Passing The Time

Published January 5, 2018 by Christine

Ok. Passing Privilege. What is it? It’s the ability for a trans woman to pass as a Cis woman in everyday life. Now, before you attack me for using the word Cis, let’s see what it means.

Cis is a Latin prefix meaning “Same side of”.

Trans is a latin prefix meaing “Opposite side of”

If there was ever a bigger divide then this would be it.

I am a trans woman. I am a woman who happens to have been born with a physically male body. I never intended to write anything like this because, since I transitioned, I’ve always been accepted as  a woman, with no doubts ever shown from other women, or any men. This is known as “Passing Privilege”. There is no greater acceptance a trans woman can have than this. Or is there?

To be honest, it’s a privilege, as in the name. Not every trans person can ‘pass’ in every situation. I can go into the loo, have a wee and walk out, no problem, but not everyone can. This is where the problem occurs. I’ve sat in a pub, with a cis friend, ordered dinner, and she’s been called ‘he’ and ‘him’ by the serving staff. It was only down to her restraining me that stopped me from exploding in front of them. What was worrying me was that I was scared that I would get ‘clocked’ as a trans woman and get the insults and, yet it was her.

This is where the problem lies. In both the idea of what a woman is and what a woman should look like. Both are Patriarchal ideals. Neither idea could exist in a matriarchal society. In our existing patriarchal society this is the only ideal that can exist.

I am a trans woman. According to the male gaze I can’t exist because that would negate their manhood, because to them they would be looking at another man, yet they’re looking at a woman. According to Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminism, I can’t exist because I belong to the male side yet, again, they’re looking at a woman. I exist. I am here. I want nothing to do with men and everything to do with Radical Feminism because I support women, because I am one.

In this patriarchal society, women are defined by men. Even Radical Feminists define women by male standards. This is the missing part. This is passing privilege. Those trans women who walk among us, passing unnoticed, have a passing privilege defined by men. Defined by the patriarchal society in which we live. There is no way that anyone can define our society as matriarchal or equal until we, as women, run it.

Until then, our society will be run by men and we, as trans women, will inevitably be second-class citizens until all women recognize the need to change and we can all be equal.

Advertisements

Day to Day

Published July 29, 2017 by Christine

You’ve seen the telly, you’ve seen the news.
Absorbed the passion in their views.
You never question what they’re saying.
Do you know it’s just a role they’re playing?

They can’t abide a tale of difference,
And have no single point of reference.
Challenged, they can only mention,
Their beliefs that promote the tension.

Cascades of errors in the press,
While television makes a mess.
Our lives discussed, our fate debated,
While children die and the adults hated.

Assaulted when we walk the streets.
We must be working, ain’t that sweet.
My right to live, my right to life,
Comes down to that man, holding a knife.

Our lives, our loves, are now debates.
By those to whom we can’t relate.
From the littlest room to the biggest house,
Our rights for others to espouse.

“What of us?” I hear you say.
“Our rights mean something too, don’t they?”
That they do, and as such they stay.
We have to fight for ours, day to day.

Letters From The Edge of Blogspace…… How many times have you felt this….

Published August 18, 2016 by Christine

I’m just sitting here,
Reality staring.
Feeling what I feel
Just not daring.
Then I turn,
To see my past.
Horrifying
To say the last.
My future calls,
These extant walls,
Are broken down,
And the future falls.

And in the midst
Of my despair,
A call is made
For my repair.
A promise kept
For which I have wept.
A frame set out
I have no doubt.
A call I hope
I’ll Answer living.
A call I hope
I’ll answer dying.

Letters From The Edge Of Blogspace: The End……Or Is It?

Published August 18, 2016 by Christine

I know, its been a long time. A very long time. Many of you will know what’s happened and those that don’t? Look at my Facebook page and Twitter account. This, though, is a special blog entry. Today I had my surgery date. I’m not revealing when it is until closer to the date but its probably one of the biggest days of my life. I’ve been waiting for this day for forty-seven years. All of my life.

Just lately, people have been denying me. Denying how I feel. None of these people are my friends. None of these people know me. None of these people know of me. They just deny my existence purely based on their own prejudices and beliefs. This has to stop.

I live. I exist. I feel. I cannot change who I am or how I feel, but you can. The way I am and the way I feel is built into me. I am a woman. If you disagree, look towards your own feelings, towards how you were brought up. Look towards what life asks of you. Do you find that your life is bad? Change it. Do you feel life dealt you a bad hand? Deal yourself a good one. There is always an avenue. Like Captain Kirk in Star Trek: Wrath of Khan, there is no such thing as a “no-win” situation. You just have to think your way out.

To be honest, I just kept at it. I didn’t allow any situation to put me down. If you can, be like Kirk. If not, be like me. Believe there is something better.

 

Just do it.

Letters From The Edge of Blogspace: The Last Mile….

Published April 23, 2016 by Christine

On the 5th of April this year, I went down to Brighton, to the Nuffield Hospital at Woodingdean, to see Mr Phil Thomas for my pre-surgical assessment. To say I was nervous would be an understatement, but I was determined not to let that get in the way. This was the start of something that I have been building up to all my life, something that, forty years ago, I would have never thought possible, a dream that would never be fulfilled but I was about to start the process that would see that dream become a reality.

