One Small Step for a Kinda Woman

"Lipstick is a sign of my declining mind" -- Ani DiFranco--

It wasn't starting in a promising way. Family matters had me running an hour behind. Shannon had emailed me to say she couldn't come to the meeting after all. A sinking feeling was coming on. Unwarranted, as it turned out.

I had to change into Leslie with more haste than I would've liked, once I finally got to Cassie's. But after donning the uniform, the tension eased. The nerves were gone. Maybe a few butterflies left, but only the pretty ones. And at last, the new wig had its maiden voyage. She comported herself very well. I felt much less self-conscious and more prettier(!?).

So, anyway, Cassie, Kim, Cindy and myself all went out to an Irish restaurant. Cassie is friendly with the waitress there, and had given her a heads up about who was coming. My biggest worry there was not being seen by a hostile public, but making sure my wig wouldn't smell like corned beef tomorrow. I'm surprised long-haired women can eat without tieing their hair back. It was not a busy place, and I stayed calm inside, except maybe a little quiet panic walking in and out of the place. There wasn't a lot of staring. We were mostly ignored. Yay! So now I've been out as Leslie. In hindsight, not that big a deal, but I'm very happy to have done it.

I was thrilled when Shannon showed up at the meeting. She brought her camera as promised, but the batteries were dead. I didn't care. Just glad I got to spend time with my friend. And Tara took a picture of me. I glanced at it and all I could see was boy-me in drag, but maybe I'll like it better when I get it. I am no better at posing for pictures as Leslie, apparently, than I've been as a male. It probably would have been better to do a candid shot of me chewing or yawning. No forced smile. If it's not completely hideous to me, I'll post it.

The wife was a little pissed when I got home. I guess I haven't adequately communicated the end time of our meetings. She had a totally wrong idea. So I feel I'm in the doghouse a bit, but I did apologize. She hasn't yet asked me about my experiences tonight. Maybe tomorrow. I would like to share it with her. I'm certain I'll look back on this day as a milestone.

Piling On

"Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there" -- Radiohead --

How much tragedy can a person endure?

It's not a rhetorical question. I really want to know. In this instance, I'm not bemoaning my own situation, but that of my wife. In the last eight months, she has endured an extraordinary number of stressful events. The litany:

Her oldest sister died suddenly. We adopted a dog and two cats belonging to her sister, that we have neither room nor money for. My wife's workplace burned to the ground two weeks ago, leaving looming questions about her employment and our income. Oh yes, and her husband announced that he has a burning desire to be female.

Today, the (recently ex-) husband of another of her sisters shot and killed himself. At this point, we don't know why, or if there was a note, but he had been laid off last week. I spoke to him about that on Saturday, and he was in good humor, more upbeat than he's been in some time. It's clear to me in hindsight that he had already decided his fate, and he wasn't feeling the burden of an uncertain future anymore.

All this stuff makes me feel incredibly selfish in adding to my wife's emotional load. I've been caught up in my impending fun this weekend. My wife apologized to me today, before the suicide news, because she's been quietly angry about my desire to go out in public as Leslie. I hadn't realized it was bothering her. She's very worried about my safety, and about the risks involved if I were recognized by someone. Is it right for me to follow through with this, when she already has so much on her plate? I don't know. I've got some thinking to do.

Leslie Time

"I couldn't have one conversation if it wasn't for the lies, lies, lies, Still I want to tell you everything till I close my eyes"
"Bad Reputation" Freedy Johnston

A few significant things since last time:

Tuesday, the missus was looking high and low for a couple of denim skirts she used to wear before her second pregnancy. Guess who had them... A year ago I would have feigned ignorance, and I considered it this time. She left the room, and when she returned I had the skirts laying on the bed. She put her hands on her hips and said, with some amusement, "You appropriated my skirts!" (Who talks like that?) I pointed out that I appropriated them some time back when I thought she was never going to see size 12 again. She's lost about 30 pounds since Christmas.

She then asked if I had appropriated a sundress that was missing. I told her (truthfully) that I had not, but I would keep an eye out for it.

