Long Trip Alone

Just to make myself feel REALLY old this week, I looked up a few dates. It turns out that I was 17 when email became widely used, 22 when texting was invented, 23 when one of the first blogs was published, 25 when Hotmail was introduced, 28 when MSN messaging was rolled out, 30 when Yahoo Groups were first spawned, 32 when Facebook hit the general population, 33 when YouTube starting shaking up the world, and 34 when Twitter was launched. Ouch.

The thing is, as I did not start trying to find out more about my gender issues, and considering transition, until my mid to late 30s, I had all of the above to help me find out information, get in touch with people in similar situations, chat about my feelings, look at photos, explore different viewpoints, etc. etc. I’ve heard (often younger) FTMs state that the internet has ‘saved their lives’ in terms of being trans, and coping with that, and whilst I do not want to belittle the strength of feeling they’ve expressed, I’ve always argued that the diverse communication channels we enjoy these days simply make dealing with an age-old problem easier.

Whatever contact I have with other trans people via the internet/texting/etc. I still crave real human interaction with people like myself. Even just a little bit like me. However, this is often easier said than done.

The problems a lot of trans people have, in my experience, particularly transmen, is that there aren’t THAT many of us and we’re pretty widespread geographically. Another important factor is that many transguys choose either not to identify as trans at all, or to remain ‘stealth’ (that is, not ‘out’ as trans) in their everyday lives.

Currently in the UK there are a number of FTM groups that meet – not just to sit discussing Testosterone and surgery (though of course it’s always helpful to swap notes). Mingling over a cuppa and a jammy dodger, or a pint and pasta is, for me, something that gives me strength, and more importantly, helps me remember I’m not just a freak.

The first time I went to the FTM London group was mind-blowing – I’d never been in a room with people who were even a *little* bit like me. We were all different ages, outlooks and attitudes, with some far along the transitioning road, and some only just starting to think about that route. But it worked, and that (trans)human contact is what keeps me going along. But then I am fortunate, and I am able to travel to London easily. That’s certainly not the case for everyone, which leaves a lot of people isolated.

Up in the city where I live, I know there’s quite a few transguys. I know a handful of them – some by chance encounter, others via friends, and some from initial contact online. The thing is, of course, is that it just isn’t done to walk up to someone and say “excuse me, but are you by any chance transgender?” Even at the few trans gatherings I’ve attended, when there have been a large number of transwomen, and then maybe just myself and another guy I didn’t know, you can’t sidle up to that person, and say “so, I believe we have something in common”. I’m more shy in real life than I am online, and besides, I don’t want to get punched.

My city doesn’t have an FTM social group. I believe there once was one, but don’t know the history of what happened to it. For a long time I’ve thought about trying to start something, but felt that I wasn’t at a point in my transition where I could give very much. Perhaps, though, the time has come. TG2012, a conference for transgender people, is taking place in a few weeks at the local University. I’m thinking of having some flyers printed for distribution there, asking for input on starting a new group locally. Is this the way forward in helping those who identify as FTM in the area, or am I biting off more than I can chew?

The internet is a marvellous thing, and has opened up the world, with all its warts, for all to see. But I still feel we need to be able to meet face-to-face, even just occasionally, to feel less alone.

Filtering Out The World

I was bullied throughout my school years. Well, most of them, anyway. The war of spite, put-downs and vicious mockery started when I was about nine. Not so coincidentally, about the same age I started self-harming, but that’s another post. The bullying continued whatever school I went to, so I reached the seemingly obvious conclusion at an early age that it was me that was doing something wrong, and that other people were justified in whatever they were saying or doing to me. Not good for a little head.

After a few years of that, I think my brain started putting up a filter, so that I was able to go about my business in some ignorance of what was going on around me. An example of this is one occasion where I got off the school bus, aged 14 or 15, and someone I knew asked “Are you ok?”. I replied that I was fine, and asked why. She looked at me a little oddly and explained that throughout the journey a group of my schoolmates had been shouting comments at me, laughing and joking at my expense, with an audience of the whole of the lower deck of the bus. I genuinely hadn’t heard a thing, and there’s not a lot wrong with my hearing. Thank you, brain, for filtering that one out.

Whilst I was still having problems with bullies when I left school at 18, adult life brought relief. Over the years, as my self-confidence reasserted itself, and I didn’t need the filter any more, it gradually disappeared. And I grew to miss it, as I once again became aware of the negativity that goes on everywhere.

A lot of people hold strong views about trans people, and all too many of them think it’s ok to direct their venom at us as a community, and at individuals. I am fortunate in that people I know and mix with have either had the courtesy not to say anything hurtful to my face, or at least lacked the guts to.

However, without my filter against the world, I am very sensitive to whispering and stares, but with the wonderful advent of MP3 players, I have managed to create a reasonably effective filter for myself – music. By creating my own personal white noise, I find myself much more able to zone out others around me, and help the Paranoia Monster lay down and sleep for a while. I firmly believe that all the people who go through life with earphones permanently attached are probably doing much the same thing as me.

Sadly, I can’t do this all the time, particularly not with social networking, the internet generally, and the media skewing and attacking wherever it can. The trouble is, I tend to take criticism of my community generally very personally, and this snaps me straight back into being a child.  If someone somewhere in the world posts an article claiming that parents who decide to transition are selfish and disgusting, I start wondering if they’re right, despite being a logical(ish) intelligent person who knows that’s just a personal opinion, and a bigoted one, at that. Reading that another trans person has been vilified by their family fills me with fear that the acceptance I have been offered by my family isn’t genuine. The more ‘evidence’ I see that very many people consider my path in life to be wrong, the more that I feel everyone must think that about me. And so the Paranoia Monster operates.

