Just a girl doing the business

Original Art by Sovalou

Exiting the stall, two gabbing girls strolled out the bathroom, leaving the sink area open for my use. My girl friend stood quietly, drying her hands as she waited for me. After discovering that all but the closest of the sinks to my friend had faulty hand sensors, I  chuckled to myself as a peculiar realization hit me that I just had to share.

“Hey,” I whispered to my friend who had accompanied me inside the bathroom, not as moral support but as a fellow woman who also had business to attend to. I began washing my hands to further keep my next words between us in the event someone still inhabited one of the stalls.

“Remember when I was terrified to go to the bathroom alone and I always asked you to come with me?”

“Yeah,” she said, almost as if she knew to keep her response short and concise as I removed my hands from under the faucet, shutting off the running water.

I smirked at her typical matter-of-fact reply which, for anyone who knew her like I did, was standard fare. She cared a lot for me though and had been my biggest supporter, confidant, and donator of about half my wardrobe. I owed much of my early maturity & the foundation of my girlhood to her constant trust and love for me as her friend and fellow female.

I turned the dispenser wheel and tugged at the paper towel, still wearing a confident smirk of contentment on my face.

“I can’t believe how far I’ve come. Wow…I’ve really grown up, haven’t I?”

My friend nodded in agreement, a small smile on her face. Truly, I was in awe of myself. A little over three years had passed since I began self-exploring publicly. Slightly under three years since I came out to my mom & sister – the former of which still believes that God must decide whether to have her treat and perceive me as her daughter. I had suffered, endured, questioned, and doubted so much for so long. And now, after doing so countless times solo, I simply live my life. I go to the bathroom with only the rare instance of irrational paranoia creeping up on me.

Yes, even I, who had been blessed with a “cute face” (according to my sister), was, for a period of time, terrified to go to the bathroom of fear of being outed or stared at critically. And now, I don’t ever give it a second thought. Once in a while, I even occasionally smile or exchange a few words with another female whose goals are exactly the same as mine:

Do my business. Wash my hands. Touch up hair and makeup if need be. Compliment a girl on her boots. Keep on trucking through the day kicking myself for not saying more to that girl because I just so happen to be gay as fuck. (Fun fact: I’m demi-pansexual) 

Believe me, I know I’m fortunate, not just in looks but in the diverse area of the U.S. I live. Transgender persons who haven’t started HRT, or haven’t perfected their makeup tech, or have stronger features than I are still being policed & restricted, wanting nothing more than to do their business, small talk other ladies and, ultimately, be seen as another female who has no ulterior motive.

And yet, we are the danger. Why? To fear-monger a baseless, seemingly moral cis agenda that transgender persons are somehow looking to prey upon the gender group we want to be accepted by. A tad backwards, wouldn’t you say? Except, North Carolina seeks to pass bathroom bills that would do much more harm than good. Meanwhile, we are the ones cowering in fear of judgement, ostracism, and/or harassment. We are the ones who torture ourselves holding our waste if we don’t have a supportive friend with us just so we can feel safe and validated. Trans people are the ones committing suicide because they’d rather be dead than be repeatedly demeaned and forced to use the wrong bathroom…

…I remember these moments well. Such memories coursed through my mind that day not too long ago. And now look at me. Somehow, I had survived. I had become self-validated as a girl/woman in nearly every aspect.

Tossing the damp paper towel in the trash, I followed behind my friend as we exited the Ladies room together, confident and self-assured in my femininity and identity. I quietly hoped I’d find a way to share that realization in a way that would inspire others to find their self-assuredness & confidence. To not lose hope when the times are still very much against “girls like us” who, as the popular saying goes, “just need to pee”.

For a bit of contrast, I too was nearly made to use the wrong bathroom. I published an entry about that experience here that occurred during the beginning of my three years as an infant in my transition.

Moving at the speed of life

pixiv @ KR0NPR1NZ: Sachi Nanjou

As I sit here writing another entry, I begin to assess all that’s happened to me and in the world since my previous entry. Life has a way of shifting gears like that of a rookie driver learning stick for the first time – jerky & awkward, with a vague, fleeting sense of control. All I have control over is when I decide to chronicle another portion of my existence here for my curious blog follower. Funny how even such awareness comes with the honest truth of relinquishing control of who chooses to lay eyes here.

