Tomorrow, April --, it will be exactly three years ago that I transitioned (in other words, transitioned at work and started living fulltime.) . . . So of course I’ve been reflecting on my life, and everything that’s happened. Taking stock, asking myself how my life is better than “before,” and to what extent any of that is attributable to the transition. And I’ll probably post some of my thoughts later tonight or tomorrow. Not now, because I have to leave to meet [my son]. And because I honestly still haven’t decided what I want to say about my feelings. Not all of which are very easy to talk about (for instance, the loneliness, and the realization that it’s likely only to get worse as I get older, especially with [my son] going off to college in less than five months). No matter how lucky I’ve been in certain things, and no matter how essentially effortless my transition has felt to me in so many ways. And even though I’ve never regretted transitioning – as opposed to being sad about some things I’ve lost – for an instant. </p>
<p>But I will say one thing right now. In some ways it all feels like yesterday (particularly when I think about how quickly [my son] has grown up in the last few years). But mostly it feels like it’s been a lot longer than three years. In fact, it’s gotten to the point that it’s almost impossible for me to remember, in a truly visceral sense, what it felt like to be a guy (it’s difficult for me to say “man”!) – to have a male body, to live as a man in the world. Other than a vague memory that it felt “wrong.” A feeling I can still describe, but can no longer replicate when I think about it. </p>
<p>Perhaps it’s the natural tendency people have to project their present selves into the past; perhaps it’s something about gender transition. But I confess that it’s gotten to the point that I have to remind myself, when I think of certain things in the past (like vacations I took with [my son]), that oh yeah, that was “before.” And I’m starting to fully comprehend, when I see pictures of myself from back then, that I really do look quite different. Perhaps that should have been obvious, but it wasn’t. </p>
<p>And I still don’t really know what “feeling like a woman” means! . . . .</p>
<p>You know, the thing about not knowing what “feeling like a woman” means is only partly a joke. Because I really have no idea. And there have been, and still sometimes are, times it’s made me feel insecure, given the many trans women who apparently knew they felt like women when they’d never lived as anything other than boys and men. So it’s been frustrating to me that I not only don’t know what it means, I can’t even imagine what it could possibly mean, or how anyone could be sure that it’s fundamentally the same as what other women feel (and different from what men feel). </p>
<p>And because of that incomprehension, it’s been hard for me at times – confessing a little shameful secret of mine – truly to believe that I <em>am</em> a woman. Other people seem to be way more sure of my being a woman than I’ve been in the past; everyone seems to perceive me as one and treat me as one, and seems to think I’m crazy to worry about it. And I know many trans women who seem supremely sure that they are, in fact, women. But, I’ve often thought, how do I really know, how can I be sure of it the same way I know, without any doubt, that, say, I’m a parent, or I’m Jewish, or I’m New York born? I can say it to others, easily, but, much as I’d like to, can I really say it to myself and not have doubts; be sure of it in my soul? And if I only could understand what it means to “feel like a woman,” would that be the key to being sure that I am one?</p>
<p>But I decided some time ago that I simply can’t (or, at least, shouldn’t!) do this to myself anymore. Maybe the uncertainty will never go away, but I can only feel like I feel, like I’ve always felt, and that’s never going to change. I think it’s precisely this kind of endless search for the Holy Grail of “feeling like a woman” that basically caused [a certain perpetually and notoriously dissatisfied trans woman] to decide that in order to find that magical certainty of being and feeling like a woman she’s had to physically obliterate all traces of her prior appearance and personality, hoping that that’s the key to being able to finally say “I’m a woman,” with no 3:00 o’clock in the morning doubts and fears. But I don’t think she’s ever going to find what she’s looking for.</p>
<p>Because I’m not sure there’s anything to find. Am I saying that I don’t really believe in gender identity? No, not really. Maybe Julia Serano is right; maybe it isn’t conscious, but subconscious. There has to be some reason I always wanted to be a girl from my earliest memory (long before I had any idea that I would be “lucky” enough someday to end up as physically small as I did), there has to be some reason that I was absolutely certain, from the very first time I went out in public in my adult life five years ago and realized that it was possible for me to blend in, that living as a woman was the right thing for me to do and that my life would be better that way. </p>
