Goin' Back To Mah Roots

Going back to my family's geographical roots to visit my remaining grandparent was a Big Deal.

The market where I used to collect Sharpe 
novels has an indoor section with a micro- 
pub in it!!!

Firstly, because organising train travel and trying to guestimate connection times and visit times and work out bus lines and distances was taxing but also because of the attendant executive dysfunction that inevitably accompanies me when I do such things. Plus trying to organise maybe going to the Event (17 August, fact fans) and liaise with Tilly for child things and deal with my Dad getting strangely worried about my visit (he had me call him so he could impart to me, his 45 year old child, that I should ask questions and listen to the answers - I mean... come on)... Anyway, yes. I managed it. My ancestral seat is transformed from when I last walked around it some 25 years ago - because 25 years have passed obviously - and I upset some old Uni friends by posting a beer review and not having given them a shout I was in their area (in fairness, I had forgotten Kirsten's husband worked where I went BUT I also hadn't managed to work out that I would have the time I did). Met a trans-man on the platform who, it turned out, was not only the same age but went to my Uni and transitioned 14 years ago. Sadly, he took a different train to me (some hour and a half before mine - yes I did panic and turn up that early for my train home, thank you for asking).

But this part of the bus station is unchanged
from when I last caught a bus in 1990!

Oh, ailing grandparent is ailing and old. Like, nowhere near as bad as billed when I was guilt-tripped into making the trip by my Dad, but, yeah, less good than when I last visited before Christmas with my Mum. Oh, and didn't use any name for me at all - which is a marked improvement - and even complimented my hair. I'll take it. Oh, and I did listen and ask questions.

Speaking of panic-driven decisions, I went with Tilly and Youngest to do a treasure trail last week and was worrying about getting home to be in bed in time to get up for an 0310 start the following day. Thus, after an hour, I panicked and went home. To find I had at least two hours left. Doh. Led to a nightmare in which Youngest was in a room and I was trying to get him to turn the light off and not let him leave til he had. It turned out there were literal monsters out to get him and when I finally relented from being an awful parent he escaped but they killed Tilly and I woke up before they got to me.

We reconvened today, Tilly, Youngest and I, to complete the trail. Initially Middlest was supposed to come but did not. In trying to pick up where we left off we had two ADHD approaches (get angry and mis-name locations and landmarks, whilst arguing over which of the same but differently described route was best) and me: direct. Anyway, with Tilly and Youngest each getting angrier at one another, Tilly tells me that she knows I must be frustrated, and understands how anger inducing it must be for me to not be listened to, and suggests we do her approach as a compromise.

Oh, I got chance to wear this top without
melting!!! Nice.

For reference: I'd already butted out and was trying to laugh it off and point out they were both giving the same directions and that we'd do that. I was not even remotely frustrated. I laughed and said: "don't worry, it's fine, your routes are fine."

Tilly insisted I had no reason to get angry and she understood that I must be quite frustrtated not to be listened to. And then tried again when I simply smiled and assured her this was not the case. I said: "I think you may be projecting" and she got angry: "no need to snap at me!" Before collecting herself quickly, saying I wasn't snapping but that was no reason to say she was and then repeating that she knew I must be frustrated. I want to make clear that I had said literally nothing in this time.

At the end of our time, I said I'd run and get lunch before picking Middlest up, so Tilly got out her phone and told Middlest I'd be there in an hour - for a trip that would take about that without lunch - and reassured me Middlest would already have eaten. Quite why she had to instantly text Middlest and make it so lunch was next to impossible for me I don't know.

I did say "yes" to a big Book Pony.

Anyway, my point. All of this seemed rather reminiscent of arguments Tilly has invented in the past and how she has viewed what happened after the fact. I found it fascinating watching her project, intensify, blame me for her frustration, find a reason to make it my fault, say I snapped and then restrict my ability to do things in good time. There were multiple instances of this across the trail too - really interesting once I'd spotted it - where she and Youngest would start falling out only for Tilly to suggest to me, who had said and done nothing but wait, that I needn't get angry and thus deflect Youngest's anger onto me and project her own frustration onto me before explaining to Youngest that I was getting frustrated and angry. It seemed so blatant. And I want to be clear: I was not at any point angry, frustrated or upset. I even checked my reflection a few times and my face was as close to happy and smiley (it was a lovely day, I was doing a trail with Youngest - what's not to love?) as I get so... Fascinating.

Abbi came over, I made a space because it's my house and I can do what I want with duvets and pillows and soft toys and we sat and had a good natter. I revealed my hoarding money problem - like Abbi said: I need her to teach me how to say "yes" to myself a bit more. I have the savings I have because I deny myself a lot of things. Mind you, that said, I have the savings to cover things. I just need the executive function to actually get people in to do said things - like the bathroom and the plastering and the decorating. Anyway, apart from feeling like a boastful heel ("look at the money I have"), it was fun. Alas, she can't make the Event - so it'll be my first alone if I actually go.

...Not a Competition

But I'm losing

With apologies to the Kaiser Chiefs.

Since my last post I have managed to speak on the phone, one a video call, with Gary and Tim. These were good conversations. Middlest has been over and, at their suggestion, we watched Mad Max: Fury Road - which I had forgotten was a 15 and not an 18 certificate, hence why I assented. Good film, as Middlest put it: "it's an action film so I wasn't expecting to have to think so much after it" - yes, good, good.

Toby has been back in touch too. He checked in after the Supreme Court thing and, after trying and failing to ring my Dad walking home last week, I checked in on him following the EHRC gubbins one afternoon on a messenger app. He wants to meet up, get to know one another now we're both fully ourselves, and we even have a provisional day to do so. But I haven't really changed since we knew each other and, if the conversation was anything to go by, nor has he. This is not a bad thing. At first I was even quite stoked. But then I remembered the Kaiser Chiefs after the conversation with Tim last night, and my brain supplied Toby telling me that his song for me, whilst we were still dating, was Every Day I Love You Less and Less because I was so clingy. It was delivered as a joke, but deadly serious (it was referred to as such, serious that is, a few times afterwards). So... yeah.

