When I was around 12 or 13, I tried out for Little League. Everyone told me to try out for softball, and one of my friend's parents ran the softball league, but I hate softball. My hands are too small for the ball. But I digress...
I didn't make the Little League team - thinking back, I'm not sure if any 'girls' did - and was placed on the farm team instead. As the only female bodied person on the team, because of my age, I was a little taller than the rest of the team. I would keep my shoulder length hair tucked under my hat to avoid standing out.
One day during practice, we were throwing the ball back and forth. The father of the boy I was partnered with was in the stands "encouraging" him. I'm sure that's what he thought he was doing. I remember some of the things he said to my partner, "What was that?", "Who taught you how to throw??"
"You throw like a girl!"
I caught the ball, and stopped. Reaching up I took off my hat, and dropped it on the grass next to me, and resumed practicing.
The guy was quiet the rest of the practice.
--------
At the end of the season, we had a big picnic. We'd topped the farm league that year, so each of us got a trophy. I remember going up to the table, and seeing all the little baseball player trophies lined up in neat little rows. I eagerly searched for my name, and to my horror, I found mine. In the neat little rows of baseball player after baseball player, helmets on and bats poised high and waiting, was a figure about a half inch taller than the others, with a more upright stance and a ponytail.
They had put a softball player on my trophy, because the figure was a girl.
I don't think there were words at the time to describe how angry I was. I'm NOT a softball player! I'm a baseball player! I wanted to be just like everyone else on the team, I didn't want to be singled out or made different. Why couldn't they just let me blend in with the rest of the boys?
I'm sure they thought at the time they were doing the "right thing". As they say, however, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and all they succeeded in doing is reminding me just how different from everyone else I really was. All it lead to was me forcing myself into the role of "GIRL" they had laid before me, forgoing my love of baseball and BMX an squeezing myself into a prison of skirts, sweaters and false enthusiasm: Cheerleading.
Yes, there are pictures.
No, you can't see them.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
"It's amazing what a pair of breasts can do."
Forewarned is forearmed, this might sound a bit "ranty".
Tonight I watched a documentary called "Teen Transsexual" on BBC America. It's the story of a 17 year old Male to Female transsexual, the whole coming to terms and transition story that you find in a lot of documentaries of this type.
I noticed as I watched the documentary I got more and more depressed.
Interviewing Lucy's mother, she explained how as a child, "Richard" was quiet and shy, keeping to himself, and how he was only happy when he was playing with his cousin's dolls. She discussed how after she began living as a female, how she blossomed, coming out of her shell. Her new appearance as a girl brought her renewed confidence, and beginning her surgical transition helped as well.
"It's amazing what a pair of breasts can do." Lucy said at one point, smiling in a bar with her mother and friends.
I suppose it is. I know each day that I struggle to hide mine, sometimes bound so tightly that it hurts to breathe, it's a DD-sized reminder of what a pair of breasts can do. While most days binding is the only way I can feel comfortable leaving the house, sometimes it feels like a punishment, as if the pain is a penance for the "wrongness" of my body. I think back to the nights lying in the dark, alone with fantasies of self-mutilation, of carving and peeling away the layers of skin and flesh until I could find the "me" that was trapped somewhere inside, or the days staring into the mirror, and wondering what exactly that "me" even looked like. Thirty years of wishing I could do something - anything - about the breasts and vagina I was born with but never felt any connection to, and not having any options.
I'm not a transsexual. I don't want to be a man, because I'm not a man. I can't be a woman, because I'm not a woman either. When I watch a coming of age story of someone discovering their "inner-me", and finally being able to make it an "outer-me", something inside me screams. Call it jealousy if you like, but sometimes, I wish I had a box I could fit into. I wish I could walk into a surgeon's office and say "YES that's what I want!"
Yes, Lucy, it is amazing what a pair of breasts can do. Where they have brought you joy, they have only brought me misery.
Tonight I watched a documentary called "Teen Transsexual" on BBC America. It's the story of a 17 year old Male to Female transsexual, the whole coming to terms and transition story that you find in a lot of documentaries of this type.
I noticed as I watched the documentary I got more and more depressed.
Interviewing Lucy's mother, she explained how as a child, "Richard" was quiet and shy, keeping to himself, and how he was only happy when he was playing with his cousin's dolls. She discussed how after she began living as a female, how she blossomed, coming out of her shell. Her new appearance as a girl brought her renewed confidence, and beginning her surgical transition helped as well.
