There's something Darlene mentioned in Kay's thread on admiration that I wanted to pursue because it struck a chord. This is the question of our "satisfaction" (or "dissatisfaction") with our body.
Saturday night I went to have dinner at a colleague's home. We had a great time. As I knew it would, the subject of my crossdressing came up (yes, I'm the one who brought it up). Apparently, she didn't know nor even suspect I was a CD (even with my calendar pix having created such a furor last year). She was full of questions (and that's good!). One thing she asked me was: "Is it that you don't like your body?" I had to think about that for a moment. In the end, I answered, "no, I like my body; it's brought me pleasure and it's brought me pain; it's been my constant companion on my own 'Magical Mystery Tour'." Yet. Yet, I told her that what she saw when she looked at me was not how I saw myself. And I'm not talking about the way I'm dressed, here.
I have a mental picture of myself as a person who's soft, tender, fairly mild-mannered, even delicate in some ways, yet my looks give no hint of this (I mean my boy mode looks). I've been told by people that I look mean or dangerous (e.g., when I don't shave). I have angular features, a strong jaw, and I'm big-boned. But I certainly don't cultivate all this "manliness." It's just the body I was born with. Hence, my "ambivalence" about my own body, my own looks. I know that many of my friends believe that the fact that, say, I don't dance or that I have a fairly low sex drive is evidence that I'm unwilling (or unable) to "commit" to my own body. And they're right, of course. The thing is (and this is where professionals consider that I have a disorder), I suffer a tremendous amount of distress because I'm "locked" into one gender (not sex, but gender). This is why, for example, I know I'm not a true transsexual. I would be just as unhappy if I always had to be a woman (through SRS, HT, and various other transsexualizing procedures).
I was trying to explain all this to my colleague (the fine red wine helped loosen my tongue some). She found it unfortunate that I seemed to be repressing my true self so much. "The world is definitely no ready for my true self," I shot back, half-jokingly. I told her that, when we're talking transgender, we're also talking beatings, humiliation, deaths, job loss, and overnight stays in jail. That is, when who we are goes public. Privately, it's a different matter. I don't think she understood what I was trying to say. She replied that, of course, if she did some of the things she wants to in public, she'd face similar risks. But that' just it, isn't it? We CD's face those risks because of who we are; and who we are comes out in what we do. It's so damned hard explaining to people what it feels like to be condemned because of who you are--even should you never act in any way with anyone that would ever reveal who you are to the world at large. It's a constant pressure on your being. Constant.
Anyway, back to the body. I am not my body. My body is an aspect of who I am. Why do people have such a hard time grasping this concept? Is it that we live in a culture where "appearance" is the determining factor in a person's identity? Of course, my body has had a definite influence on my sense of identity because, precisely, this is what people relate to first. I would not be the same person I am today if I didn't "have" the body I do. I pretty much like who I am so, in that regard, I am grateful for the body I have. But people who relate only to my body miss the biggest aspect of who I am: my mind (or soul or spirit or whatever you want to call it).
Many will say that, in this case, we have no choice; we're born with the body we're born with, and that's that. However, as we all know, that's just not true... the body can be changed ("We have the technology; we can rebuild him."
). The mind is a lot more resistant to change (and I mean the deep-rooted sense we have of our own self-identity). In a way, I don't have the same body I had even ten years ago. Our cells die or are sloughed off, only to be replaced by ever new cells, on average every seven years (this is a philosophical conundrum; in what way can we then say we're the same person we've always been if not by turning to the mind?). No, I am not my body. But I do think I am my mind (for I know my body can survive for quite a while without my mind but my mind cannot last a second without my body). So, my mind is necessarily related to my body. Thus, my ambivalence. I wouldn't have such difficulty "being in my own flesh" if the world of which I'm part could interact with me based on what's in my mind (and heart) more than on the mere basis of what my body looks like. I know, I know, this desire is as old as the hills themselves. But it's there, nonetheless.Anyway, I started this "offshoot" of Kay's thread--where "appearance" put in an appearance more than once--here, so as not to hijack the topic of flattery and admiration. I'm curious to hear what you all think about this.
Love,
CJ
).
Anyway, about the furor, at some point last year, I was keeping the forum up to date on what was happening with a "crossdressed calendar" we were creating for a female colleague at work, as a funny "gift" for her tenth anniversary party. People enjoyed my photos and commented that I really seemed to have enjoyed making them. Well, yes, I did. 
) But, as the only way to accomplish these things is with dangerous chemical therapy and painful, irreversible surgeries, steps which I'm certainly not going to take at this point in my life, I'll just have to be happy with what I am.
