Spot the Odd One Out at the Whinefest

Which one doesn’t fit?

:-/ ๐Ÿ˜ฆ ๐Ÿ˜ฆ :-/ ๐Ÿ˜ฆ ๐Ÿ˜ ๐Ÿ˜ฆ ๐Ÿ™‚ ๐Ÿ˜ฆ

Yep, that second-from-the-right one, that’s me.

A t-girl friend with whom I’ve been swapping emails recently mentioned to me how she’s gradually stopped socializing with the t-girl community. The official nucleus of this community is often community meetings.

If you’ve gone to such a meeting and you had a similar experience and reaction as I did, then maybe reading this will make you realize that maybe, you’re not the problem.

I understand that many t-girls have a hard time. Frankly, my journey was no picnic either. But, we have a choice. We can let the bullies of the world be its metaphysical representatives, or we can relegate them to the sidelines. In plain English, you can think of the world as a mean place, or you can think of the world as a place where some of the people are mean. Me, I’m going with the latter point of view.

Someone insightful, who also knows me well, once pointed out that my emotional state might well imply there’s some self-hatred going on as to my personal make-up (and by that I mean what’s inside my head, not my cosmetics). Unfortunately, she has a habit of being precise and observant. Much as I felt offended at the time, I did ponder her points, and I ended up agreeing with her. At some level I probably did feel self-hatred. I could trot out some pretty impressive explanations of why that’s so, and after you’ve read them you might say “wow, no wonder you were so hard on yourself.” But, regardless of the cause, yes, I did feel that. And maybe some of that is still part of me, even now. Maybe it always will be. Psychological pain tends to resolve itself like layers of an onion coming off; you think you’ve peeled it and then you find out that, oh wait, there’s more. So it’s been with me in the past, and perhaps there’s still some of that in the future.

Even so, I’m basically happy being myself now. Several people have actually observed that, well, golly, I just seem to radiate an “I’m happy” vibe. And yes, that’s really how I feel, deep down. I LOVE being me now. I didn’t always.

Ironically, I’ve always had a thing for tall, statuesque leggy long-haired blondes with round butts and shapely legs. And now I am one!! How cool is that?!ย  I like that A LOT. Recently when I looked in the mirror, a couple of times I could truly say “wow, I DO like that look.” Not that my looks define me. But it’s nice to be integrated and to look like that too.

Here’s a selfie picture I took this week, of me in a swimsuit.ย  Yes, it’s from Wal-Mart. That’s all I can afford. And the shoes, I bought used at Plato’s Closet. $14 the pair.

ggIMAG1278

The sort of crisis intercept I’m likely to need is more “wait, Tanya, don’t go flying off to Europe to apply to be a high-class escort, they probably won’t hire you and even if they did, be careful what you wish for” than “please come off the ledge.” Not that I haven’t been on a ledge, or the equivalent of that. But now I’m not. I’m almost giddily happy most of the time.

By contrast, when I go to support meetings and it’s all doom and gloom … my cheerful demeanor seems to irritate rather than inspire. And I don’t wanna lecture people on how they might get to where I am, happiness-wise. If they wanna know, they can ask. And nobody has asked. As to what I contribute, I do have empathy but at some point the little voice in my head says “wow, if my journey had been an easy as the one you’re whining about, I’d be even happier and further along today.” Yes, we’ve all had our hurdles, but geez, people — I wanna listen to a particular lament for only so many minutes and then I wanna move on to the next agenda item.

Sometimes the examples are really jarring. An example is a t-girl whose employer is (relative to the prevailing sub-culture) already leaning over backwards to be transgender-friendly but, in her opinion, not enough. By her way of thinking, that’s sufficient reason to go on and on about that issue right after “hi, how are you.” I don’t even ask her that any more. I really don’t wanna know. And that pretty much sums it up for me.

If you’re having a hard time but you’re getting up after life has knocked you down, I’m totally sympathetic. If you’re just sitting there and whining, then I’m very unsympathetic.

Another popular premise seems to be the premise that t-girls have a right to be accepted, as in: they can go out and demand it. I don’t see it like that. When it comes to nonviolent issues, I’m for winning people over with logic and by being nice. Wow, am I a minority as such.

Another popular premise seems to be the premise that t-girls have a right to other people being forced via tax money to fund their transition from male-looking frumpy girl, to looking like a Miss Nevada contestant. Geez. I’m a free-market girl, so I have an issue with that premise too.

(I also have an issue with a t-girl’s money being taken via taxes to pay for the quadruple bypass surgery of a 300-pound guy who insists on eating three large bacon-cheeseburgers a day — and yes, he did want fries with that … every time).

My attitude is “get off your butt and go earn the money and fund your own surgeries or procedures.” If you’re spending your own money you will tend to spend it much more carefully too. As an example, I hate having facial hair and body hair. But I can’t afford lasering or electrolysis. So I go to Wal-Mart and I buy a $9 container of wax and I heat it up in the microwave, and I smear it on my skin and I rip it off with a piece of paper. Yes, it hurts so much I’ve chipped a tooth grimacing at the pain. But I got over it and I kept doing it until by now my skin is REALLY smooth — and I love it.

With this approach, I saved maybe $200 a session. Or, to be precise, $191. Well worth it, especially since the $9 solution is all that I can afford.

So, yeah. Being a t-girl isn’t easy. Then again, you can view the challenges as the glass being half full, or half empty. If you’re the latter type of person, then good luck with that. I really don’t wanna hear about it.

While you’re sitting there whining, I’ll be over here, practicing my latest stripper moves. Ooh, look how pretty it looks when I arch my back. Mhm. Yay! I’m a girl!! So cool. Happy!!

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Normal Life … as a Girl

The day before yesterday I was looking like I normally do, nowadays: long blonde hair, make-up, female clothes and female shoes. I was at the mall, looking at the directory. A security guard approached, politely called me “ma’am” and asked me if he could help. I thanked him, and my voice sounded as feminine as I looked.

Later, he saw me walking in the wrong direction by mistake, and he again hailed me as “ma’am” and pointed out that I was walking into a construction zone. It is SO great to look like a lady and also to have my voice not detract from it. Voice training is finally paying off. Kathe Perez and Melanie Ann Philips both have my eternal gratitude.

That evening, I took some pictures of me and didn’t like my look. I took 30 shots and liked maybe 5.

Today, I did NOTHING good to my hair. It isn’t even clean. I’ve been working on cars all day, in the hot sun. Part of this involved lying underneath a car, and my hair got all dusty and dirty. And yet, it looks like I’m ready for a supermodel shoot. I have just taken off my top and stood in front of the mirror, observing critically. A tall, athletic blonde smiled back at me, with nice abs, an hourglassy figure due to a slim waist, and with supermodel hair. I really liked what I saw.

I mentioned this to a wonderful genetic girl who is also a wonderful romantic partner — how disconcerting it is to really dislike my own looks one day and then love them two days later. She reassured me that she’s the same way, about her own looks.

And so this is what life is like, as a girl.

I’m happy to be here.