WInds of Change

I had fun doing Lindy Hop last night at the Riverbend Winery. My confidence was up and I asked several guys to dance. I had to stop about every third song to cool down and breathe as these guys took me through my paces :)

But about 48 minutes after the lessons themselves were over, I couldn't seem to cool down enough to dry the sweat drenching my forelocks (bangs). I knew that was a good signal to say my goodbyes and head home. As I stepped off the elevator, I realized I had to walk across the buffer area between a comedian and his audience. Immediately, I wished I would have used the stairs, which lead to a different door. He was in the middle of some baby joke when I slithered by. Once outside, I heard him say, "You'll miss all the entertainment." I just turned and waved as I continued to my car.

My job did not pan out as promised. I accepted the position almost a year ago because I was unemployed on the condition that it would either convert to permanent, or, if that failed, negotiate for a higher rate. When neither happened a few months ago, my request for a mild increase was denied and it appears that there is no hope for either permanency nor more pay despite the performance, the fact that I am not making enough to manage my current debts becomes the deal breaker.

While the company was good to let me seamlessly transition, the fact is I need to pay my bills, and I can't do it for much longer. So, at the beginning of August, I let myself go into passive-job-hunting mode. One recruiter contacted me for a position making significantly more than what I'm making now, and I, for once in what seems a liong time, was a match for the requirements. The employer wanted me to fill out a pre-screen questionaire about my previous experience, which I felt pretty comfortable answering, and read like a magazine interview when I submitted it. Over the last couple of days, he has submitted me as a candidate to:

• An e-commerce company in Salt Lake City that specializes in helping brand name companies sell their merchandise when they have too much of it.
• An e-commerce company in Seattle. This will be my fourth time up on this company. Last time I made it to the in-person interview, and it was the first and only company I interviewed presenting as female.
• An e-commerce company in Las Vegas, where a number of TG ladies buy their shoes over the internet, which I found out, interestingly enough, is owned by the Seattle company.

I did not mention the company names for fear of triggering blog alerts within the companies themselves.

I have my injectable estrogen now. The prescription was written to dispense 10 months supply at a time. I paid an average of 18 dollars a month for the prescription, which is much cheaper that the 68 dollars a month I was paying for the inconvenient patch, which, by the way, floats embarassingly in swimming pools and bathtubs, when you're not having to keep it on with duct tape (Mark that down as another use for duct tape.)

My friend will be able to walk me through the process Thursday at the earliest. I am looking forward to being able to do this myself.

...which reminds me. I got the IRA application in the mail, and just need to return it with my signatures. Somehow, I completely forgot the mailbox on the way to work. Could it have been the speed bumps?

Hugs and God Bless,
Sophie

From Her Chrysalis

"Which is exactly what they've succeeded in doing," Ethan muttered.
-- Chloe Neill, Friday Night Bites

From her chrysalis

She emerges.

That within

Has completely subsumed

That without.

No longer does she have to crawl

Across the bark

And the leaves,

Always hungry,

Seeking sustenance.

Free and leaving the thin husk of her old self behind,

She can

Take to the air,

Ride the updrafts

Spiraling ever upwards,

And then let go,

Banking and swerving,

Being what she was meant to be.

Landing where she might.

But it took work.

Feeding that inner hunger

Until the time was upon her.

Spinning her cocoon,

To keep her safe

While she gave in to her transformation

Before emerging in the world

Pretty, confident and smart.

Does a butterfly feel complete

Before she dies?

As I sat watching the amateur night performance at The Connection, I realized that, perhaps, that form of entertainment was not in the cards for me. As the three judges critiqued the performers, the emphasis became clear. The performers were expected to be in makeup that accentuated their features on a stage scale, which looked grotesque up close as all the makeup tends to go in the wrong places. Then they were expected to not only lip sync the entire song, but all their movements had to be choreographed to tell a story. And what's more, they were expected to lure the audience in with their smile.

