legionardo

Went to a spa with dear people who took me there and escorted me. As it so happens, the date commemorates also my first year of HRT. I anticipated it long as a learning experience, and travelled from Babylon to the old WW2 border to have it. I’m writing and it is late, so I will end up being concise rather than poetic, for much happened throughout eight hours.

First point of relevance, I suppose, I was very very nervous. Some was being hungover from wine the night before, but much was fear of the intense Bathroom Situation I was seeking out. But I could not feel that fear emotionally. I noted as we waited to get in that I had all the physical manifestations of fear and anxiety but not the affect. So this is apparently a thing, I can be afraid and nervous and I’ll somehow have to look to my body for evidence that this actually is what I feel? Clearly I’m nowhere near in touch with my full emotions yet, but this got me closer.

I passed as cis to the lady at the counter despite her hearing my voice, because she gave me a locker in the women’s section instead of the mixed section. Changing there was scary as fuck, and precisely what I had worried about, though having my ex with me helped. I wore tuck and bikini already upon arrival to not cause any issues, still felt very afraid of being called out. Once we were in the actual spa, it was easier.

First few hours we did swimming pools mostly, in the clothed area (bottoms/bikinis expected); this was a new though mild experience to me. My makeup handled the water well and as hoped for, tucking beneath bottoms looked OK. Still took time to calm down, generally, and thinking of how I share this struggle with loved ones helped me feel resolution and pride such that I stood up taller and explored as I wanted.

Then massage – it was good, I am sad my breasts were not massaged, I am bashful it made me a little wet, and it did help me recognize the position of my body in space as well as to feel relaxed in a deeper sense. I must seek out more of it.

After massage the most important part for me, spending time in the nude section, pools and saunas. It turned out to be as complex a navigation as I had expected. Since everyone is naked, I wasn’t worried about negative reactions (though as per the below, got some!), and I had the choice of either hiding (obvious, cumbersome) or just moving naked. When moving between pools and showers and saunas, I sometimes did the latter, though mostly wrapped a towel around me like I see girls do. This felt safely subversive; not bending over backward to hide my current self.

At the same time, whenever I sat down in water or on benches, I closed my legs in impromptu tucks. I’ve some hair showing now that I don’t epilate during electrolysis, the placement of bush from that angle got me a little euphoric, I could see for the first time what my post-op body might look like. All in all, my pre-op state felt like a wound that I didn’t have to either flaunt or hide, not be hindered by but also minimizing to myself wherever I could. I took joy in being naked not in my pre-op state, but despite my pre-op state. It wasn’t perfect but there and then that worked. I felt like I was present as openly pre-op, and exactly that.

No idea how people see me. Some more disapproving looks from men, some more smiles from women. My makeup looked great despite it all. I was sad to note boys with gynecomastia still having larger breasts than I (though also cis women with even smaller). I felt I came across as woman clearly enough that I wasn’t very dysphoric, just jealous at the effortless presence in estrogen-built bodies that cis women get. When naked, I wonder how many people parsed me as trans woman versus cis man, if they knew the difference? I wanted to be seen, wanted the ways in which I now at least will make it no longer obvious, to be seen, and that was why I craved and enjoyed this occasion so.

At least one person clearly did see me as a trans womwn, because he followed me into the empty herbal sauna, sat down next to me and started talking (major faux pas): “You speak French? (Not really.) You speak Spanish? (Not really.) You are very beautiful! (Silence.)” A minute or so followed after which I concluded I could not relax there with him and I left seeking refuge with my friends, telling them. I felt validated in the sense of, I feel like a “real woman” by actually feeling unsafe from this, doubly problematic validation, but also not certain, maybe I overreacted? Kept trying not to meet the eyes of Creepy Man as he cruised around the nude area. Some other fetishizing looks, too.

I wanted a little more hot sauna before leaving so asked my ex:s husband to come with me, he was as always a true gentleman and I deeply enjoyed having him with me. As we sat alone in the hot rock sauna, the precaution turned out to have been correct – Creepy Man entered and said to my companion: “You speak French? Spanish? Your pansexual (sic) is very beautiful!” My companion took objection and asked him to leave which I did.

So yet more problematic validation – creepy stalker men not taking my no, but waiting for my perceived boyfriend (and trying to solicit me through my perceived boyfriend/pimp?) to protest. Feeling uncertain if I just imagined things but actually not. Still chaser stalking rather than just man stalking, and that highlights something else – he saw I was not a cis man (as I have no body hair, some hips, breasts, sit like a woman, makeup, some femininity in face) but a trans woman, a second-rate woman, a woman he can get at a reduced price, where he doesn’t need to be roundabout but can just approached because of course poor little me will be fucking desperate for him.