There are a couple of logical solutions to all of this – firstly, put things in perspective, and secondly, don’t read it. To look at the second first (!?), I do try to limit what I see online. I ‘hide’ stories or pictures on Facebook that set off an unwanted emotional response, and avoid the Daily Mail Online like the plague. It’s actually not all that often that an online newspaper says anything so stupid it can’t be written off to lousy journalism, but the comments below any article to do with LGBTIQ stories are often horrendous. So much hatred and mockery, directed at people like me, or like those I love, is far too triggering, so I leave well alone.

But I am an “out” trans person. By writing this blog and making my own YouTube videos, as well as contributing to a collaborative channel (details to the right of this page) I am putting myself to some extent into the public sphere. I don’t want to build myself a little cocoon and hide in it forever, as I feel it is important for me to fight for the rights of people like me (and those unlike me, too). To do that, though, you need to know what’s out there, and respond it it. Otherwise, the haters really will win the battle and scare us into submission. To face up to these challenges, though, you need to have some sort of filter in place, or you’ll fall apart. Just as my childhood brain recognised.

So, perspective must be important, and it is this that I am working on, as my adult-style filter. You know that saying “It’s not all about you”? When seeing things online, or hearing them on the street (if they’re shouting loudly enough to drown out the Red Hot Chili Peppers) or reading them on Facebook, I have to reaffirm that it’s not all about me.

Funnily enough, some recent trolling on one of my videos bothered me not one bit, despite the comment reading something along the lines of “People like you shouldn’t be allowed to make videos. You’re disgusting, you f****** f****t”. Why would that not upset me, but someone commenting elsewhere online that ‘trans people are clearly mentally ill and should be locked away’ make me feel attacked?

I’ve a long way to go on this one, and I’d be interested to hear how other people keep their heads when all around them are losing theirs.

Project Pee

If you’ve read any of my earlier posts, you will know that I am not all that keen on discussing the contents of my pants. This is partly because it’s often the only thing that people consider important in terms of a transgender person’s transition, and partly because, well, it’s nobody’s damn business.

However, on this occasion, I’m willing to break my own rule to an extent, to discuss a very specific issue. Peeing.

Now don’t get me wrong here – I don’t feel a need to pee standing up in order to prove my manliness, look more macho, or anything like that. I appreciate that for some transmen, being able to use the bathroom in a way that fully reflects their gender identity is very important indeed, but my feelings on the subject are driven more by practicality.

In the majority of situations outside of the home, using a stall to pee is fine, though I still haven’t really acclimatised to the filthy state of many men’s public toilets. Sane, sensible, polite, reasonable men do seem to turn into filthmonsters in a public loo. If I ever find out which specimen of manliness feels a need to pick his nose and wipe the bloodied result repeatedly on the toilet wall where I work, I will have words.

However, as I said, that aside, I’m quite happy to plonk my bottom on a toilet seat and spend a few minutes contemplating my naval, without any sort of gender dysphoria kicking in.

The time when I really would like to be able to pee standing up are on a night out, or when using unfamiliar toilets, particularly those with one stall, a broken lock, and poo on the floor…I mean, come on guys…who misses the toilet entirely?? Under these circumstances, I would love to be able to unzip, pee and run.

Also, as men use the stall to empty their bowels, they take their time about it. So if I’m stood in the gents waiting patiently behind 2 people for the stall, with 6 empty, shiny urinals  just a few steps away, I know I’m going to be there for a while. And really, do YOU like hanging around in toilets, trying not to catch anyone’s eye??

So what’s the answer to this? Three letters: STP, or to be more formal, a Stand To Pee Device. Used mainly by transmen, and occasionally by women, they enable someone with female anatomy to pee standing up, without weeing down their own leg. Or at least, that’s the theory.

STPs are often combined with packers. A packer being a soft squidgy object shaped like a penis and balls, which sits in your pants to give the impression of male anatomy. I think the psychology and practicality of packing deserves a whole blogpost of its own, so forgive me if I stick to the basics here and now. An STP packer has a wider ‘catcher’, into which you pee, and a tube through the penis to the outside world. It is, to put it mildly, a knack.

I own an STP packer, which also has the interestingly euphemistic third function of ‘Play’. Yes, it can be used for penetrative sex. Waahay! It is also, allegedly, one of the easiest designs to use for peeing. Hmmmmmm. As someone said when I first raised this question, “Practise in the shower. Lots”. This I have done, but my experience is that whilst something is pretty easy with no clothes on, and no audience, doing it in a crowded pub toilet is something else again.

When using an STP, you have to have very good control over your flow. I know I did all my Kegel exercises after having my daughter, but let’s face it, I’m 40, post-baby and not terribly toned ANYwhere on my body, let alone ‘down there’. To avoid backing up your STP, the flow must be even. Add nerves and a couple of pints into this equation, and you’ve got a problem.

The other issue is clothing. I just don’t have the guts to risk peeing all over my clothes in public (definitely not my fetish, chaps!) and haven’t yet got the hang of exposing just enough of myself to be able to fish around and get the STP in the right place, and pee, without looking like I’m having a little fondle in front of the urinal…

Because of all this, I’d sort of given up on the standing to pee, but having spent one too many embarrassing times waiting outside stalls, and far too many times wishing I could levitate inside the stalls, the time has come to get this nailed.

So, my mission is to work out the logistics of peeing, standing up, in public, in a nonchalant manner, without having to carry spare trousers, underwear, socks and shoes…I will report back. Any suggestions very welcome!

