Intetestingly, the more comfortable I am in my skin as Joanna, the more the idea of transition appeals to me. But of course that would require a full transformation because when I come home I don't change back anymore. I want to just slip into comfortable jeans and a t shirt but I'll still be Joanna and that would necessarily involve having a female body.
As I age I am also less interested in intercourse. My sexual driver in bed with a woman is seeing myself as a woman and in this way I am cagegorized as autogynephilic by Blanchard. I am increasingly less caring about having a relationship and more and more about being internally at peace.
So even as I am now happier than I have ever been and will concentrate on remaining so, something is still unresolved. The drive towards something more is there even as I desperately apply the breaks. The timing is terrible right now and I will do nothing.
My sense is that in the future I might.
I am not tied to my body - its just a vessel. But this vessel I inhabit is cross wired and there's something wrong. Like a car that needs a tune up in order to operate properly. The mental peace that I require is tied to this body somehow. My guts tell me living as a woman is a stop gap measure because I have been advancing so rapidly over the last 5 years.
Some early transitioners like AQV shake their head and tell me I have other issues but I beg to differ and less advanced disphorics like Marian want to strike a balance between having a relationship with a normal woman who, if she does not celebrate occasinal crossdressing outings, at least tolerates them. You have both challenged me in different ways but neither of you intrinsically understands where I am since we are all in the end individuals.
I seem to have crossed a threshhold and as I still bask in the radiance of having eradicated my shame and guilt, I still look at other women with envy and think:"I want to BE you". How long I can keep that at bay remains to be seen.
I remember sitting in that neighbourhood cafe as an 11 year old and hearing the comment addresed to my mother:" is this your daughter?" feigning indignation, I secretly beamed with internal satisfaction.