tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23051610957631970722024-02-06T19:09:05.699-08:00Lori's RevivalWish you were here. I'll send you a postcard.Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-6763307676715741172020-01-08T22:31:00.001-08:002020-01-08T22:31:08.016-08:00I miss this. New year. New decade. So much has changed since I transitioned. And so much has stayed the same. To be honest, there’s a whole hell of a lot from those days I don’t remember. I realize my mind treats many of those memories as hostile and I’ve blocked some of the most painful ones out. But they’ve been replaced by ten years of mostly good ones. Good friends. Good family. I survived what I thought was the impossible. <div><br></div><div>Interested in hearing ten years of stories since I made it through that long , dark tunnel? </div><div><br></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1D9PbiZAHphDSpE459S7gfOHdet84z3KJ" alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1D9PbiZAHphDSpE459S7gfOHdet84z3KJ" style="font-size: 12pt; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"><img src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1L0zXwH_0w_o9w9zKNQzPKWxUxZJJT9yR" alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1L0zXwH_0w_o9w9zKNQzPKWxUxZJJT9yR" style="font-size: 12pt; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"><br></div><div><br></div><div><img src="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1zMaCerJp4Wye_acAKGihenXz1LFZfJbb" alt="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=view&id=1zMaCerJp4Wye_acAKGihenXz1LFZfJbb" style="font-size: 12pt; -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; max-height: 80%; max-width: 80%; height: auto; width: auto;"></div><div><br></div>Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-11543020939191218482016-05-02T10:35:00.000-07:002016-05-02T10:35:15.608-07:00An UpdateHi, everyone. I know, I know, I promised to start blogging again. And that was a hell of a long time ago. I just found myself far too busy, and far too tired at the end of the day, to do anything else but work, sleep, and tend to my family. Sounds monotonous. Sounds tedious. Sounds boring. Sounds drama free.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOgtntKHw5TGZ74jsCB8plaSELssqst4HL2qbDmphi3HQoa-5qw0wTHblalGATITOhrR_7Ksbj_0cagvcD3tcSi8edKzN5_KfnuioBn1ZPXKzA-Z6fWqJ7z7ar0mUnWThNBjPI8Vv8Q_0/s1600/WIN_20160330_18_11_21_Pro+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOgtntKHw5TGZ74jsCB8plaSELssqst4HL2qbDmphi3HQoa-5qw0wTHblalGATITOhrR_7Ksbj_0cagvcD3tcSi8edKzN5_KfnuioBn1ZPXKzA-Z6fWqJ7z7ar0mUnWThNBjPI8Vv8Q_0/s320/WIN_20160330_18_11_21_Pro+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had better quality photos of me, but this captures my silly spirit so this will do.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Compared to the years involving my transition from male to female, drama-free was exactly what I needed. Looking back at those days, there are moments I can barely recall just because of the level of stress that I remember enduring. I've heard the term "pink cloud" many times before, but I don't think or remember a life so g<br />
lamorous. From the early days of covering up my five o'clock shadow with thick MAC foundation and concealer, to the other side of the tunnel where I finally settled into family life and was finally able to be my true self at work, almost any given day was no walk in the park. <br />
<br />
So where am I today? Well, I am nearing the end of the second decade of my career in law enforcement. That was something I never talked about when I blogged daily years ago. The fear of being outed, or even worse, fired, was always looming. I had friends who were terminated or were forced out because of the incessant emotional beat downs in similar agencies as mine. At the time I changed my name, the federal discrimination case taken on by Diane Schroer had just ended with the resulting decision that discrimination based on gender identity is sex-based discrimination in accordance with the Civil Rights Act of 1964. <br />
<br />
Going from being a part of a 96 percent male workforce to being in the four percent minority of females was a great challenge. Something I've been told will be a great read if I ever write a book about my crazy life. The stories I could tell. Ha. <br />
<br />
But overall, I found myself quite comfortable in my own skin at work because of the incredible amount of support I had from colleagues and friends. I worked hard to be someone who cared about those I worked with, and I often felt like I was the unofficial psychologist or pastor-on-duty. When the time came for me to unravel Lori to my employer, a lot of great things fell in to place. Not that I didn't have the gossipers talking behind my back at the watercooler, far from it. I was the talk of the town, well, for at least a few weeks. But if you've ever worked in a large agency or corporation, you know how new news quickly becomes old news as new gossip about someone else makes it ways to the headlines at the watercooler. <br />
<br />
So what am I up to today? I considered blogging again, like I considered it by the looks at my last post. I almost forgot just how good it feels to get things off my chest, to write first and foremost for an audience of one... me. But I also miss the connections that I had with the blogging community, and the many trans friends I gained during that time. There are but a handful of people from that time that I still communicate with on a regular basis, and I'm sure it's just because we're all busy. We get so distracted by our daily business that it's easy to forget to stop and increase your value between each other. <br />
<br />
One thing people couldn't say about me was that I never committed to anything. Transition was hell, and I was never sure I'd make it out alive. My latest greatest commitment continues to be spending time with my children as they get closer to graduating. I can't believe how wonderful my children have become. I think about them more than I think about anything else. And knowing my children know my authentic self without any more lies to cover that up is a major relief. I never knew I had the capacity to love them as much as I do today. Transition cleared out the haze and gave me this ability, despite the pain that we all went through in navigating such a challenge together as a family.<br />
<br />
<br />
There's another passion that's been reignited in me, and that's my love for taking photos. In the last year, I've started a legitimate photography business focusing on capturing portraits of families, high school seniors, weddings, and other events. And I've also discovered the beauty of the night sky as astrophotography is incredibly rewarding when I see the resulting images from my efforts. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jAuJroeQUPk/VyeOKGEqvyI/AAAAAAAADOI/ykZo3QJgzbs-wCoDV5WH95fVQANGfstZQCLcB/s1600/077A3784.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jAuJroeQUPk/VyeOKGEqvyI/AAAAAAAADOI/ykZo3QJgzbs-wCoDV5WH95fVQANGfstZQCLcB/s400/077A3784.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of my favorite captures. Taken with a Canon 5DMarkIII and Sigma 50mm f/1.4ART lens.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhlJ6X5vwcbXef2ccNMjkuai2JzExWjm0j6nXmevuJDJNufDAyQZPiNLaYAk1hwMQKVfpsRwRbsZB9yZb_TPwNCUQqvdM2ahzdX1UOsbymMUh5NSmCWKgWfUVLTub21riIn5aOqgyV8lM/s1600/077A7182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhlJ6X5vwcbXef2ccNMjkuai2JzExWjm0j6nXmevuJDJNufDAyQZPiNLaYAk1hwMQKVfpsRwRbsZB9yZb_TPwNCUQqvdM2ahzdX1UOsbymMUh5NSmCWKgWfUVLTub21riIn5aOqgyV8lM/s400/077A7182.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This little desert tree reaching for the Milky Way Galaxy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I think I have a lot more to share before my blogging is over. I keep hearing how the platform is dead, and that's okay. I'll probably start doing a few YouTube videos like I have in the past. I know I've often shared more than I should have, but now I believe I have a need to share what's on my heart, and that someone out there might benefit from it. <br />
<br />
If you're an old friend or are just finding me here for the first time, do say hi, would you? I'd appreciate reconnecting with old friends, and I'm always open to connecting with new people. <br />
<br />
And if you're silently suffering inside and you can't find a way to get through this, reach out to someone. To friends you trust, to family who you know cares for you, or send me a message. I'll do my best to point the way in the right direction if I can. And for the many Christians who simply wrote me off and dismissed me as a "backslider" or that I was "never really a Christian," my faith in<br />
God has changed, you're right. But I find myself closer to his loving arms than I ever have before. It would take many more blogs to explain how I arrived safely in His arms, but I assure you my hope is built on nothing less, than Jesus' blood and righteousness. <br />
<br />
Blessings,<br />
Lori B.Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-41776925204386427772014-09-04T22:39:00.001-07:002014-09-04T22:39:39.362-07:00A Distant Ship Smoke on the HorizonI used to rant about my feelings and frustrations on Facebook quite often. But I eventually got the impression that no one wanted to hear me complain about pretty much anything anymore. I think that, after years of fighting through the trials of transition so openly and publicly, people close to you just get tired of your story. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I rarely rant online anymore. It's just not worth it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I still need an avenue, and I remember how cathartic blogging would be to me. Oh sure, it was nice having people relate to me by commenting. And the new topics and conversations that started in the comments section were worth following as well. But the most important thing about blogging for me was that I just felt better when I did it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I never considered myself to be an eloquent or prolific writer, and I'm okay with that. But I remember the times where, after hours of soul-searching when I should have been sleeping, the confusion and chaos inside my brain was delicately laid out in some pretty damn good fashion.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There is so much that I want to say. But I don't think I need an audience anymore to say it. In fact, I never really needed an audience to write. I miss it. So I think I'll take a stab at it again.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You might not like what I have to say. Don't read it. That's fine. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm not looking to find an audience. I'm looking to help myself again. If you want to come along for the ride, hop on. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Maybe I'll be back again in a day,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
or a year. <br />
<br />
<br />
I got to meet my dear old friend Chloe Prince for lunch recently. I'll talk more about that soon. Here's a selfie from that day. Ha, I said "selfie." <br />
<br />
