A Dahl’s House

After also posting this on the Betty boards, some folks suggested I run through the pros and cons of telling Mom. Actually, I’m pretty good about cutting to the chase, i.e. figuring out what’s the worse that could happen and then deciding whether that something is something I can live with.

To be honest, I think it’s far more my own reluctance than my fear of her potential reaction. It’s been far easier to come out to the people I’m less close to. For example, it was a lot easier to tell my hair stylist, than one my best friends. Not sure why. Also I’m a little stressed with some work-related stuff, so I guess I’m just not feeling up to some of the inevitable discussions that would result. And part of it is that the trip is something she’s wanted to do for awhile, so I don’t want to preempt that. Some of that may just be rationalization, but then again, I’m not on any time table, so there’s not necessarily an urgency to disclosing.

Really it was more of a general reaction triggered by the act of literally compartmentalizing myself that set things off, rather than specifically the issue of whether I come out to her. As I mentioned, I only visit her a couple times a year so it’s usually no big deal—it’s just that this particular trip had the coincidence of also visiting someone en femme during the same trip (so I’ve got some wardrobe that would require some explaining) and Mom and I taking a trip together where we’re going to share a hotel room where certain things like shaved legs are harder to avoid being noticed. But all that just brought into relief the larger issue of needing to often put up a facade in my day-to-day life ad infinitum.

This is where I think the experience of part-time CDs differs from full-time TGs/TSs. OTOH, I can compartmentalize it. It’s really only a part of my life. I’m a weekend princess. OTOH, continued compartmentalizing has its own price to pay—one that’s not always appreciated. It may not be the knife at your heart, but it’s a stone in your shoe you can’t seem to get rid of. I’m lucky, I don’t feel shame or guilt about my crossdressing—although I realize it’s something society views as eccentric at best. It’s just there are times when I wish it didn’t….complicate….my life. (I can certainly understand why some folks choose to go deep stealth after GRS.)

It’s the counterpart to what Helen mentioned about “the sound of the other shoe not dropping.” I.e. for some, there’s an end to the road (even if getting there is hell). For me, there’s only the endless journey, and trying to find a middle path.

But anyway… recording my reactions is still a good idea.

Nettie mentioned she liked the analogy of the title—being a grown-up who have to squeeze into those little seats and act like a kid again. As mentioned, that wasn’t my intention—but upon reflection, yeah it’s quite apropos here.

I agree most people probably engage in a bit of role playing around their parents. In fact, I’ve used that as analogy to try to explain to people how about how I can be “different people” while still being “me.”

So here I am in my hotel room packing up to head over to my Mom’s house—and literally compartmentizing my life.

I took out the studs I normally wear in my ears. I removed the polish I normally wear on my toes.

I got a add-on to iPhoto that lets you have separate photo libraries—so I’m moving all my femme photos into one that’s separate from all the other photos she might want to see.

I met a friend en femme in LA, so I’m now putting my skirt and top into compartments of the suitcase where they won’t be noticeable. The breast forms, shoes and purse will have to go a shopping bag that I’ll let in the trunk and hope she won’t notice them during our trip to San Diego.

I’ve got to stop by the department store to pick up some long pajama bottoms, since we’ll be sharing a hotel room. The shaved arms may not be noticed, but I’m sure shaved legs would. Which why I also “forgot” to bring shorts. Hopefully it won’t be too hot…

The ironic thing is that if I told her, I’m sure she’d probably be accepting. But frankly, I don’t want her to worry—and I’m also sure she would. And since we live in different cities, I only see her in person a couple times a year, so compartmentalizing is possible. Who know maybe I’ll change my mind, maybe she’ll notice something and ask…

It’s obviously minor compared to the some of things others are dealing with, but there are times when riding the kiddie rollercoaster* ain’t fun—especially realizing that I’m going to be riding it for the rest of my life. Compartmentalizing who you are just sucks. And just… sometimes… it would be nice to be able to pass through the fire and move on. But then again, I suppose the grass is always greener….

Anyway, don’t worry, I’m heading to the beach so I’ll feel better in a bit. It’s just one of those passing moods.

*My friend, Michelle, once eloquently talked about how, compared to transitioning, the problems of being a crossdresser is the difference between jumping off a cliff and riding the kiddie roller coaster. But, as she said, who really wants to ride the kiddie coaster for the rest of their lives?

I’ve been woefully behind in updating things—look for some backdated stories once I get a change to transfer some things from my journal to here—but I had to mention one of the best articles about transgender people I’ve seen written in awhile. It really captured the simultaneous feelings of isolation and community. Thanks Erin!

Sadly, she took some flack from a few folks in the trans community, including one who wanted to know “Where’s the gratuitious sex? The drugs? The alchohol abuse? The prostitution?” Yes, sadly there are those who cheat on their spouses and sleep around—but there’s plenty of “straight and normal” people who do too. And when good parts of society want to beat you to death with sticks just for being trans, it’s hardly surprising that some folks turn to alcohol and drugs for comfort. And when trans people are can’t get a job because of who they are, is it surprising they end up selling the one thing left to sell? I’m not saying these aren’t problems, but as Erin said, it’s not that different from gratuitous sex, drugs, alcohol abuse and prostitution in the straight world.

As Erin said:

Every T person I met longs for acceptance.

We are all ying yang. Each of our black swirls has a white dot and vice versa. In some the dot is a little bigger than in others, but there are no absolutes. This is what makes us beautiful.

BTW, one of my other favorite articles on crossdressing was done by a reporter for a gay publication who went out en femme with a local group. I particularly like his insights about the experience at the end of the article. (There’s also a 3.8MB
PDF version with photos.)