This is a lovely article from Mariella’s regular column, giving some thoughtful advice.
My wife and I don’t have sex, and I have secretly been buying women’s clothes
This is a lovely article from Mariella’s regular column, giving some thoughtful advice.
My wife and I don’t have sex, and I have secretly been buying women’s clothes
When I first started out on this long and tortuous journey l read everything I could find on how to hide the fact that I had a penis. Several articles that I now know were written by drag queens extolled the virtues of “Gaffer” or “Duck” tape. Two of them actually suggested wrapping the end of the penis in toilet paper so that the tape would not stick to it. All advised shaving all pubic hair off otherwise removal would be really messy!
There are obviously problems with this method, not least that the whole thing has to be undone and removed every time you need to go to the toilet. This is obviously OK if you are doing a performance for an evening, control your liquid intake and take it all off of the end. But it is obviously not a solution if you do it for the whole day and only have a 2 min time slot to go to the toilet at any one time. I suspect that, wearing duck tape next to your skin all day, every day, would cause a rash problem for a reasonable parentage of the population. So let’s not even go there. It could get quite sticky! And the thought of removing it……
If you attend any wedding or any other formal occasion in Scotland you will come across many men wearing a skirt – otherwise known as a kilt. Have you ever wondered why they wear their purse or “Sporan” hanging down the front of their kilt? Sure, they don’t have pockets but really it is there specifically to hide the bulge made by their genitalia. Presumably it is considered embarrassing in polite company to present everybody with a hint that behind this item of clothing is a flaccid (hopefully) phallus.
With men’s clothing and fashion, unless you are a male sprinter wearing Lycra shorts, this is often the only time this problem “arises!” Men’s trousers have an inbuilt bulge which serves to hide the problem. Suits are even cut to take account of whether you “dress” to the left or the right, ie. does your penis hang down your left leg or your right leg?
As a Transwoman there are a few parts of my body that I do not feel comfortable with, but hopefully you will understand when I say that my penis is one of those! I do not want it to hang down either leg, tailored or not. Last time l wore a kilt, I wore it without a sporan because l did not have that problem. And I did not have a bulge either, I am thankful to say.
Which brings me on to my tucking advice.
Tomorrow: Gaffer Tape
Not long after I came out to my wife I noticed a very distinct burning sensation, literally starting in my right testicle and moving through my urethra. I remember feeling hopeful that, because I had to have an ultrasound scan, this would turn out to be a serious problem which would necessitate the removal of of both my testicles. My disappointment when it turned out to be a very minor infection which had cleared up before my scan was shocking to me and my wife. I had never before physically felt sick about a part of my body but this was quite a change as I have been feeling this more and more.
Now, as a closeted trans woman, there are various parts of my body that I hate. These would include my genitalia, my body hair (which is increasing ffs!), my musculature, my voice, my facial hair and my shape. This is by no means an exclusive list and I am also aware that there will be many non-trans people out there who would be able to put together a similar list.
Whatever your views on plastic surgery, this self-hatred is destructive and difficult to live with. This is exacerbated because my wife, my lovely, supportive and generous wife, is not bisexual. All the parts of me that turn her on are the parts of me that I despise.
I am still a sexual being, but in my mind I am a woman in a relationship with a woman. Loving her like that is what turns me on. I feel sexy if I am in bed with my breasts on. She does not. This, from time to time, can create a tension which can make the air around us feel statically charged.
The only way I can deal with this is to sleep whilst compressing my genitalia. I either wear shapewear in bed, effectively tucking all night with my testicle inside the inguinal canals. This can cause them to ache but that ache allows me to sleep. If I do not have shapewear available, I use ordinary knickers, but pull the front down and behind my scrotum thus cutting off some of the blood flow. My most successful night was when I had a numb scrotum in the morning.
How do I talk about Self Harm without making myself cry? How do I talk about Self Harm without making the people most important to me cry or angry? Self Harm? Me?