And It All Went Swimmingly.

I haven’t been swimming for years. A whole host of issues surrounding my body and transition effectively ruled out swimming for me.

The number one problem was what to wear. Swimming is one of the few sports where there is a distinct difference in the way men and women dress. And anybody not identifying with either of those poles has to make a decision which way to go, swimming cozzie-wise. Easier said than done, when your body says one thing, and your brain very definitely says another.

Technically, of course, I could have continued wearing a woman’s swimming costume. But in reality this would have been far too much of a mind-f*ck. Having my breasts on display in skin-tight lycra would, psychologically, have been disastrous. I contemplated wearing a T-shirt over the top, but let’s face it, once water hits a T-shirt, everything’s still clingy.

I know that in other parts of the country, it is more common for people to swim in T-shirts, or rash vests, but round here that seems to be less common (in my experience) and the last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself.

I did briefly contemplate going swimming wearing my binder, and then a T-shirt, but bearing in mind how hard it was to breathe in a binder, and how close the whole scenario was getting to that part of your swimming badge where you have to jump into the pool in your pyjamas, I gave up.

Fast forward to the present, post-chest-surgery, and a little further on in my body’s slow but steady creep towards the stereotypically masculine. My bum, hips and thighs are smaller, I have a ‘treasure trail’ creeping up my stomach, no breasts, man-sized nipples, oh, and quite a lot of tattoos (which, whilst playing no part in my actual transition, do seem to mark me in people’s eyes as less feminine. Ridiculous, but true.) My hair is a shade short of a buzzcut, so most things are pointing, at a casual glance, towards me being a man.

There is the small issue of scars. I have a purpley-red raised scar running from not-quite the centre of my chest to my armpit on both sides. It’ll fade with time, but given my track-record with scars, probably not entirely. It was suggested to me that I wait to go swimming until the scars were less obvious, but sometimes you’ve just got to bite the bullet, haven’t you?

Besides – what could anyone possibly say that would stop me in my track? “Cor, you’ve got big ugly scars!” Yes, yes I have. “I saw that Transsexual Summer programme, and they had scars like that! Are you a tranny [sic]?” Close. I prefer the word transgender. “That’s disgusting!” You’re entitled to your opinion. “Woah! Were you in a car crash?” Yes, yes I was – they had to operate to reconstruct most of my ribcage. Etc.

So anyway, I decided recently that it was Time. I purchased my first pair of swimshorts – which contrary to my promises to friends are NOT covered in palm trees and scantily clad ladies. Remember the bit about not wanting to stick out? I sat at the computer plotting my movements, checking the timetable, price, etc. I decided to go to a particular pool as it has a unisex ‘Changing Village’, so no immediate ‘what are you doing in here’ issues, hopefully. I also had to plan when to put on my testosterone gel, as it has to stay on your skin for 6 hours, so that went into my bag. Deciding whether or not to ‘pack’ at the pool was an easy one. Quite apart from not feeling it was necessary, I had horrible visions of something coming loose, and my little silicone buddy floating off towards the shallow end (or doing the front-crawl, depending on how imaginative I was feeling) so that also had to go in my bag. It was like packing for a military campaign.

I walked down to the pool, feeling far more nervous than I had anticipated. Visions of being laughed at, pointed at, etc. filled my mind. I was having to do a serious job of calming myself down. After all, what could possibly REALLY go wrong?

The pool was shut. A pool cover problem meant no swimming til it could be repaired. I was devastated.

Which is ridiculous – this was just a trip to have a swim, but for me it meant far more. I was finally going to do what I’d never done before, courage girded, and suddenly couldn’t. As I was close to work, and it was raining, I called the boss, and arranged to start work a couple of hours early, and sat at my desk in a sulk for the rest of the day.

I tried again the following day, this time phoning to check all was well with the pool cover. Changing was no problem, but that moment when I unlocked my cubicle to go put my stuff in a locker took an unreasonable amount of courage. The other problem I had is that I take my glasses off to swim, and prefer to leave them in the locker, so I was flying blind. This could be an advantage, as if anyone had stared at me, I couldn’t see them! It did mean, though, I couldn’t work out which was the gents toilet (the sign was at the top of the door…too far away), and anyway, there was no way I was going into the loo barefoot without being able to see the contents of the floor, so I saved it for later (and no, I DIDN’T pee in the pool!!)

Getting into the water was a dream come true. It was cool, embracing, and on ME, not cloth. Amazingly, I could still remember how to swim (just – I’m a one-stroke-and-not-all-that-good-at-that kinda guy) but honestly most of my time was spent just enjoying how good the water felt, and how good I felt. How free. I stopped worrying about how I looked after the first 2 minutes. Having achieved a real dream has given me a huge confidence boost. And swimming 30 lengths, albeit slowly, made me feel pretty pleased with myself.

Having got myself out of the water without losing my shorts, and changed, and testosteroned, etc. I decided to treat myself to a cup of dodgy coffee and some crisps. I’d just sat down with my goodies, and was giving myself a mental pat on the back for surviving the experience, when the fire-alarm went off, and the whole building, including the pool, was evacuated. Had that happened 15 or 30 minutes earlier, I can leave it to your imagination how I’d have felt…

The Name Game

I changed my name by deed poll in December 2010, and was uncharacteristically efficient telling everyone (well, sort of everyone…well, ok, most people…some) that needed to know. One of the first things I did was get my driving licence changed, as it’s very useful to have photo ID with the correct name on when you’re changing other things (another Trans Top Tip!). The bank presented no problem, my GP surgery was fine, and so on. Mind you, all this time later, there are still a few things lurking in the woodwork in my old name. Partly because I was a wuss about changing some, and partly because I just didn’t get round to it.

