Time To Be Frank – I Did It My Way

If I’ve got my maths right, this is my 101st post here at Kandi’s Land – 100 of those were written by me and the other one was a compilation of comments I’d left on the posts of others very kindly collated and given the title ‘The Wisdom of Amanda’ (words not normally seen in the same sentence) by Kandi when I had to take a sabbatical for a couple of months.  

This is a milestone I really should be celebrating.   I have to confess that I’m still not exactly certain how I managed it – anyone who knew me at school (and if you did know me at school and are reading this, I think we need to talk!) would consider it a miracle if I’d managed even 5% of the output I’ve produced.   But perhaps even more miraculous than the quantity of my output is the fact that people not only seem to be reading it but that some also felt sufficiently engaged to leave a comment.

But how should I mark this milestone?  I could do a retrospective, but I’d only be repeating what I said in my ‘Lucky Thirteen’ post.   I could talk about the impact that being a regular at Kandi’s Land has had on me, but I covered that in post number 50 – Thank You Kandi.  But I would say here and now that the gratitude I expressed in that post still knows no bounds and the words I wrote then are even more pertinent now.  I could bang on about some aspect of crossdressing or other – the engagement that my ramblings have got in the comments sections to the posts are truly humbling – but the truth is that I’m running out of ideas.  So, as the title to this post suggests, it’s now time to be frank.

My legal name isn’t Frank or anything remotely similar to it but if it was, it would be somewhat ironic under the circumstances.  Saying that it’s time to be frank could easily be construed as meaning that I was quietly retiring Amanda and intending to spend the rest of my life as it started the moment the midwife exclaimed ‘it’s a boy!’.  No, here I’m using the word frank in its meaning of being open and honest (but hopefully, unlike a couple of my recent posts, not causing offence which the dictionaries indicate is often the purpose of being frank) because changes in my life, in particular the retirement of Mrs A, will mean that I will no longer have either the time or privacy I need to prepare posts for regular publication.  

So sad to say that this post will be my last contribution to Kandi’s Land.  And as I write this, I have absolutely no idea of the path that Amanda’s life will follow in the new normal at home but what I think is certain is that my home will become a ‘him-only’ place and if her life is to continue, it will have to be conducted elsewhere with all of the logistical challenges that go with that particular territory.  Perhaps it really is time to take the easy route, be Frank and change my name accordingly.

But let’s not be too hasty.  Whilst Amanda’s future is uncertain, I need to figure out a way of marking both the 100+1 post milestone and bringing my time as a regular contributor to a close.  It’s strange when you think about it – society lumps us all together under the transgender umbrella and yet we’re actually all very different in our beliefs, outlook and how we deal with the inner woman.  And that’s what makes this such a vibrant community.  We’re not all in lockstep in an echo chamber and it’s a fact of life that sometimes we will disagree.  And really, the best thing we can do when we do disagree with someone is just to think ‘You do it your way and I’ll do it my way’.

I’ll do it my way.  Hmmmmm…!

As I thought about it, I realised that Frank Sinatra’s song ‘My Way’ fitted the mood I wanted to convey in this post perfectly.  It’s a celebration but its opening lines ‘And now, the end is near, and so I face the final curtain’ also evoke a tinge of sadness from the realisation that a line is being drawn.  And as I looked at the lyrics, I realised that, in a tenuous sort of way, they aligned with my own evolution as Amanda.  But, let’s be frank, tenuous just isn’t good enough for my swansong so I have taken a few liberties and ‘adjusted’ some of the lyrics…

And now, the end is near
And so I face the final curtain
My friends, I’ll say it clear
It’s been a blast, of that I’m certain
I’ve lived a life that’s full
I’ve tried to laugh, in quite a dry way
And more, much more than this, I did it my way