Sunday, I finally got around to bleaching the hair on my arms. Please try to stifle your yawns, this was important to me. I did it with the full knowledge of my wife, and no argument from her. The results were a little uneven, and not as light as I would like, but it'll be better next time. On the bright side, a more subtle shift might ensure no one notices at work. Like I care. Many thanks to Shannon for pointing me toward this option. I never considered anything short of complete hair removal, but I think I'm going to like this a lot. The wife was interested in seeing the results, and offered no criticism of any sort. Go figure!

For about a week now, I've been looking for an opportunity to drop my female name in conversation with my wife. The chance came Wednesday. She was wrapping up her talking points, and asked if I had anything to talk about. (She has started asking this on occasion. Most welcome!) It went something like this: (apologies to Jenn -- theft is the sincerest form of flattery)

Me: You know, you were right.

She: About what?

Me: I should have gone to my meeting last week.

She: I told you so. What changed your mind?

Me: I'm just feeling a strong need for some Leslie time.

I wasn't looking at her when I said it, but peripherally I saw her head turn toward me quickly when I said the magic word. But she didn't follow up on it. I got the idea to do it from The Silence of the Lambs. The girl in the well tells Buffalo Bill her name in an attempt to humanize herself to her captor. Now, my wife is not a serial killer, and I am not her prisoner (debatable?), and if anyone was assembling a woman suit, it would be me. But I hope giving that part of me a name will make it more real, more tangible to her. Less of a concept, more of a person.

It's becoming easier to talk about this stuff with her, and easier to be honest about it, too. Life will be a lot nicer if this is out in the open for the long term. (And with this, I have used my parentheses allotment for July.)

The Crux

This morning, she wanted to talk a little more about my desire to go out in public. She's worried that being in a new, exciting, fun situation, and feeling misunderstood by my wife, that sexual misconduct might occur. She says it's largely a trust issue, what with me hiding much from her for so many years. That's fair. She wanted to know about the sexual orientation of my friends. Don't really know them that well. I'm sure they cover the spectrum. Note to self: Wife does not approve of sexual activity with others, especially "men." Check.

We talked more about my desire to have her meet my female self. I want to show her that I don't look completely ludicrous. I want her to know what a different person I am as a woman. She doesn't see it happening and feels I'm pressuring her into something she doesn't want. I told her that I really don't expect it, but I'm still allowed to hope for it anyway, and I will continue to express that hope if asked. She doesn't want to meet the woman that, in her mind, I had a twenty year affair with. She's jealous and resentful of that woman, who stole much of my sexual energy. I've made it clear that that aspect is done. This is no longer a fetish for me.

I think it's a very good sign that she initiated more discussion on the topic. At least she seems to realize that we will have to deal with this, as it won't go away. She's being straightforward about her concerns, and seems to be hearing my responses. Fingers crossed.

Suspicious Minds

Tonight we talked.

When I mentioned my plan yesterday, her first thought was that the numbers didn't add up. There was something I wasn't telling her. I know I'm a terrible liar, so I told her that Cassie and I had been planning to eat out before the meeting. She didn't freak out. She was deeply resentful that I can't find time to go out with her, but manage to arrange something with a friend.

She also doesn't understand why I need to go out into the public arena. Frankly, I don't know. She thinks this means that I want to live as a woman, and I'm going to spring this on her in five or ten years and leave her in the lurch. The truth, I said, is that I can't imagine living as a woman full time, or SRS. I see myself living somewhere between genders. Probably a more androgenous or metrosexual look that would allow me to slip between boy and girl mode more easily.

She was surprised by my decision not to go to the meeting. She approves of my attending them, but hates that it takes away one of our few nights together. She didn't get why I wasn't going. This is my chance to dress, with like-minded people, in a safe environment. My decision was based on a lot of things, including absence of close friends, a perfectionist streak working against me, the unbleached arm hair necessitating a last minute wardrobe change (long sleeves!), and having to throw my gear together at the last minute. Just not worth the effort. And, she believes, a passive -aggressive desire to hold her responsible at a later date. There's something to that theory as well.