I freakin' invented selfies.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xbMOMc0__gI/VAlMM4BQI9I/AAAAAAAADMM/aGhg1OLONJM/s1600/2014-08-01%2B11.06.56-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xbMOMc0__gI/VAlMM4BQI9I/AAAAAAAADMM/aGhg1OLONJM/s1600/2014-08-01%2B11.06.56-2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-54399529317918998172012-10-26T04:42:00.001-07:002012-10-26T04:42:14.086-07:00The Uprising - RevisitedSo many of my friends are going through incredibly painful and emotionally charged times right now. I too am going through the biggest changes in my own life. <br />
<br />
There is a stirring within me, a stirring of a woman who beats her fists upon a wall, angered that so much tribulation and emotional distress has to be endured by so many. <br />
<br />
There is an uprising within me. I will be stronger, more courageous, more certain, more committed to love conquering all. <br />
<br />
The ideal can be achieved, but it starts with me. It starts anew.<br />
----------------------------<br />
<br />
Update: October 2012<br />
That was the first blog I wrote when I started "A T Revival." Wow, it seems like a lifetime ago. So much has changed, yet my passion for life has only grown. And I've grown older as well. I can barely even remember being "him" except for my experiences and relationships with my closest family and friends. But I no longer see that "Man in the Mirror," and the feelings of heartache and pain I experienced during transition is a fading memory. <br />
<br />
I still struggle, but not like I struggled before.<br />
I still strive, this time for my family, and in doing what I can to provide for my children while giving them all of me they need and want in me as their Maddie.<br />
<br />
I have a new song in my heart. A true song. I'm finally singing from the voice that was so ever silent within me, and it's a fantastically melodious reverie.<br />
<br />Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-61177141800441697072012-10-26T04:27:00.000-07:002020-12-19T19:19:20.188-08:00Solace for the Soul<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2flfBgLhFrjZ1a2ceUeiHsYSjlL7-VbADpoyIpDRguWD35xM0tqnqRoJupnVtaqtHE0MqcW7-p4x4ION5UPvarbIRr2kxtbx2XFjbOpnzPpXawOW1aCiSO3aMYEGRmSHxiMg4Gp_yXng/s1600-h/MyPicture.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225695288902709730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2flfBgLhFrjZ1a2ceUeiHsYSjlL7-VbADpoyIpDRguWD35xM0tqnqRoJupnVtaqtHE0MqcW7-p4x4ION5UPvarbIRr2kxtbx2XFjbOpnzPpXawOW1aCiSO3aMYEGRmSHxiMg4Gp_yXng/s320/MyPicture.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br />
I made it back to Arizona safely. No cops, no sandstorms, and no video. I tried filming a quick vlog but was repulsed with the way I looked. With the relative humidity around 90 percent, my hair was a mess, plus for some reason I felt my camisole looked like a "wife beater" on me in the vid.<br />
<br />
Yo, Vinnie, you wanna I shoulda take this putz out back and a ya know?<br />
<br />
What the hell, it was ten minutes of jibberish anyway. I was spewing about some of the bullcrap I've seen lately online. I'll explain that here in a bit.<br />
<br />
I've got two things on my mind I wanted to share briefly while my son is in the bathtub. First of all, I feel so elated to hear my son's voice resonate in this home again. For over a month now the only thing I heard was my own developing female voice (as I try my darndest to copy the voices of the CNN anchorwomen), and the sound of my three annoying cats uttering a deep meow as they call out for the kids whom they cherish as their adopted parents.<br />
<br />
It was fun while it lasted, if even for a couple of days. Tomorrow I take him to the airport where he will fly back to California to spend the last two weeks of his summer vacation with his mother. So I'll be alone again for a couple of weeks, but I have a couple of cherished memories to hold onto for a while.<br />
<br />
Last night my spirit crumbled briefly. I'd just spoken with my wife over the phone about her family and her father's lack of acceptance. I ended up saying things I shouldn't have, but I was deeply saddened that my wife had to be stuck being pulled in two different directions. My guilt was overwhelming me for a brief period, and my son came up to me and embraced me. I had to get on my knees so he could surround me with his small arms and hold me. He told me he didn't care what anyone thought about me, and he said, "You're fine just like you are, Dad. I will always love you." When we were done my tears and snot were all over his t-shirt.<br />
<br />
It's amazing how such simply sweet words are like solace to the soul.<br />
<br />
On a different front, I don't know how much you read about other transactivists who are on the frontlines of enacting change from both a sociopolitical level, and from a personal level. I have had the pleasure over time to get to know many of these people, and I consider them some of my best allies in my personal transition. I consider these people my friends and invaluable resources when I need them.<br />
<br />
But I'm beginning to get a little pissed.<br />
<br />
Now I know I've made my share of mistakes, and I've misspoken when I should have kept my mouth shut. But it seems like there is this growing pool of people who have nothing but negative criticism without ever suggesting ideas for positive change themselves. I'm not targeting anyone, and I'm not criticizing any single person. It's just an observation, and I'm not alone.<br />
<br />
When I look at what I've seen and read recently, I tell myself that I hope this isn't the direction our community is heading in. I can see why people choose to move towards living in stealth and abandoning any need to reciprocate the support they received from others back to the community.<br />
<br />
But I don't want to be like that. I see just how much of a difference one person can make to one other person who is struggling with the same issues.<br />
<br />
I can also see what happens when one person feels abandoned by everyone including those he or she thought were their friends. Feeling left out, especially in the trans community, is something NO one should ever have to feel.<br />
<br />
Too many people have been pulling for me. I hope others are pulling for you. If you've "made it through," I hope you're pulling for someone else out there.<br />
<br />
That's community to me. That's unity in purpose, spirit, and love.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.hrcbackstory.org/2008/07/meghan-stabler.html">Meghan</a>, <a href="http://www.bilerico.com/2008/07/hrcs_project_win_back_part_ii.php">Marti</a>, <a href="http://donnarose.com/MyBlog/">Donna</a>, God bless you. Your tenacity to endure so much BS sets one hell of an example to me.Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-6253895344354866222011-09-08T03:02:00.000-07:002020-12-19T19:17:56.158-08:00What, Me, Optimist?Tonight I had the chance to talk over the phone with a friend I've not connected with in quite some time. We were discussing some a few questions she had over a little project I've started. During the course of our conversation, the issue of self-worth came up, and I again admitted something that few people know about me:<br />
<br />
I struggle with feeling defeated in many things in life. And my sense of self-worth isn't nearly where it should be.<br />
<br />
Talking through it with her brought up some possible reasons for it, one being the way I was taught by the churches I attended that people like me are hell-bound, and I could never be a woman because...well, "God doesn't make mistakes." (Never mind the fact that I didn't believe I "could be," but always knew I was a woman.)<br />
<br />
Over time I know I've been able to plow through those unintelligible justifications for condemning me and people like me. Many of you know my struggles with my faith and how I overcame the condemnation with my own soul (and Scripture) searching, and eventually arriving at the conclusion that God loves me, just as I am. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjecAl7ZRCse_CsDWA5FxiuFXF_Fc8E9qwHgfcYYAG7MZa0P64_9hSVTrUFIZ9KRvzOyi2oBhsfCjelBYU2s7-9qDxJN9WdJm1pbne_wLhNodcXKSEyO72Rgmrks_4whR2C16YQmGHlc/s1600/Picture+131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjecAl7ZRCse_CsDWA5FxiuFXF_Fc8E9qwHgfcYYAG7MZa0P64_9hSVTrUFIZ9KRvzOyi2oBhsfCjelBYU2s7-9qDxJN9WdJm1pbne_wLhNodcXKSEyO72Rgmrks_4whR2C16YQmGHlc/s200/Picture+131.jpg" width="160" /></a>But now I find myself beginning a new thing, and my fears and lack of self-confidence are once again knocking at my door, and all it takes is a shred of the toxic bullshit out there in this blogosphere battlezone to close me up. <br />
<br />
During the phone conversation, I was surprised to hear my friend tell me how she always loved to read my blog; that through all the mess that was my life, I somehow always managed to shine a light of resilient optimism into each story and confession. So for the rest of the evening I thought back to some of my own writings from those troubling times, and I discovered that I always managed to hold on to some thing, one thing, or anything that would give me hope. I held on, as the song goes, for one more day. And surprisingly, it worked.<br />
<br />
I guess I'm surprised to be seen as an optimist. My own continued struggles with self-confidence and fear of failure often attempts to repress my timid spirit. But in looking back at where I've come from, I don't think I would have been able to make it had it not been for finding some reason during the day to be optimistic, and I'm grateful optimism came in many shapes and colors. <br />
<br />
Optimism = Hope.<br />
<br />
And hope is what I'm trying to impart from my life to those I care about. Perhaps I'll never stop struggling with those little voices mocking me and calling me a failure. But I'll prove them wrong in the end. Just you wait. <br />
<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Thanks for lifting my spirit today, <a href="http://negotiatingneverweres.blogspot.com/">Tegan</a>. </i>Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-6228373329329729532011-08-26T13:46:00.000-07:002020-12-19T19:17:32.719-08:00One Thing I Really Miss<iframe width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/q39ABBLnlQQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
The video above is me singing one of my favorite songs called "Greater Grace." Yes, I happen to be in a lot of other places on the internet than just here. Some of my readers don't know I used to be a worship leader at several different churches over the last few years. My voice was obviously a lot deeper back then, and I've been working at developing a female singing voice over time. I know I've already improved since posting this video over a year ago.
And although I've led worship as my true self intermittently as a guest in places, I miss being able to point the way to Jesus through song and the instruments. Watching others come to experience the same love pouring down upon their faces as they open their hearts up to God is something I truly miss, and I wonder if God will lead me down this path again someday. For now I choose to worship Him wherever I am, in my car, in an empty room with my guitar, or when I'm out in the desert watching a dazzling golden sunset from atop a cragged Arizona mountain peak. I choose to worship God because of what He's done for me and the relationship I have with my Savior.