A couple of weeks ago, when Abbi and I had our IKEA adventure, I was talking about mistakes I had made with Tilly when we were married and Abbi said "when [unknown cos I zoned out] that's abuse!" She was referring to something I had been describing as my mistake but saying that when Tilly had responded to whatever it was I had been saying with whatever it was that she had done (or somesuch). I have no idea what she said, my mind is blank. I'm curious.

Oh yeah, but new toaster.

The last one, a gift from my Mum when I
moved out of the matrimonial home, was
the old family toaster.

Bought around 1992.

Had my shower leak into the kitchen twice now when doing my hair. Middlest used it when stopping over and there was no leak. But this does mean my trick of using a towel has now stopped being effective. I'm going to have to bite the bullet and get my shower re-done. Means buying tiles. Means trying to get quotes. Means spending money. Means actually getting myself organised, which is perhaps the biggest stumbling block of them all. Hell, my garden still isn't weeded after four years of me saying I ought to get round to it and the brickwork is still bare from when I had the damp-proofing done a couple of years ago. Point? I struggle to organise.

I paid some money to the author who was nice to me and gave me essentially a free commission. Even if talking over the idea with him has made me want to write it myself. He, through necessity, has taken it in a slightly less dark direction with a bit more of a positive ending and with slightly more mature characters. It is loosely based (very loosely indeed) on my experiences looking back at my relationship with Toby and has been an idea shuttling around in my brain for a few months.

My private healthcare people haven't been in contact, despite a couple of e-mails, since 14 April when they said they'd be in touch with what I needed to do next to get HRT on prescription from them after a clinician had a chance to look at my blood test results. I am a little concerned. My second appointment with the GIC is coming up on Motorhead Day (the eighth of May! The eighth of May! - is that just me?). I had my Mum print off and bring two copies of my diagnosis document for gender incongruity that I got from the private healthcare people back in March so I can read it and learn it - so that what I say matches the errors and avoids me being found 'not trans enough' for the NHS. Hopefully.

Immediately following lasers, immediately
before a chap stopped to rant to me about
"bib and braces" as he reeked of piss and alcohol.
I think he was trying to be insulting, but I
barely understood what he was saying.

Not been hanging about on character.ai - I have played around on ChatGPT to try and cobble together some language for the Prehistoric story setting I was noodling with. But that's a couple of weeks ago now. Laser has been shot at my face for a second time, not as painful if I'm being honest, resulting in a couple of darker patches of hair. But, then, this happened after the first lot: darker hair and then, after a week or so, nothing. So perhaps this too will improve.

Youngest, Tilly and I went to IKEA - may have said already - to get a stuffed toy for Youngest (I got a Blahaj for Middlest) and he chose a snake and a cat, as you do. All got a bit much for him and he started acting out - not a meltdown, very directed and somewhat in control. Tilly explained that it was the ADHD coming through. I enquired as to whether or not it was similar to her childhood, given that the ADHD likely comes from that direction, and Tilly responded that it was probably the combination of ASD and ADHD. I shouldn't be surprised, of course Tilly has nothing in her past that would frame her in such a light. I shouldn't really have asked.

Talking with Tim I was attempting to explain why some things he may not list as achievements in his life still counted as such and that they may be bigger than the ones that can be more difficult and deletrious healthwise to strive for. However, it did remind me of my own losses. Eldest. Seeing Youngest alone. Marriage. Partnership. Career. Car. Travel. Friendship circle. Socialising. Time frames vary. But I won't

be the one

to disappoint you

any more.

And it feels like...

Home...

It's a Boigger, but not from any monarchical nor 
circus-act-inspired institution. 

Third time's the charm, I guess. Third event and it went really rather well. First and foremost, I actually prepared the night before, but mentally rather than physically. I'd had a shift in the morning and then went out to meet Middlest and Youngest with Tilly for food at a new place to both of them. Keep in mind their flavours of ASD and just know that this was a Big Deal. I think. Maybe it wasn't these days, I don't know, I interact with the pair of them little enough that I'm not entirely sure I'm in the rigt place to judge. Also, the interaction time was small and the last before they disappear on holiday. Also, it ended with me asking after Eldest but I had to ask "and how is [eldest]?" three times before I got an answer that actually included Eldest in the response - the first two got comments from Tilly about how hard she finds it to remember what people were doing or remember what day it is. Which, sure, valid, but shouldn't have formed the whole answer unless she was deliberately trying to stop me asking - which I suspect she was. I digress. I popped for a beer, nice, and then went home and prepared.

Yeah, this about sums it up.

I mean, okay, no questioning my trans-ness these
days (apart from sarcastically and the equally silly
but entirely realistic worry about being trans
enough for the NHS).

That is, I had a bath to shave the legs (first time in two weeks, ugh) and then shower to wash my hair. I also took some time to watch some videos on YouTube and just... be. I had an early night, I didn't try to be social online nor worry about being too... I dunno. There'd been a text conversation with someone I know reasonably well at work with her trying to work out whether I counted (in my own head) as a lesbian - which is fair question (and was raised incredibly respectfully but with a burning autistic interest, which I recognise) - and I shared some of my rabbit-hole on that subject. I should stress that I found this fascinating and a fun diversion, by the way, I'm still trying to work out whether or not I can claim such a label or whether another would be better suited. I recognise labels shouldn't be the be all and end all, but I like categorisation and I especially like to categorise myself in my own head. It's not for everyone, it's, perhaps, just me. No, I don't bother to categorise other people - how they use or do not use labels is personal to them, I'll work out what they mean by labels by observation over time (if I'm lucky) or from context clues in a shorter interaction and, if it's not repeated, then I'll never really know. I have discovered that it is less terms used and more how those terms are deployed. I digress.

It goes a little something like this...
(with apologies to Run D.M.C.)