<p>There has to be some reason everything suddenly seemed so right when I started living in the world as a woman, as if I were suddenly directly connected to the world and the people in it, instead of always feeling one step removed, always a little off center or out of focus. (Feeling “right” that way, instead of wrong, has been the best part of all of this for me, except for one thing I’ll talk about a little later on.) There has to be some reason why people in general – male and female – are <em>so</em> much nicer, more open, more friendly with me than they used to be. There has to be some reason why I don’t hate who I am anymore, and no longer go through life wishing I were something else, and why I’m not perpetually anxious all the time. There has to be some reason why everyone seems to perceive and treat me as a woman. And there has to be some reason why all of this seemed to happen so easily and why so many things in my life seem so much easier. Which, of course, is why I wanted to transition; I certainly didn’t do it to make my life more difficult. </p>
<p>And whatever the reason is for all these things, doesn’t really matter. I’ve decided that I’m going to go with these feelings and finally believe that I am what I’ve always wanted to be, and what everyone tells me I am. (After all, how is it that most natal women “know” they’re women, or most natal men “know” they’re men? Partly, of course, because their bodies conform, to a greater or lesser degree, to what’s considered standard for their sex. But also, I suspect, because everyone’s been telling them they were girls or boys, everyone’s been treating them as girls or boys, from the moment they were born. So, I might as well go with the program!) </p>
<p>Hopefully, then, one byproduct of the last three years going the way they have is that I’m done with all the old omphaloskepsis of “am I? am I <em>really</em>? why don’t I feel like one?,” round and round in endless circles. For me, “that way madness lies; let me shun that; no more of that.” </p>
<p>And please don’t think that I’ve spent the last three years stuck inside my head thinking about all that. Most of the time, I have too much else to think about! After all, I can honestly say that transition-related issues (except as they affect [my son]) haven’t been even in the top four in importance of things I’ve had to deal with in the last few years. Being a parent has been more important, and required far more emotional resources (especially the last few years, with all the college-related stuff). Dealing with my job. Dealing with the devastation of the breakup [of the relationship I was in until three years ago]. And, as always, having to deal with, and worry about, my health. </p>
<p>So, transition per se has been maybe number 5. Which is probably one reason I’ve found it so relatively easy, in a practical sense! Being me just – is. As the saying goes, it’s a life, not a “lifestyle”!</p>
<p>A few other things I wanted to say. The thing about my transition I’m happiest about? There’s no doubt. It’s that [my son] and I have managed to get through this with (I think) our closeness intact, our relationship as strong as it ever was if not better. It hasn’t been so easy for him all the time, and I certainly made my share of mistakes in handling things, but I think we both always knew it would turn out like this. Any other outcome – well, it just couldn’t have happened. Inconceivable, given how much we both wanted, and needed, it to go well. And so far as I’m concerned, every bit as much credit for all of this goes to him, and to his love, and caring, and his good heart, as it does to me – for all the credit some people seem to want to give me for being a good parent. Although I admit that if there’s anything I’ve ever done in my life that I’m genuinely proud of, it’s being his parent, it’s always having tried to think about how every single thing I do will affect him, it’s always doing my best to make sure that he’s secure in the knowledge that he comes first for me, it’s never missing my time with him in the eight years since my separation, it’s never having cancelled my time with him because of work, and, most of all, it’s letting him know that I’m still the same parent I always was, and always will be, every minute of my life. </p>
<p>And, OK, if I’ve helped even one other transitioning parent to understand that it <em>is</em> possible to get through this with your relationship with your kids intact, and that it <em>is</em> possible to do this even if your kids are teenagers – but that it doesn’t just happen; it takes work; it takes making sure your kids feel that there’s always continuity, and that in every important way they really do still come first – then that makes me happy, too.</p>
<p>Did I remember to mention that when he had his birthday party at his mother’s house a couple of weeks ago, and I was afraid he wouldn’t want to invite me, he asked me to come over, and when I got there one of his friends asked, “and who is this,” and he casually introduced me to everyone by saying, “oh, she’s my father”? And that he says that since then not one single friend has said anything to suggest that they thought there was anything the least bit odd, or that it was in any way a big deal, that his father is a woman? It may have taken a few years to get to this point, but we seem to be here. And I’m very pleased.