This verse really sums up both my time here and Amanda’s evolution.  My first post here was in late 2021 talking about a makeover I’d had a couple of months earlier at Boys Will Be Girls in London.  Actually, that was pretty well all I had to talk about at the time; the other contributors were out and proud and I was rammed so far in the closet that you’d have needed the fire brigade to extract me.  Trips into the outside world were the stuff of dreams as far as I was concerned at the time but the reality now is I come back from every outing buzzing with excitement.  I mean, who could fail to feel ‘chuffed’ at being complimented on their nail colour, hair, outfit or any of the other wonderful encounters I’ve had.  And in the context that I have finally uncovered the whole me, I am living a life that’s full.  Of course, there are still things to do – I’d love to experience Ladies’ Day at Royal Ascot, it’d be really nice for Amanda to make a GG friend or two and I’m still waiting for my first invitation to a hen night (actually, I’m still waiting for my second invitation to a hen night but that’s a whole story in itself which, given that it has absolutely nothing to do with crossdressing, won’t be aired here!)!

And as I hope is evident from some of my posts, I try not to take life too seriously.  Life in general, and what we have to contend with in particular, has the power to emotionally destroy us if we allow it to.  Like everyone, I’ve had low spots in my life but I’d far rather uncover the funny side of problematic situations (most of which concern my family driving me to distraction) than allow them to get the better of me.

Purges, I’ve had a few
And don’t forget, my two confessions
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption
I planned each time I dressed
Each high heeled step along the byway
And more, much more than this, I did it my way

Ahhhhh yes, the lows and highs of being a crossdresser.  I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve purged in a vain attempt to rid myself of the scourge of my life.  An outfit, shoes and wig were bought and tried on.  I stood in front of the mirror elated at what I saw and realising that the small issue of my chromosomes need not stand in the way of living the dream.  But after a while, presumably as the novelty of that particular outfit wore off, I started to realise that I was skating on very thin ice and the decision was made.  Taking a deep breath, everything was loaded into two bags, one to donate and the other to go with the rubbish, and the deed was done.  It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.  Sometimes that relief lasted several months, other times a couple of weeks but once or twice, it was measured in hours before grief set in and the whole sorry cycle started up again.

And confessions.  As regular readers will know (and recent readers will have learned from the ‘Matrimonial Challenges’ series which was rerun earlier this year), my first confession was a disaster, culminating in a cease and desist ultimatum which I managed to comply with for five years.  I don’t for one moment like the way I was treated but I understand why and ever since I have tried to ensure that my posts have been supportive of women & wives.  Their acceptance is fundamental to what we do and we need them onside, not alienated through arrogant behaviour on our part or referring to them as TERFs or similar.

But enough of the lows.  The highs when they come are beyond my wildest dreams and have intensified ever since I stopped just wearing women’s clothes and started dressing as a woman.  The former just requires an outfit, the latter requires thought and planning – where am I going, what will others be wearing, how can I put together a suitable outfit from the garments I have, what colour lipstick and eyeshadow, car or public transport, etc. etc.?  I’ve posted here about my hotel stay and my day trip to Central London.  They were both memorable both for the experiences themselves and for the enjoyment I had in the run up rehearsing every step of the way in my mind.

Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew
When I used…the ladies’ loo
And through it all, I had some doubt
But just smiled on my way out
‘Cos on my heels, I stood quite tall and did it my way

Now we get to the controversial part where, no doubt there’ll be a lot of head shaking and thoughts of ‘she’s overthinking everything again’.  I’ve written about my conflicted thoughts about entering women only spaces, specifically fitting rooms in shops (although I have used the ladies loos too), and whilst the general consensus seems to have been to question why I’m worried, the answer very much links to what I said about being supportive of women.  The truth is that I’ve never had a problem and the attendants have indicated that I’m very much welcome in those spaces.  Am I just lucky that whilst I don’t ‘pass’, I’m not unduly tall and blend in reasonably well?  Is their welcome recognition of the effort I have made in my presentation?  Is it their company policy to allow entry to anyone presenting in a way consistent with expectations for those spaces.  Or do they just not care?  Who knows but despite my misgivings, I will admit to absolutely loving the experience of trying on outfits and getting the approval of the attendants.

