You know, it’s funny how memory works. I’m almost 65 now, and I’m a transgender woman, but it’s wild to think I didn’t really figure this out until much later in life. Why? Because for about 45 years, I completely forgot a huge part of my younger self.
I’m very good at compartmentalization shutting off feelings. It served mecwell as a Marine and CEO for over two decades but in other areas its not such a good thing
Back then, when I was just a kid, a teenager, I was super attracted to women. Not just attracted, I idolized them. I mean, I still am attracted to them, but back then, I’d just look at them and think, “Wow, I wonder what it’s like to *be* them?” It wasn’t just a crush; it was this deep admiration for women, for the feminine form, for everything about them.
In my early teens, when no one was home, I’d sneak into my mom’s closet or my sister’s room. I’d try on different clothes, just to get a tiny taste, a rudimentary feeling, of what it might be like to be female. It was a secret world, a quiet exploration of something I couldn’t quite name.
Then, just recently, a really vivid memory popped back into my head. I was taking a bath, probably around that same age, maybe 13 or 14. I saw a razor sitting on the side of the tub. And I must’ve thought, “What would it be like to have smooth legs?” You know, like the women I admired. So, I picked it up.
I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I mean, zero clue how to shave. I just started dragging it down my leg, probably pressing way too hard. And then, boom. I must’ve put a three-inch gash right in my leg. It started bleeding. And bleeding. And bleeding. It just wouldn’t stop.
I totally freaked out. I couldn’t get the bleeding to stop, and I was terrified. So, eventually, I had no choice but to show my mom and dad. I remember them looking at my leg, then at me, and their faces were just a mix of shock and confusion. “What the hell were you doing shaving your legs?” they asked, probably in unison. I honestly don’t even remember what my answer was. I probably mumbled something incoherent, or maybe I just stood there, mortified.
It’s such an interesting memory because it perfectly lines up with all those other things I was doing back then – the clothes, the admiration, the deep curiosity about being female.
But here’s the kicker: around the age of 16, I just stopped. In the early to mid 70’s there was no one to talk to, no internet. Thus, I compartmentalized everything. I pushed it all down, locked it away, and didn’t remember any of it for 45 years. Not a single shred. Until I was 59 years old, and then, all of a sudden, everything came flooding back. But how that happened?
Well, that’s a whole ‘nother story.
Dr. Gwen Patrone
6 Responses
Thanks for sharing Gwen.
We all have old memories that point to our present situation.
Jocelyn
I compartmentalized too. All of these little feminine things put in their own siloed boxes. Like puzzle pieces each in their own bucket. When I retired and had time for real introspection, each of those puzzle pieces left their bucket and fit together to form a CLEAR image. It was wild. My egg broke. It is never too late. I am in my early 50s. And thank you for your service! 🫡
-Christina
Gwen,
What can I say about male hair , a blessing or a curse ?
Your comments triggered my memories of dealing with it .
I’ve commented before about the problems I experienced with early T , I wasn’t ready for it especially with the transgender issue lurking in the shadows . I attended an all boy’s school , I make this point because I feel that in a mixed school the girls soften attitudes .
Communal showers were the norm , I didn’t take much notice of other boys but I couldn’t work out why I had an audience when I exited the showers , after a while the penny dropped as I was the only one with pubic hair . I worried so much that one night I cut it off with scissors and manged to cut my penis , my mum knew something wasn’t right so eventually I told her . The problem was then sort of passed to my father but it didn’t help . The problem was I’d read our new biology book and in the gender section it clearly stated girls usually develop before boys , with my dressing situation the alarm bells began to ring , was I really a girl ?
I’m totally attracted to women , I often feel it’s double feeling , the T in me is attracting me but I also feel the female side is also attracted . Some get very heated about the idea that some of us could be male lesbians , I not only want to be with a woman but I also want to be her .
There was no lay-off period for me , from the time the need to dress started I carried a gut feeling something wasn’t right , after all those years (60+) I finally lost that feeling , my transition to living fulltime as Teresa
Teresa’s comment made be laugh. I was the first boy in my ‘class’ with a mustache, and it was a large public school (about 400 boys my age). Had a mustache (and sometimes more) till I was 30 and have been clean shaven since. I’m over 70.
Nowadays I have this love hate relationship with my hair. I would love to have more on my head and less hair on my body. I hate the sharp hairs around my lips and neck.
I get waxed from my waist down and have almost no hair on my legs now.
Next in this hair journey is laser remover of facial and neck hair.
Gwen – You are looking great.
Cali,
I remember using my dad’s razor to tidy up the hair on my top lip without his permission , he wouldn’t let it go for a week ! So my Xmas present that year was an electric razor , the battle with male hair had begun !
I grew up in a small 3 room apt in NYC and shared a bedroom with my younger brother and sister. My mother and father slept on a pull out sofa in the living room. One day when I was alone , which wasn’t often I tried on my mother’s slip. I think I was 11. It had an a instant effect on me.
Fast forward to 1966. I was 18. I went down to the draft board I think and volunteered my draft. I was inducted into the Army Feb 2 1967. In Sept 1967 I was sent to Vietnam. Lucky I had been sent to supply school and was assigned to a unit that put parachutes on supplies. In July I heard about Taiwan and the bars there where you could have a girl for 3 days. I knew what I would do. I would get a girl my size and have her dress me in her clothes. A few days before I was supposed to leave I injured by running into a bunker during a rocket attack on the Bien Hoa airbase. In the morning I was taken to the aid station and then to the hospital and was told I needed a knee operation and that I was going to Japan and then back home. When I was in the hospital at home , my father brought my future wife to visit me. I didn’t start dressing until 7 years later after going to a Halloween party where I fully dressed enfemme.
PS I didn’t need the knee operation