I Am the Decider

Tuesday featured two, count 'em, two eye-opening conversations for me. The first with my therapist, the second with my sister-in-law. I'll take them in order.

Being at home these two weeks has been very pleasant for me. I'm experiencing an emotional fulfillment that I haven't felt for some time. I feel connected to my family. It's given me an opportunity to do some reflection from a place of interior calm. I'm starting to see the last two years as a period of figuring out who I am and what I want my future to look like. I feel that this phase is winding down. I'm still not sure of the answers, but I feel like I've collected enough data to chart a course.

My current mindset is that crossdressing is enough. Full transition still holds a fascination to me, but the logistics are daunting and seemingly insurmountable, and the cold hard facts of daily living scare the daylights out of me. As long as the fear is greater than the desire, I don't think I want it enough to commit to it at any level. It doesn't have the inevitability that I see as a requisite precursor. I told my therapist, M, that the current situation is adequate, with a few adjustments.

With the commitment not to "change", I would need more freedom to be myself. I need a real, versatile feminine wardrobe. I need to be able to do things with my friends from time to time, not limited to the monthly meetings. When the dysphoria starts building, I need to able to address it quickly and without a lot of fighting. I will still need to have bare legs part of the year, but a better wardrobe would make this less important.

I told M that I know Mrs. Leslie has been wanting a promise from me that I won't "change". I'm not comfortable giving that promise, and I need to be straightforward about that. I've wavered about my path many times in two years. I don't want to make her a promise and have to break it. My current calm has not been around long enough for me to pretend that it is permanent. She will have to decide if what I offer is adequate.

I finally got to have my followup talk with my sister-in-law, D. It was a brief conversation. At Thanksgiving, she had told me that she had found my blog, but our talk was then interrupted and never resumed. I was left with the idea that maybe she had been directed to my old Yahoo 360 blog a year ago, when Mrs. L found it. Nope, she saw the current one, and is up to date on all my shenanigans. She then asked me whether I am transsexual or a crossdresser. If the former, she thought that I need to make this clear to my wife very soon. She also wondered if I was straight or lesbian, an incredibly astute question for someone outside of our community. I told her that my recent thinking is that crossdressing is enough for me. She seemed relieved to hear that.

Now I will need to ask her what she thought of my pics. I don't get much feedback from the world of natal women, and I value D's opinions on these matters very highly.

Happy New Year, folks! Don't make any resolutions you can't keep. I won't be.

Re-Hashing the Holiday

Thoroughly enjoyed shopping for real at Kohl's. Bought many items for Mrs. Leslie, more than were needed, actually. I had an eye for things that might work for either of us. As it turned out, I gave her virtually everything I got. I am keeping a very inexpensive sleeveless cream turtleneck, just a fashion basic. Although I've been aware of the female in me for decades, this was honestly the first time that I felt no embarrassment at all shopping in the women's department. Christmas or not, I think I'll have no trouble recreating this positive experience, perhaps as early as next week, with the "Kohl's Cash" I earned with my purchase.

Christmas Eve was spent with my wife's family. Presents were flying about the room. As it was winding down, I began to get the sinking feeling that I was going to be receiving nothing. This was hitting very close to home for me, after feeling shortchanged (no-changed?) on recent milestones. As I was heading for dark territory of the soul, my mother-in-law pulled out some bags that she'd neglected to put under the tree. One was for me. It was a bright purple fleece pullover, not for the faint of heart, but I will wear it, if infrequently. Perhaps for chimney cleaning or gutter painting. I was genuinely grateful to receive it, though, as I didn't feel so forgotten and marginalized.

Mrs. L and I wrapped deep into the night. Till 6am, to be exact. Not at all unusual. We worked together beautifully and efficiently. At one point, though, a small controversy erupted. She complained about the way I had wrapped one of her presents. Given how hard I was working, I was a bit miffed. I told her that given recent history, she should be glad to be getting the nice things that awaited her. She had no clue what I was referring to. I told her that Christmas Eve had left me a little emotional about the lack of gifts for my birthday, Father's Day, and our anniversary.