I don’t cut myself, I don’t starve myself, I don’t gorge and purge. But I do “poison” (I will explain) myself and I do inflict pain upon myself. Not pain that will leave a mark, not even bruising but …….
But first the “poisoning!” This one requires some background. I was recently (Well 14 months ago) diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. Now it has been shown that with some lifestyle changes (such as eating less sugar, reducing fat, exercise and losing weight) this can be reversed.
Recently I have not been allowing Charlotte to be present at all and have been to the shop every day and bought a family pack of iced buns, iced doughnuts, chocolate chip cookies. You get the picture! And eaten the lot.
In 5 minutes!
And felt really ill, shakey, sick afterwards.
When I decided that I had to stop, I couldn’t. I just kept on going. All the weight I had lost – went straight back on. I was gorging on sugar, really damaging my body. The body I hated. The body that betrayed me every day. When I finally allowed myself to be Charlotte again sometimes, I stopped buying the cakes.
The hurting is for another post.
I live in a small house in the middle of nowhere with @angharadswife (she still uses my old name), the girl sailor and the boy sailor, a cat, sheep and sometimes hens.
I am a senior manager in my workplace and wear, when possible, a gender neutral outfit of monogrammed polo shirt, black trousers and black shoes. This is how I leave my house in the morning and return at night.
If we are to have no visitors, at home I wear skirts, dresses, leggings and tops. Really girly stuff. I love a tight mini-skirt, tights and a high-necked top.
I ALWAYS wear women’s underwear. I love wearing tights under my jeans.
We have taken part today in the 10th Purple Friday today. I have to say that I looked absolutely stunning.
It seems that now we are constantly able to celebrate the bravery of someone else, who we either know personally, or who we know via the media, or through friends, who has decided to come out and state to the whole world who they are. I can only imagine the fear which must accompany that decision and just the idea of ever having to come out in the part of the world I live in terrifies me. As a straight person I will never have to fully experience that feeling, nor will I have to make the decision about whether or not I tell people, and if I do tell people, who I tell and when. But there are people all over the world who struggle for years and years with their gender identity or sexual orientation without being able to fully admit who they are for fear of being on the wrong side of the law, or that their families will not accept them. By living in the UK I live in perhaps one of the most LGBTQ+ inclusive countries in the world, or so it seems from my straight point of view, and yet the idea of coming out for many is still a horrifying concept and too many people never manage to declare openly who they are.
The suicide rate for young people in the LGBTQ+ community is sadly still on the rise, with 42% of people in a national survey of young people in the UK saying that they had sought help for anxiety and/or depression and 56% reporting they had self-harmed either recently or in the past. Perhaps worst of all, 44% of those who were part of that community said they had considered attempting suicide at some point. The idea that someone would ever feel suicidal in any situation upsets me more than it would be possible to say, but the thought that people may be considering it over whether they are part of the LGBTQ+ community I find unfathomable because I cannot understand how now, in 2019, it is possible that we could still be living in a world where people care so much about other people’s sexuality that they would be able to drive someone to end their life.
There’s a phrase that we hear over and over again and yet also not enough; love is love. And to add to that, people are people. It should not matter who somebody loves or if they are male or female, no matter what sex or orientation they were born, as people should all be treated equally. The very first Article on the Universal Declaration of Human Right is that “All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights”. It is top of the list of rights which every single person born in the world is entitled to, so why is it that we still cannot accept people for who they are? Why is it that we cannot respect them with the dignity that they deserve?
