What is Gender Identity?
What is Gender Identity "Disorder"?
Finding Resources
Hormones
Voice Therapy
Socialization
Legal Aspects
"Passing"
Life After Transition and "Stealth"
Facial Feminization Surgeries
Voice Surgeries
Orchiectomy (Castration)
Sex Reassignment Surgery
Later Years/Second Attempt
My Facial Feminization Surgeries
My Voice Surgeries
Early Years/First Attempt
I
hope that this does not happen to you. My first attempt at gender
role transition and surgery failed. Admittedly, it was more difficult
to transition young two decades ago, and primarily due to the Internet
and increased understanding and willingness to help us by gender
professionals, transitioning and surgery today is far easier for
young and old TS women. I am overjoyed by this.
I
am indebted to my father for keeping many of these old photos. He
sent them to me as I started my second attempt at transition.
Although I quite often dressed as a girl or at least femininely, no
photos of me dressed appropriately survive. The ones that do show me
dressed as a boy, but I am still happy to have them.
Childhood
Some
of my first memories include confusion as to why I was a boy. It did
not seem right. I knew that those labeled as boys had certain outside
plumbing, and those labeled as girls did not--their
"tee-tees" were not like a boy's. It seemed unfair that I
had to be labeled a boy just because of some plumbing that was not my
fault. I did not ask for this. By being labeled a boy, I was supposed
to be like them and be rough, stay away from girls, and not play with
dolls, E-Z Bake Ovens, or play house. I even had to dress like boys.
All because I was born with the wrong plumbing. This seemed so
unfair, and I wondered if something could be done about it. For
reasons that I could not understand, I knew that I should have been a girl.
I
never did get the hang of being a boy--being rough and all that. I
was quite a loner, dreaming of better things and taking care of kittens.
Much
later in life, my mother told me that she noticed that I had a
gender identity issue when I was three years old. Many psychiatrists
suggest that gender identity shows itself at around the age of three.
In my case, it would seem that they are right--my innate identity did
manifest itself at that time.
Sometimes
I Tried to Hide It
I
recall being ridiculed for my behavior almost all through childhood.
My elder brother would hit me if I unconsciously acted in a certain
way, for instance, it seems normal to carry books next to your breast
(like girls typically do) rather than at the waist (like boys
typically do). But my brother did not like that or other ways that I
acted so he would hit me. I did learn to carry my books in that odd
fashion, but I did not like it. My father was irritated by the way
that I walked--not manly in the slightest. He tried rather often to
teach me how to walk--legs apart, toes aimed away from each other
rather than "pigeon toed," strutting with my shoulders
moving. That was just too weird for me, and I refused to walk like
that. I never learned to walk like a man.
My
parents, for lack of present-day knowledge, did what they thought
was best and tried to rear me as a normal boy. It did not take. I was
sent to programs that had team sports (a YMCA group for boys, for
instance), including football (oh, horrors!), but fortunately, the
football program refused to take me. For the other rough and tumble
games, I was allowed to participate but I did not. I would remain in
the fields enjoying nature and weaving flowers, all alone, while the
boys had such fun beating on each other.
My
brother would admonish me and ask me, "Why are you so gay?"
Boys at school would call me, "Sissy Novak." At the
playground, boys would throw rocks at me. So, for a while, I tried to
fit in. I realized that there did not seem to be anything I could do
to "become a girl," so I hid my feelings, pretended to be a
boy, and tried not to let people know my deepest thoughts.
Please
note that today, children can transition to their self-identified
gender, so don't let youth stop you.
But
still, I was not accepted as a normal boy. I went to special
education, as well as speech therapy. I guess that I did not speak
like a boy should have.
I
remained quiet about it, but was always so jealous of girls--they
could be themselves but boys could not. I recall that at one time, I
thought that this was normal. I had the idea that there were two
kinds of people in the world--girls, and those who wished they were
girls (meaning, all boys). I found it shocking to learn that boys
generally were happy just being boys. Why?! I began to think that I
was the only one in the world like this.
I
often dreamt that I woke up in the morning anatomically correct. It
was almost the same each time. In most of my other dreams, I was
simply always a girl.
Sometimes I Did Not Hide It
At
the age of 10 or so, I looked at myself in the mirror and hated what
I saw. Not only was I a boy, but I looked like one, too. My hair was
too short and very much in a boy's style. The next time that my
mother called me to get a haircut, I refused.
My
hair did become longer, but sometimes I was coerced into getting a
trim. I finally had to refuse anything like that if I were to have a
girl's length of hair. But, when I was 12, my father forced a very
short haircut on me. I was extremely angry, and highly humiliated. At
school, I wore a hooded jacket and kept my head covered. I was too
ashamed to be seen with such a haircut. I refused all haircuts after that.
