Eye Hate You So Much Right Now

I’ve decided I should include a very real transsexual, possibly just female, problem here. Eye makeup, my laughing nemesis.

While I was still in a sort of tranny/drag stage of development I loved having dramatic eyes. And by that I mean LOVED. And when I first went full-time I always wore mascara and at least eyeshadow. Then I realised I was abominable at both. So I just stopped. Defeated, as it were.

And it partly turned out to be a small blessing as I attracted less attention and kind of started to blend in to the average crowd. That helped me grow.

But damn it, I love eye makeup and I want to get good at it. I am not without skills you know. I can deal with any kind of crisis. Any kind. And there isn’t a complicated form I cannot master and I write the most sarcastic but entirely accurate complaint letters you could ever imagine. These are areas where I can influence my life and others if required of me.

But just simple but effective eyeliner eludes me. Never mind a smokey eye. And it’s just not fair. God but I’ve tried. I remain abominable at it. I’ve sat for hours armed with pots, pencils and YouTube videos and the results are always the same. I dare not answer the door in case it’s the zoo come to take me to mate with Ling Ling the panda.

But I’m a determined sort of gal. 2016 is the year I conquer this. In private obviously. Nobody else needs to see that sort of shit. Especially those zoo folk.


A Bit Of A State (Of Mind)

Every now and then I get asked about my transition. I’m pretty much always happy to answer, within reason, as I think it’s important to be open about it in order for people to understand.

The questions and comments mostly follow familiar threads. But for me at least, being Trans is not an ordeal. I wasn’t ever living a tortured life, merely a different one. I’m not brave either, just finally honest with myself, and I didn’t know for definite until I was well into my Thirties. That I suspected earlier I will concede.

But I think most people would probably be surprised to know that being Trans is the most positive thing that has ever happened in my life. I couldn’t put a price on what it has given me. It’s immeasurable.

It’s between confidence and contentment, self esteem and self knowledge and also the difference between wondering “What if?” and seeing my well-being soar.

On the one hand, it wasn’t without loss but on the other, I’m stronger for it and the emotional independence it has brought will see me through just about anything. I hope.

I’m not convinced I was ever that strong before. Difficult to say. But what I think I am now is healthy, happy and relatively sorted. That’s a great place to (mostly) be. And without transition I’m not sure my rosy outlook would be the same as it is. It’s just another thing to be thankful for really.

I totally understand the very normal questions I am asked though. I’d go as far as to say I welcome them. But I don’t know if I can ever really explain what it’s like to be Trans to anyone who isn’t. But I try. I will concede another thing that was put to me this week though. It does take balls. Ironically enough.



So far much of my transition has just been about purely cosmetic change. I’m about ready to start moving beyond that.

And this is where I think things might get difficult. Not for me. But the people I care about. As far as possible so far I have tried to keep things as similar as possible so that although the packaging was different, I was essentially the same.

My second referral to speech therapy is about to roll around and I’m still a little worried it will feel like killing off Chris. I resisted this for as long as I could but I can’t feasibly launch a new life without making a serious effort to make my voice match the rest of me.

I’m never really sure how I feel about it. Whatever sense of identity I have, I’m sure my voice plays a part in it. And I’ve hoped it was comforting that I hadn’t changed that much really. To the people that matter most.

But there are only so many times I can explain my Transgender status over the phone to strangers. And I’m feeling done with that. It’s pretty much the only real fly in the ointment so far. I’ve even mostly grown beyond public scrutiny these days. Face to face, the world generally takes me as I am.

But I’m fed up having to correct Chris to Chrissy and Sir to Miss. And the only thing I can do is hone my lady voice. Which will be weird and tricky for folk, including me. But constructive criticism will always be welcome. As long as you don’t mind a friendly punch in the face. Told you hadn’t changed that much.


Always The Son

Last time around I mentioned pro’s, con’s and consequence. Ever single person in my life has has to deal with the consequences of my decision to transition. None more so than my Mother.

At a time approaching her Golden Years she should be able to enjoy the family she raised. And because of me, she instead has to endure an entirely fractured family unit. I regret that every day, although I did not issue the fatwah that made it a reality. That lies elsewhere.

