Volunteer with TransVisibility and move the vision forward
it seems the original set of volunteers got busy and are unable to fulfil their respective roles. I am now looking for volunteers to help move the TransVisibility.com vision of global unity and acceptance forward. Bloggers, Writers, assistant editors, and an executive editor positions are all available. So stop sitting on the sidelines and make a positive difference. Or if you are already involved in the community, we would love your help over at the TransVisibility Camp.
moderators are also being sought for http://www.TGender.com a 100% free transgender specific support, social networking and Dating website. Yes you read right, 100 % free. No charge for anything, including chat.
if you are interested, drop me a note via the contact page
In recent years I have been through a lot, emotionally, intellectually, and physically. At times I have, in retrospect, strayed from my path for purposes of self-preservation or in efforts of conserving a relationship. It is truly magnificent to cogitate the many facets of my own transtition in a deconstuctiuve discourse to both; supply a register of my indivdual sociological perspective and as a pedagogy for others to glean and intergrate into their own lives.
On the short drive home yesterday while quietly considering the dimensions of my mental and emotional states over the past few months I came to some conclusions that have served to enlighten me, and hopefully provide a source of further enlightenment.
When I first decided to finally transition my life to my natural state, and abandon the sculture of cultural and social materials that cast me as a man, I was in a long term relationship. Actually I was married to a wonderful woman named Wendy. Initially I started conversations about trans identities and steered the dialogue to gather information regarding my partners thoughts on the matter. She had already known me to dress in women’s clothing, although this was infrequent in her presence, and more perodic in her abscence from the home. I had a hard time sharing this aspect of myself, with anyone, because of the ideas of intense shame that had been socially inculcated since my youth.
One day I brought up the subject of SRS (Sexual Reassignmnet Surgery), and I was confronted with shock and repulsion from my partner. I do not think she was repulsed by people who have SRS, I think she revolted the thought of her partner going through the process. I was aware that many marriages do not survive the course of transition, but I had hoped that ours would. Although once I began transitioning, first part-time, then full-time, it did not take long for me to realize that we were probably not going to make it.
My partner told me outright that she disliked Daphne, later she despised Daphne! In time her resented grew, and when finally Daphne was the only one there she wept for the death of her husband, and condemned Daphne without reservation. I was always trying to figure out what she was thinking as she is an introvert and often aloof. Her most personal feelings were shared only with a small group she calls “The Chosen Ones” on her Livejournal, which is a sharp contrast to my unabridged and transparent public life. I was not a “Chosen One,” and therefore was left to assess her from a variety of variables and make my own conclusions. This made it very difficult, and was an extra burden upon our struggling relationship.
I continued with my transition and checked in frequently with my partner hoping that she would provide a guiding hand and keep me from folly. Hope is a desire, an expectation, and not always a reality. Wendy did provide a lot of support, but it was never unsolicited. I had rejected the internalized transphobia in exchange for guilt! Every step I took I asked Wendy for help, and every step she helped me, with quiet reminder of the burden I had become.
Romance dies quietly…
Love is the thousands of little things. As Daphne emerged and Kelly faded away, as Wendy realized that it was not a phase I was going through, our relationship transitioned from romance to friendship. It was hard for me. I wanted Wendy to want me, I wanted her to tell me “You are beautiful and I love you no matter what!” I wanted her to see that I was me, always have been, not this physical shell, but a soul! Maybe it was important for her to have the shell relative to the soul. Not for me.
I was alright with the lack of general affection, the half hearted hugs, the quick and fleeting kisses, and the abscence of sex. Sex was always a strange act for me. I always felt closer and more a enduring emotion from cuddling, kissing, caressing. During sex I would imagine being the woman that I am, which made things difficult. Sex was a strange and foriegn act for me that was not as satisfactory as the media would have me believe. It is quite the opposite now. But then, when I think back, masturbation was far more sastifying. This was not the fault of any of my previous partners, it was my own upset about the state of my body and the role I had to play in coitus.
So, when the sex became deficit in our relationship I aligned myself with the thoughts of asexuality that had been present in previous years in my life. I had never really investigated my asexuality because, once again, I was socialized to have sex, and to not want sex is deviant, and deviance is shame. Yet another identity that I held internal and only spoke of in hushed tones in the dark to whomever I was trusting at the time, sometimes it was just my kitties.
However, no sex does not mean that one can not feel sexy, attractive, or desirable. This was the real root of the problem. Our now sexless relationship had uncovered and allowed to blosom another aspect of myself that had been previously suppressed, but this did not mean I was unwanted. As with her support, compliments were also solicited. It is not the same when you ask someone “How do I look?” or “Do I look alright?” The response became predictable, “You look fine,” with a quickness of breath and a half held sigh of contempt for asking. It made me suspect of all compliments. Friends would say “Daphne! You look beautiful” and all I could think was, like Wendy, they were being indifferent. I had to prop myself up in this respect and constantly hold myself against the tide of self inflicted negativities, I was alone.
(Note: Wendy is a good person, we were just not meant to be. And that is not a bad thing. To force a relationship into eternity creates nothing but resentment. I cherish the happy moments we shared, and I am sad that we could not remain friends, but it is what it is.)
I was discovering my asexuality, or was I simply manufacturing objects of my sexual self to adapt to the relationship and provide comfort and reason for the loss of affections. In retrospect I was manufacturing it. My previous self was definately inclined to an asexual identity due to the nature of my cultural and socially constructed manhood confining my womanhood to inner fantasy and ever present daydreaming. However, now that Daphne was a living relfection of my inner self and the chains of imposed social frmaeworks have been broken, fractured, and shattered, I no longer align with those feelings. At least not in the same way. I still find great pleasure in cuddling, kissing, and caressing. But I was dreaming of someone who would see the real me, and who would be naturally attracted to me, who would find me desirable and want me in the ways I might want them.
I will not discuss much here, as per request of Cage herself. Our intense attraction to one another has kindled a sexual fire in me. I do not say rekindled, because this is the first time I am experiencing sex and love wholly as Daphne, and not in some abstract way, but completely. I never have to solicit comliment. I feel sexy, I feel wanted, and I feel desired, and all these feeling are mutually reflected culminating in passion and a love that I have not experienced before.
Though I have yet to have my complete SRS, I feel more like a woman than I ever have before, and more than I ever could have imagined. I love you Cage <3
<3 Daphne Shaed