Video Review: She's A Boy I Knew

This is a short (a little over an hour long) autobiographical documentary about a lesbian transwoman's experiences as she transitioned, told primarily through interviews with her parents, sisters, and friends, as well as her own voiceover.  Although these kinds of trans-folk documentaries seem to mostly be cut from the same basic mold, I like watching them more to see the differences in how people handle their transgenderness than in the now-familiar ways they are the same.  I sort wish I was able to get a better read on the older of the two sisters, but in general, the interviews gave a pretty clear picture of the various internal conflicts each person had with Gwen Haworth's coming out and transition, and how they dealt with it in their own ways.  Although it scares me a little, I love that they showed her ex-wife's desire to be really supportive and then how as the transition got going, she realized that despite the love they shared, she needed to find a man who could address both her emotional and physical/sexual needs in a way that Gwen could not.  I see this concern in my wife's eyes whenever we talk about my spending more time at home en femme, so it hit home.  Somewhat surprisingly, but refreshingly, Gwen was willing to show her full body nude post-top and bottom surgeries.

Not a brilliant film, but an honest and watchable one that I can certainly recommend to trans folk and trans allies.

Not sure where else it may be available, but I watched She's A Boy I Knew using amazon.com's video service, $4.95 to rent for 7 days, $12.99 to buy.

Role models

not me.  flickr JMRosenfeld

I've noticed a change in the women I watch (no, not that way, I mean as role models or sometimes wish fulfillment :-).  From my teens to my early thirties, I think I mostly observed women in their mid-20s.  They had youth, energy, excitement, exuded femininity from their very pores, and all without even really trying.  Plus, so many fashions in magazines I read (e.g. Vogue, Elle) are really aimed at the mid-to-late 20s.  As transsexuals, I think we all want to be accepted, but as a transsexual who was still in hiding, any such acceptance was purely fantasy, and as long as it's fantasy, I might as well picture myself as one of those beautiful lithe young women.  When I dressed, I bought almost unwearably short skirts, wore large cup bras, stupidly high heels.  I was a caricature of a "sexy woman".  But then, at 36, I finally saw a gender counselor and for the first time realistically considered the possibility of living as a woman. Suddenly, I was no longer checking out the fashions of younger women.  I started to look hard at women closer to my age, and then refined that further to women my age with a similar shape (slightly on the tall side - I'm a little over 5'9" - with broad shoulders and small bust).  I also began to realize that lots of women have one or two "manly" features, but because of their overall presentation, no one remotely thinks they might be male.  That realization gave me hope.  Maybe if I can carry myself in a feminine manner and do so with confidence, then peoples' eyes may just pass right over me as well, just another middle-aged woman doing the shopping or whatever.  Having been on hormones for a while now, I'm realizing I'm a small-breasted woman unless I get top surgery, which I'm not too keen on, so instead of 38Cs, I'm getting 38As, and when I feel the need to go shop for my girl self, it's not lingerie and crazy short let's-go-clubbing dresses, it's the kind of casual or business clothes a reasonably fashionable woman my age might actually wear.  Things I see on the moms of my daughter's friends, my colleagues, etc.  Now I probably still dress a tiny bit younger and maybe slightly more dressy than the average woman my age, but that also reflects my personality, so I feel comfortable with it.  I don't see a pretend-woman in the mirror now.  When I'm in my femme mode, however I am dressed, I see a woman in the mirror, and that's definitely a good thing.

Runaway

cc flickr - tanya petrova

Over the years, I've contemplated a variety of mechanisms that would allow me to live as a woman.  Obviously, telling my friends and family and transitioning is the accepted and most likely path.  However, I have been prone to the occasional fit of despair, and in those dark times, I consider either faking my death and running off or just getting myself killed so as to end my pain without bringing the shame of a transsexual into my family.  The fact that either of these seem like viable options when I'm that down scares me.  Fortunately, being an overly rational person, I always come up with myriad problems with either plan, of which the primary one is simply the hurt I would be inflicting on my wife and kids whether my death was real or faked.  Pardon the expression, but I don't know that I could live with myself.

I'm blogging this now because I'm starting to recognize the beginnings of my death spirals into depression.  I start to think about telling people and finally coming out into the open.  As I get excited about it, I also start worrying and then I get to hearing or reading news stories about all the intolerance in the world, not just toward social minorities but even to people associated with them.  This makes me question the fairness of burdening them with such a stigma, and I also start thinking that this is an incredibly selfish thing I am doing.  That brings me to my current state, which is fear that two of the relationships I treasure most (with my kids) will be irreversibly altered. And if I follow the same form I have for the last two decades, I'll finally decide I can't do it, and spend a couple or more weeks really depressed that living as a woman will never become reality for me.

But is that really the case?  As I approach my 43rd birthday in a bit over a week, I'm wondering if my kids have known subconsciously all along, or at least had some inkling.  Sometimes they seem to, other times they seem clearly not to (or have forgotten).  Could I make this birthday a rebirth-day as well?