Before the performance, I had danced my heart out on the empty dance floor, and suddenly realized that I had an audience. When I was done, headed for the receptionist table to thank them for the use of the dance floor. The transgender woman sitting there encouraged me to stick around for the show, and I chatted with her a little while. Of course, the conversation turned toward upper torso endowments and she gave me advice to help show a little more cleavage. And then she said, "You're a 'real girl.' During the day, I'm just like you. I blend in." Little did I know I was chatting with the host/MC of the contest that was about to start. I found out later that she is actually part of the cast of LeBoy LeFemme, and I had participated in a real conversation with her.

But what she told me has reverberated in other ways, too. Having reached my three-month anniversary of being full-time, the residual male shell seems to be gone. I can't feel anything other than female, and though I can't be confident all the time, I can be a confident woman. I just have to tell myself, "You're pretty. You're smart. All the guys want you"; whether or not it's true. There are times that the irrational feelings of loneliness and rejection kick in, but as a friend explained to me about the breast cycle, it may actually be PMS. Go figure. And around the same time, I was frightened by brown spots in my bra. It hasn't happened since, and my doctor is treating it as infection with horse-pill-size antibiotics.

My coworker told me during my speculation one time, "Don't do that! You're a woman. Get over it!" because I was thinking that it might be easier to think of myself as a "boy that get's to play in a woman's body" rather than a "woman trapped in a man's body."

And at church, I was told, "You're redefining what it means to be a woman, trying one layer on at a time to see how it fits." The difference this time is that the layers mesh in nicely with my core. I remember when I bought my first wig, and the proprietor told me to come back for free makeup lessons to look like who I wanted to look like. I looked at her and told her, "I don't want to look like anybody. I want to look like a female me."

The night I strolled into Jim Porter's with the confidence to ask the guys to dance with me resulted in a new friend coming into my life, a shy, sweet, gentle friend.

I went to the endocrynologist Friday for my 6 month HRT follow up. She took a look at my blood results, noticed everything was fine and told me she didn't need to see me for a year. I asked her to switch my estrogen prescription to injection, which she did, and Nurse Peggy started explaining that I needed to have someone help me the first couple of times, that I could come back to the clinic in a week or so when I had the prescription. Well, I really didn't want to miss more time off from work to drive 70 miles, so I asked if maybe I could get the nurse at my doctor's office to show me. She told me that was alright and advised me how to speak with them.

On the way home, I realized I knew someone who could help. My friend was a nurse and was forced to change careers, a study that he has almost completed. I took the risk and asked him if he could help with an embarrassing favor, that he could say no, because he might learn more about me than he was ready to know.

Yesterday, he came by with a syringe, a practice IM needle and a nursing textbook, and even though I don't have an orange to practice on he gave me some pointers. Hopefully, he'll still come over to help me the first couple of times once my prescription is in.

He learned a lot about me, and I, likewise, learned quite a bit about him. He doesn't want to do certain things that I am not comfortable with, and when I told him leaving after a nice hug, "We need to do something fun sometime," he explained that he is going to be tied up in his studies for the next three weeks first. (Mmmm, tied up). I can wait for him. I mean he has to wait for me for almost a year.

I submitted my referral letter to Dr. Suporn in Thailand. It was approved. Now is a matter of getting the funds together to pay for the procedure. I noticed I have enough in old retirement savings to cover what I need, and I am working with someone at the bank so that I can try to get the down payment by September to schedule my surgery for next July.

When my friend asked me what the surgery was for, I told him, "Sexual Reassignment Surgery." I think it is best to be honest and confident early on about who you are in a relationship if there is a possibility of going intimate. I can tell he still considers me a woman and I can feel it. Whether or not he reciprocates is in the cards. At the very least, we'll be very good friends.

Hugs and God Bless,

Sophia

A Code of Support

Haunting him are the arguments against suicide that he offered to Captain Oshima.
-- John Hamamura, Color of the Sea

On the eve of the 65th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, it's worth a moment to ponder the human dignity of the tens of thousands who died in a flash of light.

In Japan, the Samurai culture lived an intense code of honor. They believed that once they gave their word, they would sooner die than break their integrity. In a very real sense, this ethos forced people to live honestly, since promises were not handed out idly. If they felt that they dishonored their family name, the shame would drive them to suppuku, a ritual said to restore honor by immolating themselves on the point of a sword. In the movies, you usually see a clean thrust and then the person committing suppuku leans over and dies.