I’ve loved being outside
I’ve had my share of people gazing
And now, as fears subside
I find it all so amazing
To think I did all that
And may I say, it made my day
And, yes, oh, yes, oh yes, I did it my way

These days, I love being in the outside world but it hasn’t always been that way.  For too long, I let the inconvenience of not passing stand in the way of the wonderful experiences that I knew to be waiting.  ‘What if someone realises I’m a guy?’ was my mantra and I can still remember times when I felt uneasy or even frozen with fear just because I encountered another human.  But eventually, I looked in the mirror and no longer saw ‘him’ looking back and bit by bit overcame my fears.  And with the addition of a single word, the aforementioned mantra became ‘so what if someone realises I’m a guy?’.

When I first crossdressed in the mid-1970s, the life I yearned for seemed so far away.  The book ‘Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus’ had yet to be written and whilst I gather that the theme of the book is the differing communication styles between the sexes, the physical distance between to two planets of the title pretty well summed up the gulf I perceived between me and womanhood.  Of course, there is a difference between men and women – the preservation of the species depends on it – but in terms of societal roles, I came to realise that far from being interplanetary, it’s often akin to just crossing to the other side of the road.  

But what I’ve experienced is way in excess of just a feeling that I’ve crossed to the other side of the road.  People will usually accept us at face value, even though they may know that the truth is something else, but I still have to pinch myself to ensure that my experiences are real and not just a dream.  I still remember my first proper encounter; I walked into a shop still a bit apprehensive and the lady behind the counter gave me the biggest smile and asked how I was.  I was so touched by her warmth that after leaving the shop, I decided to go back and thank her and a nice conversation followed.  It was the same story in the next shop, this time a conversation about the jewellery I was buying.  And as I’ve reported in posts here, since then I’ve had compliments paid, service with a smile almost everywhere I’ve been, chats with random strangers and other wonderful experiences I never in a thousand years previously thought possible.

And Mandy Tuesdays being a thing?  As I suggested above, writing even a paragraph at school was a major undertaking for me.  With 100 posts under my belt, heaven only knows how many words I’ve written but it’s probably in the region of a couple of hundred thousand.  And from time to time, it seems that people have actually read them – who’d have thought it?!

For what is a man, what has he got?
A stash of lingerie, that’s what 
To wear a wig, a dress and heels
And we all know, how it all feels
The highs and lows
That’s how it goes
I did it my way

There’s little more to add here.  I think every single one of us understands the feelings we experience when presenting as our feminine alter egos.  Some are lucky with supportive wives and families but the rest of us operate under a veil of secrecy with our inner women’s worldly goods hidden away in what is universally known as our ‘stash’.  And for many of us, that stash, together with the highs and lows we experience, defines this side of our lives.  

Yes, it was my way 

There are many here who are far more qualified to give out advice than me although I have tried hard with the content of my posts, if only to help others avoid making the mistakes that I made along the way.  But if there’s one piece of advice I’d give above all else, it’s do it your way.  One of the biggest mistakes I’ve made is trying to be someone else and then feeling frustrated when I fail to measure up.  I’m in awe of what Kandi and the other contributors here do, I envy the skills which some are able to apply to their transformations achieving results that register high on a scale of feminine beauty, I long for the spousal support that others enjoy.  But I am me playing the best game with the hand I’ve been dealt and these days, I look on that hand as a winning hand – I may not interact with the volume or variety of people that Kandi does but I treasure every interaction I do have even though they’re few and far between.  I’ll never be mistaken for Helen of Troy’s twin sister but when I look in the mirror and see Amanda smiling back, my reaction is nearly always ‘I’d date her’ (not that she’d accept ‘his’ invitation, she’s well out of his league!).  And whilst Mrs A has no interest in suggesting a girls’ shopping trip or night out, it doesn’t matter me one little bit as I’m happiest flying solo just being me.