She was taken aback. She couldn't believe that I was "harboring resentment" over that. She reminded me that she had told me then that she was saving to give me one big gift (a DVR for the house), and when I said that I didn't want a DVR, that she just decided to let the money go back into the budget. I reminded her that each time she brought up the DVR, I told her I had no interest in getting one, that a gift for me should be something that I desire, unless I say otherwise. That remained unresolved.

She gave me a nice bunch of gifts, men's wear of course, but trendy and colorful. I will wear them happily. In addition, she gave me a 20" necklace, a sterling silver, gold-plated box chain that falls right at my collarbone. Pretty close to a Leslie gift, especially considering her reluctance to go that way. It certainly made me regret starting a fight in the wee hours of the morning. Some other conversations lead me to believe that she looked for some clip earrings before settling on the chain, though she didn't say so directly. I always find a little hope to cling to.

The big gift for the whole family was Beatles Rock Band for Wii. We all had a blast playing with this. I did very well singing, and wailed on the drums on certain cuts, especially from the '66-'67 period. I guess I'll have to wrest the Hafner bass from my daughter's hands at some point to see how I do on that.

Taking Back My Mojo

Tonight made up for the Meijer trip last night. This evening all five of us went to Kohl's. I like this chain a lot.

We started in the teen girls department. Very interesting clothes, but little there that would flatter me, or even warrant trying on privately. I may dress younger than 45, but even I know better than to invest in Avril Levigne's line for myself.

We moved on to the men's department from there. Not so bad here. Much of my male wardrobe has come from here. Options include bright colors and interesting textures. I have utilized some of this wardrobe as part of femme outfits, with the upside that they fit me well. So where I found nothing that I desired yesterday, today I was agreeing with many choices presented to me.

Mrs. L then took two of the kids off for a bathroom break, and I moved with the remaining child over to the women's department. This was mostly to look for gifts for the lovely Mrs. L, but, as you would expect, I kept a tranned eye open for potential Leslie garb.

This just might be the store where I would want to fulfill my longtime fantasy of being locked in a store overnight, free to mix and match all night. I loved so much of what I saw here, both for me and my wife. I plan to return for purchasing Wednesday night. Although I will be herding between one and three kids during this, I am really eager to dive in. I will be buying for my wife's Christmas and her early January birthday. I don't see why I can't include an item or two for myself in the pile o' duds.

I felt very much at ease in the store, so I think this might become a favored spot for buying my "other" clothes. I'm feeling kinda bubbly now. Shopping therapy works.

A Thin Veneer

I persuaded the missus to go out shopping tonight around midnight. I've been enjoying her company. She wanted to see what kind of stuff I liked. Most places were already closed, and I refuse to shop at Walmart, so our other 24 hour option was Meijer's. It's a step above Walmart in quality, and lacks the right wing political connections that we find distasteful.

We shopped for some other people, but mostly we were perusing stuff for me...in the men's department. Gawd, men's clothing is dull, especially when you've been privy to the look and feel of women's clothing for many years. The longer we were looking, the more sad I became. I've tried before to tell her that I'd rather look in certain other areas of the store for things I'd like, but she has indicated that she won't do that. With things going well with us for the moment, I didn't want to push. So, I endured. We saw nothing that I fancied.

We wound up eventually in the hosiery and accessories area, looking at stuff for my middle daughter. I brightened some on the inside, and gazed longingly at many items, including earrings, but I held my tongue. I did get some new underwear, which is quite panty-like in design. As long as it's being marketed to men, she has no problem with it.

I have to fix the relationship before I can advocate for Leslie gifts. This shopping trip demonstrated to me just how brittle my hold on happiness can be. I kept my mood swing to myself, but it took a lot of self-control. I'll need more of that in the near future.

