I tend to be hyper-critical of myself. This applies to what I work on and who I am.
Since I don’t really fit in to any conventional boxes, sometimes my differences from society at large puts a large strain on my psyche, as it often does for people. I don’t fit in, therefor subconsciously I am not as worthy a person as average folks.
In order to get past this I have to make great efforts to value my unique qualities and love myself. Having a severe dislike for the sex I was born into makes it all the more difficult to love myself.
So I find the best way to do this is to meditate. Focus on my dreams, remember all that I have accomplished. Remind my self that I am loved and am worth loving. Monitor my internal dialogue and force myself out of thinking habits which perpetuate misery.
I am learning to love myself. I have to remember to practice everyday. One can accomplish so much in life purely by believing that one has the capability. Belief is the most powerful magic.
I was given some excellent advice by an older transwoman when I told her I was trying to pass, having just gone to living 24-7 as a woman a few months earlier. “Don’t” she said. “By trying to pass you only make yourself more nervous and will be more likely read by anyone you meet.
Now here at transadvocate.com is an excellent article on the perils of passing, and the difficult history of the term. I can also recommend the book “Nobody Passes“, an anthology of genderqueer perspectives.
Today I woke up to discover that I still have the growth between my legs. I think some part of my psyche is still shocked to discover the scrotum and penis there every morning, a useless stranger that just won’t go away. My genitals are so useless to me now. I struggle to think of some way that I can get surgery to correct the problem. I still don’t have the money. How can I get insurance that will cover it? I still don’t know. It depresses me, piles my body dread ever higher. Except for down there, everything else feels like it is where it should be physically.
I think part of me must still want to have kids, because every time a woman I know says she wants to get pregnant soon I have to bite my tongue to not offer my services as a sperm donor. I doubt I would have the patience to stop taking estrogen long enough to ressurect sperm production. I am too happy with the results to want to go back to hairy muscular stinky body of manhood. Even if I did, I have my doubts that my sperm production would even be adequate, never having gotten anyone pregnant in the past sleeping with women.
So now I must spend my day searching for employment so that I can continue to try to save for surgery. I don’t know if or when the day will ever come. In the meantime I will try to ignore the shame between my legs until it is time to wake again.