The Dividing Line of Feminism and Expression

I’m conscious, no doubt. Most of the world’s ration and reason anymore hurt my brain.

This doesn’t “interfere” with my daily existence as much as it enhances it. Its problematic at times because the world, and my world have many layers. I did live the first 35 years fooling others to believe I was a man (but never fooled myself).

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“Looking like I did, I always thought I was smart and not good looking. I had never felt this outside looked like my inner self-she stayed hidden for 8 more years after this photo.”

Picket fence, college, military…I had some typical as well as high-risk career choices that were considerably masculine. I spent time convincing myself more than other people and thus: being a male in all outward appearances and social roles- WERE simply a stage I went through before embracing my true self. But transitioning back east meant I was surrounded by an automobile to-and-from work, school, home. You don’t socially interact with anyone in a car, basically.

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“People would kill to have a body like mine, or just kill me?”
Statistically, trans people survive suicide and are faced with a higher homicide rate-rarely killed by women.

Expressing my female self isn’t without daily scrutiny from men and women alike: a man can be butt-ugly but as long as he is powerful/rich/physically strong he is pedestalled and embraced for doing what success was defined to mean; for the woman it means you are judged based on your hair/makeup/clothing/fashion sense and not other accolades.

Women rarely get left alone when it comes to the leering and judging eyes of the world. Sure, age sometimes brings relief, but then you are seen as someone’s “mother” rather than a successful mature woman. Shit, this goes to show that transitioning from male to female is not a CHOICE!! One might argue that transitioning from female to male would be a choice based on no longer being scrutinized on a daily basis of ones looks, but that is not the case. Transgender is not a choice for anyone.

Some feel that being born as I was and being attracted to women, wearing pants, etc. are considered appropriate.

So how much breasts/cleavage do you show to express what you feel you want to, and how much is caving to “what a woman should behave as?”

The pitfall of someone balancing expression: “I don’t feel like wearing makeup nor shaving my legs.” negatively traverses my female expression. You could say that I am hypersensitive to the expressions of gender, having lived/worked/dated/stared/objectified as both. 

Did I mention that I know what runs through a man’s brain? No? Well I didn’t. I will say that I know what CAN run through a man’s brain. I was also raised around the most misogynistic/pro rape men on the planet. I knew pretty early that I was neither “them” nor “a man.”

I will admit that I cling to a few things out of comfort due to the basic fact that I wasn’t born without a vagina, nor plentiful mammary glands (breasts).

Maybe I don’t want to go to a place further outside my own comfort zone.
Maybe I don’t want to leave the impression on you of what I look like without makeup because maybe you won’t invest getting to know me or you are the type of person who doesn’t get past anything.
Maybe I like some to show some sexy legs because I literally have bled for my transition. I shouldn’t have to justify anything in what I choose to express, but in living my life, I am just.

I think you can be a femme pro feminist, and even a transsexual feminist. I also think that it really shouldn’t matter what someone’s outsides look as quoted by me:

Associated Press November 2010

Associated Press November 2010

“This girl in front of me, whether she is wearing pants or a dress, shouldn’t make a difference.” Associated Press November 2010

Lexikat

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Leaving the Box of Blonde Behind

It’s been scheduled, my appointment for color.
Bye-Bye Blonde.

But was it ever truly mine?

I was born a poor brunette child

I found my womanhood upon my 35th year of my natal birth. 2 years later, and after landing in The City, my first box of blonde was applied. Its results were redish-brassy. Sure, I had worked in a salon for 3 years, but that was a different life it seemed. The knowledge of the ages sometimes escapes me.

Red. Ginger-esque, Strawberry Blonde was what I called it.

Next came the services of a student in hair school. I was transformed to lavender-platinum blonde very quickly. It’s the famous shot from my Associated Press article capturing her talent. Her talent moved to apprenticeship after I helped her pass the state certification process. We fell out of communication and such.
So I went Back to the box!

So for about 3 years now, I have been very much blonde-in-waiting.
Waiting for what? Eh, who knows…

So after being blonde on the outside, I was socialized as a brunette and so I was never a true blonde, in the sense of always being the fair hair color and interacting the world in that manner.

This new decision, it seems, to be embracing my maturity. I have a partner now. Someone supporting your actions, enforcing your positive attributes, and being someone who depends on you-influence through love. She does the polish to my diamond exterior that had been marred and dulled by life.

I’ll follow-up once the task is complete.

Lexikat