Embracing my femininity isn’t an accident; it also takes work

So much of the beauty that is enfolding around me is also unfolding inside of me…how I perceive the world is forever altered by seeing it through female eyes, mine.  When I first contemplated Gender Affirming Hormone Therapy (GAHT), the most powerful thing in the positive column was having a female brain.  Second on the list was changes to my physical body, specifically curves—the redistribution of fat to my thighs and butt.  A skinny little thing like me, though, doesn’t get much in this department, but slipping into a very tight sheath dress the other day produced the most intense joy as I could see the curves of my body.

To keep the body going in the direction I seek, there is a relentless program of exercise.  I don’t like missing a day.  Running is critical to weight loss, and for those of you who hate running as much as I used to, starting slowly, with little distance, is okay.  It is wise to listen to your body and only push so much.  Being macho with the self and pain is silly.  Know this: over a given distance, running at a slower pace will burn more calories than running at a fast pace.  Okay, there are cardio benefits, but this can be had in other ways.  The rest of my exercise regimen is about tightening—a firm butt is a calorie burner extraordinaire.  A strong core is essential to life—a snatch waist can be exercised for.

The mental changes, however, require a very different kind of work-out.  This is not about doing, but more about being.  One of my struggles as an ADD peep is how hard it is to calm my mind and find internal zen.  This has recently come for me in the form of Shibari, a Japanese bondage martial art that has the curious effect of putting me in a trance.  Yoga is also teaching me that.  So too is a daily meditation.  First thing on getting up.

These various exercises or activities are more about the absence of activity, though.  Emptying the mind.  I have written about the magic threads that swirl around us.  Most people never see them, never feel them, not even when they are completely in their laps.  My witchiness is somehow tied to these threads—being able to see them as they happen.  I cannot see the future, but I can see the presence with increasing clarity.  I see the twitching of the fabric of the universe as it unfolds around me.  This is a skill of my female brain.  I could always see it, but now I really can, and feel it.

Life is not random unless we choose not to listen.  There is a beautiful expression that “luck only happens to the prepared.”  Thus it is with magic.  A sceptic might ask, “how can it be luck if you have to prepare for it?”  But you don’t win the lottery if you don’t buy the ticket.  You have to help yourself for the universe to get in on the act.  This is not advocacy for the poor tax that is the lottery, but rather for the spiritual emotional work required to hear the universe.

The spiritual path is one that is so easy to ignore.  Our whole society is filled with ways to distract ourselves from this one true reality.  For these reasons I stopped watching television several years ago.  I do not wish to be “entertained”.  I am not a baby.  At least not like that.  I am only a baby to someone I love, but for the rest of you, I will eat you alive if so inclined.  You best be strong.

The point is, we cannot be alive, fulfilling our true purpose, if we are not deeply in touch with the energy around us.  How any one person gets in touch with this, becomes a seer, starting with the self, will vary on the person.  For me this comes through exercise, aspects of BDSM, particular a growing joy for experiencing the lash, but also diet—ritual fasting, for example.  When it comes to diet it is also about what foods I consume…everything has energy.  Eating foods with higher levels of energy will track to how you feel.  The more natural the food, the more raw and less processed, and the closer to the plant kingdom it is, the higher vibration it has.  Eating foods with low vibration drags your body down.

The Joy of Breast Development

The growth of the breasts was for the longest time the main obstacle to my starting GAHT.  They are incontrovertible proof that something is changing.  They cannot be hidden.  Well, eventually.  But now I can still hide them, though I have to be careful.  I wasn’t sure I wanted them, and prayed to be a member of the itty bitty titty club.  Well, now I am.  I hope that they don’t grow much more…they are already perfect.  Insolent, perky little things that have forever changed the silhouette of my chest.

My male children will no longer say that man boobs are bigger than mine…and no, they don’t look at all like man boobs.  Not one bit.  They, unlike the rest of me, are unmistakably teen, primped as they are from freshly stretched and formed flesh.  They have already attracted unwanted attention in the form of inappropriate contact.  To me they are precious.  They are also insanely sensitive.  But I am not afraid of them anymore.  I want them to grow to whatever size they are meant to.

My attitude to most things has changed.  I am no longer “coming out”.  I just am.  That’s enough.  If I am a transgender woman, then I will live my life consistent with that.  I feel the same way about work, about my clothes, about surgery, about sex (and looking forward to getting a seeing to someday, but with a woman, combining the tender touch with the violent thrust.  Yes.

It is still amusing that almost everyone, male or female, still genders me male, says “sir” to me even though I am always dressed to the nines in unquestionably female attire.  Unless they are younger than 30, and then they almost always get it right unless their politics gets in the way of their civility.  Will I ever get annoyed by this?  Maybe.  My voice is deep.  I look like a pretty man.  Will a vagina be enough?  I will never “pass”.  My chances for that died when puberty struck…a private act of violence.  But I can’t complain for the privilege that I have enjoyed ever since…and yet, I would trade it, as I am sure would most if not all of my trans sisters.

I do sympathise with both sides of the bathroom debate.  Part of me really enjoys hiking up my skirt and using a urinal.  The shock value?  It remains convenient.  I will keep using the men’s room until I am post-op.  That’s my choice, and I have not yet felt unsafe.  And I surely understand how men make women feel unsafe, including those of us who are neither one or the other.  That’s my choice, one taken without judgement.  But once I have upcycled my whotsit and I am the proud owner of a vulva I can call my own, there is no way I have any intention of mingling with what for me at the point will have become the opposite sex.

And in the meantime, I will enjoy, nay, relish, messing with people’s heads over my gender presentation.  Just one of the many pleasures of transition.

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