The biggest change that I really must make is my passport. At the moment, I’m not able to leave the country, but until I can get my sh*t together and get a letter from a doctor confirming that my “change of gender” (their words)  is expected to be permanent (well, duh) and £77.50, I am destined to holiday in the UK.

I’m much better at dealing with things like this at a distance, eg: via email, or by post, if I can at all get away with it. In the case of my driving licence, all I had to do was send a copy of my deed poll, fill in a form, send them a cheque, and voilà – all sorted. However, sometimes it’s necessary to speak to someone in person. Despite my notable lack of modesty regarding my transition, I still feel uncomfortable telling complete strangers – “coming out” really, just for the sake of getting the right details on someone’s computer system. It took me ages to sort out my mobile account, because I knew I would have to take proof of my new name to the shop. I ended up doing it in London, because I figured that the staff on Oxford Street would probably be more cosmopolitan than here. Nope. You probably can imagine the sort of young guy who works in a mobile phone shop – times that by five, and imagine me explaining at the counter, then twice more, that I needed to change my name…and then watch their face when I handed over my paperwork. #bloodyembarrassing

My situation isn’t helped by the fact that I changed my name twice within 6 months. I went from being (let’s say) Spottyknickers Smith to Spottyknickers Smith-Jones when my partner and I got hitched, to Mark Smith-Jones. Of course, it would have made much more sense to get it done all at once, but life doesn’t always turn out that easy to organise. So I have two lots of name change paperwork. For a short while, my partner and I were both Mrs Smith-Jones, which was complicated enough even before my transition became official.

Just occasionally, this makes my life awkward, such as when I get a ‘phone call from someone asking for Spottyknickers Smith. Or Mrs Smith-Jones (do you mean the ACTUAL Mrs Smith-Jones, or the person who is now MR Smith-Jones??) Or just Miss Smith. At this point, I have a dilemma. I don’t want to say “yes, I’m Spottyknickers” as, well, I’m not. But I don’t know if the person calling is someone Dead Important, or just some poor soul in a call centre using an old contact list. So it can go a little like this:

“Hello, can I speak to Spottyknickers, please?”
“Aaaaaahhhhhhhm………….can I ask who’s calling?”
“It’s Curlylocks Hair Stylists. We’ve got a great new offer on at the moment”
(Audibly relieved) “Ooohhh, I’m afraid Spottyknickers hasn’t lived here for a while. Sorry!”
“Er, thanks…..goodbye”

At which point I realise I’m speaking to them on my mobile.

I haven’t yet had the guts to say “Spottyknickers? No, I’m sorry, there’s no-one of that name here”, just in case it’s information I might need, or the news that a Great-Aunt I’d never heard of has left me a squillion pounds. But really, as time goes on, the name Spottyknickers is increasingly redundant, and I guess the time will come when it can be quietly but respectfully consigned to my personal history book.

Man enough?

Throughout my life I have spent a lot of time trying to see both sides of arguments. Even in situations where I feel very strongly, it’s always been possible to see why the other argument has been made. In many ways this has been a blessing, in others, a curse. It is hard to be really rabid about something whilst simultaneously appreciating the opposite perspective. Not agreeing with, mind, just appreciating. Perhaps it is this that means that whilst I hold very strong political views, it is rare that I choose to bang my political drum. And all the more upsetting that when I do poke my head above the parapet over an issue, it has been seen by some as ‘unnecessary’. Trust me, if people were aware of the strength of my feelings on a lot of issues, they’d realise how much I choose to hide, out of consideration for ‘the other side of the argument’.

From the perspective of a trans person, it can be helpful to recognise and appreciate that not everyone agrees with or applauds the right of a person to determine their own gender identity. Unfortunately, if I do happen to get into a conversation about the politics of gender, some people can be quick to level the accusation of some sort of ‘gender evangelism’, or to be more crude ‘shoving it down their throats’. To bring up a side-issue, this also happens because I am a vegan. I can be happily chowing down on my chosen meal and a fellow diner will then ask ‘Well, WHY don’t you eat X?; so does that mean you are JUDGING me for eating X?; what about X ludicrous scenario involving a desert island and a tub of Philadelphia?’ Funnily enough, I’m not crazy about discussing food-production techniques at the dinner table, and am happy to say so, but you can bet that if I actually answered the questions, I’d be seen as trying to thrust my views on others. This also seems to be the case regarding my transition – people ask lots of questions (which is fine) but not always in the most appropriate setting, and not always without seeing the answers as an attack on or affront to their own gender identity. No, honestly, I’m not recruiting.

I have come across the idea on more than one occasion that choosing to hide your beliefs, feelings, etc. can be seen as a favourable attribute in a man. ‘Stiff upper lip’, ‘sucking it up’, ‘manning up’ and so on, tend to refer to putting aside what you feel and ‘getting on with it’. There have been plenty of times recently where I have had to swallow my pride and refrain from saying what I actually think or believe, because I don’t want to be seen as someone who constantly flies the flag for the Kingdom of Transgender.