While scrolling through my YouTube recommended section, I came across a video from CBS This Morning about Teddy Geiger, a transgender singer-songwriter who has just been nominated for her first ever Grammy Award. I did not know much of her story however I had known she was transgender having googled her after a collaboration she had done some months earlier with another artist. Whilst watching the clip I was able to more fully understand her journey and the stresses and anxieties that struggling with her gender identity had led to. I learned also about the musical journey she had gone on, from being a teenage star, to stepping away from the media and her on stage fame to become one of the most requested song writers in the industry. I was amazed by the vast number of songs which she had collaborated on and by just how well she was able to help other artists come across in their own writing. I was impressed by just how many artists she had worked with, collaborating alongside singers such as Christina Aguilera, Anne-Marie, 5 Seconds of Summer, One Direction and Shawn Mendes. Having heard the song she was nominated for, I felt it was absolutely fair that Teddy be in the running for a Grammy, her powerful lyrics having touched thousands of people all over the world. I headed to the comments section underneath the video, as I am inclined to do, to see what other people’s opinions were. I was expecting to see hundreds of messages of good luck to Teddy and just as many congratulating her on her incredible achievements both in music and in her personal life and, granted, the top three comments were all praising her strength and courage, and wishing her all the best in her future musical journeys. It was when I reached just the fourth comment on the list however that things began to take a turn. The words “freak”, “unnatural” and “weird” leapt off the screen in front of me and forced me to see, not the happy and upbeat messages Teddy deserved, but the underbelly of internet trolls who had found their way there first. There were just 50 comments total on the video at the time when I arrived in the section. Three of those were heart-warming thanks and congratulations to Teddy for her bravery and for giving others the courage to do the same. Perhaps seven were one brave activist standing up for the LGBTQ+ community against all the trolls. Every single other one (40, I believe, if I have done my maths correctly) were questioning her in the harshest of ways, referring to her as “he” and “him”, sometimes even “it”.
I was, perhaps naively, shocked at the way in which she was spoken about, the ways in which people described her and other people who had come out as transgender. Maybe I should have been expecting exactly what I saw there but even still, I could not help but feel a great sense of anger at what I was reading. How dare anyone sit at home on a laptop, actively typing out hateful comments below what should have been a positive video? So I found myself writing my own comment. I remarked on my horror at how negative and hateful the comments were and I let my thoughts be known about how wonderful and inspiring I thought Teddy was, and then I pressed send. And there it was, the 51st comment. For a while it would sit at the top of the pile, and my hope was that anyone else who came to watch the video, perhaps other transgender people, and who scrolled to the comments like I had, would see my comment first, which I hoped would show my support for the LGBTQ+ community rather than the hatred which was sitting waiting below those top three, and now four, comments.
But as I sat there and looked at my own comment hanging there above the hate and the calls that it was not something to be proud of, I felt a twinge of guilt because I worry, deep down, that I am no better than them when it comes down to it all. I know somebody who is transgender. They are one of the most important people to me in the world and without them I would be lost. I love him to the moon and back, he has been there for me for as long as ever I can remember and has never once let me down or over looked my needs. He has always been a beacon of positivity and happiness in my life. Except there is one place where despite all he has done for me, I have let him down so greatly, it is almost irreconcilable. Perhaps I am doing it now, every time I have mentioned this person, I have used the pronoun “he”… but what she wants, more than anything else, is to be recognised as the women she feels she is. She. Just by typing that one little word I have given her more of her identity than has ever been given before. Only seven people, besides her, in the whole world know who she really is, and every single one of us still refers to her as him, despite one of us who knows being in exactly the same situation. Transgender but unable to tell a single person.
In the part of the world where we live, it is relatively safe to come out as gay. People will perhaps be surprised and there will always be one or two people who have something horrible to say, but they will quickly be shot down by those around them and the person who is out will overall be accepted. But there is just not the same acceptance for people who are transgender. “Trannies” as they are derogatively referred to, are thought of as unnatural and strange. Not really quite one sex or the other and never quite accepted. I know only one person who is out as being transgender in the place where I live. He wants to use male pronouns and be referred to with his new, more masculine name. Yet, as far as I can see, in every document issued, he is still referred to as a girl, still with his old name. His own sister, who herself is openly bisexual, was sceptical too about the validity of her brother’s transition. For some reason I am not yet sure of, transgender people are not nearly as accepted as other people in the LGBTQ+ community.
