There is a part of me which is already absolutely bent on transition. To speak in that voice for a moment: I am a woman. My body doesn't match. I've put up with this for 40+ years, and I have had enough, more than enough. I want it all: laser, hormones, vaginoplasty...and if I need it to feel fully feminine, extra surgical help with face and breasts. I want it. I did everything right. I deserve my reward. Give it to me. Now.
It is not quite right to say that my inner child is throwing a tantrum. I find the inner child idea useful, but only up to a point. I am not a child and a parent, two separate beings. I am one being with childlike and more mature aspects, just as I have feminine and (apparently at least a few still) masculine aspects.
In any case, to continue to use the model I have chosen, whatever its shortcomings, there is another part of me which says: not so fast girl. Slow down. This is a big decision, with no take-backs. Be sure. Be careful. Honor the process.
I hear that last one. This is a process. One does not decide to switch genders overnight.
And the other concern I still really feel is: think of the children. I only told them last week the first thing about me being trans...even if I didn't need the time for myself, which I do, I need to give them a chance to catch up. But on the other hand I begin to learn a new thing, which is, it is no more healthy to put your children's needs ahead of your own (which I believe I have sometimes done) than it is to, in a marriage, put the perceived needs of the relationship ahead of your own (which I also did, and look what happened).
Another fresh insight: to get my body changed to be more like a woman's does not necessarily constitute instantly fleeing all the way to the far end of the spectrum, an idea which has troubled me. I can still play in the middle approaching from that side. I can re-cross-dress if I want. Thanks to Kate Bornstein's provocative book "Gender Outlaw" for help figuring that out.
Let it be noted that as soon as I got home from work tonight I took off all my clothes and changed into blue lace-trimmed panties, my William Morris print stretch capri jeans, and the absurd yet fetching puce maternity-wear cotton T. No shapewear, no beard concealment. I just didn't want male clothes touching my body.
Hm.
Second 5 on the femme ache tracker tonight...
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