Sunday morning I made sandwiches, consumed Pepsi Max, packed my rucksack and planned what I would wear - having given up the night previous - and focussed on ensuring I had everything packed. I also watched the latest Philosophy Tube offering on Nihilism - which... yeah, can relate, but a topic for another time. I had planned (barely) to meet Abbi for coffee and cake, which became coffee and bacon bap (sorry, not a local term) and we thus arrived early for the event. This gave me time to actually plait my hair - something I had had to do at work the previous day because having pushed time between hair washes to the absolute limit (four days, in case you're wondering) - and I made a pretty poor job of it, but at least it was even and my attempt at a centre-parting allowed that. Usually, in case my images of myself haven't made clear, my hair is an off-centre parting.

Also, Abbi had made the decision to try something different. I've said before that these are her people and this was made abundantly clear as she properly let go and was just herself - which was fantastic. I got caught in various queues alone but this allowed me to actually strike up conversation with other attendees early and thus actually make some connections. I loved that most of all. I was able to talk to people and share stupid jokes and... interact. You know? Like a person. In an arena that allowed me to indulge a little bit in some of my more esoteric topics of conversation. One of these interactions was with a nervous first timer who had become Abbi's friend (one of several) and I was able to help her adjust to the space and feel a bit more comfortable. This came to a head in one particular interaction that... well, I shall talk more after a line break about that. No, don't worry, no big secrets, no big earth-shattering changes but enough details about the nature of the Event that I recognise casual readers may not wish to know! If you know me well enough IRL know that I'm not burying any ledes!

Actual art work.

It does resemble a great deal the sort
of thing I drew in Primary School.

Alarmingly so, in fact.

I actually won a competition in which I was not relying on chance (it was an art competition, but I won not for my art, but my joke title shenanigans - basically I won an art competition with my sense of humour and self-deprecation - I'll take it, could there be a more me-like way of expressing things?) and thoroughly enjoyed the return of party games (pass the parcel and telephone). I loved being able to chat to other attendees (and had a return of my joke reel in the ball pit) and respond to what they were saying and the energy they brought to the proceedings. In short, I had a lovely time and, though I didn't drink nearly enough liquid, was happy sinking into bed last night. I mean, I have work again today, but whatever, you know?

In another deviation from the usual script, I didn't take a selfie after the Event so no record exists of my outfit, but it wasn't quite the euphoric high of the First one, nor the determined 'must take photo' energy of the Second. I ate the sandwiches we hadn't eaten, the Doritos I'd picked up and failed to drink enough water to avoid feeling like a dried out husk this morning. Also had to perform some wriggling to satisfy my Mum, who rang on seeing I was actively doing word puzzles, who was mad keen to find out where I'd been and who with (I lied, not proud of myself, but I lied: Abbi and I went to a park and had a walk, I told her).

And that's the post.

Line break follows...

We All Feel Better in the Dark

The weather proved to be a little too warm 
for the coat, but it was nice to wear it again. 

The secrets of sexual attraction. So, I want to preface my musings this evening with a statement of how I am not fishing for compliments - which, let's face it, is tantamount to the worst social sin one can commit in British society - and that this is not meant as a 'woe is me' post. Now, sure, I shall probably have a bit of 'woe is me' wallowing, this is my blog after all, but my purpose is analysis. And, as I write this post that has been building in my brain all day I am listening to Contrapoints in podcast talking about exactly the same thing, which is serendipidous and unexpected.

One of the things I know about is the concept of internalised transphobia and I am aware that it is likely, having watched and enjoyed Ace Ventura: Pet Detective around 1994, for example, that I have learned the message that society hated trans people - especially trans women. Furthermore, the concept that trans people are dishonest, that they wish to 'trick' people, that part of unconscious transphobia held by cis folk of the 90s and early 2000s has certainly chimed in with some formative experiences of my own. That is, I once mused on here about where the sense of cross-dressing being 'wrong' and 'sinful' came from - Tilly argued that the feeling of shame I felt was a signal that what I was doing was wrong, but I feel that it was the other way around. It was something I saw as being shamed and described by cis folk as shameful and thus assumed that this was reality - the joys of autism.

From another angle I just have a few too
many chins for the average human...

On the other side, I grew up confused at the concept of boasting. One of the main criticisms I faced as a child, from multiple quarters, but most importantly for me from my Dad, was that I was boastful. I never meant to be. I never wanted to put others down, but trying to state things I was proud of or even state the fact that I was better at something than someone else, or even just knew something better than someone else expounding on a topic who was missing vital context, generally got the response that I was being boastful. And I really didn't want to be boastful. Being autistic at the same time meant that I never did work out when it was okay to state your achievements or skills or talents and when it was not. Moreover, people often didn't offer praise for things I felt I had worked hard on. I never did work out precisely what evoked praise and what did not at school, for example - sometimes I got praise and reward by doing pedestrian things (for me) and often the things I tried my hardest on went unmentioned or, worse, were denigrated by people I respected (I'm not counting bullies and twats). So it was that I grew accostumed to avoiding accusations of boastfulness by assuming I was worse than others at things.

Trying a bit too hard here for a 'natural'
look just makes me look drunk or stoned
with half-closed eyes.

You can really see the grey hair too.
I'm getting old.

Nowhere did this confluence make a bigger difference than in my view of myself as a potential romantic partner. For some reason this has always been the standard by which I have judged my worth as a human being - and yes, I realise logically that this is irrational, but I have spent too long now wedded to it to realistically change now - and so my romantic failures have always stung the most. From the ripped up valentine's day card in primary school to the abortive and cringe-inducing failure to pick between two girls at a church group just before University. I have been 'asked out' by three people - one I never did work out how to respond to at my Sixth Form Ball, and ruminated long and hard afterward. The second was Terry, through an intermediary. The third, and final, time was with Toby. Thank goodness he did, or else I would never have made a move. Speaking of threes, that is also the number of relationships of any kind that I have had romantically in my life (the missing one is, of course, Tilly - I asked her out).