Screw that.

And mixed, mixed feelings over not feeling safe in spaces because of stalker men. Validating but objectively limiting. I am thankful for my friends and allies, trans and cis.

Leaving was again scary as I needed to shower and change in separated facilities, so as to hide. It went OK but I remain afraid of bathroom panic in that context. Still, will seek this sort of experience out again.

I think all in all my predictions matched up. I can gain body positivity and better alignment through spending time in mixed-sex, enforced-nudity spaces. And I want SRS sooner rather than later, all the same.

I now have everything in place to book it, referral letters were accepted.

process process

CW harassment.

Things were good yesterday, having dinner with a few friends then going out clubbing, despite some of us facing various sadnesses from other directions and along the path. Maybe this blog will eventually become some sort of mini reverse pervocracy, starting out talking transition stuff, then when that’s mostly in hand, just describing my day to day kink and decadence? Long story short, got to know a friend better than before during evening, realizing I am attracted and would like to be closer. Going out that evening, I therefore had hopes of something happening between us. Usually when I fancy someone I have difficulties because anything I can read as disinterest will make me pessimistic and withdraw emotionally, so I take no risks and ask for nothing; more importantly, the emotional withdrawal makes me less present in the situation, having less fun, being less available. It is mostly here that alcohol helps.

This night I somehow realized I could try to consciously ignore that mechanism, and I realized on the dancefloor that this is what the Maiden is about. She is naïve and happy enough that she does not interpret everything as rejections, so she remains happy and daring and sometimes she is lucky. I made myself present in my body as Maiden, and whenever I felt the alienation feeling of “I don’t grasp the codes” // “she is not interested” // “I am being embarrassing and stupid by doing/not doing this”, I felt her making a horizontal cut between the thought layers, like a lobotomy, not letting logic flow from the worry into inaction. Removing the cause but not the symptom; Frank too certainly was a Maiden. I just kept dancing, and when I felt there was chemistry, I gently expressed my interest, and learned some of the communication as it happened. I don’t think I’ve been this brave before like this.

I did get to know my friend better, and to sleep (though not very deeply) next to her, and to marvel at how she responds to touch, I’ve seen that sort of reactivity before and am jealous of it, hoping perhaps that I might gain it if I add progesterone to my regime. Will there end up a context where I’ve known most of my friendship circle(s) intimately at one point or another? Who knows. But looking back, that always was how I envisioned my life would be like, it’s part of my view on what is wholesome. Heh.

On the way back from the club, my friend and I walked arm in arm and a guy followed us muttering lewd suggestions about “pussy” and “fucking”. He walked very close and it was the first time someone groped my ass, I realized after a while. All in all quite scary, and I was so happy to be there with a girl whispering to me she could take him out with her keys if she had to. He followed all the way to the subway, and I used the minimizing/ignoring/defuse by asking nonsense questions, noncommittal comments, soft distancing, just as I am sure women do every day with this. Still, I was especially afraid since I could not tell how he read us. Did he parse us as cis lesbians or just cis friends? Or did he clock us and saw as us some sort of down-low gay entertainment? The fear of homo-/transphobic violence was there and I could not say whether it was already upon us or not. Basically I feared he might stab us, or that we would have to fight. My companion said it would have been much worse had be not read us as cis, she interpreted us as passing to him throughout. And she fundamentally does pass as cis, so maybe so – this would be a silver lining, beyond just another experience shared with sisters everywhere.

Confessed one crush, will see how that goes. Realizing another old friendship (and maybe two more or so) with smart boys may have been sort of crushes too. In one of those cases, not so sure I will never follow up on it. Hmmm.

strike

Third time so far I was explicitly harassed by people in broad daylight where it can be cleanly attributed to transphobia rather than anything else. On a large public square, two teenagers with pig-like features prodded my attention to take headphones off, then spoke to me in the local language. I responded twice in English that I don’t understand, then went away. Could understand enough, something about mother and father, something about trannies. I felt unsafe, even with other people around, and that lack of safety in a physical sense angers and saddens me. And of course, I am mostly sad and bitter that random strangers clock me as trans.

I didn’t set out expecting to “pass“ as cis and still do not. Yet I want to. I’ll note that less than 8 months HRT is only partial puberty. No-one can tell where this goes but of course I have hopes. More to the point, I have a will to act. I’ll get as far as I can.

Later an old woman smiled some at me. That made me feel a little better.

vortices

Extremely intensive days. I have loved ones near and feel bonds deepen even further. I know myself loved and am deeply safe and happy therein.

