In fact it was never about eroticism but I allowed its mere presence to justify killing my natural instincts towards the feminine and I allowed the guilt and shame of a teen boy’s inadvertent orgasms to stifle everything. Suppression came at a high price however.
With a clearer vision about my past I can see why it was always about emulating my mother and wanted to dress in her clothes. I wanted to be like her from earliest memory and to this day favour the shoes and earrings that I remember her wearing when I was a child.
Over the last five years, I have been adopting a female identity which feels comfortable and right. This is why I think have been confused about the idea of whether I am or am not a transsexual. I feel that at my core part of my true identity is female and that my suppression of this part of myself has been so deeply rooted that I had been denying any connection to it.
Living as a part time woman has given me insights that I never dreamed I would experience while also relieving the tension that I lived with when I was suppressing all. During those years, the tension was at times almost too much to bear.
So I have asked myself recently in the quiet hours of the evening: “God why give me this desire to be female but not give me a female body to begin with? am I then wrong to desire something which my spirit seems to want and appears natural to me?”
Keeping things slow and deliberate has been the correct way to go. This way I feel that I won’t be swept up in a wave of emotion which could lead to disastrous circumstances. Transition of any sort will be used as an absolute last resort when I feel I am in a situation of sheer mental impairment. I have read too many regret stories and they are gut wrenching to say the least.
My saving grace has been my ability to pass. In building relationships with other women I have been able to express my femininity in a way that makes me happy and tames the appetite for any hormonal or surgical intervention. Thank God for my feminine features.
Last night I came home and got dressed. I went to a local cafe where Christine (the barista) knows me as a woman. A young lady who used to also work there entered and before long the three of us were nicely chatting. It felt inclusive and it felt right. I was being addressed in the right pronouns of “she” and “her” and it felt wonderful. I was once again privileged to be a woman if, once again, only for a few hours.
That will have to be good enough for the rest of my days and I think I can live with that.