"It's amazing what a pair of breasts can do." Lucy said at one point, smiling in a bar with her mother and friends.
I suppose it is. I know each day that I struggle to hide mine, sometimes bound so tightly that it hurts to breathe, it's a DD-sized reminder of what a pair of breasts can do. While most days binding is the only way I can feel comfortable leaving the house, sometimes it feels like a punishment, as if the pain is a penance for the "wrongness" of my body. I think back to the nights lying in the dark, alone with fantasies of self-mutilation, of carving and peeling away the layers of skin and flesh until I could find the "me" that was trapped somewhere inside, or the days staring into the mirror, and wondering what exactly that "me" even looked like. Thirty years of wishing I could do something - anything - about the breasts and vagina I was born with but never felt any connection to, and not having any options.
I'm not a transsexual. I don't want to be a man, because I'm not a man. I can't be a woman, because I'm not a woman either. When I watch a coming of age story of someone discovering their "inner-me", and finally being able to make it an "outer-me", something inside me screams. Call it jealousy if you like, but sometimes, I wish I had a box I could fit into. I wish I could walk into a surgeon's office and say "YES that's what I want!"
Yes, Lucy, it is amazing what a pair of breasts can do. Where they have brought you joy, they have only brought me misery.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Our Secret Hate
I've been thinking a lot the last few days about discrimination against transpeople, and the LGBT community as a whole.
It occurred to me that on a whole, we tend to expect the worst from people. Our life experiences have shown us that when we out ourselves to family, friends, religious people, work, etc., things tend to go badly. We're met with hatred, misunderstanding, miscommunication and ignorance. Because of this, we are guarded around "outsiders" - people who aren't members of the exclusive LGBT community. We expect to be met with these negative reactions, and prepare ourselves to lash out. We wait, ready to strike back and defend ourselves.
What happens when the blow never comes? What do we do when someone stops, and steps forward, reaching out in an attempt to understand, us with our fist held back ready to strike at an attack that doesn't exist?
I've noticed in some cases, people in the LGBT community will lash out anyways, perhaps some manner of "preemptive strike". Maybe it's just easier to start swinging and keep them at an arm's (or a fist's?) length than to meet them halfway. It's possible we're just sick of dealing with it, and would rather not bother with the effort of helping them understand. Why would we? They never listen anyways!
Considering all of this made me come to the conclusion that sometimes we bring homophobia and transphobia upon ourselves. When people respond in this fashion, all we're showing them is that we're unapproachable, angry people who don't want acceptance or understanding. We don't want justice. We want revenge. We want the "str8s" to just go away. It's our own little form of separatism. It's our secret hate.
If someone is trying to understand us and we chase them away, we've lost another ally. We've made that person less likely to try and approach another LGBT person on friendly terms. We've potentially added another notch to the Bible Belt. We've lost another vote against Proposition 8, or Amendment 2.
If people outside the LGBT community are willing to step forward in trust and understanding, I'm willing to meet them halfway. It's not easy, and it's not supposed to be. You can't change a millennium of programming in one blog post, but maybe you can change someone's mind for just a few minutes. Even a moment of reconsideration is worth the effort. It's possible that our actions are futile. It's also possible to change someone for a lifetime. We'll never know until we try.
I'm going to end the cycle of hate, starting with me. I hope you do the same, because no one will accept us if we are unwilling to accept them as well.
It occurred to me that on a whole, we tend to expect the worst from people. Our life experiences have shown us that when we out ourselves to family, friends, religious people, work, etc., things tend to go badly. We're met with hatred, misunderstanding, miscommunication and ignorance. Because of this, we are guarded around "outsiders" - people who aren't members of the exclusive LGBT community. We expect to be met with these negative reactions, and prepare ourselves to lash out. We wait, ready to strike back and defend ourselves.
What happens when the blow never comes? What do we do when someone stops, and steps forward, reaching out in an attempt to understand, us with our fist held back ready to strike at an attack that doesn't exist?
I've noticed in some cases, people in the LGBT community will lash out anyways, perhaps some manner of "preemptive strike". Maybe it's just easier to start swinging and keep them at an arm's (or a fist's?) length than to meet them halfway. It's possible we're just sick of dealing with it, and would rather not bother with the effort of helping them understand. Why would we? They never listen anyways!
Considering all of this made me come to the conclusion that sometimes we bring homophobia and transphobia upon ourselves. When people respond in this fashion, all we're showing them is that we're unapproachable, angry people who don't want acceptance or understanding. We don't want justice. We want revenge. We want the "str8s" to just go away. It's our own little form of separatism. It's our secret hate.