As I have mentioned previously, I am very honest, and find it hard to lie. I was at a birthday ‘do’ recently – very few of the people there actually knew me, and those that did were, let’s face it, not sending out an addendum to the invitation reading “Attention, there will be a transgender man at the party. He is short, wears glasses and looks kinda masculine, but not quite. Please do not refer to him as a lesbian” Because it wasn’t all about me, nor did I want to stick out.  We were sat with some really nice people, and chatted on and off throughout the evening. At no point did I make any reference to myself, my business, my gender ‘stuff’ or anything like that. Later on, one lady asked ‘so, how long have you and your wife been together?’ I replied we’d been together 7 years, and married 18 months. At which point she looked me in the eye and said ‘Ah, is that because it’s only recently been made legal for couples like you to marry?’ Did I put on my poker face and ask ‘what sort of couple do you mean?’ Did I give her a brief but thorough run down of my transition, and how it has affected the status of my civil partnership? Did I hell. I smiled sweetly and said ‘that’s right’. On reflection, I’m pretty sure that the majority of people there saw us as a lesbian couple (but MY wasn’t the short one with glasses BUTCH?!) and it would not have done me any favours at all to pitch my Kingdom of Transgender flag in the middle of the birthday cake.

So maybe I am ‘man enough’ to take this kind of situation on the chin, but what are the immediate psychological consequences? Hard, actually. However much I realise that these things are just going to happen, that people don’t mean it, and will have gone home completely oblivious to any identity crises on my part, it hurts. Of course it hurts to be misgendered (and yes, I KNOW how easily that happens/that it’s early days yet/etc. Please see first paragraph re: The Other Side Of The Argument) but it hurts more to have to hide how much that hurts, for fear of being seen as a freak, or even worse, an attention-seeking freak.

 

How To Write An FTM Blog – 10 Top Tips

It has been a year – happy bloggiversary! Well, it was on the 5th March, anyway. I’ve been posting every week, and occasionally in between when I got particularly over-excited. I have now produced 66 posts, of varying seriousness, usefulness and quality, and now I’d like to share my amazing secrets. Please don’t get me wrong, I know that there are WAY better blogs out there, dealing in the same issues that I raise, with far more panache, from a much more educated perspective, and getting a gazillion hits a week. However, I acknowledge my own brilliance, so these are my gems of wisdom…

1) Don’t try to “represent”.

One of the biggest things I have learned through speaking to, mixing with, following online and reading about people who come under the heading of FTM, is how completely different we all are. And I mean completely. I have never met anyone who shares exactly my aims, experience and beliefs regarding transition. I try really hard to make it clear that what I say in my blog relates to me, and whilst there’s a lot of stuff FTM people have in common, it’s not fair or accurate to try to speak for them.

2) Be honest.

I’m a terrible liar, and also have a core belief so deeply-seated that it’s probably become an internal organ by now, that I have to tell the truth. This has got me into trouble on numerous occasions, but I’ve learned to work with it. Society does, after all, require a certain amount of bending of the truth and omission in order to get by without dipping oneself in the sh*t, or hurting others. Anyway, this isn’t a post about telling the truth, but I did promise myself that this blog would be truthful, and that I wouldn’t censor what I said according to who I think might be reading. That said, if I’ve been really torn over something, I’ve developed a policy of “not now but maybe later”, as it may be that later on, talking about something may be easier, or more appropriate. Which leads me to…

3) Draw your boundaries, and stick to them.

I was chatting to someone in the pub a while back, and we agreed that sometimes it is possible to say more than you are actually comfortable with about your transition, particularly given the very searching questions people ask (and my personal honesty fixation). As I put it then: “Oh god, yes, I get carried away, and the next thing I know I’m talking about my clitoris”. In writing a blog about anything, but particularly personal stuff, decide right at the beginning what you WON’T be talking about. For me, it’s what’s in my pants.

Sure, there have been times where I think that others might benefit from knowing in more detail about genital changes through testosterone use, or the different paths available regarding genital surgery (or the lack of it). I do have opinions on these things, but actually, that’s not something I feel comfortable about sharing just now, and I’ve stuck to that. I’ll certainly make reference to things when appropriate, but really feel that just because this is often one of the first questions people ask about FTM transition, that does not mean it should be the first to be answered.

4) Think carefully about the words you use (general).

Talking about anything can be a linguistic minefield. As I’ve discovered over the past year, it is easy to get things wrong. ‘Transgendered’, for instance, was a word I used to use, until I learned that that’s just not a correct term, so made sure I used ‘transgender’ from then on. It’s tempting to go back and change early posts, but after all, this is the story of a transformation, in more ways than one. I feel that each post was the product of how I was feeling, and where I was on my particular journey at the time. I also used to refer to myself as transsexual (still do under certain circumstances, but that’s a whole post of its own) but now, knowing myself better, and appreciating the connotation of that word, tend to steer clear. The word ‘trans’ works well for me when referring to myself or others, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that one word can fit all. Some use ‘trans*’ to denote an umbrella term with the possibility of a number of endings according to the individual. Just be careful that language that you use and feel fine using does not have a different meaning or context for someone else. Tricky.

5) Think carefully about the words you use (naughty).

I made the mistake, being a bit of a comedian, of entitling a post “You typed in Cute Pu**ies and got WHAT?” Only with s instead of a *. You get it. Now, this post was looking at some of the referrals that search engines have sent me. It was largely a humorous post, but also challenged the reality that often people come to my blog because they want to see an FTM pen*s or something along those lines. This would have been fine, but me using the word pu**y has meant that that post has amassed the most individual hits of any of my posts, all year. Even changing the title hasn’t made a difference. I don’t think the picture of the shocked cat, apparently caught watching po*n helped…

6) Be aware of where your pictures may end up.