I never did post a picture to recognize my 365-ish days of being on HRT. Instead, that post wound up on my Instagram & Facebook accounts, receiving quite a bit of attention. Much of which was centered around confusing my anniversary on HRT (5/20) with my public coming out (8/3). Saying things like “wow it feels like it came so quickly” and blithe things like “happy anniversary” – the latter likely having no knowledge of what HRT even is or means for me as a person. One person who did ask what HRT is put a smile on my face. In the interest of our increasingly TL;DR online culture I opted to leave out scholarly info, but this person openly gave me a chance to educate them. Opportunities such as those are all I seek to create through being open about my personal transgender narrative among my cis friends. 

Ironically, it’s those deeply personal posts related to my current life as a girl learning to be a woman that bring the curious and usually unengaged out of the woodwork. As if my life is only as interesting as the trials & medical treatments I share as likely the only trans person they know. Thinking that way places much fear and trepidation into my heart, but I want to keep believing that my story isn’t so trivial among the socially visible coming out stories of Caitlyn Jenner, Laverne Cox, Janet Mock, and so many other activists & journalists facing discrimination on a regular basis. 

Meanwhile, I’ve begun my first full-time job where only my friend who sent in my resume (and likely HR who required my legal info) has any previous knowledge of me pre-transition. I’d like to assume even those memories for my friend are becoming fuzzier by the day. Being in a company where everyone generally “sees me” is refreshing & freeing. Moments of apprehension & dysphoria are few because I’m not worrying about who I am. I’ve never felt more beautiful & self-confident wearing minimal makeup than I do now. It’s a new start with room to grow – I want this to be the last job I ever hold until my voice acting career or creative media business can sustain me. 

My life has shifted to first gear after sitting in neutral for nearly a year. Between my job, narrating & assisting with engineering for my second audiobook (my first one can be found here), and my small business, I am literally not sleeping. At the end of the day, this is what I wanted. What I need. 

Never would I have believed nearly every part of my lifestyle could be preserved as a trans female. Through careful planning, a decisive attitude, and emotional resilience, I’ve been blessed to continue the fervent pursuit of my ambitions despite my legal info still claiming me as a person I barely recognize in my memories. Perhaps I can still leave behind the legacy I believe I exist to fulfill. Maybe even being so lucky to be seen as an example one day to other trans men and women that one’s past hard work need not be completely forsaken to live their authentic reality. 

…and then in the midst of such lofty idealisms, I am jolted back to reality. Self-preservation among a transphobic, cisnormative society trumps all regardless of narrative or media presence. No matter how far along in transition, that truth remains an ever-present constant myself & others face in countless forms.

May we all, as human beings, remain vigilant through adversity, hanging on to the truths that preserve our honest reality as life demands an ever-moving, unforgiving pace. 

Find me within sweet lies

To have a lingering pang in your heart. A sadness that gradually wraps and chokes your very soul. An intense sense that the dam may break any moment – or all at once, sometimes. Perhaps I have discovered the truth of a woman’s tears. It all became so easy. Too easy…

Love-gaze. You know, that magical moment you read about in romance novels and see in sappy chick flicks. The few who believe “love at first sight” exists never seems to experience it when we listen to their epic tale of meeting their significant other. It is those who disengage from searching that encounter this legendary moment. When the world blurs, and all we see is their complete and utter perfection, personified.

And then we proceed to lose our minds.

We think about them the moment we wake. We question every action related to getting their attention. We give and give and give for just a fraction of what we pray we can receive in return. We hang on every compliment or kind gesture they give to us only to find out those priceless words we treasured are doled out to others for free. Self-worth crashes and burns.

Pretend not to care. Pretend not to see. Pretend that the questions & scenarios we ponder are ultimately futile. Those who have forgotten how to cry wander in confusion, wondering why love-gaze ever happened. Why their stomach won’t stop clenching. Why they ever believed taking action would change anything.

Giving up is easy when the odds seem stacked against us. We become desperate and seek the approval of those who’s words have weight. Our friends offer encouraging words and nothing more – we can only help ourselves anyway.

So we cry on the inside because crying on the outside hurts too much. We hold it in, clench our teeth, and smile through the frustrations and heartache of bearing the unknown. Maybe we do have a chance to achieve some manner of self-completion if only we hang on for just a little longer. Plugging the dam with the shred of faith we can muster.

“You deserve better,” they say.

“You will be appreciated & loved one day,” they say.

“You are beautiful,” they say

And we thank them, having long since committed those very thoughts to memory as if our life depended on it. Remembering we must love ourselves, today, more than yesterday.