It saddens me a bit that I've not led worship lately. But I know God's not through with me yet. Just you wait.Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-78067433517327397162011-08-09T15:33:00.000-07:002020-12-19T19:16:53.111-08:00When Is the Right Time to Transition?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37v8GaPFEmimKNDNGgVn3ry4R2hEp08I9DS0AGjN3RZB6okYfDpi8Q6h9VQfyrvKJDJJtHBMcyDgaeRii21T1EDa-R6wnGJi_Jao5cXcaiV70jtnQWNLRSvod8QO0Z6g5DijK7LMzEFI/s1600/IMG_0937.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37v8GaPFEmimKNDNGgVn3ry4R2hEp08I9DS0AGjN3RZB6okYfDpi8Q6h9VQfyrvKJDJJtHBMcyDgaeRii21T1EDa-R6wnGJi_Jao5cXcaiV70jtnQWNLRSvod8QO0Z6g5DijK7LMzEFI/s320/IMG_0937.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self portrait late 2007</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<p>I sometimes have difficulty understanding the way trans people identify with the period of time they transitioned. I've heard words like "late transitioners" most often used to describe those in their 50's and up along with the term "early transitioners" used to describe children and teenagers who were allowed to transition at a young age with the help of their parents or once they moved out on their own. But I don't identify with either of those. I guess I'm a "middle transitioner," and quite frankly for me, I couldn't wait any longer.</p>
<br />
<br />
When I was in college in the early 1990's, I finally discovered that transsexualism was becoming better understood, and I sought after every book at the massive university library I could to learn more. Seeing graphic illustrations of SRS (or GCS, or whatever we're calling it nowadays) looked excruciatingly painful, but that didn't stop me from smiling, knowing that change was possible, and wishing I could somehow make that happen in my own life. I'd spend years afterward wrestling with my faith over this, all the while working towards building a career and family. But years of sweeping under the carpet the longing to be whole eventually took its toll on me, and depression along with the dysphoria became more unbearable than ever. I just wanted to be treated for this, I just wanted to get better.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Bt0OZt94Vl5RWu73HZg9GE0EWtrBaewinla8-cKHUJ8jQhBKjr7KgV5ShdjWugFg6BE_XI0bGFoLnUGuH1DGEnd_J7B6lYdlNc8HljxP8Bh0iVGkiHFQ-XSUfMI9ouMpYCxVPXuy3XI/s1600/IMG_3013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Bt0OZt94Vl5RWu73HZg9GE0EWtrBaewinla8-cKHUJ8jQhBKjr7KgV5ShdjWugFg6BE_XI0bGFoLnUGuH1DGEnd_J7B6lYdlNc8HljxP8Bh0iVGkiHFQ-XSUfMI9ouMpYCxVPXuy3XI/s320/IMG_3013.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Necklace given to me by a dear friend who shared its meaning in <a href="http://photorevival.blogspot.com/2009/02/bonnies-gift.html">THIS </a>post: </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
While in my early to mid 30's, I felt the ability to reach the goal of authenticity slipping through my fingers. Looking at myself in the mirror, testosterone continued to alter my body in ways I loathed. My mind and body were heading in opposite directions. Eventually, with the help of the one I love, I sought help because I couldn't bear the idea of living the rest of my life in this incongruent body and mind. For me, being a "late transitioner" was out of the question. For me, it was then or never. So I transitioned in my 30's, and though I have few regrets in some of the wrong choices I made, I don't regret getting the help I needed and moving forward...falling forward. Most of my close friends believe that it was the right choice for me. I'd have to agree with that. It got better. I got better. <br />
<br />
So back to the question I posed in the title of this post: when is the right time to transition? The bottom line is that no one can ever tell you to transition. For many, financial issues are almost always at the forefront of any decision to transition. Most health insurance companies do not cover any procedures related to "sex transformations," at least that's what my provider calls it. Yet the American Medical Association along with other organizations believe that transsexuality is a medical condition that should be covered. Trans people in England and Canada have access to medical treatment, but we've got a long way to go before we see that available in the states. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegphcOf10a6KUQMxzDREV5X56ghLoYWBcrDHu1UriS4yxQLqY4wZFVT_qLA-a8KrcWA1jStzELskd1CwWrVNmn0NAcQ8DzwanZA6k6ffpHcfvjDZIQZ7-mH8MJVctzJLHb8A7ok2wQMw/s1600/IMG_0763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegphcOf10a6KUQMxzDREV5X56ghLoYWBcrDHu1UriS4yxQLqY4wZFVT_qLA-a8KrcWA1jStzELskd1CwWrVNmn0NAcQ8DzwanZA6k6ffpHcfvjDZIQZ7-mH8MJVctzJLHb8A7ok2wQMw/s320/IMG_0763.JPG" width="210" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self portrait - late 2007</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And as for those who can afford transition, it's certainly not inexpensive. And if you are able to finance your way through transition, when is the right time to do so? Should you not transition because you're married? Should you stay in the relationship that you got into before you transitioned (and does he or she even know)? What about the kids? And what about the fear of being discriminated against and terminated at work? These are some really tough questions that only you can answer. One of the best things that was helpful to me was finding a really understanding therapist who specialized in gender and sex issues. Some of my friends who transitioned felt very little value in counseling and were able to transition successfully without any outside help. <br />
<br />
There's clearly no right way to transition just because everyone has unique hurdles to overcome. I transitioned in my 30's because, at that point in my life, I had to. Regretting that I didn't transition sooner only erases the value in the experiences I received through those years, in the people I met, and in the family I have have and love today. I used to wish that I'd just been born in the right body of a girl. But in doing so I was denying the beauty of the process of becoming me, the woman I am today. As in the words of a song from the Broadway musical RENT, "There's only now, there's only this, forget regret, or life is yours to miss."<br />
<br />
Have you transitioned? If so, when was the right time for you? <br />
<br />
Are you thinking of transitioning? When is the right time for you? <br />
<br />
Do you wish and feel like you HAVE to transition but are paralyzed in fear that you won't make it? What are those fears keeping you from getting help?<br />
<br />
If you're none of the above but you have insight on this, what are you thoughts on the matter? <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-9400572199182384432011-08-04T02:18:00.000-07:002020-12-19T19:14:40.701-08:00Such Beautiful Words of HopeThe following was taken from a comment to a guest post on T-Central just over a year ago. The words were inspiring then and I believe they're equally as valuable today. They are not my words. It was posted here:<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://t-central.blogspot.com/2010/07/transition-thoughts-reflections-guest_20.html">http://t-central.blogspot.com/2010/07/transition-thoughts-reflections-guest_20.html</a></b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 19px;"></span></b><br />
<br />
<dd class="comment-body" id="Blog1_cmt-6990281123856234192" style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 25px; margin-top: 0.5em;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote>
<b>I have no advice. I do not even understand my own situation. It just WAS, and I did the best I could to deal with it. I was blessed. I was so fortunate not only to have survived but to have prospered, with no regrets and no walking wounded left in my wake.</b><b><br /></b><b>
Although I have just recently returned to my "roots"(?)/"beginnings"(?), I cannot help but compare my outcome To the pain and pathos of which the stories related here, represent but a tiny fraction. And YOU are the survivors!!! You are all still among the living, despite all that you have suffered and struggled through.</b><b><br /></b><b>
I will say this, and I believe it may be in disagreement with Alex's perspective, but only patially.</b><b><br /></b><b>
I agree that there is no "right way" to do this. We each make our own bed that we must lie in. We can only live with the decisions that we have made. We live with the consequences of or actions.</b><b><br /></b><b>
In my case those consequences were mine and mine alone, Because I transitioned very young, there were no children, no immediate relatives that would be mortally wounded.</b><b><br /></b><b>
I am of the opinion that we can never retrace our steps, we can only move for ward. In our lives, in this existance, there is no "re-load" buttun. There are no "do-overs" We can only move forward through time.</b><b><br /></b><b>
Having said that it is my hope that we each as individuals will move forward in a positive way. We will make future decisions based on what we have learned from our past mistakes.</b><b><br /></b><b>
I sincerely believe that what we are all doing here, by sharing our life's experiences, is offering to ourselves, and what we have learned through hard experience, to others that they might learn and possibly gain some insight, some clue on how to deal with their individual situation.</b></blockquote>
</div>
<div>
<b><br />
</b></div>
<div>
<b><br />
</b></div>
<div>
You might be surprised to read who wrote such delicately-crafted words of hope. I recommend you click through to read the full story from beginning to end.
