Since my last post, I’ve pushed myself further back into living as a proud queer and butch woman than I initially set out to.
The hearing for my—third!—name change is next month, but so far I won’t have to appear in person. And NJ has eliminated notice in newspapers, which greatly helps reduce costs, if not speed up the entire process. Like when I initially changed my name to “Cai”, I forwent a middle name.
While waiting for my name change, I updated the sex marker on my drivers license, but I have an addendum piece of paper showing while I wait for the actual license in the mail. (This will happen again after my name change is legally recognized.) This way, if anyone tries to shit on me, I have legal proof—short of showing my actual vagina—to show I’m female until I can correct all my legal documents.
I already use women’s restrooms again. At my local gym, I got the okay from their regional manager, after explaining my de-transitioning to him, because I could still be “read” as male due to my appearance. I forgot tampon/pad bins were a thing. I would rather still deal with the mess from men who can’t aim as opposed to women who can’t clean up after themselves and there’s…red everywhere.
I threw away all my old clothes—barring my jeans that perfectly fit—and bought new tees, hoodies, socks, gym bag, knapsack and even work shoes that were either catered to women, or like with my tees and bags were still sold to men but are in traditionally female colors, to help me alleviate my impatience and help me reconnect me with my body and myself. (Sounds corny, but it’s helping!) probably a “softer butch ‘aesthetic’” than I’ve worn since leaving my abusive “ex” and his fundamentalist church cult, but it is still the same style I’ve long worn, even during my “baby butch” days.
The shrink who had no problem helping me get onto the trans conveyor belt blew me off after asking me to finally treat my real mental issues. I was left hanging during what was supposed to be a video consultation, only for her to text me that she didn’t think we’d be a “good match”.
My primary, however, was more sympathetic. She’s tapering me off testosterone before she puts me onto a dose of estrogen (sans progesterone) equivalent to what they give other young women who had to endure a total hysto. Not to stave off menopause—already been through it. But because estrogen still plays an important part in bone, brain, heart, mental health. Breast cancer is still a potential side effect, as the surgeon used some remaining breast tissue to “masculinize” my chest after the mastectomy.
I’ve been feeling much better emotionally since waking up from the “trans” delusion and reclaiming my womanhood. Ironically, I had to become a “man” to become comfortable with my female self. First time in my life I can identify as much as a “lesbian”—a woman attracted to other women—as I do with “dyke” and “butch”. I’m ambivalent towards “queer”; I get it’s been reclaimed, but I also came of age when it was still hurled at me as something derogatory.l (as well as when calling someone or something “gay” was equally meant to be derogatory).
I’m still only going to be open to dating REAL, biological women. No “trans women”.
I’m…also not out to my parents, most coworkers, or most of my friends yet. The few I opened up to were because I’m working with my company’s HR department—yes, I get what state allows, but I also live in a conservative area. I don’t want to make the people I work with feel uneasy. I love my job, and don’t want to risk ruining a good thing. I won’t file any “discrimination” thing with them if the reception falls south; I’ll just hunt for another job once my name change is legally recognized.
Any regrets? I’ll save that for a later post.