I like to have a picture on my posts, and they are often of me. That’s fine, as I don’t mind people knowing what I look like, or my partner for that matter. I make sure I have her permission to publish pics of the two of us. That’s all well and good, but I do know that quite a lot of ‘random’ traffic to my blog comes via G**gle Images. Occasionally I put one of the search phrases that has been identified as leading to my blog into an image search, and there are a lot of pics of me on there. How hard I laughed when I put ‘hot ftm’ into an image search, and just a few pics down was a picture of me, topless. That didn’t weird me out too much (though I nearly cracked a rib laughing at being labelled a hot ftm) as I have chosen to put these pictures ‘out there’. Just be aware, expecially if you are stealth.

7) Stay focused.

I challenged myself to write a post a week, and most of the time, that’s been pretty easy, as the nature of transition is that there’s usually something changing/bothering you/to look forward to, plus it’s a time when you are super selfish, and therefore convinced that everything you have to say is important. Which of course it is. What also helps is deciding right at the start what you will and won’t include in your blog. I don’t mean as in point 3, so much as generally. My blog is about my transition, and related topics. It’s not about the great night out I had last night, unless that had some relation to my transition, or how I feel about badger culling. I have edged into talking about my bipolar, where I feel it’s connected to my gender identity and/or medical treatment. Apart from that, I’ve tried to stay very focused.

8) Be prepared.

At the risk of sounding like a teacher (Flashbacks! Aaaaargh!) it helps to know roughly what you’re going to write about before you start. Don’t get me wrong, I mostly start with a rough topic in mind, then write off the cuff after that. I’m not a planner. But I always like to avoid that ‘oh no, I’ve got to do a blogpost and I don’t know what to talk about’ moment. I’ve made a habit of writing things down during the week, so I always have a stash of ideas. I use the ‘notes’ section on my phone, which is full of weird, wonderful and downright stupid ideas for posts.  Just looking now, there’s “You’re history, no good to me”, “More defence than Villa” and “You have the Rights to remain silent”. These may or may not ever be used, if I can even remember what I meant. Many of you will know I’m not a good sleeper (I’m terrible in bed…) and a lot of my note making is done at 3am. What makes perfect sense then tends not to the next day. Witness my weirdest note: “Elastical”. Hmm.

9) Find an audience.

I started this blog for friends and family. Quite selfishly I figured it would be a good way to avoid having to say the same thing over and over. ‘Look at my blog, here’s the address’ probably sounds a bit pompous, but does save repetition. Use the tags facility – I’m not very good at this, but tagging your post will help bring people to your blog who are interested in a particular topic. The stuff I mentioned earlier about G**gle etc can work in your favour, as those search engine people are very clever, and will pick up key words. Just make sure it’s things like ‘ftm’ and ‘transition’ rather than ‘pu**y’, as we’ve established.

Facebook is, of course, a powerful tool, and Twitter too (did anybody hear an owl?) Publish a link to your newest post. Hopefully your FB friends and Twitter followers will be interested rather than annoyed – I suppose it depends how aggressive you are! Word will get round – I’ve bumped into ex-colleagues that I haven’t spoken to for over a year who’ve said, ‘I read your blog’. That is weird, but good. Try linking to other, similar blogs, as people often want to ‘read around’ a topic.

10) Enjoy it.

Oh, I know it’s a cliché, but there’s no point pouring your heart out if it’s not fun. There’s only been a couple of times when I felt I didn’t want to do a post, and I do get a bit stressed, wanting to write something ‘good’ (well, don’t we all?) but otherwise, I love doing this. The whole process is very therapeutic, and I like to think that for a few hundred words a week I am A Writer. Of course, it would be cool if thousands of people suddenly became terribly interested in my blog (how DOES that happen?), but that’s not why I do it. I’m terrible at keeping a diary, but this way, I can see for myself how far I’ve come, and how far I still have to travel.

I have currently had 9576 hits on my blog, with 4993 of those on the home page. I never in a million years thought I’d be looking at nearly 10,000 hits in a year. I am undecided at the moment whether to continue doing a weekly blog, or perhaps try fortnightly, to keep things fresh. My transition is at a point where nothing very dramatic is happening, and as happy as I’d be to rant about gender issues every week, I feel that would skew the focus of the blog. I’m going to see how I feel when I get to 10,000 and re-assess.

My next blog will be on Thursday 15th March, to celebrate One Year On Testosterone…my Transiversary! All 1st Birthday greetings and vegan birthday cake welcome

Does this face look bovvered?

When I first started to transition, not being seen as a woman was EVERYthing. After all, before testosterone started to work its magic, and even before I was taking the stuff, it felt like the only things I had to *prove* I wasn’t a woman were clothes and attitude. Oh, and my name, of course. But even as I introduced myself, I knew that people were not thinking “Oh my goodness, he’s called MARK, what a fool I was to think he wasn’t a man!” More like “Mark? That’s weird, she’s got a man’s name. Oh well, I’ll go along with it…”

So I worked hard to try and present myself in a way that would ‘point people in the right direction’, and, let’s be honest, got a bit upset when people persisted in misgendering me. I guess part of the problem is that I knew myself that I was not a woman, and had very quickly disassociated myself from my old female name and presentation. Very early on in the process I moved headspace away from female. That’s not to say I have crossed some metaphorical canyon – I don’t believe gender works like that – but with self-acceptance, validation from the medical profession and a concrete decision to transition came a shift in something that I can’t even think of a name for. My ‘me-ness’, perhaps?

One of the upshots of this is that whilst the sensible person that I am realises that when strangers misgender me, it’s because they DON’T KNOW and CAN’T TELL, there’s another, big part of me that is genuinely surprised that they can’t tell! That sounds crazy, I know, but I now identify so strongly as not-female that it honestly seems illogical for people to call me ‘she’ or ‘the lady’. However, that’s my problem, not other people’s.

