Comeback accomplished...now what?

Last week I went through with my plan to put on a deeper femme look than I had ever taken out into public before, and attend a drag show in Portland.  Oh, and I did want to go out so badly...when I was finishing my makeup at Deb's house, my hand was shaking so much I had to steady it with the other one. 

I had a nice time.  I met people I knew and surprised them, and received some nice compliments.  I also derived deep pleasure from sashaying back and forth between two huge mirrors on opposite walls of the hotel ballroom, working on my walk. 

The evening was a little odd because several times I found myself explaining, actually this is not drag...I'm trans.  One friend asked me my drag name and when I supplied the pedestrian "Lisa," he looked blank.  (The star performer that evening was Mimi Imfirst.)  I now grasp from first-hand experience the sharp divide between these two ways of being...drag is guys at play; what I do is practice for a new self.

Here is a pic Alex took for me:

The evening was supposed to be my triumphant comeback after having a slur yelled at me the last time I went out.  I spent eight weeks figuring out what my stance and armor would be in the face of inevitable future prejudice.  I thickened my skin, sought and found again my core of self-love, rekindled my sense of play...and accomplished my comeback. 

My sense of victory, though, was more muted than I expected.  

I've been pondering about why, and I think it has to do with where I am now in my transition.  It was right around this time last year when, feeling confused and desperate, I wrote in my journal "I just want to be a girl."  I have been consciously trans for a year.  And where do I stand?  Still on the first steps of a long road.  The soonest I can conceive of living as a woman is a couple of years from now, and the soonest I can imagine being where I ultimately want to be years after that.  I have my adolescent children to consider, and money is a problem.  And I don't want to rush.  I want this metamorphosis to happen at an organic pace.  I want to open into womanhood with no more trauma than a flower unfolding to the sun.

In the meantime, sometimes I squirm, sometimes I ache, and most of the time I keep my head down and pull hard against the harness-straps of life, keeping busy, keeping myself together...keeping myself distracted from fear and worry...from loneliness...

I've waited so long...it seems a terrible injustice to have to wait still more.  But I feel I must.  So, patience...and, while I am being patient, I'm musing about when is the next time I can go out and play.  I need the practice, and it really is fun, even if it also makes me feel underneath how far I still have to go.

Comments

[Zack]

I've always thought of drag as blackface - it's people playing at and making fun of what they're not.

Keep posting - I enjoy reading about your journey.

[Deb]

Like you, drag has always smacked of minstrel shows. This journey is not about playing--it's about becoming.

Lisa, I especially like this: "And I don't want to rush. I want this metamorphosis to happen at an organic pace. I want to open into womanhood with no more trauma than a flower unfolding to the sun." Your trust in yourself and your process is lovely.