Passing, Stealth, Deep-stealth, Blending.
These words have one meaning for most other folks, for Trans-folk like myself, they can sometimes mean the difference between life and death (figuratively and literally) . Now don’t get me wrong. I am a BIG girl, 6 ft 220 I am losing weight, gimmie a BREAK) somebody wishes to make a smart-ass comment about my looks or shout out, totally inappropriately “THAT’S A DUDE” I can handle it pretty easily. Not always so with people who are with me at the time. And not true for me 100% of the time.
I don’t try too hard to pass. My HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy) hasn’t kicked in yet, I haven’t had any FFS (feminization Facial Surgery) And at my size, its evident. But I don’t dress like a teenage hooker with an addiction to Victoria’s Secret cast offs. Simply because I am an old woman. I am 52, I dress like such. Yes I have jeans, designer, of course, yes I have animal prints (Umm, looking to replace some of those with hounds tooth cause animal print is SO 2008) and I do have a few heels that are, essentially, non-essential but CUTE ! Ergo, they become essential by their very non-essential-ness. Like walking to mass today, down two very steep roads in the snow, in boots with very sharp 4 inch heels, not terribly bright but CUTE. Nope, didn’t fall down, didn’t even slip – two years ballet HA ! There are a lot of GGs (Genetic Girls or Genuine Girls)that cannot claim the same thing.
I simply dress in whatever makes me feel pretty, feminine, beautiful or just plain happy. It is NOT a fashion show out there, but its always nice to look your best. Doesn’t mean it is always easy. Like today.
I get to church just a few moments before mass starts (I made it, but the good father didn’t, he got stuck at home by the snow, he is a wonderful priest and has made every effort to assure me I am welcome in God’s house regardless of the Pope’s crappy attitude towards T-folk) and I get TOTALLY self-conscious. I was wearing makeup (something I rarely if ever do at church. I typically under dress, hair, jeans, nice blouse nothing too outre’) But today I am wearing breast appliances, a nice animal print blouse with satin underblouse and high heels (see above, 4 inch heels walking in snow etc) In other words, I am not camouflaged as usual. I am OUT there. My clothing would be considered suitably muted if worm by a GG but worn by a tranny it is almost screaming “Look at me”.
Well, really it isn’t, but, this is what I am feeling, so I sit down in the LAST pew in the corner, away from everyone else. I bury my shaggy lil head into the missal and read the service (first Sunday of lent) and feel the eyes of the entire congregation upon me. Burning their disbelief that a tranny would dare to show its ugly face in church of all places.
Okay, here is the facts. No one started at me, no one cared, most everyone there is used to seeing me in one form of dress or another and could care less. I am usually warmly greeted, welcomed and asked after. I felt out of place because FEAR – the opposing force of Faith – drove me to self-doubt. Forced me to hide and not really enjoy what should have been an uplifting and life-affirming sermon. It was on the temptations of Satan to Christ (He fasted for forty days in the desert and Satan tried to get him to turn rocks into bread where Jesus replied “It is written, man does not live by bread alone” etc basically a HUGE FAIL by Satan and getting his horned lil head PWNED by JC.) so I paid attention yet did not get the full effect of the sermon or the readings. And, when all is said and done, it is MY fault for allowing it.
Cause I couldn’t pass to my eyes suitably, I blamed everyone else by assuming THEY saw me as out of place even when they didn’t. Not very fair, was I ? And it boils down to a simple lesson I learned a LONG time ago. If I have not faith in myself, why should anyone else ? Buck up the confidence baby. I am no Miss America, but I am me, the only person capable of being me is me. And if I can be confident that when I go out that I am faith-worthy of myself, others will have faith in me too.
If not, then the only thing that can replace faith would be fear.
And I really wish to fear no man, or woman, not even myself.
Much faith-based love
Kynthia