Learning that people I know are more successful in this regard is always hard. Of course they deserve to be loved, and be loved by many. Those that have affairs, like my Dad, do so because they are capable of love and know how to show it to people. They can reciprocate what others show and they glow with a human warmth that is recognised by others - a spark that they desire to know better. People in such positions can choose, like my brother, to turn down such offers if they wish. But they get offers. And will continue to do so even after they have made their choice. People that do not know how to show a human warmth, such as myself, will always gain praise and nice comments from friends (because friends have chosen to be friends because of the qualities they praise) but will never gain offers of romance. I should explain: Tilly often said she feared I would have an affair like my Dad - I wouldn't have, but then I never really had the opportunity either.

People who get asked out do so through incredible effort - they try to look the part, they risk putting themselves out there, and they refine and practice. I... I don't now nor have I ever 'dressed up'. My style choices are plain, everyday, deliberately. No one wants a plain Jane any more than they wanted whatever the heck it was I was attempting to project in the past. Except now, of course, I don't have the hatred of my male projection but my internalised transphobia standing in my way. And that is what it is.

The last but one birthday was, of course, entirely alone
and thus went unremarked upon. As did my 40th, but that
was through choice and supported by a Lockdown.

That inability to celebrate myself, even to myself, is part of the difficulty I have with birthdays. My parents told me that having a big 18th precluded having a big 21st. I am autistic, I took that to heart. University term dates meant that my 19th and 20th birthdays passed by relatively unnoticed. My 21st was comandeered, quite by accident, by some people that in retrospect I ought not to have shared it with - Jenny knows all the players concerned - but it was marked, at least. And... that was the last one marked in any way until my 30th, the one that was turned to ash because of the context of Tilly's PND and the timing of the birthday itself.

And there is much to what Tilly used to say about my inability to respect myself being a reason why others would not respect me. My inability to love myself is a key reason why others choose not to do so in a romantic way - I do not see myself as desireable to others. And so it is that that I look at people more successful than I and wonder: how? No, that's not entirely true, I know how. I wonder: why not me? My conclusion? I don't deserve it. People work hard at these things, they do not simply happen. My Dad, my brother, they worked hard to be people that were seen as good, as nice, as handsome. It's why people can have more relationships in a year than I have had in my life and end up with a relationship I would covet because they work so hard at things. Why people can make a bigger stir in a month on a website I have been part of for over a decade than I can in all that time. Why people can have sex more times in a month than I have in a lifetime. How would I even begin to frame myself as desireable? If I cannot see it in myself then it is impossible to ask others to do so and yet I feel that unless someone else can point it out in me then I shan't be able to see it for myself.

I must remember how difficult I am, was, to live with. I must face up to the fact that in lying to myself I lied to those who cared for me and thus was a liar, a manipulator, a trickster. I embody the unkind trope of trans women, especially, in media from the 1990s and early 2000s. It is too late to change now, all that remains is finding where the journey ends.

Poor Reigning (one makes one's own luck)

Attempting to keep my lazier left eye open 
resulted in this rather crazed looking selfie 
late last night whilst talking online about 
cartoon soundtracks. Also I was reminded of 
Zia from Mysterious Cities of Gold and it turned 
out to be a core memory. Because of course it did. 

The collar arrived, which was nice, but the lock won't actually, y'know, lock. Also, next door had some roofers in to finally fix the problems, I'd agreed to pay half, but they finished work and now my leak is back to how it was this time last year - before any work was done. I even tried to get in contact with Five and heard nothing back. At work, though my contributions are recognised, my boss warned that if she goes down (a distinct possibility from what I'm gathering) she'll make sure she takes us all with her - a threat backed up by her immediate boss. So that's nice.

Tilly dropped a bombshell as well. According to legal advice she has sought, if she pays anything toward the mortgage over what I owe her for child maintenance then I am ultimately liable to pay her back from my equity - which could very well mean that when we eventually sell I owe her money. Also, repairs, the legal wording means that I can only stop them being done; if they are done, then I must pay off my half - it cannot be held over nor paid in instalments unless Tilly agrees. She's told me she won't agree. So I guess I be the bad guy and don't agree to pay for repairs then. I said that all sounded rather unfair, she told me that she would have got better terms if we'd gone to court - so suck it up. I said I had been trying to be nice, Tilly said I was raising my voice to her and that wasn't nice at all. My Mum offered to help but thought my mortgage was on a total of £20k (which is substantial) and not the £85k it actually is. So she can't help.

She may have been my favourite (the wrist guards played a
bit of a role there), but Mendoza was always my second. 
Apparently he was a very grey character - no black and white.

My top infants class teacher: "With [Joanna] there is only
black and white: there is no grey."

Make of that what you will.

Yesterday evening, Tilly was again in contact to let me know the the Eldest doesn't want to attend the light switching on ceremony if it means I am going to be there. This does not bode well for Christmas, but I have arranged that my parents send the children's presents to the matrimonial home directly.

Cliche alert: last night I slept with a cuddly bunny left behind in the house. I cuddled it and it felt nice. I may have to acquire myself a soft toy.

Luckily, I was able to hang out over at Abbi's twice, which has kept me mostly on an even keel throughout all of this. Won't lie though, I am struggling a bit.

Losing my cards has rather thrown out timings (along with having Smallest over today, who told me that he wants to come over alone when he is older and got upset when I said that Mummy would decide when he was old enough) so I have not managed to get my weekly shop done yet, another thing hanging over me as I prepare for my shift today - with uncertainty over whether we'll have enough people on shift. Joy.

Do I have to?

Tilly believes I have not grasped the enormoity of the situation. Something fundamental needs to change, she tells me. No, she couldn't say what. Have I thought of going to a psychiatrist? There's no shame in asking for help.

It's an old rut. I am broken, I need to be fixed. New topic, not relationship with Tilly but with the Smallest. The attachment is toxic, broken, awful. What will I do to fix me in order to fix things?

