Self-acceptance, towards and beyond

The whole experience of writing a blog which does get read but doesn't get many comments is an odd one. Overall, though this is very uneven, it is gradually getting to feel less adequate, to me, as an expression of my transness. It feels like a private dance with some unknown faces looking in at me through the window, though I can't see them.

So lapses in blog-writing should not be taken as lapses in trans identification. Am I repaying loyalty, or something, by continuing to post?

If you're new to the blog, I'd recommend you read Mirror Sister first, then Deborah Descends, in an older to newer posts order. I think what I've written in the past is more interesting than anything I can think of to write right now.

To report in any case, the trans identification feels vague but firm. Less of a thrill, less fascinating, as it very gradually settles. Whatever it is exactly, it is something, and if I had embraced it and the culture around me had accepted it so much would have been so different.

I cry for my past. Whatever the true cause of my trans feelings, I am definitely one of many male-bodied people whose lives have been damaged by having our characters measured against a standard of 'masculinity' (uggh!!). And the intolerance of variation in sexual feelings has taken its toll as well. Of course the world is completely unjust, and I am certainly not claiming 'I've suffered more than others'. But naturally one feels the oppressions one has suffered oneself most keenly.

For my future there's no obvious direction, beyond self-acceptance.

Deep pleasure, deep truth

Ah, to reconnect with my crossdreaming feels like watering the plant of my soul. Suddenly again I am fresh, stimulated, sensitive, vital.

Oh how good I feel when a deep part of me pushes itself to the surface and expresses itself through the delightful form of sexual ecstasy.

A part of me suppressed, repressed, that has grown in me in such a different way from other parts of me.

A part that is deeply me, not taken on board from my surrounding culture.

I owe it to myself to cherish and develop this important part of me. In pleasurable moments I feel this keenly.

I also feel a keen bond with my sisters who share this characteristic. xxx

Proud tears

I just want to say that my inner femaleness makes me so proud and happy I could cry.

It's reclamation, liberation, it's potential, it's adventure.

Character is more easily shed, more easily developed, than you might suppose.

Oh lets not argue, lets not have to justify. Be who you want to be. xxx

Join the club, t-girl

Yes I am following the familiar trajectory of someone who gradually shifts from identifying as having sexual trans fantasies (i.e. 'crossdreamer') to identifying as generally transgender.

My thinking about this is that what is moving me down this path is something deeper than cerebral thought; that any articulation of the changing attitude would be mere rationalisation.

Intellectually I have analysed interpretations of crossdreaming and transgender, and my conclusion is a great big question mark.

So I instruct my intellectual analysis stand aside. I go with a deeper flow. Let others analyse me as I swim. My beliefs stem from my movement, they do not stand aside to assess it.

So I am a t-girl.

I acknowledge and respect the boy parts of who I am, but they are not my deep identity.

This is not actually a proud claim; in fact it feels a little shamefaced. This is because I am coming to a realization about myself which others realized about themselves in the very early years of their lives.

Slow on the uptake, Debbie.

To identify as a crossdreamer was easy, once I'd encountered the term (thanks Jack!), because it was objectively verifiable that I did crossdream. But all t-people have to go on is an inner feeling that flies in the face of the body, education and cultural pressure.

So I am not the most forthright or confident of t-girls. But t-girl I AM. xxx

Voices in a crossdream

Oh, this writing a blog is so wordy, so cerebral.

My phantom carnality wants to dance:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=icJiUUBp1Po&feature=share&list=RDdeK_KXkSLkM

Love to you all,
Deborah xxx

Me versus him

I have presented myself as having a friendly, co-operative relationship with Mirror Brother. This might be the case overall; nevertheless, he is my jail, so of course I often feel like bashing him to pieces.

I'd like to discard him with affection, but fucking hell the time to discard him is well overdue.

Submit to your evolution, caterpillar.

It seems good to relativise Mirror Brother's personality, that I have regarded as my personality. An audacious self-recreation is strong, adventurous and exciting. I know it's all a bit abstract, but hey, we are all floating in unchartered virtual space.  

While self-recreation can be advocated as if gender were incidental, my yearning for my new identity to be female, female, female is SOOOOOOOH strong! It makes me want to fight and it makes me want to cry...

Deborah being danced

I - my conscious understanding - am dancing with something much bigger than myself. Any notion I might have that I am leading the dance is foolish.

A blog gives a sense of power - the blogger is god in their own blogworld. Just choosing words to put out to be read by other people presents an impression of control.

But I do not really comprehend my transness. More importantly, I do not know what to do with it, where to take it.

I am fed up with arguing points, as if from a position of assured comprehension.

So perhaps a blog is not the best medium for what I am seeking - an affirmation and development of my inner femininity.

A sense of impasse sometimes leads Mirror Brother to think 'cut the online cd-life out, this will give you so much more time and energy for other pursuits.'

But I, Deborah, need to breathe. I don't want to be totally cooped up in one person's psyche.

I do not seek to persuade you to believe anything. I just wish to be witnessed.

This blog remains the best place I know for my inner female to say 'Here I am. I exist and I am female.'

The urge to say that is so strong, so deep.