Eventually,
I began to feel good about myself. I could go into a store where no
one knew me, and people would call me, "Miss." I loved
that. I was starting to look like a normal girl should. However,
shortly after I turned 14, my father took me to a remote hotel,
shoved me down to the ground, kneeled on me so that I could not move,
and hacked my hair off.
I
have never forgiven him for that atrocity. That was the meanest
thing that someone could do to a girl. I'd rather have been
castrated. I remained very cautious of him after that and learned to
fight. I recall breaking on of his ribs in a fight with him when I
was 16. No more haircuts would ever be allowed.
|
My
hair did grow fast, so that when I was 15 (see photo), my hair was
past my shoulders. Naturally, that helped my self-esteem. However,
age 15 had a sinister surprise--puberty.
I
had some idea that this would not happen to me, that I was not
really going to turn into a man. By age 16, I had grown to about
5'10" or more, and had a low voice. That boy plumbing system
that I hated so much just got bigger and more intrusive. I thought
about just cutting it all off because it clearly did not belong. In order to cope, I wore more feminine clothes to school in Junior and Senior High School. When I was in Junior High, and the same size as my Mother, I would wear some of her clothes and shoes to school. I had to get my own clothes for High School. Mainly, I just wanted to be taken as a girl by strangers, and the damage from puberty made it more difficult. |
1974 (age 15) |
|
As
I approached the age of 21, some things were OK: I had a steady
boyfriend; my father found a job for me at the oil tool company where
he worked; I was playing synthesizers for a rock/art band; I grew my
hair down to my waist; I still did not have a beard or body hair. |
1978
(19th Birthday) |
By
1981, I had quit my job at the oil tool company and moved into an
apartment by myself. I could at least be Miss Kelly part time.
Perhaps that would get me out of my slump. I dressed more femininely
than I usually did, including in public. I had a neat hippy-type
dress that I wore a lot of the time, and sometimes out as well.
Indeed, I became serious about changing over to being Miss Kelly all
of the time, including the "sex change" surgery. I knew
that Walter Carlos became Wendy Carlos a few years before, and that
other people did this too, so I knew that it could be done.
But
how? There was not Internet at this time. Learning about how to
change one's sex was not an easy thing to do. I tried looking just
about everywhere that I could think of for references, but came up empty.
I
was being "mistaken" for a girl by strangers, although my
voice would often give me away. That was some comfort, but besides my
voice, by age 22, I was starting to grow a beard and even some body
hair. This just must stop.
Perhaps
the obvious solution was castration. I had not heard of Dr. Spector
at that time (he performed this procedure on transgendered people
simply for the asking, paying the money, and signing a waiver; as it
turned out, he was still operating 20 years later when I finally was
castrated by him), so I assumed that I would have to do this myself.
I
first tried simply taking a sharp knife and performing the deed
after drinking a lot of liquor. That failed, so I used a lot of very
tight rubber bands. The next day, I became frightened and took them off.
I
could not take this. I knew what I needed to do--start on hormones,
have surgery, live as Miss Kelly for the rest of my life, but I was
clueless as to how to make it all happen.
Well,
that was it. I had enough. I called a suicide hotline as a last
resort before doing anything more severe than attempted self-castration
and had a good talk to the wonderful people at the other end of the
phone line. They provided me with the number for the "sex change
clinic" right here in Houston!
Naturally
I called them up the very next day and made an appointment.
The
day of the appointment was exciting. I was finally going to become
what I seemingly needed to become--an actual girl.
Although
I had for years dressed rather androgynously or feminine in public,
and as a female locally, I felt that I should go to the appointment
dressed unambiguously as a young woman. So I did. However, I was not
used to riding two buses and walking all over strange neighborhoods
while wearing a skirt. I was frightened. However, I fortunately was
young enough that people did not seem to stare. The waist-length hair
was a big help, I assume.
The
first session went well. We talked about who I was and what I
wanted. I seemed normal enough of a transsexual woman to her (Cele
Keeper, CSW), so I was given an appointment with Dr. Jay Maxwell, the
head shrink in the gender group.
My
mother came by on the day that I was to have the session with Dr.
Maxwell. We had a nice talk and I explained where I was going and
why. She would drive me so that I would not have to take all day
riding public transportation. I told her that I needed to get ready
and look the part. She thought that that was good idea. I wore a
flowery blue button top, a knee-length denim skirt, and sandals. We
had a good talk on the way there. I did admit that I wanted surgery,
etc. She asked me about make-up. I was a klutz. But I did have a
younger brother who was good at his own make-up, perhaps I could
learn from him.