We had a theatre group come to perform for us the story of their main cast member, who himself is transgender and has completed his transition. The play was eye opening as to the struggles he encountered as a transgender man and the journey he had to take to acceptance. It was a beautifully written script and they performed it brilliantly. Yet, all around me I could hear people laughing and whispering to each other. It made me cringe and want to sink through the floor, hearing the things that people were saying while the actors were right there in front of them. Afterwards I was engaged in so many conversations about why it was important that we were shown these things and why we were in such great need of education, I was actively standing up for the actor and vocal about how, the reason we all needed to watch that was because we still couldn’t do it without people laughing. Until we as a community can watch that play without one single person making a derogatory comment, we are not yet accepting enough.
And yet saying that, I cannot seem to accept the transgender aspect of my life. The person who is so close to my heart. Why is it that I cannot stand next to her as she announces to the world who she is, what she wants to be called and how she wants to be seen? Why is it that the idea of doing that terrifies me more than anything else in the world? Even as I write this I can’t help but cry hard enough I can barely see my keyboard because of the knowledge that I am part of the reason why she cannot be the person she wants to be above all else. When first she came out to us, I was so young I barely even knew what it meant to be transgender. I accepted her situation and then moved on to the rest of my life. I accepted that when she was at home she wanted to be able to dress in what she wished she could wear all the time. But as time when on, I began to notice the slight changes in the way she acted or dressed even when we were out of the house, where people still knew, and know, her as a he. Even Microsoft Word can see the issue in my last sentence, underlining “he” in blue and suggesting instead that I use “she”. But still I, who prides myself on standing up for what is right in the world, and for being an Ally of the LGBTQ+ movement, cannot even stand up for someone who has stood up for me for almost 14 years. I, who stands in pride marches waving a flag of support can barely bring myself to type “she” to describe someone who I have known as “he” for so long. I have been known to criticize the Kardashians on the less than sensitive way that they sometimes refer to their mother’s ex-partner, Caitlyn Jenner, before realising that I am in fact no different to them as I stand between my loved one and the life she wishes she could lead. So what is it that makes me hold her back? Is it perhaps that I am not ready to let go of the person I know just now? Even though, essentially, she would be the same, she also wouldn’t be and I would have to be ready to let go of that side of her that I already know so well in order to embrace the side of her she would like me to know?
Or maybe it is because I have gone through almost 18 years of my life as a female, and while that is not a particularly long time, it is plenty enough time to have experienced the often misogynistic society that we live in. It has been enough time to feel I have to remain quiet in my classes for fear a boy might laugh at me, to feel a slight sense of fear every time a man approaches me in public or walks behind me in the street and to feel as though I have to sometimes be more than some of my closest friends purely because they are boys and I am a girl. And maybe because of that, some part of me resents any man who thinks that being a woman is about appearance more than anything else, that I cannot see how someone who has gone through his whole life up until this point could ever know what it feels like to be a woman in a society ruled over mostly by men. By yet I know that this person is not like that. She knows that more than appearance goes into what makes a woman, I know that she would understand how different the experiences of my male friends would be in comparison to my own, but still it nags in my mind a little that she would always have the confidence to speak up in a room full of people, or to walk home alone in the dark.
If I am completely honest, I cannot help but despise this part of me, the part which wants nothing more than to cling on to a version of the person I know, who she wants to put into her past. I wish I could over-come it and move away from these backwards views but I also know that it will be a long journey of my own to be able to do that. I think that maybe, by writing in the sense of referring to her as “she” and “her” I will perhaps help this journey of mine along, that if I can do it in type, perhaps I can do it at home, and then one day, I could maybe manage it in the real world. To be able to support her as herself, out and proud, would be the most wonderful thing and while I know that I am so very far away from that point just now, I hope that in the future, I can stand by her side in that pride march and say confidently that I love her for who she is and that is all that matters.