When I first realised I was different around the age of five, I’d never heard of gender, nor were the words transsexual or transgender in my lexicon. I was vaguely aware of the differences between boys and girls and from this I knew, with an absolute certainty, that there was something wrong with my body. What I saw and felt didn’t fit with what my mind said it should have looked like and how it should have felt. Over the years this conflict has been at the root of so many problems but, soon, it will be resolved.

The journey down to Brighton was uneventful. Being used to long train journeys, I managed to keep myself occupied (I had my laptop) so I didn’t get totally bored. I was looking forward to arriving in Brighton as a friend, whom I hadn’t seen for quite some time, was meeting me to take me to the hospital. Arriving at Brighton, big hugs were in order when I saw Sam waiting on the platform. It was lovely to see her in real life again, rather than through the internet. We jumped into her car and off we went.

Arriving at the Nuffield, I was a bag of nerves. I was thinking to myself, ‘If I’m like this for the assessment, what am I going to be like when I do finally arrive for surgery?’. Once inside and booked in the nerves faded. I was taken upstairs to a room with several other women and given a very thick form to fill in. Afterwards, I was taken through the procedure and what to expect during my stay in hospital. I was also informed about post-surgical care, including dilation, how to do it and shown the dilators that are supplied. After that I was weighed and then went to see Mr Thomas. I had to strip from the waist down and he had a look. He decided, to my relief, that I didn’t require GHR (Genital Hair Removal), which would have added almost a year to my waiting time. Afterwards he and Liz (his head nurse) had a chat with me. I was told he had no objections to performing the surgery as I was a good candidate but, he wouldn’t give me a date until I had lost at least 10kg and brought my BMI down to at least 29 or lower. The reason being that the surgery is easier for him and recovery will be better and faster for me. It was all I could do to refrain from punching the air and shouting “YES!”. Compared to GHR, having to lose weight is far easier. I walked out of there on a cloud, my feet barely touching the ground.

Sam was almost as excited as I was when I told her the news. Finally, I was on that last mile. The end was finally in sight.

Sam dropped me off at the station. Unfortunately we couldn’t take time to catch up properly as she was in the middle of a house purchase. So we said our goodbyes, knowing that the next time we met in Brighton it would probably be for my surgery.

The journey home was almost as uneventful as the one there, although I suspect that my fellow passengers were wondering why I was constantly grinning inanely.

 

As I have been writing this, I have also been filling in the surgical consent forms to send back to Brighton. They’re all signed ready to send. I thought I may as well do them now as they weight is already falling (101kg on the 5th, 98kg today). Some changes in what I eat and how I live, small sacrifices to enable a massive change.

Let’s go…..

Letters From The Edge Of Blogspace: It’s Been A While…

Published March 23, 2016 by Christine

And it has. the last entry I posted here was, as I recall, 1st November 2015. I had intended that this blog should end there as I had felt that I had said all that I needed to say.

But, no. It continues. On September 30th, I posted that I had received my referral for surgery and that I had been promoted to Operations Manager at TechStart. Things have changed since then.

I now have an appointment to meet Phil Thomas, he who is to be my surgeon, at Nuffield Woodingdean where, hopefully, I will have surgery sometime in the next twelve months. Its scary, how real this is becoming, but a good kind of scary. Knowing that something I have wanted since I was about four years old is about to finally come to pass. Do I want it? Yes. Am I scared? Yes. Will I back out? Absolutely no way. No. No. No. I’ve not gone through all the pain, horror and mental anguish of the last forty years to back out now. I’m a Tesla Girl, and Tesla Girls do not back out.

More soon….

Letters From The Edge Of Blogspace: The End and, Perhaps, A Beginning….

Published November 1, 2015 by Christine

There are many stories out there. Mine is just one of them but, then, it’s mine, no-one else’s. I’ve done my best to communicate to other people how it feels to be transsexual. If you can’t understand then I pity you, but I cannot blame you. If you do understand then thank you. If you have learned something from this blog then I commend you and I hope you carry on and teach others. Thank you to all of those who have followed me; I am sorry that I have not communicated more.

All good things must come to an end.

Te amo omnium gratias.

Christine x

Notes on Linux

A bit of a Debian Fan...

Waffle Alert

My life with my teenage Trans Child

Into the Nitty Gritty of a Male of Transgender Experience

 “You cannot control what happens to you, but you can control your attitude toward what happens to you, and in that, you will be mastering change rather than allowing it to master you.”

Wandering Wives

A Comedy Lesbian Travel Blog

Bromium Labs

Call of the Wild Blog

Challenging Journeys (Phase 2)

A short wander through the mind of a probationary politician

Androgynous Wisdom

Blur Bounds, Cultivate Compassion

L'lerrét Allure

Through a woman's lens

One HuMan's Journey

Transitioning Genderspace at 50

Thoughts By Sally Baker

A topnotch WordPress.com site

Indulge litterae

By: Janelle Corpen

Disrupted Physician

The Physician Wellness Movement and Illegitimate Authority: The Need for Revolt and Reconstruction

hessianwithteeth

This site is all about ideas

KURT★BRINDLEY

 surmising with aplomb and nary remorse

isadolly

Trans & Happy

Rani Baker Digs You.

Rani Baker - Destroyed For Comfort - Why I'm Not An Artist - Witch

My Autistic Dance

Dance with me