Emotional turbulence in some form really is a thing. It seems very clear that HRT mid-term like this makes me cry easier. I love that it does. I now cry from safety, from being moved, from empathy. I can stop it but don’t usually want to. I cry tears without knowing why or knowing why I am sad, and I can’t but suspect that it is related to wherever my missing emotions actually went (assuming they really do exist, and that my relatively neutral state is not human default). Excited.

Beyond support and safety – marching for LGBTQ++ pride was great, though hot and I am glad we did not do the entire route – I also note people looking, and at one point we were directly and clearly harassed by a fervent man speaking transphobic slurs in Russian. I was very glad to have my partner with me. These and other moments make me sometimes feel a dark and somber fear that I always will be read as male, no matter what my efforts. I suppose this highlights that I want to be able to “pass“ even if I downplay the value of that because the concept has some toxicity.

How much will I have to change to get there? How much can a few more years of HRT do? On patches now. How much more can dieting and posture training and voice training do? In the worst case, how much could facial surgeries do? I fear there are angles from which I look extremely masculine, and ways in which my frame does, especially from back. I will do my best, and I will not lose track of all else that matters more all the same. I am loved and I am blessed. Still these things suck. I knew what I was getting into, though, I never assumed I would become able to blend. But the fact of so much going so well so far has made me hope. I will carry two opposing factors in my mind at once and proceed as I must.

Be strong and be kind.

turns

Last few day have been intense work-wise. At the same time, other experiences along the way.

One being the background awfulness of (not all) men; dirty looks, some more catcalls, the drunk who drove me from where I sat working (if you are in Babylon late at night and see a girl intently hacking a way at a laptop in some awkward public space, this is me), the disgusting regular-guy-with-a-bicycle who was masturbating in broad daylight next to the park and playgrounds, well aware people could see him. I am getting more careful, somehow, more conscious of possible threats.

Learning better posture, slowly. Currently ignoring voice shortcomings. Feeling too heavy but still continuously feeling I actually look good, and happy in that, more than I would have thought.

Meeting professional connections. Thus far literally everyone has accepted my transition without question or comment. This is weird, but I gratefully receive it.

Still boycotting misgendering-habitually-Douglas the cosmetics chain. But gaining a better view still of Q&A that actually now had lots of dresses at low cost that fit my changing body. I got another five, three of which have floral patterns. Who would have thought?

Thinking more on my chosen name and realizing that there are trans angles on the literary character who was one of the sources (Sophie, of Wynne Jones’s Castle books). She becomes cursed with a body she never chose, with the context to go with it. She then does what she needs to fix it, her own brand of magic and wit and humbleness and weary smiling cynicism as she copes and works. I was always thinking of that experience, somehow, of accepting reality as it is and then going forward from there. Did not realize how indeed she too was stuck in a body unchosen and unwanted, and seen by others as someone she wasn’t. Perhaps it contributed to the affinity, however?

dirt

Went out late, got dressed late. Ultimately did not put on foundation, may look OK anyway. Longing for that time when no stubble remains.

On way home, saw two men parking car. When inside my courtyard, opening the house door, two men came in after me, looked around, then went out again. It could have been the same ones or others. They may have been looking for whatever and not found it.

They might also have followed me and then when they saw the yard was not dark and I already at my door they went back again. But if so – and it bothers me that I do not know – then they would have been targeting me. Presumably thinking I was cis (in heels and a skimpy dress, carrying a big grocery bag) and wanting to do something to me that I don’t want to think about.

Intermingling confusion, uncertainty, the most messed up kind of validation, and fear. And feminist vindication, whether this was an actual unsafe situation or not. Mostly fear and anger either way. Rite of passage of womanhood, I suppose, and probably not the last time in any way…

All fine now, you need not worry. I will perform a burst of analysis, then cook food and watch cartoons.

kat

Did go out, though this was essentially a 2h trip to the Hip Club, concluding line was too long for the interaction between temperature and clothing, and heading home. Five people tried to sell me drugs. More relevant, along the way I was catcalled and propositioned for the first time in meatspace, as well as trailed by some creepy scammer guy. It was validating for me and it is messed up that it was. The evening well worth it from more experience in navigating public spaces when occasionally blending as a woman.

Relevant here: I never felt safe with strange men (expecting them to bash me for being GNC), but it is different now because some of them actually might see me as a target. It feels less safe to walk alone, I watch out more and I recognize that if going home too drunk and alone, something really might happen. I won’t refrain from enjoying my Babylon, and as a feminist I knew on an intellectual level it was like this. Getting now a first sip of it on an emotional level. All in all, while not a good thing per se, the experience is meaningful and I cherish the path that took me there.