But she has constantly amazed me with her strength. She is the best support I or my absent brothers could ever have asked for. And although I know it cuts her to the quick, she bears our broken family stoically and has never complained. Much 😉

I couldn’t have managed my first two years as a female without her. And I don’t think she even knows how much I have depended on her. Her acceptance made the loss of my brothers bearable and she will still be the thing that ultimately brings us all together. I just hope not too late for all of us.

But this is going to be a positive post despite myself. I owe a huge thanks to my Mum, everyone still with me, my put upon colleagues who wrangle my moods and anyone who had to explain to their children why Uncle Chris is Auntie Chrissy. If I’ve never told you, I appreciate it very much and love you all for it. I just never anticipated how the ripples of my decision would lap around your feet. Sorry, my bad 😉


Sat Nav

Nearing the end of my facial hair removal and only at the start of my pre-surgery treatment but finally beginning to get a real sense that my journey is moving forward with some certainty about where I’m headed. My transition to date has been hugely confidence building though, if only a little slow to happen. But you can trust me that there is no social situation you will ever be unprepared to cope with after IPL on your special place as a result. This is an immutable truth.

I’m looking at around another 18 months of hair removal before I’m anywhere near being cleared for surgery though. Seems like an eternity when the temptation is to “floor it” and head for the finish line. But maybe all that extra time is a good thing.

It allows me more than enough time to think. Pro’s, con’s and importantly consequence all figure in my thoughts. My resolve can vary wildly in any 24 hours. Not that I ever find myself thinking I’m not doing it. Just that I’d be lying if I said I had never been scared in faltering moments. Of course I’m scared, I’m not an idiot. It is indisputably the biggest change I will ever make.

Trepidation is not a bad thing though. It means I’m thinking all of it through. Thoroughly. I’m forever haunted by my last ever conversation with my brother, “You’ll regret it.” rings in my ears. Regret being myself? I just don’t believe that could ever be true. As difficult as his words are to shake.

So moving forward I defiantly am. And given just how fast the last two years have been, I’ll be roaring up to meet the surgeon before I know it and then it’ll be full speed ahead. Except it probably won’t. It’ll be at least another six months after that. Between meeting the surgeon, getting funding and getting an operation scheduled, I will always be a passenger in this process. That’s ok though, happy to make a few pitstops along the way.


You Don’t Know How To Ease My Pain

Woke up feeling particularly brave this morning. So much so that I travelled to my penultimate facial hair removal appointment without makeup.

That might not seem like a big deal but it’s huge to me. It’s a significant leap forward in confidence. Even more satisfying than the day I boxed up my NHS wig.

Still hurts like a bitch though. I won’t be sorry when my treatment is finished. Still, it’s been worthwhile. My naked face attracted no more attention than normal. That has to be progress.

Of course, I immediately put on makeup so I could face the world as soon as we were done. I said I was feeling brave, just not THAT brave.


Ticket To Ride

I’ve recently taken to wearing small block heels. For no other reason that it manages to make me feel about 0.5% more feminine on an average day.

But it’s not without it’s problems. I’m about 5’8″ or 5’9″ if I stop slouching long enough. Add in a 3 inch heel and I am suddenly an Amazonian 6ft. It’s a tiny confidence boost that I’m just immediately grateful for.

But whatever is given to you on the one hand, is cruelly taken away on the other. My new nemesis is public transport. It’s just not built for 6ft ladies, or 6ft humans in general.

I can only experience the world as it applies to me but I now have an appreciation of the difficulties faced by the tall. I can no longer necessarily stand up on buses.

Particularly on the top deck. Who designs these things? If my generally tiny frame is scraping my head off the ceiling then how the hell are genuinely tall ladies or gents supposed to manage? It doesn’t seem fair.

Although this is about as first world problem as it gets, I’m astounded I never noticed before. And now I feel the pain of those blessed with natural height. It’s decidedly rubbish.

That’s about as much of a rant as I have in me this week. Everything else is actually pretty good. Visited Dundee this week to do a workshop with some amazingly switched on students. And the Scottish government committed to recognising non-binary genders and allowing self determination of one’s gender identity. Really couldn’t ask for a better week despite tiny ceilinged public transport. Hope your week was even half as good.