The Island

Sometimes, it's just impossible to know what another person is thinking. But, once in a while, the doors swing wide and real communication happens.

I wrote about the softening of my heart toward my wife that I felt on Tuesday. Wednesday night I went to bed in the wee hours of the morning. My wife said, "Can I tell you something stupid? I don't hate you." We proceeded to talk quietly in the dark for at least forty-five minutes, embracing the entire time. I told her how I had seen the woman I fell in love with Tuesday, that I had forgotten her. She said that when we had talked earlier in the day, after her therapy session, she had the impression that she had been heard by me, that I seemed to get it this time.
She, too, had warmed to me. I told her that I had been thinking all day about concessions I would be willing to make. I told her about the crossdresser's and wives' bill of rights on tri-ess.org (thanks to Stephanie Warrior Princess!), how it might be a good starting point for our negotiations.

In short, we really talked and we really listened. She expressed some fear about opening her heart to me again, afraid that I might hurt her once more. I told her that I understood why she would feel that way.

So, despite my pessimism, there just may be an island common to our two oceans. It was uncharted, and we don't know yet if it is habitable, but it seems very welcoming after the long storm we have weathered. I've never been one to give much credence to the idea of miracles, but I have to admit that this might qualify. I did not see this coming. Perhaps a phoenix might rise out of this yet.

Thanks for all the prayers and supportive words. They made all the difference.

Minutae of a Marriage

The day began with my wife barely containing her tears. We had to take a car to the shop, and then ride back together. Very tense, almost no talking. We pulled into the driveway, and she asked if I have shaved my legs since the initial removal. I said that it had been a few days, but yes. She burst into tears and said that she guessed that her feelings don't matter. She drove off to her therapy appointment. Within a minute, the phone rang. "You remember that a year ago, you told me you didn't want to live in a sexless marriage?" "Yeah." "You realize that that is exactly the situation you created when you shaved your legs."

She returned from her appointment with more questions. Like, what did my therapist mean when she said that we both feel trapped? In the marriage or in your body? A little of both, I guess. I can't resolve my gender issues within the marriage, and I can't leave the marriage to resolve my gender conflict. She's not buying it. Her therapist gave her two names of couples counselors. And she suggested that along with the suggested list of wants, we should also create a list of "don't wants." We'll have a lot of ammo sitting next to two very short fuses, if we ever get as far as couples counseling.

Later, in the evening, we were watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving with the kids. We actually found ourselves having a pleasant discussion, with laughter and warm exchanges. Suddenly, I could see the woman I fell in love with. I don't know if it was reciprocal or not. But in that moment, I wanted to be sitting with her, or better yet, laying with her.

Obviously, I still have more internal conflict about this than I realized. Could she turn on a dime like that? I don't know. If I felt loved, including the Leslie part, I could endure for a long time. It's just that most of the time, I'm not feeling that I matter at all. Selfish? Maybe. But if you can't put your marriage at the top of the list in a crisis like this, what hope is there for the future?

Showdown at the I'm OK, You're Ok Corral

We sorta aired it out today. The therapist treated it like a couples session, but my wife wasn't playing along. She answered a few questions, but mostly asked pointed questions about what would satisfy me, what my end goal is. She remains convinced that shaving my legs against her express wishes was crossing the line. She compared it to a woman getting breast augmentation or a nose job. She seems to believe that the hair won't grow back or something. I'd sure save a lot on razors if it didn't.

She literally thinks that shaving my legs means that I am intent on getting SRS. I don't know that I can overcome willful ignorance of this sort. She wants me to be medicated to treat my anxiety and depression, more than I already am. I told her that I preferred to treat the cause of my depression (hairy legs), rather than treat the symptom (depression).

She reiterated that she prefers to end the marriage now, rather than be broadsided in five or ten years when I decide to go it alone. I told her that that might be for the best. I said that I'm not sure there's an island out there that's common to our two oceans.

My therapist likes the whole contract idea, though she thought ours to be a bit vague. She'd like us to return with lists of what we want from the other, to give us a starting point for negotiations. I'm not sure my wife will go for another session. She thinks it's wrong to get couples counseling from my individual counselor. There is the appearance of a conflict of interest, even if it doesn't show itself.

I think my list of wants would have to include recognition of Leslie as a person ( the Israel clause). Freedom to have occasional outings with friends. First dibs on any clothing being given away. Perhaps the freedom to have a weekend at home as Leslie, if we could kennel the kids somewhere. Maybe y'all have some ideas. But I think it's an empty exercise, as the wife won't go back there. She's been real quiet since the session, laid in the bed for a couple hours while I fed the kids. Probably doing some crying, but I didn't get close enough to tell. I think I fired a shot over her bow today, and she's going to have to figure out if she wants to do battle.

Not Bloody Likely

I'm starting to think like a single girl. Tonight, I am fully decked out at home, as the wife and kids are away for the night. It's comforting to me to think that soon, all my nights could look like this.