It is difficult to be a trailblazer, and while she would love nothing more than to be just that, I am not ready to be. And that makes me the most awful, selfish person on earth and I know that, but just as I am beginning to understand her, she is beginning to understand me too and together we are able to come up with compromises and solutions and to continue to better our understanding of each other, out of the watch of our friends and family who do not yet know her as she is. It is because of this understanding that I can say that I believe, sometime in the future that I could manage to accept her for who she is in all walks of life, not just at home. So to answer, yes. I am a hypocrite. But my aim over time is to put into action what I teach to other people, to lose that side of me which I hide deep below my liberal views, and to be able to say with absolute certainty that I am an Ally of the LGBTQ+ community, not just one of the LGBQ+.
When I grow old I’m going to wear pink!
Pink hoodies, pink bras and Pink knickers,
Under boob tubes, pink skirts or pink leggings,
With pink socks, pink tights, and pink knickers!
In years to come I’ll keep my hair long
And gather it up into bunches.
I’ll grow out my fringe with hair clips and bows
Or tie it all back with some scrunchies.
I’ll wear corsets with bone, forming a waist,
And skirts with petticoats that rustle,
I’ll dance wearing bodices, ready to rip,
Or give myself hips in a bustle.
My summer dresses will float in the breeze,
As I wander the street or the fayre,
But for crop tops, bikinis or miniskirts,
My body needs ridding of hair!
In ballgown cut low I’ll glide ‘cross the floor,
Showing off cleavage and breast,
I’ll need fake boobs, adhesive and blusher,
And a razor, for my chest!
As I walk down the street, swinging my hips,
When hearing a wolf whistle at me,
I’ll be outraged, with a warm feeling too,
That I’m a woman for all to see!
Spanx pants keep everything held at bay,
For dresses or skirts that are tight,
Or a gaff will keep it all tucked away
And totally out of sight!
At work I still dress as if I’m a man,
Then come home and put on a skirt,
But sitting all day in my dark grey suit,
My bra’s on under my shirt!
When I grow old I’m going to wear pink,
Not Kharki, tan or dark green,
When I grow old I’m going to wear pink,
I’m a trans woman and will be seen!
Charlotte Angharad J 2014
Have you ever looked at a women walking past and thought “I like what she is wearing? That looks really comfortable!”
Have you felt your biological clock ticking, when talking to a pregnant woman brings out feelings of jealousy that are so strong you cannot speak about them?
Do you sit around chatting with your girlfriends and laughing about how silly men’s conversations are?
These all happen to me. All the time! Nothing unusual in that at all, apart from the fact that I am a 55-year-old man who, until now, has always said that he is a man, always thought of himself as a man. I have never been comfortable with the role of the male, and have always felt left out by my friends when they talk about pregnancy, labour, childbirth, periods and all the other things that serve as a bond between women. Some may say that these are silly things to be jealous of, indeed many would see them as the downside of being a woman, but they are the things a person born with male genitalia can never have. Others may classify this as a simple case of the grass being greener on the other side of the sexual street. This could indeed be the case and I may not actually find out one way or another but I am at the point of beginning to explore what this all means, for me, for my family, for my colleagues and for my body.
I have been experimenting a little bit, of which more in future posts and have realised that this part of me wants to be public. It is difficult to imagine life being made easier by the two parts being public side by side so, while I am exploring, and luxuriating in, my newly acknowledged femininity I have decided to do so in the internet ether.
I have never written a blog before so have no idea how well it will be done or how often but there is only one way to find out!
One of my earliest memories is of talking to my mother about what my name would have been if I had been a girl. I can still, at least forty years later, feel the sense of loss as I realised that R____ was the name I should have had, and the feeling of jealousy as my younger cousin was called R____. She had got my name. And finally, years later, my brother married a R____. My sister-in-law actually has my full name.
So allow me to introduce myself. My name is Charlotte Angharad J….. I have started this journey with my wife, a very special wife who has taken the whole thing in her stride. She is not over enthused about being the butch one in our relationship, but it makes me laugh. Perhaps the whole journey will be just the two of us but I am hoping some of you will join me along the way. Where we are going is still to be decided but the scenery is changing all the time.