Above all, though, I try to keep my feet on the ground.  Amanda is a product of my maleness – her personality is a derivative of my ‘normal’ personality & I have crafted her presentation in a way that my heterosexual eye finds attractive – and whilst I can declare that I wish I’d been born female, I understand that things would have been very different if that had been the case.  I identify as ‘me’ and my pronouns are whatever you want them to be.  I do not claim to be a woman as I have neither the chromosomes, anatomy nor lived experience to substantiate that claim but the acceptance that others have given me despite that never ceases to amaze me.  Not everyone will agree with all of my philosophies and some will disagree with every single point I make but that’s fine – you do you and I’ll do me.  As long as we get to where we want to in life, that’s all that really matters.  It’s taken me half a century to get anywhere close to figuring all of this out but most of all Amanda’s life, sparse though opportunities for her to spread her wings are, is way beyond anything I ever thought possible in the decades before I finally found her.  And that has made everything worthwhile. 

I can probably best sum things up by declaring that Amanda seems to have inherited all of the positive traits of my personality and few if any of the negative ones (of which, sadly, there are many!).

-o-O-o-

Epilogue

When I originally wrote this post a few weeks ago, I envisaged that it would be a way to end my time at Kandi’s Land on a high.  I’d talk about how it blew my mind to realise how far I’d come and how surprised I was with the response to my posts.  I’d look back with pride and forward with hope.  Mrs A’s retirement would pose a challenge but, in my mind, there was a deal to be done which would keep all of this away from her whilst still giving me the opportunity to spread my feminine wings.  Sadly, life had different ideas and this epilogue would perhaps be better titled ‘Epitaph’.

It’s very easy to look at photos or read accounts and believe that the subjects live charmed lives.  I’ve often talked about the freedom that Mrs A’s blessing to DADT has given me but the truth is that freedom only ever comes from either having nobody to share your life with or being with someone who completely accepts this side of you.  After the euphoria of Mrs A’s concession had finally died down, I quickly came to realise that far from being free, I was starting to put myself into a place where there would be problems down the line.  It’s like swimming out in the sea then looking round and wondering whether you’ve gone too far to be able to get back to the beach.  And that’s before, for those of us who don’t live 100% of our life in our feminine persona, we factor in all of the pressures in the other side of our life – the side that is hidden in photos of us in all our feminine glory or breathless accounts of acceptance in the outside world.

Over recent months in my other life, I’ve been bombarded with pressure from all angles.  Inevitably, something had to give and a few weeks ago, that’s exactly what happened.  It had been on the cards for several weeks and, despite me dropping heavy hints that one of my troubles was something I was unable to talk about, the elephant remained resolutely in the room.  Finally the damp burst and I went into meltdown and during the ensuing conversation, I finally decided to roll the dice and talk about the constraints that this side of my life was now facing due to the house never being empty.  I suggested that it would be best if I booked into a hotel every few weeks to deal with this but two issues quickly emerged; the first is that Mrs A is uncomfortable with the idea of me indulging my feminine side anywhere other than at home and the second is that there is a huge gulf between where she thinks all of this is and where it actually is.

Her discomfort comes from a fear that if I am seen in the outside world, news will travel fast and lead to problems.  I could allay her fears by saying that I have been out plenty of times and not only have I never had a problem but I have been met with acceptance and genuine affection from those I have interacted with.  But to do that would mean that I would have to disclose far more than I want to and basically admit to deception on an industrial scale.  Even showing a photo of Amanda taken in our house would almost certainly cause Mrs A a lot of distress.  I completely understand her point of view in all of this – does a wife really want to know that the only thing that makes her husband happy is transforming himself into the most attractive version of womanhood that he can?  Or that he’s left the house and then walked through busy shopping centres and other places like that?  Or that it’s only her existence that’s preventing him from at least fully exploring the idea of living life as a female, if not taking that step permanently?  Or that he’s entered female fitting rooms and ladies toilets?  Or that she’s competing with her husband’s feminine persona for his affections?  I would certainly not be happy if the tables were turned and Mrs A was doing these sorts of things.