<br />
<br />
I believe the writer really meant what she said when she wrote this. I do not know nor can quite fathom what's happened since then. Her original story of survive-AND-thrive has so much potential to inspire so many who are hurting. I'm just flabbergasted.</div>
</dd>Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-72148364619375927972011-08-02T04:03:00.000-07:002020-12-19T19:14:47.498-08:00You're a Penis-Packing, Less-than-real-woman, Man-in-a-dress.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J6ZqxbFToS8/TjfYD4KSIfI/AAAAAAAAC-Q/nvkO6500Nto/s1600/mock2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J6ZqxbFToS8/TjfYD4KSIfI/AAAAAAAAC-Q/nvkO6500Nto/s1600/mock2.jpg" /></a>That's really what it comes down to by some, isn't it? If you've charged through transition as much as you've been able and have not measured up to some mythical standard, you're likely to be called one of those things. Oh, and the list goes on: Faggot, tranny, freak, he/she... You get the point. I'll stop just because many of my own friends (including myself) have endured such name calling from those who they thought loved and cared for them. Many of us know what it feels like to be bullied by outsiders who cannot empathize with an incongruent gender/sexual identity. I've seen the bruises on bodies to prove it. <br />
<br />
Sadly, those trigger-words aren't only being said by outsiders, but by the very people who claim to have walked more than a mile in your shoes. And just because they've "arrived" at being a "true woman," now they feel empowered to become the victimizer, belittling those very people who are already brutalized. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pzJCw62DWUE/TjfYELi3F7I/AAAAAAAAC-U/5wBjt0vy4RM/s1600/mock3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pzJCw62DWUE/TjfYELi3F7I/AAAAAAAAC-U/5wBjt0vy4RM/s200/mock3.jpg" width="133" /></a>So how do you feel when someone who claims to have a transsexual history refers to you as a "man in a dress?" After all, everyone has to start somewhere. I remember the first few times I finally began to go out as my authentic self. I remember how ridiculous I looked. It wasn't so much that I looked and felt like a clown at the time, although I've been told that. Looking back I realize I was working through my own look like a young teenage girl practices and learns to wear the right amount of makeup. For a thirty-something transitioner, though, it was quite embarrassing at times. But I kept my head held high and deep confidence within me despite getting "read" for some time. <br />
<br />
But that wasn't the end goal for me. I never wanted the END of transition to include others still seeing me as a "man in a dress." So even though I had a deep voice, I practiced my female voice day after day...after day. And I finally found my voice. I went through quite a bit of shopping before I learned what was appropriate and not appropriate to wear for a woman my age. I realized that it wasn't so much about having to learn to "be" a woman as it was to just allow myself to simply BE. And one day the reflection in the mirror matched exactly who I was inside.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sBui5Dbw99U/TjfYDklcaII/AAAAAAAAC-M/wzs3PaK9To4/s1600/mock1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="146" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sBui5Dbw99U/TjfYDklcaII/AAAAAAAAC-M/wzs3PaK9To4/s200/mock1.jpg" width="200" /></a>I understand how painful being taunted can be. I've been ridiculed to no end. A close female relative once told me, "F*** anyone who has a problem with it. You be who you are because who you are is beautiful." Hearing those words, especially the F-bomb, come from her was a shocker since she never cursed. But she implanted a fire within me that would not easily be extinguished. <br />
<br />
And that's why I'm terribly bothered when my friends are called hurtful names like "Penis-packers." Most of my trans - friends who have admitted they have not had sexual reassignment surgery also share the reason WHY they haven't had the surgery: they simply cannot afford surgery at the present time, might never be able to afford surgery because they are in an economically suppressed situation, or have some sort of health issue preventing them from having it. They don't delight in the fact they are "pre-operative" and struggle onward hoping the opportunity will present itself to have surgery.<br />
<br />
And yet these same people take these words to heart...even if they're not lobbed directly at them, because every time they hear those poisonous words, they're faced with the sad fact that they can't yet have what so many others flaunt they've got. <br />
<br />
I often use the term "Post-transition" for a reason. For one, I don't believe it's my business to point out to the world what someone else has between their legs. It's bad enough the "cisgender" world has an almost fetishistic craving to know, "Has she had the surgery? Is she post-op? I wonder what her vajayjay looks like!" And believe me, a lot of people think that way if you bring up SRS.<br />
<br />
And yet, if you were to walk up to someone...anyone...a perfect stranger... who asserts he is male, would you ask, "Excuse me, sir, if you ARE a sir, that is. Would you kindly PROVE to me that you have a penis?" You'd likely get beat so blue you'd require stitches and a cast. <br />
<br />
When the main focus of who we are is ALL about what type of surgery we've had, how can we expect the world to judge us for who we are as people and not instead fixate on whether or not an MTF is "penis-packin." It's as insulting as wondering what's between the legs of everyone who is not transsexual. <br />
<br />
Having surgery is one of the highest achievements for those who need to and can obtain the means to see it through to the end. It signifies the closure of one part of their life and the path to a new horizon. There are those who have shown publicly their regret for surgery, but the stats show it is clearly the minority who regret their decision to have surgery. When each new friend heads off to Thailand, Scottsdale or San Francisco and returns elated that they are truly congruent with body, mind, and soul, I'm truly happy for them. <br />
<br />
As for the majority of friends who share with me about the financial or physical dilemma they face, I do my best to be as supportive without belittling them or making them feel less than special. I'm no one. I've been fortunate to have been so blessed with wonderful friends who stood by me every step of the way. <br />
<br />
It's a terrible shame that the bullies and victimizers out there have to come from within our own circles. This should never be so. Perhaps we should all take some simple advice: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." <br />
<br />
<br />Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-40379607601017316032011-07-22T22:14:00.000-07:002020-12-19T18:44:30.326-08:00Change IS Possible (My life in pictures)In the course of the last few years when I transitioned my body and the world I was living in, I've had much fear, worry, and doubt that change for me would ever be possible. Close friends will account for me that I spent many dysphoric, sleepless nights wondering just how it could be possible to navigate through the mess that is transition. Some would disagree with me and call it a "beautiful journey," but even though I found reasons to smile through many days that went by, transition was an ugly, chaotic, nightmarish mess. But it didn't stay that way, and I knew it would not be that way forever. Perhaps that's what kept me going through it all. <u> I knew change WAS possible.</u><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjYCmwCokXSwRWhV9Ufkypv1nh7Pl_wJgfW9aDZ5xQ8pCaxufcGTak2shhxfYrICDJlNsmrL4f7GLDo6bpFDS0wxogsATrJj2ET-0MTa8Hr6TbEXMXBCdxSLpJflqaNgIS0xhcSEJILNk/s1600/100_0920.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjYCmwCokXSwRWhV9Ufkypv1nh7Pl_wJgfW9aDZ5xQ8pCaxufcGTak2shhxfYrICDJlNsmrL4f7GLDo6bpFDS0wxogsATrJj2ET-0MTa8Hr6TbEXMXBCdxSLpJflqaNgIS0xhcSEJILNk/s320/100_0920.JPG" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><b>Maybe you're in the same place I was ten years ago.</b></span> I had a passion for life, I loved my new family and had a job I thoroughly enjoyed. I was a worship leader at a small church where I witnessed God do many powerful things in people's lives. Heck, I'd even go one step further and say I saw what some would describe as miracles happening in the craziest of circumstances. But no matter how hard I prayed for God to take it away, I knew I had always been different, and I sensed God allowed this to happen to me for a reason. So I worked as hard as I could to hide it, and I focused on my other passions including music and hiking. (Blogging wasn't around then, ha!)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_96JmbVWkS0/TipWKmQMdhI/AAAAAAAAC9U/DIIFwjD3SA8/s1600/100_2217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_96JmbVWkS0/TipWKmQMdhI/AAAAAAAAC9U/DIIFwjD3SA8/s200/100_2217.JPG" width="124" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Maybe you're in the same place I was four years ago. </b></span> Years of denial and dysphoria finally brought me to a place mentally where something had to give, and I knew precisely what that would entail for me - seeking help, the first step. With the help of my wife, I sought counseling and wanted to do things "the right way" as much as possible. Sure I was tempted to jump the gun and purchase hormones from some unknown pharmacy in England, but that was too risky and I wasn't looking for trouble when I seemed to be able to find piles of trouble weekly. I also showed up to support groups, made new friends, and truly searched my heart and the Good Book to find out what God really intended for me. Soon enough, with my counselor's referral and an endocrinologist's consent, I began taking hormone replacement therapy in a small dose at first. The rest, well you know what they say, is history.</div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6LavDUGPms6V9DbxqE5YsfV-JbayBOQr8F9r4ulNiDO50fqPOFk_iLct2IGK33rkcSanqVWK1lAa6extZl-SuapurSuNOhLgzeehIFGtypaYnh6wtL6xWronVtF9FobYxXAp9tXfXXUc/s1600/100_1968.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6LavDUGPms6V9DbxqE5YsfV-JbayBOQr8F9r4ulNiDO50fqPOFk_iLct2IGK33rkcSanqVWK1lAa6extZl-SuapurSuNOhLgzeehIFGtypaYnh6wtL6xWronVtF9FobYxXAp9tXfXXUc/s200/100_1968.JPG" width="158" /></a></div>
<div>
I didn't so much as want to write a lengthy tell-all, too-long-didn't read (TLDR) post to prove to you all that change, any change, is indeed possible. Instead, I decided I would be better off showing you through a few rare pictures of the old me that you can make it through this, or whatever it is you might be going through. You might not even be going through the transition from one sex to another but through some really challenging period in your life where you just can't see the end of the tunnel. Trust me, I remember all too well what that feels like, and something inside me kept me going through one more day (insert hokey Wilson-Phillips audio clip here). Soon enough I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, and now I look back and see the tunnel's exit from a not to far off distance. I know there'll be other struggles I'll face in the future, but for now, my life has recently been relatively drama-free, and I count my blessings that I'm alive more than I've ever been before. I know someday it'll all be over and I'll leave this world too. I just hope that I made a difference in this world; that I found my purpose and proved that change was possible, and that I inspired a little bit of hope into someone's life. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KQG4QGxr48E/TipWD4_OKnI/AAAAAAAAC9A/2Mk2b1hm3jY/s1600/Picture+140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KQG4QGxr48E/TipWD4_OKnI/AAAAAAAAC9A/2Mk2b1hm3jY/s400/Picture+140.jpg" width="366" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> ( a photo I took today for this post)</i></div>