New Batch of Hope

As I suspected might happen, preparing for Christmas is bringing us closer. It was a very happy time for us both last year, even with the leg conflict being fresh and new. Shopping, decorating, wrapping, getting a tree: quality time spent in loving family activities.

Today, Mrs. L worked hard at getting things put away and organized (and thrown away) in the family room, readying for a tree. I worked on the kitchen all afternoon. She has been laughing much more the last two days, even at things that I say. Early in the marriage, this was the norm. The last ten years, not so much. She has grown tired of my schtick. It seems that the holidays are lightening her heart.

I'm feeling much calmer too. I probably take way too many cues from her moods. My moods are frequently a reaction to hers. Right now, that's a good thing. Seeing her happy does my heart good. I don't feel like the gender thing is nearly as important today as I did last week. Maybe if we can put aside the long-term enmity, we can reset ourselves to a long forgotten way of interacting. I'm off work through the end of the year, so we get a chance to work on it.

Changing the subject: If the Payless shoes I bought a couple months back were my belated birthday gift, then I suppose I just gave myself a Father's Day gift. I made a purchase from ulta.com last week. I bought myself a set of makeup brushes, and a collection of 102 eyeshadows. I have managed to buy appropriate makeup in retail situations up to now, but I find eyeshadow very daunting. So many colors, so many wrong colors for my face so much money thrown away. What's a girl to do? Well, I get a hundred colors to experiment with, at about a dime per color. When I figure out what works for me, I can buy some big girl stuff. Pick one up for your Dad next year! He'll love it. The perfect gift!

Second Verse, Same as the First

The "talk" has been mentioned and delayed several times now, but today, as I was rushing to get dressed for my therapy appointment, Mrs. L asked if we could discuss a few things. Helpfully, she provided notes to take with me to my session. As always, some highlights.

As I predicted, saying that I decided to act first and ask forgiveness regarding leg hair is being played for all it's worth. Her therapist thought this sounded like the tactic of an abuser: "I'm sorry I hit you. I couldn't control myself. Please forgive me."

Written quote: "I am enabling your bad behavior by continually putting up with the way I am treated." You just keep upping the ante, she says. "Where will it stop? Will I continually be told that you have to act in a new way (some other change) and you'll ask for my forgiveness later (over and over again)?"

She did get one thing right. I am not acting as a member of the family. The only time I get to be myself even minimally is late at night, and making myself go to bed just keeps getting harder. I am disengaging, not getting enough sleep, and not readily volunteering around the house. Sounds a bit like clinical depression, no?

She wants to know where I think she should draw the line. What is the point where she should quit caring and give up?

So, my therapist and I discussed all this. She got a little pissed off about me being compared to an abuser. So did I, incidentally. We don't buy the enabling hypothesis. We talked a lot about the family issue. It's legit. I'm not participating. Love the kids, but not keen on helping their mother right now. I have to work on this, as it's not fair to the kids.

I think a lot of my strong feelings on the leg hair topic come from control issues in the marriage dynamic. My opinion has never carried as much weight as hers, on finances, schooling, etc. My legs were something I could control. She doesn't like having control taken away from her. Hence, butting heads.

It was decided that rather than address the items she brought up (again), I should make my own list of things that are making me unhappy. Not feeling like an equal member of the family. Not feeling heard. My contributions being taken for granted. Always feeling like I'm on the defensive.

I may suggest that we need to clarify our roles in the household and in the marriage. Truly, a fresh start is the only option that has much hope of succeeding now.

Thanks for slogging through this written version of deja vu. It helps to get this crap out of my head. Just wish I could get it out of my life.

Another Twist

Nothing new on the home front, other than sharing a kiss each of the last two days. I'm at least being allowed to poke my head out of the doghouse, it seems.

There was a family gathering Sunday, Mrs. L's side. During a short time alone, my sister-in-law informed me that she had managed to find my blog through a Google search (hi, D!). I should add that I sent her some of my earliest entries in an email a few weeks ago, mainly in the hopes of having my writer's ego stroked. So while I chose carefully what to share, it seems that the entire cat is out of the bag.