If someone is trying to understand us and we chase them away, we've lost another ally. We've made that person less likely to try and approach another LGBT person on friendly terms. We've potentially added another notch to the Bible Belt. We've lost another vote against Proposition 8, or Amendment 2.
If people outside the LGBT community are willing to step forward in trust and understanding, I'm willing to meet them halfway. It's not easy, and it's not supposed to be. You can't change a millennium of programming in one blog post, but maybe you can change someone's mind for just a few minutes. Even a moment of reconsideration is worth the effort. It's possible that our actions are futile. It's also possible to change someone for a lifetime. We'll never know until we try.
I'm going to end the cycle of hate, starting with me. I hope you do the same, because no one will accept us if we are unwilling to accept them as well.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Irony
I went to one of my favorite LGBT related sites, The Bilerico Project, for my usual favorites in LGBT Blogging and News. There was a popup from Nielsen Online for a survey to better understand site traffic. From what I can gather it's a branch of The Nielsen Co., a company I worked for a few years back doing data entry on television commercials under Nielsen Media Associates.
I figure, if it's to collect data on the site, sure why not?
First line: Age ... god I'm in the 35-44 age bracket?? *cringe* *click*
Second line: Gender: Male, Female
...
*pause*
*looks at the LGBT, site zie's on, looks back at the survey*
*shakes head*
*quits*
I figure, if it's to collect data on the site, sure why not?
First line: Age ... god I'm in the 35-44 age bracket?? *cringe* *click*
Second line: Gender: Male, Female
...
*pause*
*looks at the LGBT, site zie's on, looks back at the survey*
*shakes head*
*quits*
Monday, February 16, 2009
Binding
I figured since I get asked this question a lot, I should just put all the information in one place.
Wikipedia states: "Breast binding is the material used in, or the act of reducing visible breast size in both women and men through the use of constrictive materials."
In pre-operative FtM transsexuals, transgendered persons, genderqueer and crossdressers, this is done to minimize the breasts as much as possible, and to give a flatter, more masculine appearance, or the appearance of male pectoral muscles.
Depending on your breast size, this can be done a number of ways, some relatively safe - such as sports bras and binding vests - and some incredibly dangerous, like duct tape. My personal preference is for the binding vests from Underworks. I own the 997 model, and it does a fairly good job at compressing my 38DD chest. I'd like to get a second vest (possibly the 980) and layer them for additional compression. I'm worried at how hot these are going to be in the Florida summer *cringe*.
Binding takes time. It takes time not only to get into your binder, but to figure out exactly the best way to wear it for you, and to get comfortable with it. I'm not going to lie - binding can be incredibly uncomfortable at times. If it pushes on your stomach it can make eating a pain, and if you don't sit properly it can really cause an ache in your back. You need to keep at it, keep experimenting, and find out the most comfortable method for you.
Once I get moved, I'll post before and after pictures of my specific binding, and how effective it is. For now I'm going to post what resources I have collected below for people who are interested in learning more about different binding methods. As many will state, I really do recommend getting a binder, and not using tape or elastic bandages, which can be incredibly painful and hazardous to your health.
Hudson's Guide to FtM Binding
Binder Reviews
FtM at Underworks
Tip For Keeping Binders from Rolling Up
Breast Binding Photos before Testosterone
Hope this helps anyone who was interested. If I find any other links of interest I'll post them asap. Good luck!
Wikipedia states: "Breast binding is the material used in, or the act of reducing visible breast size in both women and men through the use of constrictive materials."
In pre-operative FtM transsexuals, transgendered persons, genderqueer and crossdressers, this is done to minimize the breasts as much as possible, and to give a flatter, more masculine appearance, or the appearance of male pectoral muscles.
Depending on your breast size, this can be done a number of ways, some relatively safe - such as sports bras and binding vests - and some incredibly dangerous, like duct tape. My personal preference is for the binding vests from Underworks. I own the 997 model, and it does a fairly good job at compressing my 38DD chest. I'd like to get a second vest (possibly the 980) and layer them for additional compression. I'm worried at how hot these are going to be in the Florida summer *cringe*.
Binding takes time. It takes time not only to get into your binder, but to figure out exactly the best way to wear it for you, and to get comfortable with it. I'm not going to lie - binding can be incredibly uncomfortable at times. If it pushes on your stomach it can make eating a pain, and if you don't sit properly it can really cause an ache in your back. You need to keep at it, keep experimenting, and find out the most comfortable method for you.