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-5007825419633321412010-03-20T23:07:00.001-07:002020-12-19T18:42:56.621-08:00I Can't Stop the RainA couple of days ago I read the latest post by my amazing friend who writes Cameron's Song. I know this was an immensely painful week for her family, and I was surprised to read how, in her latest blog, "<a href="http://cameronsong.blogspot.com/2010/03/learning-to-love-rain.html" linkindex="15">Learning to Love the Rain,</a>" she ends with:<br /><blockquote><br />Some of the most profound blessings in my life have been realized during challenging moments in the rain. As I Face the sky with arms outstretched, I thank God for the beautiful gifts that have taught me that it's okay to get wet...<br /><br />With each challenge in my life I am learning to view the world from a beautifully unique perspective...<br /><br />I am learning to love the rain.</blockquote>What powerful words. I remember writing a very similar post, as I stood deep in the watershed of transition's flood, and this song came to mind and has always been dear to my heart since I screamed at God in the rain. Christina, I hope you and Cammie see this video. I know this was one of the toughest weeks for you to endure, but I trust you are held and comforted by these few words in song:<br /><br /><object height="405" width="500"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EFXni5L4E3k&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EFXni5L4E3k&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"></embed></object>Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-16447076867524080702010-03-03T19:05:00.001-08:002020-12-19T18:46:20.385-08:00The Hurt We Feel When We Cause Others Pain<blockquote><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/S48gaIB1B0I/AAAAAAAACws/Dfl9q_zHIm0/s1600-h/Ohana.png" imageanchor="1" linkindex="27" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/S48gaIB1B0I/AAAAAAAACws/Dfl9q_zHIm0/s200/Ohana.png" width="200" /></a><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0761498/" linkindex="28">Stitch</a></b>: "This is my family. I found it, all on my own. Is little, and broken, but still good. Yeah, still good."<br /><br /><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0153738/" linkindex="29">Lilo</a></b>: "'Ohana means family, family means nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten." </blockquote><br /> (Disney's <i>Lilo and Stitch</i>, 2002)<br /><br /><br /><br />I'm writing this as a follow up to the post I wrote last night called <a href="http://lorisrevival.blogspot.com/2010/03/he-cried-for-his-dad.html" linkindex="30">"He Cried for His Dad"</a> because of there was one thing particularly missing that I intentionally left out: my own feelings about causing my child emotional pain. I'm going to write freely here. You were forewarned.<br /><br />Transitioning with kids has its own challenges. Not a day went by where I agonized over the prospect of moving toward authenticity and away from the masks I put on for everyone around me. After all, we don't want to rock the family boat and potentially destroy our relationships and our sanity, right? But I, like so many I know, was being destroyed from the inside out, becoming increasingly unable to wear the heavy mask of dishonesty. Living a lie over a piece of me that was so central to my being was probably more intense than the gender dysphoria itself, and I knew something had to give.<br /><br />Yet I was a father to my young children and a husband to my wife, and I never forgot that we were a family. My wife, having already known about this for several years, continued to hope that allowing partial "crossdressing" would be enough, that my appetite for femininity would be appeased in clothing and limited self-expression. But it was never only about the clothes - all along I desired...no... I <i>needed</i>... to match my outer self with my inner being.<br /><br />When my wife saw my health and emotional well-being decay more rapidly, she knew it was time for me to get help. She encouraged me to seek counseling for depression and I soon was taking anti-depressants for general dysthymia. The meds worked to suppress the saddest of emotions but it did nothing to resolve the incongruity that grew deeper even after Zoloft sought to become my best friend. Instead I became a zombie to the anti-depressants, and I lost a desire to cry deeply... <i>and</i> laugh uncontrollably. My inhibited ability to express myself emotionally was soon worse than living in sadness. The recommendation by my primary care physician to see a therapist finally pressed me to admit to myself and to my family that I had to figure this out once and for all. Thirty years of trying to solve the mystery on my own or with those who didn't understand proved fruitless. It took me years to realize that God wouldn't forgive me because there was <i>nothing</i> to forgive concerning this. It wasn't an issue of sin.<br /><br />And so began the path that led me to where I am today, and where I was yesterday with my son in my arms crying over losing his dad.<br /><br />In pain.<br /><br />Because his dad transitioned.<br /><br />And he'd watched his mom suffer.<br /><br />And the family suffered.<br /><br />And he suffered.<br /><br />God knows I never wanted to hurt my children or my wife. The endless guilt I endured pressed me to halt transitioning and do an about face. But at the end of every day, awake until the wee hours of every morning trying to find the answers to it all, I concluded that "faking it" every day for my family's sake was more destructive than facing the truth. I knew that any chance I had was inside the circle of authenticity, not outside its boundaries where lies and deceit spun me into an intoxicating dance of confusion and chaos.<br /><br />And my faith in God pressed me to find that truth too. I called myself a Christian to so many and carried this secret because of a credible fear that I would be judged and treated as an outcast. It turned out many Christian friends stood by my side, but some proved I had reason to fear and used weaponized words like "mutilation" and "God doesn't make mistakes" in hopes that I would turn "from my wicked ways."<br /><br />Through the pain, I never felt like God loved me any less. <br /><br />And that's one big reason I allowed the pain to happen. I hoped that my children would forgive me. I prayed that my wife could one day finally understand. And when we faced divorce as the last option, we chose to just hold on for one more day, and then another. Eventually, the pain subsided a bit, then returned in full force, and then waned yet again. The waves of hurt slowly receded into a distant horizon as a new day produced resolution to answer after answer. The turning tide demonstrated that my children were surviving this and even finding a new peace as I found my own peace in who I was. Our relationship, the Maddie/Child relationship, was revealing itself like a seedling breaking through the soil reaching for its first glimpses of sunlight.<br /><br /><br /><blockquote><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0153738/" linkindex="31">Lilo</a></b>: "'Ohana" means "family." "Family" means "no one gets left behind." But if you want to leave, you can. I'll remember you though. <br />[<i class="fine">looking at her picture of her dead parents</i>] <br /><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0153738/" linkindex="32">Lilo</a></b>: I remember everyone that leaves. </blockquote><br /><br />I could have walked out on my family. My kids could have remembered me only by pictures of who I used to be. I could have abandoned my children. I could have even continued to do my best to fake it as their masculine father, but I honestly don't know how healthy an environment my kids would have lived in. According to some, I should never have had children, or have married my wife for that matter. In their eyes, I should have spared her the pain and given her the opportunity to love someone who could be that Knight in Shining Armor and meet her every physical, emotional, and sexual need. There's no doubt I made a shitload of mistakes along the way. I fight back guilt every day because of my "choices." But my perception of the world has changed. My "life at the next level" is beyond anything I've ever experienced before. My desire to nurture and give my kids the best life possible is one of my top priorities.<br /><br />There will be pain to come. I have to give every member of my family that place to vent, to weep, to mourn, and to evolve. Yes, it's my fault, if you want to put it like that. I accept that responsibility and wish to God I could have minimized the pain. I'm going to have to face the barrage of heteronormative ideals shoved into my kids faces as they attempt to figure out that the relationship with and between their Maddie and Mommie is just as special, if not more special, than any other. I have a responsibility to impress upon my children that they are valuable, precious, and special to me, despite the pain my transition caused them.<br /><br />The last thing I want is for them to "remember everyone that leaves." I'm different and that's painful, but Maddie, Dad, or whatever they need to call me to cope, is still here...for them.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/S48g_2-rRRI/AAAAAAAACw0/gsQhYPqsDio/s1600-h/Ohana2.png" imageanchor="1" linkindex="33" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="116" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/S48g_2-rRRI/AAAAAAAACw0/gsQhYPqsDio/s200/Ohana2.png" width="200" /></a></div>Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-69962316835317553152010-02-21T22:16:00.001-08:002020-12-19T18:47:12.885-08:00No Day But TodayWell the fun with the kids is over. The physical pain in recovery gradually diminishes each day. Tomorrow begins the return to normalcy, though I'm not quite sure what that really means. I'm both excited and nervous about having to go about my day to day activities with these visible wounds that will inevitably grab people's attention as they have been doing so all week.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/S4Ig233QxEI/AAAAAAAACvI/6wX65THiivY/s1600-h/IMG_5079-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" linkindex="16" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/S4Ig233QxEI/AAAAAAAACvI/6wX65THiivY/s320/IMG_5079-1.JPG" width="236" /></a></div>Today as my daughter and I were walking through Wal-Mart, shopping in an attempt to refill the barren refrigerator, I was getting noticed in a whole new way... that had nothing to do with gender. In fact, the same thing happened at Denny's an hour earlier where my daughter and I enjoyed time together over lunch. People would look once, then look back again, paying particular attention to my face. I'm sure my face isn't quite ready for prime-time yet, but the stares I kept getting was almost unnerving! Yet, I won't complain that much... I'll take stares like this over stares I used to get from teenage girls at a mall or gang bangers who'd watch me go by in a nightclub. (The photo you see on the right was taken while at Disneyland's California Adventure. I was wearing minimal makeup where I could.) <br /><br />As far as I'm concerned, though, looking back in the mirror I'm seeing more and more of who that person was always meant to be. It may sound incredibly narcissistic, but I'm learning to love myself more than I ever have. It's amazing that someone like me who was once so emotionally distressed over their gender incongruity can find themselves incredibly at peace with themselves after transitioning. All other problems, finance, kids, marriage, health, etc. may remain but this ONE issue is finally no longer an issue. Thank God we are able to better understand and treat this today than the old days of calling people deluded or having a disorder. (Let's pray GID is no longer used in the DSM-V.) I watched the Dr. Oz show on transgender kids and was especially pleased with the specific words Venessia, mother of Josie, shared with the doctor. Sharing how Josie went from being on several meds to needing nothing as a result of Josie being allowed to be her authentic self was right on the money for me. I'm done wishing I would have been allowed to transition earlier. I can't change the past and I love the many things in my life today as a result of having been given this path to walk. My past will never disappear from me, nor do I wish to pretend it never existed. I love my brothers, my mother, my sister, my father, and my friends new and old. Like the song in the musical Rent goes:<br /><br /><blockquote>There's only us, there's only this, forget regret or life is yours to miss.<br />No other road, no other way, no day but today.</blockquote><br />Here's a clip from the movie version:<br /><br /><br /><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/jbljhS4xDlU&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/jbljhS4xDlU&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />This evening Venessia posted a link to a video on YouTube from a trans man named Aiden that called upon some of the deeper emotions I've so clearly felt during my own transition. It's a three minute video well worth watching. From Aiden's YouTube video page:<br /><blockquote><span class="description">A list of the fears that i am too afraid to say out loud... we all hide a part of us that we are afraid for others to see because they may look at us differently, i hide a part of me that has many ...