Life forces us to prioritise things.  In crude terms, I could stick two fingers up and say “I’m going to live my life on my terms, not yours” but would I really be happy?  Would Amanda’s outings still be euphoric if there was the spectre of returning home to hostility hanging over every outing?  My priorities remain, in this order, being the  husband that Mrs A married and protecting what we have built up together so that we can enjoy however long we have left in comfort. 

I want to stress that Mrs A is not the villain here.  She accepts that crossdressing is something I need to do and did suggest facilitating time for me at home, which is not viable due to the unpredictability of the comings and goings of our daughter.  Unless I toss a grenade into the middle of our marriage and tell her everything, the sad truth is that we have hit stalemate and I have little option other than to pack Amanda’s things away for what may be the final time.  What I’m not going to do at this stage is purge anything; I know from experience that at least knowing the stuff is there helps me get through dressing famines in the same way that we have fire alarms but never expect to have to use them.  Her bag of goodies will be moved to an inaccessible hiding place within the roof space so at least I won’t have the ongoing worry of discovery.

Perhaps a little perversely, I feel a sense of relief.  It’s not the outcome I hoped for but at least it is an outcome.  I no longer have to worry about when to raise this with Mrs A or feel frustration, or even resentment, towards my kids for their mere presence.  Maybe things will change in the future but it would be foolish for me to place all my hopes on that.  For now, though, I need to let Amanda go and accept that, certainly as far as the present is concerned, it’s for the best.

-o-O-o-

Even putting the foregoing to one side, it is with a heavy heart that I bring this post and my time as a regular contributor to a close – I am humbled on many levels.  I am humbled that people have been sufficiently interested to read what I have written.  I am humbled that Kandi was happy to include me on the list of contributors when there were just a handful of regulars.  I am humbled by the nice things people have said to, or about, me in both the comments and in messages to Kandi sent via the contact page.  I am humbled to have been awarded the accolade of the regular ‘Mandy Tuesdays’ slot here.  I could go on (which anyone who has read my ramblings will know is something I find particularly easy to do) but I’m sure you get the picture.  I have often had to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.

What has touched me more than anything is the engagement on my posts.  I have to confess that a few of the comments have caused me to temporarily lose the will to live for one reason or another but all have been readers wanting to contribute to the discussion with their own experiences or opinions.  I’ve appreciated every comment but it’s been particularly satisfying when a new name has popped up, someone for whom my words somehow resonated and prompted them to perhaps put their head above the parapet for the first time.  And if you are reading this as one who comes, reads and leaves whilst remaining in the shadows, I hope that one day you will feel able to emerge and experience the joy that I have as my feminine side has blossomed and if you have drawn inspiration from what I have written, I’m just sorry that my story does not have the happy ending we all dream of.

I know that Kandi intends to repost my back catalogue and she does so with my blessing.  However, I’ll apologise in advance that I won’t be replying to any comments added to them but I hope that the posts continue to provoke discussion in the future.  For now, though, thank you all for the interest you have shown in my ramblings and the inspiration you have all given me to live a life that I never in a million years thought possible.  But most of all, thank you Kandi for everything – I would say you’re one in a million but the reality is that you’re one in eight billion and it’s a real privilege to know you.

Beginning next week:

We will rerun weekly on Tuesday Mandy’s expansive catalog until we have revisited it all. My deepest thanks to her for her grace and wisdom. I have said it before, and I will say so again “Life certainly isn’t easy. And those of us with these gender issues come at this from a million different angles, a million different sets of life circumstances. There are no easy answers, but I do know, you have to seek happiness. If not, you simply cannot make others happy and/or give love.” We wish Mandy nothing but happiness, however she finds it.