I did explain that I need more safe time in female mode, that I haven't been able to fully engage in three months, that our "arrangement" isn't sufficient. She believes that leaving me to my own devices in the basement in the wee hours of the morning should be safe enough. But I see a kid barfing or bleeding in the middle of the night, and Dad being needed. Or a child having insomnia and wandering downstairs. I might be able to whip off a wig and throw a blanket over my clothes, but there's no way I could indulge in makeup. It's just too risky.

She believes this to be tolerant, but I still feel I'm fighting her to get this, and what I'm getting isn't enough. I don't know how far I need to go down this road, but I haven't gotten there yet. I tried to explain that there's a lot of gray between the two gender standards. Not sure she believes that's where I'm headed.

There was more, but we talked over an hour and covered a lot of ground. This was the most open I've been with her. I decided to share quite a few of my secrets with her. She was a little upset a couple times, but mostly it was calm and mature.

So what I've learned is: create a crisis, suffer the consequences, have the heart-to heart you wanted in the first place as a reward for creating a crisis. A perfect circle, perfectly dysfunctional.

When Is It My Turn?

My life is like a shop-vac, it sucks and blows.

I knew it was coming. I put it off till I couldn't anymore. I had to tell her that I wanted to be away longer than the usual meeting length. Why do you need to do that, she asks. Well, I'm planning on dressing at a friend's apartment, because the bathroom at the meeting site is really not designed for such. Why would you need to leave that much earlier, just to get dressed? OK, I probably don't have to leave that early. So, would you be willing to let me go out and have fun for seven hours while you are responsible for the kids? (That's a rhetorical question--she doesn't want an answer)

And that was the end of the conversation. I couldn't tell her that Cassie wanted to take me to a quiet little T-friendly restaurant, so I could get my first public outing under my belt. Because she would freak out.

All I want is to wring a little bit of joy out of my pathetic life without having to hurt the one I love. I just want permission to enjoy myself for a few hours a month. I'd love to include her, but she has ruled that out. I desperately need to spend time as "myself", whoever the hell that is. I'm never going to figure it out at this rate. I haven't dressed completely for exactly three months today, and that day was tempered by "the note" she dropped on me as I left for my meeting.

When do I get to be happy? I just finished bawling for a half hour, ten feet below and 20 feet west of my snoozing wife. I'm that close to her, but I could just as well be on Mars (well, Venus) for how disconnected I feel from her. I keep hiding huge chunks of my double life to protect her, but I can't tell her I'm protecting her. So the little I have to reveal, I get punched in the proverbial gut. Do I have a martyr complex, or what?

My best friends Shannon and Tina aren't going to be at the meeting, and my enthusiasm has waned completely. And this emotional upheaval has occurred during the time I was planning to bleach my arm hair. I'm probably going to just skip the whole thing. Then I can really revel in my suffering. I'm big into S&M (Sulk & Mope), a real peach to be around.

Sucks and blows...

Learning Curve

"I'm wearing the shoe till it fits, then I'm calling it quits" -- Aimee Mann --

I'm feeling much freer to talk about my TG life with the missus of late. She's very nicely opening the door, asking if there's anything I want to talk about. Today she even asked about my therapy session. She has never expressed any interest before in the content of my treatment. I'll address anything she's curious about if it keeps the talk flowing.

My friend Cassie called me tonight. Last month she offered to let me dress for our meeting at her apartment, then go out for a bite to eat before the meeting. I had to cancel abruptly on short notice when the wife boiled over. Cassie kindly made the same invitation for the August meeting. She's very understanding and forgiving.

I got in trouble last month because I made my plans without consulting my spouse. Not this time. I told her that Cassie had repeated her invitation. No fireworks, but she is clearly worried about me doing anything out in public. She is again making noises about taking the kids to Cincy that weekend. Maybe, maybe not. Regardless, I'm going to run any tentative plans by her. She deserves that consideration.

I'm so used to hiding everything about my other life. It's practically a reflex to deny the facts or change the topic. I'm having to relearn how to communicate with her. The other day, I was making a grocery list, with her rattling off items. I told her to slow down, as I hadn't learned shorthand in the steno pool. Then I quickly added that I had mastered the dress code there. This joke would not have been made a month ago, but my comfort level, and hers, has risen. If I can manage not to screw this up, my life may be pretty tolerable. And isn't that the American dream?