We have an appointment with my counselor on Monday. My wife will be grilling her about the direction of my therapy. She wants to find out if a divorce is in order. I have concluded that it is, though I haven't shared that yet. I know that I have to explore the feelings and urges inside me.

I know, too, that these actions are completely intolerable to the missus. She said we need to find some middle ground, but didn't define what that might look like. I'm sure it involves me reforesting my legs, and perhaps undoing some other things that I have regarded as progress. This is a place I don't want to go. And she is adamant about me not taking this any further. Middle ground, schmiddle ground.

The complete lack of affection that I have tolerated for two weeks has allowed me to distance myself from the marriage emotionally. The thought of ending it gets easier every day. There's no outright hostility, but it's clear to me that she will not resume physical contact until we get this resolved. And I don't think it will be resolved.

So now I'm contemplating life alone, out in the big world. We have often joked that we couldn't afford to divorce, but it's only funny because it's true. I think I'll have to have a roommate of some sort, and with my proclivities, it would seem that a TG person is the only real possibility. That narrows the field considerably(!). One big positive is that I'll never have to dress at my support meeting once I'm out of here. I can arrive and leave in the fashion I have longed to, as the person I know myself to be in my heart. I was fully prepared to forego a lot of the feminization that I desired, but if I'm on my own, I'll have far less reason to abstain. I'm already thinking about getting permission to start spiro, to negate the effects of these male hormones without developing secondary female characteristics. That's my middle ground.

The wife doesn't really know it yet, but she's opening the door of opportunity wide. The last time we got this close to divorce, I fought my way back into the marriage. This time, there's many more positives in leaving for good. I'm sure I'll have some big news to report Monday night.

The Ultimatum?

It all seemed very clear a few days ago. I was starting to visualize life on my own. It has a lot of appeal. I've never lived alone, aside from a few months of separation twenty years ago. I think I could manage it now.

Things had calmed down after the note exchange. Not much warmth, but civility was present. Maybe the storm was passing. When she returned from her therapy Tuesday, things began to take a new shape. She announced that she wanted to attend my session on Thursday, in order to grill my counselor about what kind of goals we're working on, what path I'm being led down. She believes my counselor should be acting as a mother figure, warning me of the dangers of my decisions, reminding me how much my family is being ripped apart by my actions. I emailed my counselor to ask if we could work the wife into my session. I'm glad the email wasn't read before my appointment, so the wife didn't go. I had a lot to talk about without having to be a referee.

We're now planning on attending the next session together. My counselor is fine with it, and gave us each an inventory to fill out on our marital dynamic. My wife looked it over and couldn't fathom why the info would be needed. In her mind, this is not a couples session, but a pointed discussion about the Leslie problem. She doesn't want to hear any input from MY counselor.

She remains extremely pissed off at me. She keeps talking about all the little things that I've changed in my appearance that she has "allowed." Have I mentioned how upsetting I find the concept of being allowed to change? Yeah, I thought so. She is actually starting to seem more angry, like the more she thinks about this, the bigger the betrayal of her trust.

The funny thing about this whole thing is that, on Wednesday, I realized that I hadn't felt like crying since I shaved my legs. It seems like I've been on the cusp of breaking down every day for two months. The hair comes off, the tension is gone. That's all the proof I need to know this was the right thing for me to do.

But Thursday and Friday, with the renewed enmity between the missus and me, I feel the pressure returning. I feel the tears welling up in me again. I am so conflicted. Finally getting the hair off my legs has been liberating physically and emotionally. I feel so much closer to being myself, being comfortable in my skin. But how can I take that road if it means leaving my family behind? The wife's mind games are starting to get to me, I think. What a stupid trade: my wife and kids in exchange for the opportunity to look good in pantyhose. Who wouldn't choose the latter, right? I still might, but defending my choice is going to make me look like a selfish ass.

How do you tell someone you've lived with a quarter century that the freedom to wear a dress and makeup when you want trumps the future that she had envisioned? She doesn't realize how close I am to calling her bluff. She has had it suggested by her counselor that she is enabling me, that she shouldn't have allowed me to pluck my eyebrows or shave my back. I will not go back to where I started. If there is no budging her from this threat, I see no recourse but to choose life as Leslie, over life in the box. I hope it doesn't come to that, but I see firm resolve in her eyes. She's reached her limit.

So have I.

Standoff

"A very acidic tongue waggled in her head" --Squeeze--

I think we're approaching the end game now. Sunday night she handed me a seven-page note that said many unkind things. Passive-aggressive, selfish, untrustworthy. She is extremely pissed off, and is now talking openly about divorce. At this point, I'm not sure that's a bad thing.

A large part of her note was devoted to how I had violated our agreement, regarding no crossdressing in public. She thinks "it's a large, public change to your outward appearance." And her counselor agreed, so I guess she's found a kindred spirit. Unless I'm running around in a skirt or hot pants, I'm not sure how the public would be aware of my hair status. Perhaps she considers herself as part of the public. I thought of our marriage as a private relationship.