A bad workman blames his tools. Joanna simply blames a lack of tools. Today I managed to take the Middlest out to get some paintbrushes and not ruin his day. Also got in some elf foundation that hopefully matches my skin tone. I shall see. £9 is better than £34.50 - certainly now I have no job. Joined the family to watch an awards ceremony and see Smallest and Eldest dance. Originally, it had been decided that I would look after Middlest whilst the family went to the ceremony - I did offer to do whatever was most helpful. As it was, I got to go, but had a late tea. Now feeling ill.

Smallest tried to spend all his time on my knee. He is worried I shan't see him. He's right, but he doesn't know that. Tilly said without fundamental change then there would never be a time I would be allowed alone with Smallest. So be it. I cannot see how to make a fundamental change. So that's it.

What's left that I can ruin? What nightmares lie unrealised?

Someone asked: how are you?

I have no answer.

Compassionate Whiplash

Baked into the fabric of this blog is the struggle I have always felt to try and be compassionate. Compassionate to myself, to my children, to Tilly, to other people, to family... you get the idea. My CBT therapist said that if I was unable to be compassionate to myself then there was little hope of being truly compassionate to others - something I absolutely wanted to do and felt that I failed to do for most of my life (and, indeed, most of the time generally).

I once said I could never feel like this.

Well, I don't mind admitting that I was wrong because
I have. I did. This weekend if not before. Right down to
the hair. This... this is the future isn't it? The feeling, not
necessarily the look.

Keep this in mind as I get into Thursday.

First of all, I was asked to talk with a colleague - don't know if I ever gave her a pseudonym - we shall call her Pauline. I've spoken about her before, new child, everything seeming hunky-dory on the relationship front, she has been interested in my, in her words, "strangely accurate and nice" takes on parenting and, especially, motherhood. Gee, wonder why? She was the one who guessed when I was 'coming out' to people at the start of the academic year. "We don't get to talk nearly enough!" she opened.

Her child, it turns out, is likely autistic and she just wanted someone who understood what that meant to talk about it. As it went on though it became apparent that she is having a hard time of things generally and, amazingly for me, that she trusted me to listen. My listening, in fact, was active enough that she not only felt heard, but validated and strengthened. Several times she remarked that I was really helping and really good at listening properly. She kept saying that we needed to talk more often, that as bad as she was feeling I was making her feel better. I'll be honest, this took me by surprise. Firstly that we had such a friendship in the first place and secondly that I was actually being told that I was compassionate. Imagine that! And, as bad as everything seems to be and have been for her recently, I'll admit that it was a really empowering(?), affirming(?) hour-long conversation for me. I mean, at the end I'll confess that I was teary eyed at what she was going through, but I also felt as though she was telling the truth when she was saying that our conversation was helpful and I felt like I had useful things to say. Second of all, there was not even a hint that there was anything other than friendship here - I wasn't being off-loaded on as one would societally expect a woman to do with a man. There's never been a hint of that, and, well, I guess now I know why but, also, it was very apparent.

Speaking of the future, here's another old image
from this place that might be attainable. The suit,
not the woman in it, because the woman in it would
be me, not her.

On the Friday I came out to my Head of Year too. She started smiling about halfway through my explanation, "You know where I'm going, don't you?" I asked. She grinned, "Yes, but I know you need to say it." So I did. And she just gushed. I mean, it was surprising. She told me that she really valued my friendship (news to me, we're friends?!?) and that she recognised just how kind I was with her and all staff, how much she welcomed my compliments on hair and clothing over the years as she never felt that they were creepy or given with ulterior motives. She said that I should always feel free to come and discuss anything, she was so pleased that I had trusted her with this information, and she would welcome further conversations about anything - but, obviously, for me to choose when and on what. In fact, she said, she'd always considered me one of her female friends and now she had confirmation of why. Reader, I don't mind admitting, I had a bit of a lump in my throat. it wasn't until later, though, that the enormity of what had been said really filtered through. She, we shall call her Gemma, was essentially saying that I was a compassionate person and reflecting that compassion.

And, you know, this could also be the
future. In a positive way.

I already felt a little like that this morning
if I'm honest, and I wasn't wearing eye
make-up today.

As agreed with Tilly I came out to the children. First the Middlest was with me alone. We'd attended the switch on of the Christmas lights and Eldest had got a bit anxious about the crowds (she's not slept properly for a week) so had retreated to bed at home, she was thus not with the Middlest and I. Tilly and I had also arranged for me to have the Smallest alone on Sunday, as Middlest had a club on the Saturday that I was accompanying him to after dropping Eldest off at her Saturday thing. Anyway, yes, I came out to the Middlest, who seemed largely uninterested. I made sure he understood the ramifications, he did, and then wanted to watch another youtube video together, play some Pokemon and then go to bed and snuggle - like we always do. Sure enough, in the morning he was utterly positively uninterested in me wearing a stuffed bra and with full eye make-up and far more keen on having a shower, watching a video together and then going to his club.

Coming out to the Eldest, Middlest was sat in the back of the car grinning all over his face as he realised he had been told ahead of his older sister, and she... Well, she squeed in gfangirl mode and, if she could have exploded in a bang of glitter and Pride, she would have done. Eldest had many questions, ranging from silly to serious, but all well-meaning and delivered with breathless excitement. Honestly, if she could, she would have painted my walls in the transgender flag colours. It was a positive experience.

I do love the top, to be fair.

I was wearing my cat-eye glasses most
of the weekend too. These are not they.

At the club, held in my vegan gaming favourite cafe local, I mentioned to the owner, we shall call her Misty, that the Middlest now knew. "Oh that's great news!" she said, grinning from ear to ear, "I guess we'll see more of you when you bring him!" And, then, "You know, I really like your top. It really matches your complexion, skin-tone... You've chosen that well and with care. And I love the colour anyway!" Dear reader, I was unaware how starved I have been for compliments like that in person until, after saying thank you and turning away, I realised that I had to collect myself and got more than a little bit teary again. I'm not even on hormones or anything, I've apparently just been this emotional.

