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tenacious

It is only after your eyes are fully open that everything becomes plainly obvious. Before that, what should be clear clues become muddled with excuses as to why things couldn't be the way they seemed. You refuse to see what is staring you in the face; proving how tenacious the power of human denial can be.

My entire history of dysphoric feeling was whitewashed by a concious mind which refused to entertain reality and my pressure release valve episodes of childhood crossdressing attributed to folly. Now I look back and realize how crisp and clear it all was from a vantage point of self knowledge.

The human mind is capable of great subterfuge and we can talk ourselves in and out of things if we want it badly enough. The fact that I wasn't supposed to fail in my mission was enough to convince me that being in any way close to a transsexual wasn't a part of it. Today I have learned to trust my feelings and don't disregard my intuition any longer; getting rid of my sacred cows was a pivotal part of that achievement.

It didn't help that all I had back then was an encyclopedia to guide me with barely enough information to begin to wet my curiosity.


Comments

  1. Yes, right into my middle ages I could only attribute my deepest feelings to a terrible failing; knowing I was flawed at the deepest level of my being.

    You understand the relief to find I was wrong and more; not alone, but instead, in very good company.

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  2. I am quite grateful that the Internet was available when l transitioned. It was a novelty, but a life-saving one in terms of finding people and information.

    If I may, though, I'd like to add a personal story that transgresses the typical narrative: My sense of being trans, feeling female inside from my earliest memories, SAVED MY LIFE Seriously, when people ask if my life would have been better had I been born reproductively female, I honestly answer no.

    Even with the dysphoria, my being trans countered other abuse in my life. Namely, I was raised by a mother with what would now easily be pegged by the psychological community as a Cluster-B personality disorder. I won't belabor the details, but suffice it to say that most children of such parents have tremendous difficulties identifying their own selves, feelings, emotional boundaries, etc. But I had something in my subjective landscape that was *mine*: my gender. It was the 1970's. I knew better than to reveal how l felt. I dreaded the repercussions that could have befallen me. But, my gender was *mine*. It couldn't be taken from me no matter how much of "me" was constantly, abusively undermined by a parent to whom I only existed as an extension of herself, not an independent being.

    That my sense of self in terms of gender never changed as I grew, it became how I knew I was my own person. It *helped* me survive and escape the abuse that might otherwise have been for more detrimental to my psyche and ability to function as an adult.

    I realize that's not the typical experience. It's mine. I'm just sharing it. FWIW

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