</span></blockquote><br /><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gxmpOu0Im38&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gxmpOu0Im38&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />I have many thoughts about the topic of forgiveness in our community. I think once I'm able to write at length about this it may not be without controversy. Oh well, that's the reason I can sound off on my own page without worrying how others may feel. We all have an opportunity to share from our hearts, to share our stories and put them out there one by one on our blogs. Someone may one day happen upon your blog and connect with something you've written. You may help change their own life without ever even knowing it.Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-76711719141380028792010-02-08T20:52:00.001-08:002020-12-19T19:20:52.361-08:00Building Bridges and Finding Common Ground Through Adversity and Hope<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0xumP8cNp-bmbX-4EAchywH3OZ0EXt8OO_jRFOpaJFkNIS0vuItITESr7F_AnFXmYPeiT_wlDwzrJ0CX8KIc8L56CllCYqDLTo66nKdREB-RLl5FKDP1nqwWSq4pDkMJ_Whr2PJ3WTI/s1600-h/IMG_4749.JPG" imageanchor="1" linkindex="18" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0xumP8cNp-bmbX-4EAchywH3OZ0EXt8OO_jRFOpaJFkNIS0vuItITESr7F_AnFXmYPeiT_wlDwzrJ0CX8KIc8L56CllCYqDLTo66nKdREB-RLl5FKDP1nqwWSq4pDkMJ_Whr2PJ3WTI/s400/IMG_4749.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>Blogging can sometimes be a really hard thing to do. Especially when the Days of Our Lives-like drama has for the most part greatly subsided. And I know that I'm getting older because the bits and pieces of blog ideas I get throughout the day can often disappear as quickly as the idea came on. Musicians would know the precise feeling... you start playing a catchy tune, even sing an entire verse off the top of your head, but unless you write it down immediately, it's lost to the wind when you later try to recreate the magic. (I'll talk about nifty tool called Evernote in a bit...)<br /><br />And sometimes you have a moment that is so unforgettable that you write it down for fear of some day losing that memory... like a conversation I had with a friend over breakfast this morning.<br /><br />Because Susan was a direct witness of my transition, she had a few questions about the process and how I was coping. After I updated her on life since that gloriously legal day, the conversation quickly transitioned into the adversity of, well...transition. Susan openly shared of her personal strife in gaining a level of understanding for me and my situation primarily by putting herself in my shoes and imagining how difficult it must have been to do what I did. She was able to put aside her initial perceptions by finding within herself a place for sympathy or empathy for me. <br /><br />It's not an easy thing to do. Not by anyone. I know I still have trouble pausing to reflect on what might be someone just having a bad day. Haven't we all jumped head first to cast a stone or two in our lives? So, so wrong, and we realize it too late after we've already struck out with ferocious judgmental words that hurt.<br /><br />What Susan saw in me made my eyes water as we sat at the table. She defined the process of my transition by the amount of courage she knew was needed to stand up to be my true self. I was immediately thankful that she shared so bluntly with me, a trait she admits is sometimes not always a positive. I acknowledged that there were some emotionally intense days and nights of bitter weeping involved, particularly concerning the relationship between my wife and I. But there was a reason and a hope that brought me through those cloudy days. Friends, family, and my faith all worked sometimes incohesively to hold me up when I could no longer stand.<br /><br />In the course of the conversation, I was able to describe how one of the best tools I used to create bridges of understanding was that of learning to be understanding and to take an interest in the lives of others too. I never wanted to be the woman who made this all about myself and to-hell-with-what-everyone-else thinks-or-feels. I tried to seek opportunities to find out what hellishly traumatic experiences they endured, and what I found was that we all share a commonality in experiencing, enduring, and overcoming the pain and sadness of life's many storms. I've shared this before but I feel the need to write about it again because it's becoming a foundation of truth to me.<br /><br />At that point in the conversation, I had the opportunity to learn more about the trials she's faced. I felt honored to hear Susan open up about a period of painful years that had the potential to unravel her family's bond. I asked if she felt completely lost and helpless during those moments of fear. Susan answered honestly that when everything swirling around her pressed her to give in, she felt a peace within her heart speaking that everything was going to be alright. She knew she couldn't give in or let go. She could make it through the vortex if she held on, and when all was said and done she came through it intact with an even greater blessing for her family. Overcoming the adversity brought her closer to her children and to her faith. And she grew as a person.<br /><br />I hope to have more conversations with Susan. I can already tell that she has a treasure trove of wisdom just waiting to be shared. I hope she will share more of those precious memories with me someday. I am more than willing to learn vicariously through others.<br /><br />By the way, if you are like me and have trouble retaining important thoughts without the use of a notebook or planner, consider <a href="http://www.evernote.com/" linkindex="19">Evernote</a>. It is a FREE cloud-based program developed to help you take notes via text, photos, videos, or any other digital clipping, and you can access it where ever you go. I downloaded the application for Blackberry, my Macbook Pro, and installed the Firefox add-on. It's helped me piece together several of my thoughts for my last several posts, and I have to admit I was skeptical at first but have come to love Evernote (Get it <a href="http://www.evernote.com/" linkindex="20">HERE</a>). <br /><br />Thank God for little gizmos that help me remember. And thank God for friends.Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-32510889978539705752009-12-10T16:33:00.001-08:002020-12-19T18:48:39.894-08:00Falling Forward: Comparing My Life To The Same Time Last Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghanuVZRS3dIab7fR3sTbm3EfqXP1gf6oYU7MwjBzbC3Ycmlc03BOFxcN6jvTd5i-za7gmsh66iWKovhUbcwQShYJphoxuJtXlrRIOlG4ebJ9ZyS1PAnShuezgz58vWHwcavRtyGn9gMk/s1600-h/Photo+on+2009-12-10+at+17.16+%233.jpg" imageanchor="1" linkindex="19" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghanuVZRS3dIab7fR3sTbm3EfqXP1gf6oYU7MwjBzbC3Ycmlc03BOFxcN6jvTd5i-za7gmsh66iWKovhUbcwQShYJphoxuJtXlrRIOlG4ebJ9ZyS1PAnShuezgz58vWHwcavRtyGn9gMk/s400/Photo+on+2009-12-10+at+17.16+%233.jpg" /></a><br /></div>As I sit here in a Tucson Medical Center waiting room, patiently praying and trusting the surgeons as they operate on my mother, I began to reminisce about my life at this time last year. I decided to look back at my blog posts from that time, and I almost cried with others seated all around me. <br /><br />I decided to repost this because I have so many friends who are currently in a similar situation with their spouses or partners concerning boundaries and concessions in their relationships. I feel a sense of pride coming over me that I found the strength to write these words back then. What seemed like the impossible was slowly being overcome with steadfastness, patience, and most importantly, love. <br /><br />I trust that my mother's going to be alright. Transition taught me a lot about overcoming your fears, worries, and doubts. If you take anything from this post, just remember that when you fall, <span style="font-size: large;">fall forward.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>December 15, 2008 - The Mother of All Talks: Falling Forward</b></span><br /></div><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/SUdcOSy6SCI/AAAAAAAAAYc/QS3gr34ADls/s1600-h/Picture+2.png" linkindex="20" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280290488748492834" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/SUdcOSy6SCI/AAAAAAAAAYc/QS3gr34ADls/s400/Picture+2.png" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 400px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 269px;" /></a>So we did it. After two years of struggling to understand this, and fighting to retain the friendship and love we have for one another through it all, we made the critical decisions that will shape the direction of our future.<br /><br />And we'll do it together, for as long as possible. The pain and hurt we feel inside will not dictate how we respond to our circumstances any longer. Harsh words, whether upfront or containing painful subtext, will no longer be the dagger that causes our spirits to bleed.<br /><br />And the love we have for each other will never be questioned again. Our growing differences will not shake that fact. For too long we often brought the question of love to the table of disagreement. That never should have happened. My high school sweetheart will always be sweet to me. Her virtuosity and purity will always be among her greatest strengths. She is a woman worthy of magnificent love and tender affection.<br /><br />Saturday night, after a lengthy drawn out intense discussion, she acknowledged my need to transition. Her selfless concession was clearly not easy to do but given freely and in a desire for me to be whole. We knew my desire to live authentically, the struggle to bring my body and mind finally together, would never abate. Every attempt to beat this into submission, to deny the simple reality of accepting my gender identity, failed time and time again.<br /><br />"This will not bring you happiness you know," she said with near-whispered caution. "We still have to deal with everything else."<br /><br />"I understand that, and I want to be able to have finally dealt with this so that I can deal with everything else," I said.<br /><br />I've waited for the day to have finally stepped over, to have dealt with this truthfully and honestly, at my own pace, a pace so difficult to set because you never quite know how fast your spouse can walk or run. And to be able to do this on our own terms, with her blessing, transcended my own limited vision of how much could be accomplished.<br /><br />The revival is complete. My once lifeless spirit now breathes again.<br /><br />But things are not the same. They will never and can never be the same again. And it breaks my heart still.<br /><br />In order for her to cope, to come as far as she can go on this journey with me, she must set boundaries. She sees and knows her own limits. She deserves to have her own immutable sense of self as much as I do. Therefore the core of our relationship must change into a new form of love. Perhaps it's not so much an evolution as it is an enhancement of the lasting friendship that we've always had. I think we both always saw it coming.<br /><br />I completely understand her need for security. Up until last year she was able to rest in the knowledge that her brave strong husband would somehow make things right. When she could no longer rest her head upon my firm male chest, she had to scramble to find strength and security in other ways. (I'm learning this powerful trait in many women, the ability to analyze, organize, and execute a strategy that will protect their family and themselves.)<br /><br />A lot remains at stake. It is paramount that we stand together in support for one another, and for our kids. Their futures into the uncertain unknown require that their parents love them and nurture them into adolescence. I've blown it many times over, missed the mark, made huge uncalculated errors. I don't want to keep making mistakes. And I don't want to make the same mistakes my own parents made with me. The kids deserve the chance to stand on their own two feet as they later approach adulthood.<br /><br />They deserve to never feel the abandonment issues that happened to me and caused me to make my own grave mistakes throughout my life. The same things happened to my parents, and to their parent's parents. The cycle must end with us.<br /><br />We chose to stay together, at least for now. And even once I'm through to the end of the transition tube (however long that takes), we've acknowledged the possibility that if we can't foster a loving household and continued friendship with each other then we would accept the last resort of separation.<br /><br />On Sunday the tough talks continued. We essentially rehashed what we already decided together. But already the atmosphere was different. There was a change in the air...for the better.<br /><br />We laughed a lot. We joked about silly nonsensical things, something neither of us had done with the other in at least several months. And we held hands at the end of the day as we lay in bed, laptop on her side, shopping together on the internet. Seeing her smile continue brought a relief from my own worry. The worry that SHE wouldn't be okay.