lead to anything. It hasn’t. So far. But it’s only been three days. I am probably a little impatient. Took me two years to find the guts. Should probably allow the same consideration in his case.

In the meantime, nothing was lost by the attempt. An opening salvo has been sent and I’ll just need to sit tight and see what response, if any, I get. I am still optimistic.

I’ve had the best of weekends to take my mind off things though. Started off with babysitting. Children are fairly uncomplicated and take you as you are. And they put things in perspective. It’s difficult to still feel lost when a tiny person is cuddling you or you are learning things about all sorts from an excited child.

Followed up with dinner and a movie night with my favourite favourite. Managed to forget that I had originally pencilled in feeling sorry for myself. And so now I don’t. What on earth do I have to be sorry about?

Regardless of what happens with my brothers, I very much have my own family. And plenty to be happy about. And that’s not a bad place to be.

“It’s not just what you’re born with
It’s what you choose to bear
It’s not how big your share is
But how much you can share
And it’s not the fights you dreamed of
But those you really fought
It’s not what you’ve been given
It’s what you do with what you’ve got”
(Dick Gaughan)


Baby Steps

So, today I posted a card to one of my brothers. A small step towards putting my family back together. A tiny but terrifying start.

And I’m equally as terrified of the answer it might bring. He might agree to meet me or it might be met with silence. I have no idea which scares me most.

But it’s a start. And better than doing nothing at all. Best case scenario is it leads to our first awkward conversation in over two years. Worst case is just that nothing changes. For now. I’ll send a truckload of cards before I give up.

I have to be a little bit hopeful though. I’m not expecting a ticker tape parade or to undo two years overnight but my brother might start to come around. And if he does, it will likely be slowly. Not like I’m going anywhere till he does.

If he is able to meet me halfway? I barely know what to begin to say to him. There’s so much more to be figured out if that happens. But my phone will either ring or it won’t. I’m prepared for both. Particularly if it doesn’t.

I’ll be sad as hell but then I’ll try to remember what I keep telling myself, there is always tomorrow. And it’s not a road to nowhere, just a long road back. First step taken.


Battle Hardened

I’ve sort of travelled a phenomenally long way over the last couple of years. Things that would have destroyed me when I initially started to transition, are nowadays barely enough to get a reaction.

This isn’t my first post about the joys of public attention either. I am comfortably accustomed to downright staring, casually thoughtless comments and, on my best (favourite) days, bona fide leering. Although the last one doesn’t always end well for them.

Taking Wednesday as an example, I successfully made it through most of my day trying my best to blend in. It went about as well as my average day and my confidence was relatively undiminished.

So Wednesday was going pretty well truthfully. In general, people now fail to notice my apparent “Trans”ness at first glance or when moving past. Very occasionally, I do get noticed and spectacularly “outed”. As if I did not know. It’s not a secret.

Something I have only just learned to deal with though, but which women will know all too well, is the pack mentality of boys in their precious vehicles. It’s apparently still acceptable to offer sexual contact to strangers loudly from your car as you honk your horn unnecessarily.

I’d love to know how my would be suitor felt the moment his friends clocked me more closely before loudly commenting “TRANNY!” and erupting in peals of laughter at their friend’s devastating faux pas. There was admirable attention to detail in their observation skills in this case.

I perversely enjoy this sort of confrontation though. Far from establishing any kind of Alpha Male status, he called his own preferences into question. And he will have cause to recall me every time his friends bring up the awkward “remember that time you tried to fire into a tranny” story. Maybe he’ll think twice before he calls out of a moving vehicle next time. Revenge enough really. As for his friends? They will have their own comeuppance. I imagine they have feelings too. Just waiting to be trampled upon.

In his defence, I’m fairly slim, have “girl” hair and they were breaking the speed limit, as well as public decency. He didn’t have time to really take me in properly. Time was that this moment of unwanted scrutiny would have destroyed my day but Wednesday saw a significantly stronger version of me. I am able to stroll on, laughing with my head held up and reasonably impervious to any intended slight. He was totally right to catcall though. I am awesome and still the best transsexual in my street 😉


Time To Bite The Bullet

I unexpectedly met one of my brothers a week or so ago. We didn’t speak at all. It was a ludicrously painful situation that I could never adequately describe to you.

Separated by two feet, it may as well have been two thousand miles. Probably only a thirty second encounter in the lobby of a local bank but it felt like forever. And although I was with someone, it was a moment I felt truly alone.

Not that I am ever alone at all but it’s easy enough to come over all melodramatic when you are literally blanked by your own brother. I’d be lying through my teeth if I said I was OK. That hurts. A fair bit if I’m totally honest. And I’m a more emotional being than I often admit.

But this isn’t going to be a sad little post. If anything it was a truly galvanising moment. I allowed it to happen as much as he did and now I know exactly what to do next.

Which is just contact him. It’s entirely within my power and I have nothing to lose. We can’t speak less than we currently do and I choose to believe that like me, he maybe had no clue where to start the conversation.

But now I finally do. It starts with “Sorry”. Not for being Transgender but for handling telling him so badly and hurting him deeply in the process. I can’t take that back and it kills me. And right now, he has no idea how much.

I’ve decided a letter is the best choice. It may lead to nothing but I’ll know that I tried. And he’ll hopefully know that I care whether he responds or not. That seems a safe enough risk to me. Too long has passed already.

Regardless of whether it works out, I will always love both my brothers. I’m not willing to do nothing any longer though. I am hopeful. And scared. If not terrified. But there is a phrase which is starting to feel like a personal mantra to me. There is always tomorrow. One day will be that tomorrow for us.