Evening with the Eldest was spent watching One Topic on YouTube - worth a look if you like memes - and dealing with her questions. "So, can I technically have two Mummies now?" Alas, no, I shall always be her Daddy, no one said they had to be male "Aw" and "Wait, you're on Team Girl now! Make the requisite sacrifice of a mean bigot online, special two-for-one offer to get in the Council; we meet on Thursdays!" to "Are you wearing a bra? You are? Cool! I knew I'd seen it, it's like a girl superpower. Oh! You'll have those too!" and "Yes, I'm nervous about it all, but I'm also really excited! No, don't hold back, it's hard to wrap my head around but I'll get there and it's easier if you do it... all at once, so I can get used to it." She's only thirteen. Again, hugely affirming. This morning was more of that, all positive, and then it was the Smallest. I remained dressed, stuffed bra, and he just wanted me to play cars and watch snow with him and sit by his side whilst he played a computer game. Oh, and mash cars into the stuffed bra as "that's what I do with Mummy's milks! Oh, Daddy is like Mummy but with duz rather than muz, I can read that now, Daddy!"

Why have realistic transition goals when I can
imagine myself like this in the classroom. Only
not teaching integration, because... well, no.

Also on Saturday evening, dropping off the Middlest, Tilly had a conversation with me in the doorway. She had a friend over, going through some stuff, and had been supporting another friend whose partner had recently died (they'd been living together for fifteen years, but he had two ex-wives who were unaware of Tilly's friend until she had to organise the funeral, and Tilly's friend's parents didn't know about the relationship until about an hour before he died) and had had a glass of wine. She was slurring, upset, and then... splurged. It was like the conversation with Pauline again, but less warmth I guess - all mixed up about how she should have told me to 'fuck off' and how, three weeks after she had tried to split up with me, I'd set an ultimatum for her to decide what she wanted from our relationship as she caught a bus home - I don't recall this, but I'm sure it happened. How she had always felt lonely and now she knew why because she wasn't a lesbian. Thus we had wasted the last fifteen years. Yes, my top did look lovely, was it from Gap? It was the sort of top that she loved to wear. Was that why I wore it and was I offended by the fact that she had similar clothes? No. Also, yes, of course I had felt teary after a compliment, because she had never given any and now she knew why, because she wasn't a lesbian and she had been mean, a dick, cruel even.

Another image once used tngue-in-cheek but, now,
increasingly within reach.

But so had I. I was shit, all that time, because I was miserable and unhappy and not myself. I had been shit because of her, because she wasn't a lesbian. And now... now here was I living my best life, supporting friends and even her and she was trapped and lonely and stressed and sad, keeping it together for everyone else but struggling. The kids were doomed, they would never be able to look after themselves and she couldn't keep supporting them forever. I did pitch in here, as I don't agree with this assessment of our children: our children are much better than this conversation was suggesting, far more mature, and perfectly fine with being independent in ways that the vast majority of students I teach are incapable of being (or, perhaps better put, seemingly incapable of being). Whatever else I think of Tilly, she is primarily responsible for how good our children are at being fully functional human beings who are keen to help and keyed in to how people are feeling in a positive and compassionate way.

I honestly find myself thanking Him Upstairs a fair
amount these days. Will I be dressed more like this
the next time I'm in church?

C'est possible.

Tilly now had to face up to the fact that most of what she was doing was for a dopamine hit and had been an attempt to just avoid me and the problems in the relationship. Now we were apart, she had to face up to what she actually wanted and she'd never had to do that before, hiding behind just doing things to avoid being alone with me. She missed my parents, her family was shit at support - she always ended up supporting them - and she always felt that my parents were able to support her. She had deliberately stepped back when we split, they were for me, and now she regretted that because she missed being able to talk to them. To talk to actual parents as a child. Hell, I was even making her feel awful now because I was being so nice and accommodating when she was being entirely unreasonable. Besides, my hair looked good and I looked so happy these days and she had never been good enough because she wasn't a bloody lesbian.

It was a rough hour's conversation, but also... affirming and empowering again, maybe? I felt more or less positive anyway, even if I was a tad irritated that I'd had to leave the Eldest alone for longer than I would have liked. She, by the way, was fine - having had time to empty her bag of litter (as directed when I left) and find some things she thought she'd lost in there and read loads of memes about Pride and K-Pop (her two favourite things).

And so, after that mammoth text-dump, that's been the weekend. And, you know what, like Abigail Thorn said of herself: "I ask myself: do I feel like a man or a woman? Mostly, I just feel... happy."

Slings and Arrows

Or Swings and Roundabouts.

This is going to go to a... place. So, if you don't want to go there with me (and why should you, frankly?) might I suggest a post that I found that is arguably some of the most lucid and cogent writing I've ever done? You can find it here. It's... well, it's not this post.

For the new ID photo they had me sit
slightly looking off to one side, with my
head down to avoid reflection on the glasses
and... well, I guess I didn't look too far
from this augmented image.

Following the student deputation, I realised that I would have to tell all of my colleagues at work so that they heard from me rather than student gossip. Much of my 'spare' time today was thus spent seeking out close colleagues within the Faculty and, well, letting them know about me. It went well, in that all my close colleagues were positive and friendly about it. Couldn't ask for better. Two had inklings already and one had guessed in advance but didn't want to say anything - so... yeah. It was also the day for new photos for staff so I have now been photographed officially and we'll just have to see how that goes.

In my Form group, some students were asking. One of them asked "so are you a Trans then?" I feigned confusion: "a Trans? What's that?"

"A Transgender, are you a transgender?" they persisted, "Like, are you a tranny?"

I simply explained that the terms were a. grammatically incorrect and b. bordering on offensive. The student ignored me, but the rest of the Form were pleased to move on to other things at least. So, for now, my status with the younger students I teach (15-16) remains unknown enough that they won't gossip but they may continue to push. In a Sociology class a student recommended that I use a bun or a big clip to tame my hair and, in another Sociology class, a student was amazed that I didn't own hair straighteners. I suspect my time incognito may be drawing to a close.