The saddest part of this tale is that just as we were starting this very important conversation, other folks invaded the room, and the talk was cut off, not to be resumed. With the knowledge that my whole story has been set forth, my need for feedback has intensified greatly. Was she appalled? Horrified? Livid? Or, if I'm lucky, merely taken aback. Plus, this means that she has now seen the few photos that I've posted. Gonna be an interesting followup...

This also means that I need to double check my searchability. I have my settings toggled away from being Googled, so now I'm wondering if I have a false sense of security. That would be a good title for my memoir: A False Sense of Security. The ring of truth there.

Again, Nothing

Anyone else getting tired of my story having no resolution?

Mrs. L intended to have the tough conversation tonight. We went to Friday's, had a big meal, talked about many things, and cordially. None of which were her issues with my gender issues, and the tenuous tissue that is our marriage.

I'm not starting this conversation. I will not. If she wants answers, she has to ask the questions. She still won't get any answers that she wants to hear. Hell, I don't even know what I'll say. My stomach hurts just thinking about saying this stuff out loud.

I am not a boat rocker. I have done only what I felt I had to do. I have minimized the damage wherever I can. Still, I feel incredibly selfish. It is all about me.

I just want to get this over with. I guess that contradicts my earlier statement about being unwilling to initiate the talk, huh? I'm a mess. I need resolution.

Commencing Countdown. Engines On.

Mrs. Leslie has requested a talk when she gets home from work at roughly midnight. I think we'll go out for food, and then quickly lose our appetite as we again disappoint one another.

I have absorbed the thoughtful comments, and while I might mention the pronoun thing, I won't push it. I would like her to use the name Leslie, not to my face, but when referring to that bothersome presence that she knows lurks in the shadows, the elephant in the room. That entity that she has never met.

The book, though, is a real test for her. How badly does she want me back in the sack? A month earlier? The things I've highlighted in True Selves are the anecdotes that conform most closely to my own experience. I want her to get a little taste of what being TG means. I'm not trying to prove a point, just let her try on my shoes for a bit. Only fair, as often as I've worn hers.

If I don't post again later tonight, we've either bloodied one another or we're cuddling in bed. If I do post, then the talk went badly, and I'm feeling a cold draft. Catch you later.

My First Idea

I have a compromise in mind at the moment. Well, more of a one time deal. See what you think.

In exchange for shortening my hairless period from four to three months (this year only), I want Mrs. Leslie to read my highlighted copy of True Selves. I don't want her taking notes on all the passages that support her views; I've heard all that and I already know it's in there. I would also like her to start referring to my female persona by name, and use feminine pronouns for my friends.

My goal is to humanize Leslie in her mind. Rather than "villain" or "other woman" or "sad delusion"*, I want her to think of Leslie as a real entity. Which she is...which I am...you know what I mean. I am real, dammit. This is not to start a debate or argument, only to try to open her eyes and mind a tiny crack to my world.

In other news, Mrs. L is already making suggestions for her early January birthday. I haven't given any kind of response yet, but I have a thought. I will tell her that I'm going to re-gift what I got on my birthday: a big bag of diddlysquat. I can carry a grudge just as well as she can. After being ignored on my B-day, Dad's day and our anniversary, and getting her nice gifts on all three of her days, I think it's time to drop a broad hint. If Obama can defend war while accepting a peace prize, I can start a war while negotiating a compromise, right?

*not actual quotes

Hamletta

Decisiveness is most assuredly not a strength for me. It must be terribly frustrating for anyone reading of my travails. Every decision made is one that will be rescinded in a few days. Round and round we go. Seriously, I don't know why you would stick around through so many iterations.

I find myself mulling compromise. Yes, I know how adamant I sounded Monday night. Now I am considering creating a list of things I might be willing to give up, and things I would really like to have. I would want Mrs. Leslie to do the same, perhaps both of us working with our shrinks through the process. Am I a fool to try? Probably, but I truly don't want to end the marriage, except for those times when I do.