Somehow, this code of honor has bled into American culture, as evidenced by the amount of suicides that occur every year. The number of people taking the "easy way out" is even higher among LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender people), who feel that they have shamed their family. So they quite often seek a quick and relatively painless death.

In reality, such a clean death would only add more shame to the family. I first heard this concept explained to me by my 8th grade American History teacher. Suppuku is designed to be slow, tortuous and sure in order to reflect the deep emotional trauma. The blade was inserted at the base of the abdomen, and the tortured soul was to cut around the abdomen, letting the intestines fall out. Only if this process was completed was this considered an honorable death. It would take an incredible amount of willpower to be able to continue with the loss of blood and the smell of feces and blood exposed and pouring out on the ground. And then someone would have to clean up the mess.

But there is a much better way, a better suppuku, a higher one. Live with your shame. We are all human, and we all make mistakes. Everyone of us is born different, and everyone of us has felt shame. If everyone who ever felt intense shame killed themselves, this country would be a wasteland. Have the courage to live with your shame and die an old woman or man from your body breaking down on its own. Make amends to those you feel you have wronged or have them release you from your vow.

Live with your grief. Pain makes us human. The shame we have felt enables us to minister to others in deep emotional trauma, even those who ministered to us. Your family is 5 billion strong, and never forget it. Our home is the planet we live on. If you feel you've shamed all 5 billion people on this earth, then I encourage you to be a walking example of temerity. Let's call this The Code of Support. Someone out there needs your help, and someone out there is willing to help you.

Besides, all extreme emotions fade over time if you are willing to acknowledge them and let them go; although, some stick around longer than others. You'll get over it. Wise old women and men get that way because they know what suffering is. It's hard to live 80 or more years without experiencing some negative feelings.

I was going to talk a little about the Movie Night I hosted for my local support group, but I can see I have go on long enough.

Be a survivor. Deal with it. Get over it.

Hugs and God Bless,
Sophie

Acting

Let the acting begin, I thought, and prepared to lay out the script that Ethan and I had prepared--details that might be useful as Robert attempted to build connections among the city's supernatural population.
-- Chloe Neill, Friday Night Bites

Let's talk about honesty and integrity. In particular, I would like to address self-honesty.

It was a long time ago, but when I was 19, I made a vow to myself that I would always be honest to myself from then on. The significance of my pledge was that I had to listen to my conscience when I wasn't honest to others. I wasn't going to let myself candy-coat the things I was doing, but instead try to understand the full impact of what living in what I called "survival mode" did to others. In fact, in order to be convincing in your lies to others, you have to deny yourself the fact that you did it.

And once you start lying to yourself, you can no longer trust yourself. Your faith in your visions becomes shattered, and you don't know who you are anymore. Part of your acting has become real, but what is real anymore. And once you don't even trust yourself...you can't put trust in other people. You fail to see the good in them, only the "survivor" like yourself. In essence, you have lost your self-integrity.

So being honest to myself meant being honest to other people. meant not stealing from, taking advantage of, or harming people in any way. My best friend, my ex-roommate, had gone from shoplifting LP's (Long Playing Records, AKA albums) to stealing furniture from a store that he worked at. He marveled at the things he had access to take, while working at the university stadium working as a police dispatcher.

And I started to follow along in his footsteps, only I believed in taking things that I found more practical, like the TV that he helped me carry from storage to our apartment. After we moved to separate apartments, I "acquired" a telephone, which I removed from a dorm near my apartment, because someone left the window open. At the convenience store I worked at, I jokingly labeled a jar "starving students," trying to get people to donate their change to the legitimate charity jar sitting next to it, by asking customers which charity they'd prefer donating the change to. I was surprised to see them drop the coins, clinking, into the "starving students" jar, even when I told them it was only a joke and would only go to help me get my electricity turned back on--which was not a lie.