Perhaps unfairly, this was in my head for a
lot of the conversation with Tilly.

If this isn't something with which you are
familiar, I would recommend against looking
it up. That way lies only sadness.

I informed Tilly of the fact that some students knew and I had told the rest of the Faculty when I was dealing with Eldest (bringing her home from Dance) and Tilly sighed and, seriously, suggested it was time for me to start planning how to tell the children. She paused, "You know, it is a bit of a head-fuck to be honest. You know that, right? It's a head-fuck." She revealed that she had been 'doing some reading' and said "it's like someone I know has died" in the sense that the person she knew is effectively dead. Had she known everything she would have told me to go sooner, she'd have had "the balls to tell [me] to get out." In fact, she opined, it would have been better had she never responded to my message on the online dating forum back in 2006 (she had paid to do so, it was one of the more romantic parts of our early relationship). I would have been able to be myself and she might have found actual happiness.

I felt that knife twist and plunge.

"Have you decided on your name at all?" Tilly continued. I replied that I was sticking, probably, with Joanna. "Ah," she said, "That is problematic. I probably won't call you by any name them, and don't expect me to use it in the third person either. You know it will get shortened and that neither shortening works for me or the children. I won't use it. Just so you know. But you don't have to worry about what I think, you know, so don't."

I see. I apologised a few times in this exchange.

Not long after I started this blog, I had a post
illustrated by images of 'bad cross-dressers'
to make the point about how I saw myself.

This time, I'll just use me. Let's not forget who
this story is about, eh?

"You don't have to apologise. I just wish you'd been honest, I would have told you to leave or we wouldn't have ended up together. There was a person online, who's counselled many women abandoned by... well, through all of this, and she said 'in all honesty, it's the same as someone dying' and, well, she's right. Oh, no, don't worry, there was one woman there who was being horribly transphobic, but it's not like this counsellor was. I know there's a difference. You have to admit, though, it's just a huge head-fuck. There's a lot to work through. I know I suggested it [me being trans-gender] a few times, but you always said you weren't, explained why you weren't, and I believed you. I believed you! So, yeah, I know you're working through things too, but in a different way. And, anyway, you don't have to worry what I think and you shouldn't worry about me in all of this. It's just that the person I knew is dead, and it'll take a while to get past that."

There wasn't time to sort out eye-shadow, so I donned mascara and my clothes to hit the in-person support group where, as ever, I made a bit of a tit of myself talking to someone I thought was a new member but was actually one of the old guard. I hope I managed to bite my tongue a little better than I usually do when I'm being an obnoxious twat, but I'm not terribly hopeful.

Tilly never asked me to leave, by the way, it was I that brought things to that point after a sustained bout of being insulted and belittled. That's why Tilly gets to say things like I abandoned the family and left them behind. But I see that we are also building a new narrative where that still happened but she was the one who finally asked me to leave after I'd lied to her for years. And, well, maybe that's true too.

Risk Negotiated Presentations

This morning, as I charged the car.
It was a little euphoric. Or affirming.
Positive. 

The plan, today, was to get some marking done. I got up later than usual and spent longer getting ready because the children are still isolating following a PCR test, so I haven't seen them at all since Sunday. I have failed to work this week due to a combination of 'laziness' and being rather ill with a cold and just not being able to function - indeed, it was only when I woke up this morning that I realised how cotton-wool headed I had been feeling this week. But, I was alone, so I dressed in that grey jumper over the top of my floral top, stuffed bra and my Kangol jeans with female ankle socks and glasses to go and charge the car. I didn't stop there though, I also put on mascara and eye-shadow, highly experimental edition, because I figured I would come home and wash it off. But, at the same time, I packed a skirt I wanted to take back to the charity shop (great looking skirt, didn't suit me) to exchange for... something else. I also also wanted to pop into a clothes shop and spring £12 on a mustard yellow jumper. As it was, I got called by Tilly who needed me to go shopping maybe later in the day and I went to the charity shop fully made up and dressed and got a mustard yellow roll-neck jumper. I didn't dare nip to the clothes shop as well, so got in the car to go home.

I was also waiting for a builder to come round and advise on those damp patches on the living room wall. Here we cue the quote from Ralph on the Simpsons: "haha, I'm in danger." I had lunch, I didn't get the make up off, I went into town. The clothes shop did not have the jumper. I was now wearing my new roll-neck. And still in make-up. Tilly texted, she needed me to go and shop for her as they are still isolating. I walked home, no time to wash off the make-up, so I went out and spoke to Tilly to help with the shopping. She spotted the make-up, of course. I did the shopping. I came back, forgot some items on the list, we spoke about my make-up. "It's obvious, like, really obvious. I don't know if you know how obvious it is," said Tilly, not unreasonably. "But you don't need to worry or think about my reaction to it." I picked up the missed items and returned.

No coat, but no App either.

How obvious is the make-up?
This is how I appeared to Tilly.

But I do worry about her reaction. I asked if my make-up were OTT and she said: "If I saw it on the face of someone I knew who was female, no, I wouldn't say it was OTT." She was trying hard here, and pointed out she was unsure of the right language. Then, later on: "But I would say, while we're on the topic, that when we discussed patterns and clothing in the past, your tastes seem to be those of someone older than you are. Like, you are acting too old with what seems to be your style. Just... Just to let you know." I didn't know what to make of this.

"What would you like me to say if the children ask about the make-up? Like, you've spoken to Middlest and he may not process it until later. And Eldest will definitely notice. What would like me to say?"

I told her to do whatever felt most comfortable for her. She said that she would prod them in my direction.

I... think that was mostly positive.