Armed with this knowledge, I have moved on from a point where I wanted to tell everyone how mistaken they were, in some bizarre antithesis of David Walliams’ ghastly “I’m a LADY” sketch. After all, there’s not a lot to be gained from embarrassing a stranger, and really, if I’m not going to see someone again, I’m unlikely, these days, to bristle too much when Will and I are referred to as “you girls”. Though actually, after nearly a year on T, I’m tempted to suggest someone referring to me as a girl needs to go to Specsavers.

Perhaps I am more mellow about other people these days because I do ‘pass’ a lot better, and fewer people use feminine pronouns or words to refer to me. It does still happen, though, and probably always will. I’m unlikely to ever look like The Rock, so a certain amount of ‘sucking it up’ will probably always be needed.

However, and this is an important however, I am talking about strangers here, not colleagues, family or friends. I think it’s reasonable to expect that the people who know, love, live or work with trans people do need to make the effort to think about the language they are using, and what it says about their attitude to the trans person in their life. Sure, mistakes happen, but as I’ve said in an earlier post, a quick ‘sorry’, correcting the mistake and moving on works wonders. Just remember how powerful a small mistake can be for the recipient.

Back to my strangers. People on the street will use gendered language without thought (and hopefully without malice), but I do have a particular bugbear with people in shops/service industries/professional customer facing environments using ‘lady’ and ‘gentleman’ to refer to people. In an ideal world, I would like it if people in shops and so on learnt not to refer to others with a gendered word. For instance, I went into a shop a while back, and had to see the manager and I was asked to wait whilst they were called. The person serving me, when the manager arrived, pointed me out and said “This lady needs your help”. Of course I sucked it up, but really, how difficult would it be to substitute the word ‘customer’ – just as polite. And I don’t just mean using more neutral language around people whose gender you are not sure of, but for everyone.

The way we refer to people doesn’t have to be gendered – have a look through some of my blogposts: whilst I don’t always manage it, it’s very rare that I refer to someone specifically by their gender. That’s not the way I think about people…but that’s a whole other blogpost!

 

Mental Wealth Issues

I don’t make a secret of being bipolar – hell, when did I ever make a secret of anything in my life? To be honest, these days it is so much a part of me, and yet so little part of my life, that I forget about it most of the time. Until it bites me in the bum once in a while, or it is brought up as part of a medical review.

Let’s give you a bit of history. I was diagnosed 12 years ago, long before it was trendy, after years of crippling depression and occasional bouts of frankly weird behaviour. Finally, the doctors realised that anti-depressants were making very little difference (and now, with the benefit of hindsight, it has been acknowledged that they made my behaviour a lot more erratic) and I was handed a new label: “Type 2 affective bipolar disorder”. Actually, I was pleased to get a label, though I’m not keen on the practice of shoeboxing people. I figured that maybe I wasn’t crazy after all, and things could get better.

I took a medication called Sodium Valproate for a very long time – it’s not altogether bad stuff, though the list of side-effects is scary. I mean, weight gain, loss of libido AND lack of energy? Come on, Doctor! Sadly, as well as all of this, the pills weren’t really stopping me from either getting depressed, or having very unpleasant weird times. Quite a few years ago now I found myself going into hospital (voluntarily, I might add!) as my desires to remove myself from the world I found I couldn’t deal with became less of a pipe-dream, and more of a game-plan.

Being in hospital for a few weeks enabled me to start again, from the bottom up, with the aid of a new medication: Lithium. I still take the stuff every day, and whilst it also has had side-effects, it has helped me manage things very well. Unfortunately, the Lithium has caused me to have hypothyroidism, which isn’t great, but honestly, the chance to live a life where I feel in control and mostly happy is worth a few thyroxine tablets.

So how does this connect with my transition? In many ways, not at all. However, one of the biggest fears I had when approaching my doctor about being trans was that I would be turned down flat due to my medical history. After all, people with bipolar often come up with some pretty flighty and impressive schemes, and at that time, are convinced that the way they feel is right and valid. So imagine a registered female bipolar patient walking through the door and saying (in many more words, of course) “I’m a man”! I was terrified I wouldn’t be taken seriously. Thankfully, I needn’t have worried.

More than one doctor specialising in transition has reassured me that bipolar disorder and gender dysphoria are not mutually exclusive conditions, but I believe that there will always be, in the background, the thought that my bipolar has led me to somehow believe I’m transgender. And that I’m really really good at convincing doctors…

Except…except that I am so much happier, mellow and balanced these days. That I am starting to like my own body and self for the first time ever. That I haven’t had an episode of mania for around 3 years. That I haven’t had an episode of serious depression for over a year (and that was very much related to my job at the time). That I no longer classify myself as “ill” or “surviving”.

Now don’t get me wrong – I don’t think that the decision to transition, and the process of doing so, have somehow miraculously sorted out my bipolar. I’m not daft, and I’m still taking the tablets. Many trans people live with bipolar, and I would never suggest they stop their medication. Don’t.

Two of my doctors have suggested that it may be possible to consider reducing my Lithium dose, in a couple of years, as they both believe that many of the issues I have experienced in the past that have been attributed to bipolar, may actually have been connected to my gender dysphoria. It makes sense if you think about it, but is also confusing, and unsettling, as when I was told back in January 2000 “You have bipolar”, I clung onto it, and have remained clinging ever since, only ever seeking solutions within the boundaries drawn by that diagnosis.

