Tag Archives: therapy

The Sanity Clause

This is the recommendation letter for top surgery that I wrote but didn’t send. Disclosure – my therapist reads my blog because I am not a big talker.

Jamie is an adult and is mature enough to decide to get top surgery. If Jamie wanted breast augmentation I wouldn’t be writing a permission letter, you’d just ask what cup size and take the money. 

As confused as Jamie has been about being trans, and as long as it took to get to this point, I don’t think anyone can talk Jamie out of this. It is her their body and I am honestly tired of listening to her them complain about wearing a binder and being a boy. Enough already. Please schedule this ASAP. Maybe then she they will deal with the remaining issues so that she they can finally finish therapy.

Grouch Marx and Chico Marx discuss the "Sanity Clause" in A Night at the Opera.

Grouch Marx and Chico Marx discuss the “Sanity Clause” in A Night at the Opera.

I’ve written my own recommendation letters before. A letter from a professor for a job, one from a friend for a co-op apartment purchase package, and my annual performance review at work. I always knew what to say.

Lo, those many years ago when I started therapy, I told my therapist that I had three issues I needed to work on: compulsive eating, my Dad’s death, and “gender stuff.” I spent many years avoiding talking. It’s been an expensive game of chess. One move and then a lot of silence. Then another move. When she questioned me I clammed up. Session after session. She waited me out.

I’m slow to trust and make personal connections. I expect people to judge me.

I look like an old-fashioned butch lesbian. Masculine attire, short hair, sensible shoes. A long-term relationship, a cute dog, and a dented green Subaru Outback. I thought I was keeping “it” under control. No one questioned whether I was butch enough; no one asked me if I was transgender. When there was an opening to talk about it I teetered on the precipice, but regained my balance. Continue reading

Mourning a Lost Boyhood

lost-boyhood-converse

Photo by xakeshot on deviantART

I can accept that I am butch and transgender, but I have trouble accepting that I will never be a boy. It should be obvious; I am chronologically an adult. I can’t time-travel backwards. It is unfair that I only got to be a child once, and that I went through it as a girl. No second chance.

The adults tried to convince me that I should want to be a girl. That I should be happy I was a girl. I kept hoping I would morph into a boy. I refused to believe that body parts were destiny. I kicked and screamed and dragged my feet through childhood. I would not march willingly into the strange territory of teenage girls. I dug in my heels and hoped for a miracle. Continue reading

The Tipping Point

If-I-were-as-butch-as-TonyMy first tipping point was the summer between kindergarten and first grade. I developed a crush on Sandy and I developed a way to deal with my world.

It was the summer my grandfather died from lung cancer. It was a hot New York summer. We lived in an apartment that was not wired for air conditioning. My grandmother decided that she should take us (my mother, my brother and me) for a couple of weeks to Sacks Lodge in the Catskills. My Dad took the bus up from the city on weekends.

Sacks Lodge had a day camp and a children’s dining room for breakfast and lunch. They kept us busy and out-of-the-way until dinner. Sandy worked in the dining room. She was 17, and had long blond hair pulled back in a pony tail. Continue reading