Once I get moved, I'll post before and after pictures of my specific binding, and how effective it is. For now I'm going to post what resources I have collected below for people who are interested in learning more about different binding methods. As many will state, I really do recommend getting a binder, and not using tape or elastic bandages, which can be incredibly painful and hazardous to your health.
Hudson's Guide to FtM Binding
Binder Reviews
FtM at Underworks
Tip For Keeping Binders from Rolling Up
Breast Binding Photos before Testosterone
Hope this helps anyone who was interested. If I find any other links of interest I'll post them asap. Good luck!
Friday, February 13, 2009
"No, she's a girl, she's just living transgender"
In the few years that I've been out, I've been lucky enough to only face a few instances where my being transgender was responded to negatively. I lost a friend over it.
Tonight I was faced with a tremendous amount of hostility for being me, from people who I thought were at least acquaintances, if not friends. People who will so willingly accept and learn new things and accept restrictions from people within their subculture, but who adamantly refuse to learn about anything outside that little comfort zone. Even if it's just to foster some kind of mutual respect or understanding.
What's bothering me is when a subculture that wants to be respected and taken seriously can't respect or take seriously other subcultures, or minorities who are different from their own. People seem to think their minority, or their subculture is the only viable one, and there couldn't possibly be any overlap.
Like a transgender person can also be gay, or straight, but in many cases neither the gays nor the straights want to accept them into fold. A transgender person can be into BDSM, but the BDSM community may not accept a transgender person.
Walls built on top of walls, all it ends up doing is dividing us, whether we are LGBT, BDSM, or any other manner of subculture. There's no love and there's no cohesiveness to our goals if we are constantly finding more reasons to exclude people.
All this leads to is hurt feelings and lonely lives.
They don't have to accept me. No one has to accept me. In the end, acceptance is entirely their choice. I'd at least like people to give me a chance, offer me at least the benefit of the doubt, before automatically discounting me as not worth the effort. Yes, my feelings are hurt. This isn't the first time, and I know it won't be the last.
Tonight I was faced with a tremendous amount of hostility for being me, from people who I thought were at least acquaintances, if not friends. People who will so willingly accept and learn new things and accept restrictions from people within their subculture, but who adamantly refuse to learn about anything outside that little comfort zone. Even if it's just to foster some kind of mutual respect or understanding.
What's bothering me is when a subculture that wants to be respected and taken seriously can't respect or take seriously other subcultures, or minorities who are different from their own. People seem to think their minority, or their subculture is the only viable one, and there couldn't possibly be any overlap.
Like a transgender person can also be gay, or straight, but in many cases neither the gays nor the straights want to accept them into fold. A transgender person can be into BDSM, but the BDSM community may not accept a transgender person.
Walls built on top of walls, all it ends up doing is dividing us, whether we are LGBT, BDSM, or any other manner of subculture. There's no love and there's no cohesiveness to our goals if we are constantly finding more reasons to exclude people.
All this leads to is hurt feelings and lonely lives.
They don't have to accept me. No one has to accept me. In the end, acceptance is entirely their choice. I'd at least like people to give me a chance, offer me at least the benefit of the doubt, before automatically discounting me as not worth the effort. Yes, my feelings are hurt. This isn't the first time, and I know it won't be the last.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Flasback! 7th Grade
So I went out to run errands today: picked up an Ebay purchase at the post office, went to CVS to get cold medicine for my sick roommate, and stopped by Arby's to bring home some dinner (forgot how expensive they are!).
As I'm pulling out of Arby's, Home Sweet Home by Motley Crue comes on the radio station. Suddenly it's like I'm transported back to eight grade, and I'm twelve years old again.
I remember a classmate tearing the legs off the Gumby keychain my oldest brother gave me.
I also remember someone handing me back the mix tape I'd made for the class party (I think for the last day of school). This was of course after someone had smashed it.
I recall the school dance, where the only person who would dance with me was the assistant principal.
*sigh* Ah, memories.
As I'm pulling out of Arby's, Home Sweet Home by Motley Crue comes on the radio station. Suddenly it's like I'm transported back to eight grade, and I'm twelve years old again.
I remember a classmate tearing the legs off the Gumby keychain my oldest brother gave me.
I also remember someone handing me back the mix tape I'd made for the class party (I think for the last day of school). This was of course after someone had smashed it.
I recall the school dance, where the only person who would dance with me was the assistant principal.
*sigh* Ah, memories.
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