<br /><br />I walked around with a smile on my own face for most of the day. And yet, there was a tug from deep within that I began to worry about. This large hurdle was being leaped, but I was now realizing that many smaller hurdles have always been in our path, and I'd have to take those leaps when they came. My own boundaries would soon test my strength and resolve. The fear is still real, as are the doubts. But you only have one life to live...<br />and one life to love.<br /><br />Laying on the bed together on Saturday evening, we watched the second episode from season one of Grey's Anatomy. Grey had just taken several risks that payed off with her assisting in a successful surgery, and she practically saved a baby's life. At the end of the episode, she and her intern friends and coworkers exited the hospital in the early morning hours as the dawning sun reflected a glorious light off the mirrors of the hospital. Grey narrated the following:<br /><br /><blockquote>"At some point, you have to make a decision,<br />Boundaries don't keep others out,<br />they fence you in.<br />Life is messy, that's how we're made.<br /><br />So you can waste your life drawing lines, or, you can live your life crossing them.<br /><br />But there are some lines that are way too dangerous to cross;<br />Here's what I know, if you're willing to take the chance, the view from the other side ...<br /><br />is<span style="font-style: italic;"> spectacular</span>."<br /></blockquote><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/SUdcOsBdNUI/AAAAAAAAAYk/oiA53I-UjP4/s1600-h/Picture+1.png" linkindex="21" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280290495520388418" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/SUdcOsBdNUI/AAAAAAAAAYk/oiA53I-UjP4/s400/Picture+1.png" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 285px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 400px;" /></a>We've turned a corner. And in falling forward like a toddler learns to walk, I've only begun to capture a mere glimpse from the other side.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />But so far, it's breathtaking.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Stay tuned...<br /><br /><br /><br /> <i>This post, along with other posts written at that time, can be found <a href="http://possiblepast.blogspot.com/2008/12/mother-of-all-talks-falling-forward.html" linkindex="22">HERE</a>. </i>Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-18733795504951283292009-11-22T21:48:00.001-08:002020-12-19T19:21:55.091-08:00Is It Hard to Be Who You Are?Over the last few days, while enjoying a few peaceful moments on my long drives between work and/or other personal business in Tucson, I was looking back upon the challenges I faced before and during transition. I remembered that exhilarating and liberating feeling when I first learned to wear makeup and go out to support groups or to the stores "en femme." Those cherished moments turned out to be fleeting, as each time I ended the day breaking down in tears having to remove the wig and makeup and change back into my guy clothes.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/SwojQ_nQFWI/AAAAAAAACUg/1m6KbCx6YQo/s1600/Screen+shot+2009-11-22+at+10.52.15+PM.png" imageanchor="1" linkindex="14" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/SwojQ_nQFWI/AAAAAAAACUg/1m6KbCx6YQo/s320/Screen+shot+2009-11-22+at+10.52.15+PM.png" /></a>I knew who I was, and yet I was forced to cross dress in men's clothes and wear the real mask of living in the closet as I had done for so many years before. I know why I did it, and in retrospect I'm glad I did. I wasn't the only one going through changes. My whole family was.<br /><br />Much later, as I closed in on going full time in being true to who I was, the strength of dysphoria waned, and I found strength in finally establishing my true sense of self for the first time in my life. <br /><br />But even then, I worried and wondered, "Can I really pull this off? Can I get to the point where I'm not walking around like a neurotic muskrat always wondering if people are staring at me, questioning who I am or laughing at me? Can I do this ALL the time and am I ready?"<br /><br />I have the definitive answer now, at least for me. In the past, in addition to learning and adapting like a teenage girl comes of age and learns her way in the world, I also carried the enormous burden of burying my identity and locking her away. The vice pressing into my skull wasn't from developing confidence and stepping into my own as a woman, it was from the demands of straddling the line between two genders and forcing myself to live as a male.<br /><br />Is it hard to be who you are? The journey is unique for every individual. Some make it into the frontier to begin life anew, life renewed. Some choose to avoid the crossroads, pouring their lives out in ways they can best cope with the circumstances and hope it's enough to survive. And even a few choose to for whatever reason return to the life that they used to live because transition wasn't what they expected. It doesn't make them failures, and it doesn't make them any less T than when they transitioned. I've said this before, but I've learned that being who you are is a lot easier than being who you're not.<br /><br />It starts within you. Determination, tenacity, and courage must be tempered with love, concern, and patience enough to allow those around you enough time to hopefully come along for the ride.<br /><br />With the right amount of support from friends and family, adequate resources, faith, and a little fortune...okay, a LOT of fortune, you may one day see in the mirror a reflection of something, someone truly beautiful. <br /><br />And it'll finally be for forever.Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-7502445680211309312009-04-03T06:13:00.001-07:002020-12-19T18:49:44.226-08:00It's Easier Being Out Than InIf you're like me you're someone who really appreciates getting R and R on the weekend. After the mostly positive events that happened to me this week, I'm definitely hoping I can recuperate. I thought I'd post just a few notes of interest:<br /><br />1. Since overcoming my largest two hurdles of late by coming out to two V.I.P.'s in my life, it seems like every corner I turn an opportunity springs forth allowing me to share my story with more people. In all, this week I've spoken with eight people I work with or am acquainted with about me. And after speaking to each one, the ease with which I opened up to them seemed to increase.<br /><br />The<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/SdYUYzosAkI/AAAAAAAABDY/QXXxUvq6SZY/s1600-h/IMG_3251-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 292px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/SdYUYzosAkI/AAAAAAAABDY/QXXxUvq6SZY/s400/IMG_3251-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320462426195100226" border="0" /></a>y say <span style="font-weight: bold;">it's so much easier being out than in.</span> I'm finally beginning to experience and believe that. After fearing the potentially negative consequences that so many others have experienced, I'm counting blessings each and every day.<br /><br />2. I began communicating with an old friend from a church I used to attend. She is a remarkable woman who has managed to raise her children and stay married through the most difficult odds. I have watched her toil through many obstacles in her life while always remaining compassionate and caring, and desiring to follow God as best as she knows.<br /><br />In addition to explaining that "for me, this is much more than just wanting to 'dress like a lady,'" this recent discussion has opened the door for us to discuss how our lack of understanding causes us to react in a not-so-Christlike fashion. I have a lot more to share here later, but long ago I found out she had a brother-in-law who came out to her as trans. He reached out to her because he believed she could help others understand who she was and possibly even help her transition. This brother-in-law's life came to a tragically short end when she died from an illness, sadly going to the grave without ever realizing the fruition of her self awareness and authenticity. I'll share more on this because there is much to learn about our fear and intolerance of that which we don't really understand, influencing even generally the most loving people to withdraw their compassion on someone in need.<br /><br />Despite my hope for rest and relaxation this weekend, I'm not so sure I'll be getting it. I had hoped to visit a friend who will be in Phoenix this weekend, but other obligations will keep me from that. At the very minimum I'm looking forward to spending a Sunday afternoon with several new friends I've gained recently. I've mentioned them here before, and they are even more incredible than when I first met them.<br /><br />It has always been my hope that my blogging about the ups and downs of this rollercoaster life has helped someone in some way. For me, I have the opinion that if I can somehow help even one person in something I write, that's all the reward I need. Since stepping foot on Transition Road, the number of friends I've gained and the support I've received is truly a treasure chest of precious jewels and pearls to me.<br /><br />Remember that. You are precious.Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-51711326208503258802009-01-15T20:11:00.001-08:002020-12-19T18:50:36.264-08:00The Strength Within You<div class="itemhead"> <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span> <div class="chronodata">Over on the <a href="http://julietandjulietteblog.com/2009/01/13/quote-of-the-day-5/">Juliet and Juliette blog</a>, I read this quote this evening, having very little time to surf blogs and to reply to the growing list of people in my email inbox.<br /></div></div><blockquote><div class="itemhead"><div class="chronodata"><br /><!-- by Juliet --></div> </div> <div class="storycontent"> <p>“The turning point in the process of growing up is when you discover the strength within you that survives all the hurt.”</p> <p> ~ Anonymous</p></div></blockquote><div class="storycontent"><p></p><p>Perhaps it may even sound contrived to some, but for me, at this very moment, it was water to my soul.<br /></p><p>I have a feeling this is going to be the most difficult year of my life.<br /></p><p>But it won't be the saddest. That darkness has passed.<br /></p><p>Reservoir.</p><p><br /></p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7qF6QIugmqRBQsVgpixZRz27rmxxt1LeKbnVoNJABlRDEjejxyS0KIKtTIgAWF3LgFEYqQvvdsgHWbttSrfKsUbFFt6Na9xpRYGH5-4PAwadbax4QeO1IKOFgJ_Rrp7aoaYYJL9lRsDM/s1600-h/IMG_2159.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 222px; height: 209px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7qF6QIugmqRBQsVgpixZRz27rmxxt1LeKbnVoNJABlRDEjejxyS0KIKtTIgAWF3LgFEYqQvvdsgHWbttSrfKsUbFFt6Na9xpRYGH5-4PAwadbax4QeO1IKOFgJ_Rrp7aoaYYJL9lRsDM/s400/IMG_2159.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291744235441787106" border="0" /></a></p><p><br /></p> </div>Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-66946906953119935892009-01-13T21:06:00.000-08:002020-12-19T19:14:25.061-08:00Of Pink Floyd and Rosebuds... December 07, 2007 magnify<dl class="body"><dd class="post-body"><div class="content-wrapper">Why do I keep telling myself that I have a future as the woman I've always believed myself to be? Since I first seriously thought about transition when I was 18, I have always looked to the future to maintain that hope. I'm finding that forward-looking strategy to be a major stressor in my life. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to hold on to a future hope. I have an inexorable compulsion to do something TODAY, right here, right now. Tomorrow is a prize I know I'll never receive.<br /><br />Thinking back to my youth during my high school days of 80's hair bands and tight skinny jeans (I hear that's all back in style), I struggled internally being transgendered and felt I was the only one. Yet even then I felt the challenge to make most of time, not to waste my life away. I remember giving a presentation during English class in 11th grade on this topic of seizing the day. I used the lyrics to Pink Floyd's "Time" to explain to my youthful classmates that we will one day look back and rest in the knowledge that we did our best and led a full life, or we will remorsefully retrace those steps in our lives that led to what became an inevitable insignificance.<br /><br />This song, along with a passion for reading and writing poetry, has always remained relevant to me. Maybe you may find that it helps you as well. I can't look forward to tomorrow anymore. Living a life as a woman and having to return to wear the facade of the male masquerade is tearing me apart. Soon enough I will molt forever from my rattlesnake skin. There is no alternative anymore. I don't have tomorrow to decide.