I am Hamletta, the Danish princess, standing in the graveyard, epilator balanced in the palm of my hand, asking, "To bare or not to bare?" I could go either way. Just depends on which day the question is asked.

Thanks you for your patience as I rearrange the deck chairs.

Set the Controls For the Heart of the Sun

If you're looking for light wordplay and a happy message, look elsewhere. Unrelenting darkness ahead.

Because she will have therapy Tuesday, Mrs. Leslie wanted a report on my last session. What new compromise on leg hair had I come up with? Well, uh, I didn't. Was I supposed to? From this point, tempers flared.

I've been told that the four months bare plan is not working for Mrs. Leslie. "You unilaterally decided to shave your legs. I didn't have a say." It's my body. And in the past, early notification has resulted in all hell breaking loose. It's easier to do it and ask for forgiveness later. (Shouldn't've said that. That will get major play in therapy.) "That is so disrespectful to me."

"I married a man, not something else." (She can't even say woman, much less Leslie.) "I fear that you're just going to up and leave in five years." Then let's go ahead and make a plan to end it now. "No." You have no reason to trust me. I lived in the closet for 40 years. Deception is second nature. I want to be open with you, but every time I even bring up the subject, you flinch.

I told her emphatically that this is about my identity, that everything I do is paired with a question about who and what I am. It's exhausting and painful. I don't know how far I need to go, or what balance looks like.

She believes that there will always be one more thing, and her therapist is of the same mindset. So, why not figure out a plan to part ways? The only solution she sees is stopping my changes and pedaling backwards on transition. This is a no-go for me.

I have NO desire to off myself, but curling up in a ball and just disappearing has a lot of appeal right now.

Comments are welcome, but please don't encourage my self-pity, and for god's sake, no fighting.

Another Meeting, Another Blog

I went to my meeting tonight. It had originally been a Transgiving potluck, but, organized souls that we are, the potluck was canceled for lack of people signing up for specific dishes. I think one person committed to bringing something. I didn't think I would be attending, but Mrs. W arranged things to make sure I got to go. She's like the duck sauce at the Chinese restaurants. Sweet and sour.

I was able to get out of the house early again, so I changed at Lisa's place and drove to the meeting in full regalia. (I love driving in heels!) There were seven of us all leaving from Lisa's. I mentioned that I had an open seat, and Shannon decided to ride with me.

Shannon is a bit of a role model for me. She is reserved and non-confrontational like myself. We were talking tonight about the difficulty of making huge decisions where there is fallout either way. We both said that our instinct is to just step back and not make a decision. Yet, Shannon made a huge decision about two years ago, when not committing was no longer an option she could live with. She embarked on the journey to womanhood that some of us just fantasize about, "some of us" meaning me.

On the ride over, Shannon wanted to make sure I was okay with the comments she had left on the blog. Hell, yes! While Shannon usually firmly defends me, I am often astounded by how well she is able to interpret my wife's actions and intuit her motivations. When I can't comprehend Mrs. W's logic, Shannon does sometimes get it and explain it to me. All this, and she's never met the woman!

I had a wonderful time at the apartment. Very witty people, and kind to a fault. The meeting was good, too, pretty much just a social gathering. Strangely, it was all MtFs and two GGs. A veritable hen party. It's usually close to a 60/40 split, with lots of FtMs.

Late into the meeting, Shannon noticed how quiet and pensive I was. I told her that a big wave of lonely had swept over me. She gave me a good, long hug, and we talked about it. I think that melancholy is going to be my constant companion for a while. As long as she doesn't bring her best bud depression around to crash on the couch, it'll be okay.

Oh, and Sylvia makes a heckuva Christmas cookie!

Clarifying is Best Left For Milk

I'm busily prepping myself for my meeting Saturday, but I think I need to clarify a few things.

