Sharing the World of another Transwoman

I found this posted on another blog…it is poignant and painful to me, for so much of it I share in common.  While she is further out than I am, alas, her experience is, I fear, but a prefiguration of the horror that awaits me, should I ever find the courage and resolve to come out fully.

Honestly, for me, I still am not at all sure that it is the right thing to do, given the effect on others.  I am mindful of not placing a stumbling block, of not indulging self.  What is best and what is worst?  I do not know.  At any rate…read on:

Musings of a Reluctant Birthday Girl

I have a confession to make.

Shhhh, don’t tell anyone.

I’m not really 26.

This blog is going to be self indulgent, but it is my birthday, so I can’t think of a better time to be so.

I had hoped to have reached my ideal weight by this birthday. Instead HRT and quitting smoking has conspired with my poor willpower to fatten me back up. I REALLY mean it this time, a BMI of 25 by this time next year!!!!

I had also hoped to have had a proper prescription from the GIC by now, but instead I am still self-medicating at least until my fourth appointment next week.

I had hoped to find full-time, well paid employment, but alas, holding down a job as a transitioning Transwoman with bipolar tendencies makes this goal elusive right now.

Maybe I should take ‘hope’ out of the equation and add that extra energy to the ‘do’.

What I want to reflect on is people… all people.

Coming out was probably the single most terrifying and upsetting thing I ever had to do, not because I feared rejection from my parents, but instead that I knew I would be hurting them. However I want to be honest here, not to shame or admonish, but just to be as raw and frank about things as I can be for the sake of others in my position who may stumble upon this blog.

My brother still doesn’t seem to have his head around this after having had nearly all year to do so, and my parents are reluctant for me to tell certain members of the family right now, or even ever. All the others who have been told in my family have been wonderful, but still so many are yet to find out.

This feels like limbo: A space between identities where the old me still exists like an echo that just won’t fade. My mother likened my transition to the death of her son, and his echo haunts me like a spectre that I just cannot shake off. Every time I have to come out to someone new, it feels like a reset, and I am trapped in a cycle of perpetual revelation and the same tiresome questions.

“How long have you felt this way?”

“Have you had the op?”

“Do you like girls or boys then?”

It feels like I have spent the past year just coming out over and over again. That initial fear of rejection and causing pain is now replaced by a muttered ‘Oh for fuck’s sake’ and fighting the temptation to tell them I have ‘it’ in a pickle jar at home, next to the telly.

It is almost becoming my shtick… my act… I know all the words off by heart and so it feels my mouth is a fountain of endless clichés that would bring tears to my writing mentors’ eyes.

I just want to climb to the top of a tall building, Kong style, and scream to the world…


I don’t want to be trans. I don’t want to go around waving at people at going ‘look how different I am, isn’t it great?’ (And I have met many trans people who sadly make us all look bad by doing this). I just want to lose that chain, made from the bones of ‘him’, that is hanging round my neck and instead be who I hid away for so long.

I don’t care if people can’t deal with it. Either they do, or I have no room for them in my life, it’s simple. I can’t afford to. I cannot live my life at the pace that makes everyone else comfortable, I spent the first three decades of my life doing that, and now it is my turn to be selfish.

Love me or hate me, it’s your choice.

I just ask that if you want to understand what I am, look it up on the internet or in a library, talk to me, talk to others with similar experiences. Don’t bury me with the memory of who I was before. This has been the year of introductions, but next year I plan to live at my own pace.

That’s fair right?

Tamz xXx”

The Prisms, and prisons of Perception

All of us are inside our heads, and that is such a blessing…and such a curse.  We are creatures who are self aware.  We know that we know.  We know that we do not know.  Animals, from what we can gather not only do not know them self, but they do not know that they do not know!

Alas…our being stuck in ourselves has its own way of distorting things, bending things.  We, as sentient beings, are like prisms, and the rays of truth beam upon us and shine thru us, but then are refracted, bent by us.  And what we see then are but refractions of truth.  Perhaps they are beautiful in their own way…but they are such a small spectrum.

We simply must be mindful of this phenomena, or we are doomed to a life of error and thus dissipation and ultimately blindness.

There is a check that will keep us accountable…the refractions of others.  For if we are able to be open to the others placed in our lives…if we have the courage and conviction to be other-oriented, we will be given eyes to see the spectrum of their prism, and (if we cultivate wisdom and humility) we can add that awareness to our own vision.  IN turn, we can allow their spectrum to correct our own bent, to straighten us, and cause us to be aligned more true, more congruent.

Light is by definition both a particle and a wave, and is pure and white in its unrefracted state.  Colors are derived when it is split off into its various frequencies, and then perceived by the eye.  Think for a moment…if you cultivate a seeing eye, a perceptive eye, which can gather each frequency it sees, and hold it with honoring and humble hands, and then knit it back together with the knitting needles of Mercy and Truth…

It will become whole again, and a rainbow of promise becomes the Pure Beam of Fulfillment and Unity.

Dear Reader…cherish the ones in your life…friends, loved ones, yes even enemies…they each bring to you a piece of light (though some bring a light that is darkness, and how gross that darkness!), and if you ask for seeing eyes and tender heart you can become a receptacle of Light and an Agent of Unity.

How Sad if you come to that place of true vision only to find that you painted all with the broad flat brush of your own eyes, and it is revealed that you are blind, and naked, and wretched…How Glorious if you come to that place of true vision and find waiting every last frequency that you humbled yourself to take in and cherish, cultivate, and prefer to your own!



Caustic and toxic silences
Scream with cowardly cadences.
Sulking, skulking coyotes
round the campfire,
Shadows, darting in
and nipping at my heart.
Worrying teeth and gnashing jowls
behind which hides…what?

Who knows,
for silence rules like Stalin
Over a bleak and barren land
from which the songbirds
have gone, have fled
before the Glower and Growl
of Self…
of Silence.

There are silences that kneel,
silences that cover over a multitude.
Silences that fall like snow
and make all things pure
and new and whole.
But this silence is
the nasty Hangover Sweat
of one drunk on self
and laying waste to the land…


Suffering has voice but
Silence, dumb and gibbering
in its self indulgence
Towers over all.