They trusted me. And I wanted them to continue to trust me. I learned that day that if people can trust you, they will help you out when you need it. Of course, the money was not enough to pay the electricity bill, but I had deep respect for the community. That's when I made my personal vow about self-honesty. I will always be honest to myself.

Shortly, after that, I was practically accused of stealing out of the till, something I would never do. Besides violating trust, I knew the money was counted every night. I was living in a more honest survival mode. Instead of throwing out all the deli sandwiches at night after I had marked them as loss because they had expired, I would microwave one as my dinner. I wasn't stealing or deliberately marking things off, but neither would I ever volunteer that I was eating garbage.

The day after I was accused of stealing from the drawer, using the evidence of my "charity jar," I started calling in sick. I decided that I couldn't return to a place of business that doubted my integrity, especially living under the conditions I was. I quit.

When we create a vision of a deceitful life, we don't leave room for an honest one. We can get so wrapped up in "survival mode" that we start deliberately harming others. Shoplifting is one example. When others find out about your deceit, they can never trust you, feeling that you might bite their hand if they try to feed you.

And in the worst case, you'll go to jail or be killed over it. Having misdemeanors of shoplifting on your record will not only preclude you from getting a professional job, it can even stop you from working at McDonald's.

So if you are living in "survival mode," before you hurt someone else with your actions, swallow your pride and keep your integrity and begin by asking family, friends and neighbors for help, before you lose them all.

Hugs and God Bless,

  Sophia

Decisions

The FBI are so heavily backlogged, eight months pass before they begin checking Sam's background.
-- John Hamamura, Color of the Sea

I'm trying to decide which images to have professionally retouched to be used as professional headshots, and the problem is that every time I go through the list, I find one I like better. The image at my right, for instance, is image number 29 of 50, and before I was thinking numbers 1 and 47 were the best ones to use, so much so that I used them as profile pics.

And then there's image number 38 to the left, that the photographer captured while I momentarily looked toward the ceiling before looking in the lens. That image just catches my spirit in an almost indescribable way.

And looking at the images, I have to say that I am really pleased with the direction my hair has taken in the last couple of months. It took me just over one year to get here from my last cut-back to just above the ears.

You're welcome to view all 50 of them if you'd like. It looks like I could really use some input making this decision. They are available at the photographer's site and I also reposted them at Facebook, so people could help me out with a little feedback, letting me know which images they liked.

This need for headshots goes back to the fourth Saturday of last month, when I was manning the booth at the Lexington Pride Festival for TransKentucky, a transgender support group that meets in Lexington once a month. The lighting manager for a very large entertainment complex featuring male to female entertainers stopped by and introduced himself. When I mentioned that he would be the person to talk to if I needed to make a little money on the side, he told me, "They always need entertainers," and proceeded to give me an email address to apply through.

Well, somehow I lost that email adress by the time I gave the opportunity serious thought two weeks later. I went to the complex's web page and found an email address for models. In my email, I told my story, including the talk with the lighting manager, and a few days later, on July 6, I received a reply in my inbox, which I hesitantly opened, bracing myself for rejection and I read:

Dear Sophie,
  Thank You for your letter, but to be honest... Just a Letter isnt going to get you work here. I need a Headshot as well.
Please send, and then I will look into a POSSIBLE booking for you…

The response was somewhat positive, but what seems to be proposed is a little scary. I was hoping to be just one of the chorus entertainers, and his reply seemed to imply a more prominent role? And why did he capitalize "possible?" Does that mean it's more or less possible.

So I got in touch with a photographer whose work I liked and contacted him about doing the work. He only does headshots on the weekend, and since his immediate Saturday was booked, and my next one was reserved for the kids,we wound up doing it yesterday.

He asked me when we met if the entertainment complex had referred him, since he had done recent work for them. I counted myself lucky as I told him that no, I had found his work on the internet. Because he had done work for the complex which was holding out the "possible booking," he would be able to help me with just the right poses.

So we spent the next hour with him directing me through various poses, turning one way and another, lifting my chin, trying on different smiles and different wardrobes. Just the experience modeling was worth doing the photos. It was actually fun.