The Abuse thing: Mrs. W and I have different ways of communicating. I do get browbeaten when I stand up for something that she disdains. "Abuse" is a loaded word, and I don't know that I want to go there. Henpecked, bullied, berated, but not abused. I might add that under most circumstances, we get along very well. I believe my therapist wanted to make me think.

Manipulation: I am passive-aggressive, and yes, I can be manipulative. With my therapist, though, I am not overly dramatic. I do phrase things for optimum impact sometimes, but I also downplay other things. For this very reason, I remind her to read my blog a few days before a session. I want her to see how I tell the same stories for another audience. I want her to have the fullest picture possible. Plus, I frequently forget details by the time we meet, so the blog fills in some blanks and allows her to think about the questions she needs to ask to draw me out.

The Escape Plan: This is a very long term situation. We will have to get our finances in order before we could afford to live apart. The fact that I feel like leaving now is largely irrelevant. It could all change, and there will be much time for that to occur. Unless she throws me out. One never knows. Y'all can't get this resolved that easily. This soap opera has many more plot twists left to play out.

Three kids makes this impossibly complex and emotionally weighty. There's much more fallout than two jaded and bitter quasi-compatible middle-aged married folk. She uses the kids as a reason to limit my Leslieness, and I see her point. This could prove very disturbing to one or more of the kids. Living with a very unhappy father could also be damaging, I suppose.

Anyway, I have to get back to my preparations. I think I'll be wearing my gray dress, which I wore to two meetings last winter. I have a miniscule wardrobe, and no money to put toward improving it. I love what I have, but even at once a month, I'm repeating myself a lot. But that's a small issue next to the marital stuff. Tomorrow night, perhaps a report about my meeting.

De-Briefing, or Pantying Up

First off, what an amazing collection of comments on the last two entries. You ladies are aces with me. Melissa and Renee, I am tempted to lock you two in a chat room for the duration, but I do love you both. In fact, I love the lot of you. It's hard to fathom this many folks caring about one's situation. There are also numerous emails, and I intend to reply to them all, but your patience would be appreciated. I'm better at modeling secretary outfits than I am at typing.

On to the main event: therapy. It was a pretty somber session.

In the past, I have repeatedly found new stores of hope to mine. Not so much this time. When the shit hit the fan Monday, I was ready to walk. I was very upset through the afternoon. Co-workers were noticing. I had a great phone conversation with Lori, who helped to calm me. After that, I was more contemplative than angry. If I had written my post in the afternoon, it would have been blistering. Since Monday evening, I've been doing a lot of reflection, and that's where we went in therapy.

My therapist, M, was bewildered by the mixed messages, though not surprised that the bare legs were a bone of contention. I have no intention of backing down on the leg hair. I brought up the notion of an ultimatum, calling her out on the subject. Not in a harsh way, just making it very clear that this is precisely what I need to stay functionally sane. She can react however she pleases, but she needs to know just important this is to me. I feel like we could maintain the status quo for a long while if I have this.

Of course, I've been adamant with my wife before, and I've always backed down in the end. I told M that I'm now realizing that my wife is a bully. Yeah, I know, I know, but I had to see it for myself. Whereupon, M quietly added that she regards me as abused, a judgement that I think has been unspoken for a long time. That's a sobering thought. My wife is undoubtedly the dominant personality. My feelings get short shrift. I hesitate to embrace the idea of my wife emotionally abusing me, but it gives me a lot to consider.

Anyway, coming from a calm place today, I told M that I don't hold out much hope of this resolving. My take right now is that I need to create a plan for getting out. One day of being myself each month is wholly inadequate. I have no other opportunities to express myself fully. I'm not agitated about this, just sad. It just seems like I'm missing the solution somewhere. I've been struggling with my condition, and with her, for two years. I've carved out a tiny niche for myself, especially here in the blogosphere. I've grown bigger than this niche now, getting pot-bound. The Leslie part of me needs more space, more of a corporeal presence. I don't think I can get that concession.

Mixed Messages

Roommates, eh? I'm gonna have to look up the definition.