Now I am having to find ways to continue managing the bipolar symptoms on the rare occasions they come up, whilst also appreciating that those symptoms may simply be me. At the same time acknowledging that things may still change as I pass through my second puberty and into a new adulthood. Phew.

I was once told I have a lot of baggage – which is true – and a lot of that is to do with the mental health issues I have had over the years. There are many people who still choose to judge me based on those past issues. But then, as I’ve said before, our experiences make us who we are. Mine have made me pretty unshockable, able to empathise with the problems of others, and with the firm understanding that we all tread different paths through this life, some wigglier than others. That’s my mental wealth.

Get primped and pretty at the Butterfly Beauty Shop!

I have always loved Lego. I remember I had a big flat box full of Lego goodies when I was little, with an actual working engine that you could make stuff move with. I also had a big toffee-tin full of Lego bricks. They were great.

It’s quite easy for people to assume that as a transman, I must have been a really boyish child, refusing to wear skirts, skinning my knees all the time and playing with my cars and toy construction set. Not true. I had a few dolls, and an amazing dolls house my Dad made. It had little electric lights, carpets, and soft-furnishings made by my Mum. Very cool. I was musically minded and fond of reading, so you’d be more likely to find me practising my flute (I started young) or sitting with a book than setting up a teddy bear’s picnic or trashing a Hot Wheels car. Then, as now, I suppose, I was a little bit of everything.

It has always disturbed me that catalogues such as Argos actually had a “Girls’ Toys” and a “Boys’ Toys” section, but to be honest, it was only reflecting a similar segregation in stores such as Toys ‘R’ Us, and just about any conventional toy shop you’re ever likely to walk into. These days, Argos no longer labels its toys by gender, but by type. A small improvement, but you’ve only got to flick through the catalogue for it to be blatantly obvious which products are aimed at which kids.

Now fair enough, I know that playing with pink stuff occasionally did not turn me into a raging feminine Stepford Wife-type. Equally, insisting that my daughter had a wide variety of not-particularly-gender-specific toys when she was growing up did not stop her enjoying so-called ‘feminine’ things as she grew older. Hopefully, as parents, we can bring up our children to realise that whilst pink is a lovely colour, toys can be fun whatever the colour, style and what section of the shop/catalogue they have come from. In an ideal world. But children learn fast, and a scarily high percentage of what they learn is not from us parents…it’s from Out There. The majority of kids want to fit in. I’m sure a sociologist could explain better than me why this is, but I’m guessing it goes back to cave-dwelling days and the need to be part of the group for survival. Hence if a boy gets it drummed into his psyche by media, marketing and his peers that pink is for girls, that’s going to stick, however much he might wish to go against the flow.

Surely if companies insist on making toys that are explicitly aimed at girls pink, encouraging girls to play with them in a stereotypically ‘feminine’ way, then however we try to educate our children, they will think that girls and boys *are* those stereotypes. Children who believe that are, I believe, far more likely to find it difficult to accept people who differ from the gender binary, and will undoubtedly struggle if they find that they themselves do not feel comfortable trying to fit into the gendered roles that media and marketing are trying to slot them into.

So, back to Lego, my favourite childhood toy. One of the things that has made it so lasting, I believe, is its total flexibility. With my toffee-tin full of bricks, I could make absolutely anything I wanted, even adding, say, a working windmill with my little Lego engine, or a Lego car. Did I make stereotypically ‘girl’ or ‘boy’ things with my Lego? Who knows – my memory isn’t that long. But at least I had the choice to make ANYthing I wanted.

Lego have just brought out a new range: “Friends”. It’s aimed at girls. How can I tell? Well, apart from the general pastelly purply pinkness of the colour schemes and the Bratz-like, slightly sexual female Lego characters (yes, I did say sexual…did YOUR Lego characters have make-up on and short skirts when you were young? Oh, and ‘lipsticks’ that look suspiciously like…well, you check out the picture) the blurb that describes the toys online could never be accused of gender neutrality. You know, if I try to deconstruct this any more, I may cry, so here’s a taste for you to look at yourself:

It’s a busy day of beauty fun down at the Butterfly Beauty Shop! Emma loves this posh little salon at the center of Heartlake City! Shop for lipstick, makeup and hair accessories! Emma and all of her friends will look fabulous with bows, sunglasses, a hairbrush, mirror, lipsticks and new hair styles. Get the girls ready for any event with the salon where you can rearrange the interior! Includes Emma and Sarah mini-doll figures.

• Includes 2 mini-doll figures: Emma and Sarah
• Features fountain, bench and salon furniture
• Accessories include a money brick, hair elements, lipsticks, a purse, bows, sunglasses, a hair dryer, hairbrush and a mirror
• Give all of the LEGO® Friends makeovers
• Gossip out on the bench by the scenic fountain!
• Shop for makeup and hair accessories!
• Pay with the money brick!
• LEGO Friends pieces are fully compatible with all LEGO bricks
• Collect all of the LEGO Friends sets for a whole world of LEGO Friends fun!
• LEGO mini-dolls are LEGO minifigures made especially for the world of LEGO Friends with thousands of customizable hair and fashion combinations
• Measures over 4” (12cm) tall, 6” (16cm) wide and 6” (16cm) long

I do not believe that questioning gendering of our children’s toys will turn those children into super-accepting adults, willing to embrace the sexuality and genders of themselves and others with joy, peace and understanding. I do, however, believe very strongly that whilst we continue to accept the ruthless gendering that is being forced on our children, we are potentially making it very difficult indeed for children and young people growing up and questioning their gender identities to accept themselves, and seek and receive acceptance from others.