I need to let him know by Wednesday at the latest which two photos I would like touched up since he'll be out of town after that. So back to choices, choices...

After the photoshoot, I changed into something more appropriate than the cocktail dress I was wearing for Families in Transition (a mandatory divorce education class). After I slipped into my jeans and creamy brown half-sleeve top with the white print across the bust, I tied my hair up in a tight pony tail. For the first time, my bangs were long enough to be completely included.

At Families in Transition, I somehow got tapped to be the spokesperson for our group. They do cover some really valuable things in there. At least the class is half over and when I attend this Saturday, I'll be done.

If you get a chance, check out my photos and let me know which ones you like.

Hugs and God Bless,

  Sophia

Becoming That Woman

She dipped her spoon into her oatmeal, then nibbled a bit off the end.
-- Chloe Neill, Friday Night Bites 

"The girls here really know how to ask a guy to dance," Steve, an impressed first-time Swing dancer said, shortly after we finished the first dance last night. In fact, I had a fantastic time dancing almost non-stop with several people, taking brief respites to cool down and allow my heart to catch up. Steve, at one point, made the comment, "All the other girls must be jealous, because you've danced to almost every song."

Eventually, I was called to the floor for my birthday dance. A few months ago, I wouldn't have even tried. It takes quite a bit of practice following to tune yourself every 15 seconds or so to a different lead, as you are passed from hand to hand. I started with Dan and, several leads later, as the song drew to a close,  finished with Sam walking me to my seat. On the way back, I thanked her for her invaluable advice.

Afterwards, the D.J. apologized for being so rude, for avoiding me all these nights, because of a "phobia." To him, I was not in stealth at all, even though I "dress like a lady," and during our chat about my story, he eventually pointed out my 13-inch arms to be what gave it away. To be honest, I didn't really notice his "phobia," because I had been so engrossed in my own passive paranoia, which I've had for decades.

A couple of nights previously, it was completely different. I was infuriated and frustrated that in the span of an hour after the lessons were over, I only was invited to dance a single song.

That evening, Brandy saw me laying on the grass in my misery, and as we talked, she was the first of three people to advise me to take charge of the situation, to not be afraid to ask for my dance. This advice was repeated by my coworker, Sandra, and online by Sam, who was my first instructor.

Sam's advice went a little deeper. Besides asking the guy to dance, when no one's dancing with you, she told me that more people will ask you to dance if you do so. Not understanding the dynamics at the time, what I discovered is that it is 100% true.

Between her advice and last night, I started thinking about the tattoo on my right arm. A female buccaneer, I had chosen it because it represented the type of woman I admired most: a woman that knew how to get what she desired. It was also what I had selected 23 years ago when I was looking for a tattoo to help mark my identity. It is time for me to become that woman.

I had been passively afraid to start social interactions, because I didn't want to offend anyone. So, I would sit as the wallflower, and wait for someone to invite me in. To sit, to dance or to talk. So I always went away hurt, when it appeared no one wanted to have anything to do with me.

I was ignoring reality. I was assigning too much assertiveness to the people around me that I, myself, failed to have. Almost everyone these days is shy, and is simply waiting to be asked, like I was. Modern women don't wait for the opportunities to come to them. They go to the opportunities. I needed to come a few decades into the present.

By deliberately approaching others (while taking care of my presentation), I become more approachable. Isn't it funny how that works? People are afraid that you are too sensitive, are afraid of hurting you or being hurt themselves, until they see you out there.

So, yeah. I danced my ass off. I did it by taking pleasure in asking for a dance from the very beginning. I made a new friend, feel better about myself and am seeing ways to apply this principle, to be more involved and fulfilled.

As I was leaving, I let Steve know, and he stepped into a nice hug.

Apparently, I had given myself a dancing workout that exercised me past my last limits, because I had to take ibuprofen for the leg and toe cramps in order to sleep fitfully. .

I feel great.

Hugs and God Bless,

  Sophia

Exhaustion

The kids are headed back to Texas today. I made sure to give everyone a hug Sunday morning as the car was packed up and they drove out of sight.