<br /><br />TIME<br />Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day<br /> You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way<br /> Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town<br /> Waiting for someone or something to show you the way<br /> <br /> Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain<br /> You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today<br /> And then one day you find ten years have got behind you<br /> No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun<br /> <br /> And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking<br /> Racing around to come up behind you again<br /> The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older<br /> Shorter of breath and one day closer to death<br /> <br /> Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time<br /> Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines<br /> Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way<br /> The time has gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say<br /> <br /> <br /> <script type="text/javascript">yfla.wrap("This multimedia content requires Flash version 9 and above.", "Upgrade Now.", "http:\/\/www.adobe.com\/shockwave\/download\/download.cgi?P1_Prod_Version=ShockwaveFlash", "<embed type="\" allowscriptaccess="\" height="\" width="\"></embed> <br /> <br /> <br /> To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time<br /> <br /> Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,<br /> Old Time is still a-flying:<br /> And this same flower that smiles to-day<br /> To-morrow will be dying.<br /> <br /> The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,<br /> The higher he's a-getting,<br /> The sooner will his race be run,<br /> And nearer he's to setting.<br /> <br /> That age is best which is the first,<br /> When youth and blood are warmer;<br /> But being spent, the worse, and worst<br /> Times still succeed the former.<br /> <br /> Then be not coy, but use your time,<br /> And while ye may, go marry:<br /> For having lost but once your prime,<br /> You may for ever tarry. <br /> <br /> Robert Herrick - <br /> <br /> <\/embed>");</script><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="none" height="355" width="425"></embed> <br /> <br /> <br /> To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time<br /><br /> Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,<br /> Old Time is still a-flying:<br /> And this same flower that smiles to-day<br /> To-morrow will be dying.<br /> <br /> The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,<br /> The higher he's a-getting,<br /> The sooner will his race be run,<br /> And nearer he's to setting.<br /> <br /> That age is best which is the first,<br /> When youth and blood are warmer;<br /> But being spent, the worse, and worst<br /> Times still succeed the former.<br /> <br /> Then be not coy, but use your time,<br /> And while ye may, go marry:<br /> For having lost but once your prime,<br /> You may for ever tarry.<br /> <br /> Robert Herrick -<br /></div></dd></dl>Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-51830686545628075632008-12-28T07:02:00.001-08:002020-12-19T18:51:49.573-08:00Alone, 3:00 a.m., Main Street, Alhambra, CaliforniaAs I sit here alone at 6:00 a.m. in the Denny's in Alhambra, California, I wonder what my next move will be.<br /><br />The only other person eating is an elderly Asian-American man sitting alone two tables away from me. He's gotta be pushing 80.<br /><br />What gives? I can't stop wondering why he's here all by himself. At first I thought he was so content being alone, eating alone. It looks as if he doesn't have a care in the world. His next move being whether he's going to bite the english muffin or chew on ice again.<br /><br />I wanted to go talk to him. In the past, I've been moved to go beyond my own comfort zone to reach out to someone who looked alone. I've approached people sitting by themselves and began a conversation with them before in the hope that they would feel that SOMEONE valued them, someone cared enough to acknowledge their presence. Their very heartbeat and existence a precious indication that they bear significance to reality.<br /><br />Only this time I want to be left alone. I would probably not mind if he or anyone else came and sat across from me in this booth. I probably would strike up quite a friendly conversation.<br /><br />But the old man grabbed his colorful violet and pink flowered can and stood up to leave. I wish him well. I wonder where he's going. I wonder how he's going to get there.<br /><br />And yet, I wonder the same thing for me.<br /><br />Speaking Spanish, I asked the waitress what her name was. She could barely speak a few words of English. She said her name was Laura. She smiled when she noticed I could speak her tongue. I'm glad she felt acknowledged as more than just a job title.<br /><br />You can probably deduce why I have been awake since 3 a.m., mindlessly driving through the streets of Alhambra and San Gabriel.<br /><br />I remember the intense pain I felt last April to desire just to be accepted for who I am. I didn't want to hurt her. I didn't want to bring her own identity to ruin. But that's what I feel I've done. And she's going to have to be the one to rebuild her own sense of self.<br /><br />I too, will have to continue the rebuilding of my own identity. As painful as it feels, I just can't bear the person I was in the past. Though I wonder if I will be able to bear the person I will be in the future. Life without the kids in my own home. Life without the warmth of a loving caring partner beside me. Life, just like so many of my own friends, alone.<br /><br />The sun is rising over the car lot across the street. Damn puerile sun metaphors coming into my mind again. I'll leave that be. My computer's dying.<br /><br />But I'm not.<br /><br />I know you'll hear from me again. And probably sooner than later. Yes, I a blog whore...happy now?<br /><br />Right now, however, I have to figure out exactly what I'm doing sitting here all by myself in <a href="http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=dw6aELLAhw0">a restaurant Alhambra, California</a>.<br /><br />----------------------------------------------------<br />Near the end of this day, as I waited for the sun to set over the Santa Monica Pier, I tried my best to hold a smile. I hear it's what we women do.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/SVhk34pYbeI/AAAAAAAAAZs/kxsx4UEKiH0/s1600-h/lori+-+santa+monica+pier.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oHdePdvmQ/SVhk34pYbeI/AAAAAAAAAZs/kxsx4UEKiH0/s400/lori+-+santa+monica+pier.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285085073980812770" border="0" /></a>Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2305161095763197072.post-81067503140431283162008-07-16T11:05:00.001-07:002020-12-19T18:55:29.788-08:00Beautiful Freak Out<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ7hjWyXK56XIkOLmr70aLsg9GbIc3Ys1JtKayzsqywPwo46UacaYb3PLYnHWC4OAZ1Dg4Nb-QT8SR3Vz67cQvSYAJEQ_qsrKp4YrcmxPLDvt-1OjLiQE8i8d3EZlK-28D48E4xVlJIpA/s1600-h/Photo+744.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ7hjWyXK56XIkOLmr70aLsg9GbIc3Ys1JtKayzsqywPwo46UacaYb3PLYnHWC4OAZ1Dg4Nb-QT8SR3Vz67cQvSYAJEQ_qsrKp4YrcmxPLDvt-1OjLiQE8i8d3EZlK-28D48E4xVlJIpA/s320/Photo+744.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223753946988461970" border="0" /></a><br />If you are like me and have overcome MOST of your fear about presenting in public and being gendered as your true self, then you know what a relief it is to no longer feel the tension that would cramp up your bowels just to try and walk about freely in public, let alone make a feeble attempt to use your female voice.<br /><br />Now, I am usually confident in almost every aspect, but something happens every once in a while that is extremely troubling...I FREAK OUT BIG TIME for no known reason.<br /><br />Before I share the story, I was reminded of this feeling as I was reading Renee Knipe's "Transsexual Ferox" blog. In it is a post called "Haute Tension," and it accurately describes what I think we all go through at one point or another. Please give it a read sometime. It's at:<br /><br /><a href="http://srknipe.blogspot.com/2008/07/haute-tension.html">http://srknipe.blogspot.com/2008/07/haute-tension.html</a><blockquote></blockquote>So the other day I went to see a movie, and I felt really confident that I did my makeup and hair just right. I was ready to take on the world! What you see in my last video was what I looked like. The video was recorded on the same day. Not bad in my opinion. Certainly passable.<br /><br />So there I am standing in line waiting to order popcorn and a drink. All of a sudden it hits me. Fear, fear that EVERYONE is watching me, fear that everyone KNOWS I'm trans. What the hell?<br /><br />It's finally my turn to order and I stumble through requesting popcorn but otherwise get through it with no problems. As I walk over to the condiments table, I realize I have to walk by a group of teenagers who are all gathered around the table chatting. Again, terror strikes me knowing how rude teen boys and girls can be to transpeople. I approach the table and they all immediately paused to gaze up at my 6 foot stature. "I'm so made," I thought to myself. After a brief two second glance at me, they immediately go right back into what they were talking about. Crisis averted...again.<br /><br />I get to my seat in the theater and can't shake what the hell came over me. Perhaps it's a residual effect of when I used to feel like that all the time. Maybe I'm just neurotic like someone I used to know would say about me.<br /><br />Either way, I got through it, and I overcame my fear. That's really all there is to it.<br /><br />Psychologists often use a technique called "flooding" where you are placed in the middle of a situation that will bring about your fear, and you work in to realizing that everything's gonna be just fine. It's done with people who have a fear of snakes. They will take them to a zoo or some place that has several snakes, and then stay with them to reassure that their fear is unnecessary. Same thing for those afraid of heights, caves, and other fears.<br /><br />The only problem to the flooding technique is that if the person happens to get bit by a snake, or nearly falls off the building, or gets attacked in a cave, THAT FEAR WILL INTENSIFY and they'll likely never be able to get past it.<br /><br />My being out in public, even during the times I feel terrified to do so, is helping me. Those kind of events are happening less frequently, and I hope I can get to the point where I can just watch the dang movie without this unecessary fear.<br /><br />There is a kind of stress that is beneficial to the experiencer, psychologists call it "eustress." Distress is defined as not being beneficial and creates stressors in other areas.<br /><br />I'm doing my best to turn my distress into eustress.<br /><br />Going back to <a href="http://srknipe.blogspot.com/2008/07/haute-tension.html">Renee Knipe's Transsexual Ferox</a>, she succinctly explains her experience like this:<br /><blockquote>I was halfway across the mall before I realized I was in the mall. Or more appropriately, that I was a transsexual in the mall. Don't get me wrong... I'm 6'6" in my bare feet and I used to fight crackheads for a living, so I pretty much go where I want, when I want. But I'm still very conscious (or self-conscious) of the fact that I stand out. My vigilance is always high. Except this time...not until a little something clicked in my head and all of that awareness came flooding back. And as soon as it happened, I could have kicked myself.<br /><br />Today at dinner, Beth criticized my anxiousness. "Just relax," she tells me. And I wish it <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> something I could consciously make happen. If I could just will away the tension...well, has their ever been a more contradictory idea? But it is encouraging to think that, with time, maybe it will happen all on its own.</blockquote><br /><br />Overcome your fears, just do it in a safe place.<br /><br />During the movie, a song was played called "Beautiful Freak." I've got to find out who wrote it. We all feel like the freak, but we rarely feel beautiful.<br /><br />Sometimes both words together accurately describe how I feel about myself and how I wonder if others think that of me.<br /><br />But I am beautiful nonetheless.<br /><br />Oh, a friend just gave me the youtube link for the song I heard in the movie. Beautiful Freak, here it is:<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QM6SNrmH0r8&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QM6SNrmH0r8&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Lori Dhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01883850750657502492noreply@blogger.com0