Hair, makeup, outfit, primping. Sometimes it feels like I’m putting on a show. If I stopped putting myself together for a few days, no one would believe I am a woman–not for a second. Throwing on some sweat pants and a t-shirt with an unshaven face shines me in a different light few people have seen since I transitioned. The only people I allow to witness me in this state are my family–more specifically my mother and brother. It is possible for me to do this without stress, embarrassment, or anxiety because I know they won’t judge me in any way, or put me in a situation where I would be uncomfortable. This is not the case with my father as of yet.
My dad is not as empathetic, and sometimes mentions things that are off about my appearance. He made a comment on the frizz in my hair when I was growing it out and trying to figure out the proper maintenance routine. Although it may have come from a place of sincerity within him, it left me feeling insecure about it. This remains true years later, even though I have made vast improvements since that day. He is not a malicious man, but I know he will notice if step off my game, and he would be the one to tell me when I am not looking my best. This has made me uncomfortable with seeing him without putting on the show.
In the interest of continuing to find confidence in myself, I decided to break my rock-solid perpetual rule about leaving the house without shaving my face. There’s not an excessive amount of hair-growth, but it is enough to be noticed if I skip a day. It was supposed to be a private dinner with my father and brother anyway, which seemed like a good opportunity to step outside my protective appearance bubble for once. It is exhausting to ensure my body is in a minimum presentable state every time I leave the house.
My brother and I fill the 30 minute trip to my dad’s with banter and discussion. His usual routine is solitary; we have gone days without seeing each other even when neither of us left the house! It can be hard to catch him in a mood susceptible to interruption, but we can go on for hours. Being on the road provides us with an opportunity to be trapped in conversation for a while. As an added bonus, he is less frustrated by the weekend drivers if he is heavily engaged.
We made our way through the isolated upscale neighborhood my father nested into. This area never felt like home to me. The people are friendly, but I have a hard time relating to those who write scathing letters complaining about the trash rules, or the color of their neighbor’s shed. I think it took my father over a year to tell them about me because he was afraid of how it would affect his standing in the community. He might be under the impression having a trans-child reflects poorly on him. I am proud of him for coming out to his community–I certainly wouldn’t want to tell a bunch of conservatives about my transition! My favorite pastime growing up there was the ability to disappear into nature and be with myself.
I noticed a yellow SUV stopping nearby my father’s house as we were arriving. My brother is equally averse to being sociable when he’s not in the right mood, and quickly pulled into the driveway with the intent of avoiding contact with this person. His actions were hilariously in tune with my feelings. I was nervous about why the strange car was choosing to rest here of all places, especially because I didn’t want to get close enough for them to notice the blonde stubble on my face. We started to walk into the garage and the stranger followed behind us. I turned and realized he was a muscular teenage boy. Seriously? Today?
My brother established first contact as I shuffled further into the depths of the garage in a futile attempt to forge a distance between us. Apparently, his name was Ben and he came to contribute his muscles to help us to install a giant awning onto my father’s deck, which we knew nothing about.
Long story short, I spent the next half hour doing everything in my power to assist the installation while maintaining the largest distance possible from Ben. I tried my best to be the awkward girl who didn’t know how to make eye contact with strangers. This may seem like an odd goal, but I was freaking out inside. My defeated social anxiety rose from the ashes to strike me down once more. I relived the same panic that made me want to tear through my skin back in high school.
I am unsure if Ben noticed me enough to be uncomfortable. It doesn’t matter, the damage was done. I wanted to crawl out of my body for the rest of the dinner and hide somewhere I couldn’t be seen. I couldn’t help but feel frustrated with my father for failing to mention the project we would be assisting him with, and the presence of extra bodies at our dinner meetup. It was more frustrating to realize this was not really my father’s fault, but mine. I had decided to make myself vulnerable based on expectations I had crafted for the evening. It would have been nice to be given a heads up, but my father doesn’t work that way.
My brother can do the same thing to me sometimes by having people over without telling me. It doesn’t bother me when he has company, but I love to know about it to prevent myself from walking into a social engagement when I have my guard down. One time, I spent an uncomfortable amount of time confined to my room without food or water because I didn’t want his visitor to see me, and I wasn’t about to put myself together to grab a bite to eat. It is important to me to stay as far away from the “man in a dress” trope as possible. This vision is shattered every time someone sees me when I am not prepared.
I have asked them to warn me about such things, but it is a small afterthought for them, and is easily missed. My mother does a pretty good job of alerting me before springing stuff on me because she is a bit more sensitive to the potential damage.
It would benefit me greatly to figure out devices to deal with these situations in a healthier manner. I can feel comfortable, or even confident in public when I want to be there. Achieving a level of ease with a person where I am able to drop the performance remains a challenge. In my mind, no one desires me without my smoke and mirrors. I know this isn’t true, but it is how I feel. My family loves me unconditionally, but I can’t stand to be seen by anyone else when I give myself a break.
I don’t want to be disgusting. I don’t want to be a freak. I want to be seen as the real me when I take a day off. Maybe I am. Maybe it is all in my head. This is part of the challenge I face when I attempt to lower walls and be vulnerable with people. This was an ongoing struggle when I was in my last relationship. The sunrise brought a collection of unwanted characteristics leaving me feeling insecure and unattractive. She tried to assure me I looked good, and even sexy, but accepting her words of endearment felt like affirmation of my undesirable masculine past. It is hard to make peace with the traits that pushed me over the edge and ultimately to undergo the transition.
My showmanship-fatigue has been a driving force in body-altering decisions. It has been unclear to me how I can be intimate with another person without being embarrassed to share my body. Going through a breast augmentation and beginning some hair removal gave me body-confidence I haven’t experienced before. Now I have something sexy and feminine no one can take away from me. Fighting the rest of the way to the finish line on sexual reassignment surgery has never felt so right. Getting my body in alignment should diminish the compulsion I feel to maintain the spectacle.
The show must not go on.
Transgender Unfiltered 