It was great having the time to spend with them, to spoil them for a short time, to let them see how much my attitude has changed since I've gone full time. And they are both growing so much.

Friday, after work, my youngest had me change into my denim skorts from my work skirt and we headed out to watch The Sorcerer's Apprentice, a great movie, with romance, comedy and action.

Saturday, we headed off to the Frazier Museum in downtown Louisville to see the Pirates exhibit. Once inside, it was very clear the museum was a war museum, something I would not normally be interested in. But once we found the Pirate exhibit, and got a little attention from the curator, it was fun.

As we left the museum, classic Barbie dolls in the original container sitting on a couch a couple of store fronts on the way back to the car, drew my attention. While my daughters thought it was freaky and a little haunted, the old chinese proprietress invited us to look around her curio shop. It was indeed filled with treasures, from crystal chandeliers, china cabinets and settings to a Popeye mug, furniture and a nude lamp holding the globe light on her foot. I will probably be back when I have the money and a bigger place.

We spent the next two hours at the Atlantis water park in Indiana again, after getting a little lost trying to remember our way, It took instructions from Walgreen's and a nearby liquor store before I finally found the nestled park again. Next time, I'll just remember it's the road right behind the Holiday Inn.

After the kids left Sunday morning, I discovered I had time to get ready and go to the church. I fought nausea the whole way and I didn't have any appetite. As I was sitting down, chatting with Don, sipping a coffee and losing the battle with my inner ear in the fellowship area. Gail came whooshing down toward me in a white dress with flower print on it. I barely had time to breathe, "Hi Gail," before she reached down, hugged me and planted a kiss. When my focus cleared, and right before she turned to walk into the sanctuary, I noticed she had her grandkids in tow.

Peggy stopped by, smiled and said, "I was hoping Sophie was here. I need to check my mascara and lipstick." Somehow, several ladies of the church are using me as their model of femininity. That certainly makes it a lot easier for me to fit in.

Unfortunately, the nausea was getting the better part of me, and I let a couple people know of my apparent exhaustion. I started to veer from a man I saw wearing what appeared to be only a bathing suit. As I got to my car, I noticed he was walking around the church in only slacks, socks, and a wristband only. Digging into my bag in the trunk of my car, I pulled out one of my male golf shirts, ran after him and asked him if he could use it, because it was going to get "awfully hot." I finally had an opportunity to use my old male clothes for what I intended. He said, "Please" and "Thank you" and put the shirt on as I walked away, making me feel better. And I thought about the strange coincidence, allowing me to show kindness to a stranger, because I was feeling ill, but had tried to attend church anyway.

The rest of the day was spent in total exhaustion. I tried to spend some time with Brandy, but found comfort only in trying to sleep. About 8 PM, I confirmed I had left my glasses at Brandy's place, and she said she would come over after her shower. At 9, I changed into my only summer sleepwear left, which was this pink with polka-dotted set, and at 10, I braved the neighborhood eyes, and went to retrieve my glasses. Brandy was in a state of constant interruption, with a towel on her head, and remarked how she like my sleepwear.

My exhaustion didn't break until about 3 AM this morning, when I finally felt real hunger in my belly. I finished off the orange juice and chased in down with milk, not quite ready for solid food yet, as the heat of the bathroom alone was starting to get to me. The scale, however, had me at a new low: 188 pounds, not bad considering the day before had me back  up to 196.

Since I got to work this morning, I've polished off a granola bar and a nectarine. It's only 10:30 AM and I'm about to dig into my remaining orange I found in my purse.

I have gender counseling tonight. I suspect my referral letter for surgery is ready. I've already seen the first page, and it is well-written. I imagine that we'll also discuss how my transition at work is going, how my time with my two daughters fared, and how my ex and I are coping with the divorce.

Afterwards, it's off to the library to drop off The Evolution of Calpernia Tate. It seems someone else has requested it, and I only got 55 pages into the book in three weeks. It's been a long time since I've had to return a book unread. I am going to have to ignore the newly installed cable until I'm bored reading.

Hugs and God Bless,

Sophia Jean