She asked me if I wanted to talk about what she had written, but I declined. I told her I'd rather write a response. And I was just as scathing. Maybe not the best decision I've made, but I had reached the snapping point. I wrote six pages about circumventing her "permission", about revisiting that dark place and opting to do something proactively, about all the years I didn't do the things I needed to do to feel whole and real. I argued that a feminist like herself should be able to understand me taking control of my own body. I burned the remaining bridges, or at least re-ignited the wreckage she left.

We are still sharing a bed, but it's very clear that I am not free to touch her. She's calm now, and talks nicely enough on everyday household things. But she said today, after her counseling session, that the two of us are definitely not on the same page. If I want to continue down this road, the marriage will be over.

I've finally crossed her invisible line now. I do not want to undo the hair, the nails, the eyebrows, the underdressing. She wants to deny me my humanity, and I think that is likely my invisible line.

Whose Life Is It Anyway?

"To be myself completely, I've just got to let you down" --Belle and Sebastian

The elation didn't last long. We had a big fundraiser to attend tonight, black tie optional. These sorts of gatherings are hard for me anyway, but more so this time, as I knew that dressing up and going out and drinking would necessitate the big reveal of my legs. She was feeling sexy, and my stomach was churning, anticipating the coming confrontation.

She bought me a pair of satiny lounge pants earlier in the day, and she wanted me to model them for her when we got home. I told her she might not like what's going on under my pants. She became very agitated when I told her what I had done. She couldn't believe that I would do this with the stress that she's under. I pointed out that I'm stressed also, and this was my way of dealing with it. I told her that there are two people in our marriage, both having feelings and needs. She thinks that I always do what I want, and it's never enough.

She shut down and went to sleep pretty quickly. It's hard to tell if this will be a long term rift (my best guess) or will blow over quickly. I do not regret taking the hair off my legs. It feels different than I expected, but wonderful. I can stand to look at myself now, kinda fascinated really. I did not apologize to her. This is the one short window of the year when I can do this, and I may as well be John Lennon waiting for a Green Card if I wait for her permission.

She sees this as yet another betrayal of her trust. Whether that's a breaking point, I'll find out soon. I keep stirring up the hornets' nest, never figuring out that I get stung every time

Taking the Reins

"Why waste unconditional love on someone who doesn't believe in the stuff" --Fiona Apple--

First off, after I posted my woohoo blast, I realized the possibility of it being misunderstood. It was in reference to the victory of Obama. Not woohoo news for everyone, I know, but it was for me.

I realize that my last blog entry left a lot of people worried about my state of mind, and rightly so. I was in a dark place that night. The comments I received were immensely helpful in clarifying what my priorities should be. And so, I'm starting to take control of my own life.

At least twice before, I've told my wife that I was going to take the hair off my legs. Each time, she bullied me into retaining the hair. So I've decided to take it off, and deal with the fallout. On Wednesday, I clipped the hair below my knees very short. Today, I shaved to my knees, and cropped the rest short. By Friday afternoon, I will have smooth legs.

I feel so unburdened today, so much lighter. I'm reaching a new level, my PhD (Pantyhose Dignity). I find few things less attractive than hair under pantyhose, though one I can think of is my hairy legs without pantyhose. But all that is moving to the history department. I'm dealing with current events now: smooth legs! Bare skin has so much more sensation. I think women have purposely tried to keep this for themselves. Not fair! This is wonderful, and I'm only halfway there.

I showed my handiwork to my therapist today. She was so proud of me! Not specifically about the hair, but about seizing control. I'm liberating myself. A marriage has two people, both with needs and feelings, and it's time that I do what I need to do to be happy. If it gets ugly, I'll ride it out. It'll take quite a bit to get me down now. I'm elated.

Pretty Pity Party

The question that comes to mind tonight is simple on the surface. Can one be happy and stay in one's marriage? Of course, you say. Millions do it. But, my question is a little more specific. Can I be happy and stay in my maririage? That's trickier.

What brings this to front of my brain is my own fence straddling. My last blog entry got three comments. All said the same thing, in their own ways: Shave your legs already. The problem isn't going away, it's festering and becoming toxic. Your wife can't or won't understand how important this is to you and your mental well-being. Good advice that I should take to heart.

But there is so much water under the bridge in this marriage. I don't want to portray my wife as a monster, though I often do. My way of getting along with a very strong personality has been to disappear into the wallpaper, not call attention to myself. Like a good football defense, I bend without breaking. And I can sure bend. Some would say over backward. It's what I'm accustomed to doing, and the existence of a marriage after many fractious years is evidence that the strategy works. But keeping the marriage intact has been to my personal detriment, which is the bush that the comments keep beating around. Deep down, I know this. I'm living it, if you call this living.

I'm sitting in a corner. The only way out is to move forward, but I'm frozen in place. I'm safe here, though unhappy. Apparently safe is a higher priority than happy. And truthfully, I don't know that what I want will equal happiness. The lingering doubt is that it will only stir the pot, and make things even more unpleasant for me. I'm not to a point yet where I'm ready to risk it. But something's gotta give soon. I'm reaching a breaking point, I fear. Geez, I feel so alone tonight.