In our big talk, my wife made it pretty clear that we would not be intimate again until I let my leg hair grow back in. I have no reason to doubt her resolve.

Many of you know that I am up late into the night. My wife frequently falls asleep in a recliner, then I roust her into the bedroom when I retire. That was the case last night. When we were settled, she told me to move over toward her. "Don't you want to get warm?" Well, I don't know... "Oh, just be pragmatic."

The question I wanted to ask was whether this is standard behavior for roommates. We wrapped up together, her legs on mine, and we went to sleep spooning. What am I to think? That she still loves me? I was just going to claim my half of the bed and sleep in her proximity. Is her anger and frustration as narrowly focused as this makes it seem? Happily, Thursday is therapy day for me. There is much interpretation to be done.

Her words and her actions are completely at odds from my viewpoint. I still haven't learned the subtleties of feminine thinking despite my sincere efforts. Maybe this all makes sense to her. I'm just confused by it all.

Incidentally, I am maintaining the epilation. I am completely bare nearly to the top of my thigh. I will probably not take it much further, but I won't be letting up anytime soon either. Smooth legs are amazing, and epilation keeps the sensation alive for much longer than shaving. I am totally sold.

Crumbling Like a Graham Cracker

Won't it be dull when we rid ourselves of all these demons haunting us?
"The War on Drugs" Barenaked Ladies

We've reached a tipping point.

In comments for my previous post, Lisa and Shannon both made the point that we transgendered folk often think that everyone's suffering is related to our issues. It's a perfectly valid point. We're a narcissistic bunch. In this case, though, I was right. It was about me.

The wife came to me today to have "an unpleasant conversation," one she's wanted to have since before Thanksgiving. It was not my imagination. My reading of her demeanor and body language was spot on. The talk was very civil, only the content being unpleasant. My legs, it seems, are indeed a dealbreaker. This is the line that I cannot cross. She has allowed me to grow my nails and shave my pits, but the legs...it's just too much. Mind you, this one thing got me through last winter, happier than any winter in memory. Note, also, that I was feeling nicely non-dysphoric until this talk today. Bare legs make an enormous difference in my outlook. Sadly, the same is true for the missus.

Last year, we had one session of couples counseling with my therapist. In the course of the hour, my shrink mentioned that one couple she dealt with had an agreement that he would get to shave his legs for one week out of the year. My wife is holding onto this idea like a pit bull. Not surprisingly, she sees this a great compromise position for the two of us, instead of the four months bare, eight months hairy schedule that I'm following.

Most of the ground covered today has been gone over several times, both in our talks and here on these pages. I'll try to boil it down to the salient points. She feels stupid for staying with me. She can't talk to her friends about this. If this relationship is doomed to go south, she wants to find a new mate while she's still young and pretty enough.

She told me that she was glad that the two of us had had colds during the last couple weeks, as it gave her a good excuse not to be intimate, not to feel obliged to kiss or embrace. She is glad that we haven't had opportunity to go out together, as she doesn't want to sit across the table from me and carry on a conversation.

"If you want to have a roommate, just keep doing what you're doing. That's what we'll be: roommates."

Her therapist has suggested that my support group is full of people who are divorced or single, and that getting advice from them is a grave mistake. It's true, marriage is rare in any trans support group, mine being no exception. They listen to me, they counsel me, but I make my own decisions.

Me: Have you ever questioned that you were a woman?
She: (pause) No...never.
Me: Well, I question my maleness constantly, every day.
Later...
She: Why does dealing with dysphoria have to involve changing your appearance?

I could go on. I've been trying for two years now to have my cake and eat it too. Today I came to the realization that there is no cake to have. The cake is a lie.

What next? I guess we'll be roommates for awhile. She has every right to feel the way she does, but I am not backing down. My feelings are legitimate, too. I have a right to my identity. I have a right to do with my body as I please. I have a right to feel as comfortable in my skin as she does in hers. I have tempered my desire to do more, out of respect for her feelings. It seems that that is not sufficient.