Also, been reading actual reddit - which fills me with existential dread as a concept - and especially the egg_irl subreddit - it's a thread about memes for people that are still totally cis but doing very trans things. That's... it. I mean, it's not useful to me where I am right now, but it is a place that I have enjoyed reading nevertheless. The only big takeaway was someone confirming that there is huge overlap twixt transgender and ASD - confirmed by a meta-study. Incidence of gender identity non-conformity (so, the whole trans umbrella) is something like three to six times higher in the ASD community than in the wild. Which is... well, utterly unsurprising on one level but also something that is nice to see confirmed. It... well, I kinda knew this, took it as read, but didn't have the statistically valid study to back up that assertion. Also, yes, it turns out that the signs of ASD that I have are predominantly associated with girls and women because of course they are. I kinda knew that already too, but had assumed that gendering ASD was incorrect because, well, at best I was a genderqueer bloke and all the supposedly female traits were ones that I displayed whilst the supposedly male ones did not occur as much (though I had some). I mean... anyway, nothing really new there, just a confirmation of a hunch I had at the time, but not the hunch I wanted to think about.

Playing with the App. This one made me
actually cry. But the good crying.

The builder has not been. I have not done any marking. I have spoken to Tilly in make-up. It was obvious, like, really obvious. Some students have noticed the trans flag over my desk (in posters, it was subtle, but not that subtle) and one student has indicated that they are aware of what that might mean (not any of the students I would have thought would have guessed, but there you go). I very nearly took my Cath Kidson bag with me this morning (the Kangol jeans pockets are big, but very tight and so functionally useless) but bottled that. It's... something I am going to have to consider though. It doesn't go well with my usual army coat. It works well with all my female coats. Ah, yes, that's something as well, isn't it? Not a bad thing, no, but something to consider as winter rolls in.

What was that about posting about clothes and make-up? What was that about being visible as a means of being an activist?

Lovely curry for tea though. Gunpowder Chilli Curry kit from someone whose logo was an elephant from an Aldi. Can recommend. Now, beer and marking. Oh, and the kettle has failed - it leaked over the kitchen whilst I was out and scared the pants off me because I thought maybe the wall was leaking water (it was not). A new kettle is fine, a new wall would not be.

Maybe a new avvie? I do like cartoons over real pictures so...

Normal Service

But I already know.

Ah, bugger, here it comes.

Yes, that feeling. Waiting for the other shoe to fall,
knowing that it's about to and that it's not that joke
where the drunk leaves one shoe on and the neighbour
demands it drop in desperation.

See, whenever I have a good weekend there is also a flip-side - for every positive moment, there are hours of less positive things to wade through. So it was again. This time I had said something on the Friday in my lessons on History.

Context? Go on then. It was about the Bombing Campaign under Churchill, specifically the Dambusters raid. I was explaining how it was a pretty Bad Thing to go and drown a bunch of unsuspecting folk in the floods caused by destroying the dams, about how the event had been immortalised in a film that didn't even mention the civilian cost of the raid, and how the film had been dedicated to, of all things, 617 Squadron's dog. And I named the dog. Yes, I said, it was worse than they had imagined and didn't get any better.

There's the context.

Even the headstone had removed the name, though
this act had been branded 'disgraceful' by more than
3,300 people in a petition in July 2020 according to
a BBC report that quotes three people against the
change and only the one for the change.

Gotta love balance.

A student complained about my use of the name of the dog. I was a racist, they alleged. The Head of Sixth Form recognised something needed to be done. I was not to worry, they told me, but there would be a reckoning. No, they said, there was no justification for naming the dog and yes, I should probably arrange at least 'moral support' from my Union representative. That was Monday night. I travelled immediately afterward to pick up the Christmas presents from my father for reasons. I came home late. Struggled to get the car to charge in one go - it's been doing that recently - and so I was home by 11pm.

Tuesday. Head of Sixth Form tells me a meeting with the Head will still happen, best get Union Rep on hand, but that a public apology would 'go some way' to drawing a line under the affair. No, they reassured me, I wouldn't lose my job but there may be other repercussions. I apologised to the students - all bar one of which looked utterly bewildered and confused that I was doing so. One student, the one I know complained, looked smug. The day went ahead. It ended in a Faculty meeting that overran, meaning no food before picking up Middlest to take to Pokemon.

The stuffing is not as large as it appears,
I plead the angle.

Also, despite the App, not seeing the 'plucked
eyebrows' look here. I'm also not wearing a
necklace.

At my old home, when I picked the Middlest up, Tilly suggested that I get used to having spurious complaints made about me. I raised an eyebrow, huh? "Well, the students must have noticed." Noticed what? "You're growing out your hair, you've plucked your eyebrows, they're going to notice!" I have not plucked my eyebrows. Indeed, I have done nothing to my eyebrows. Tilly counsels that I shall get backlash nevertheless, trans-people, she maintains, are not liked and attract opprobrium. She felt that I had done something though - my face seemed better kept, perhaps? Neater? This was not said as a compliment. No matter, the Youngest arrived to get angry. He wanted me to stay, then changed his mind and wanted me to go and leave the Middlest behind. Then he started hitting and kicking things, then hitting and kicking me. Then the Middlest and I were gone.

On the plus side, I managed to get changed before going. I wore my V neck stripy tee beneath a jumper and my flared jeans. So... mostly myself at my gaming vegan cafe favourite local. Whilst there I learned that I had made a friend in Louis, a transman (!), who went so far as to ask my name and my pronouns. It was... very affirming. I bottled it and stole a phrase I liked from a video I watched over the summer on what pronouns to use: "whatever ones you have lying around will be fine". I should have been honest. I wasn't. I'm not.

We were late back, around 11pm.

Yeah, I can relate.

Wednesday. My immediate boss reports that the Head has no interest in pursuing anything at all to do with the incident, he had heard the context (Dambusters) and, being an historian, instantly understood what had happened. He even realised that the controversy being one thing (and not the war crime) was the point I was trying to make - how none of it was edifying. There will be no further repercussions. There will be no meeting. He was pleased to hear I had apologised, but suggested that was above and beyond what was required, all I should needed to have done was take the student aside and explain. But too late now to change all of that. I actually got some work done.

The wall in the living room is still damp. No idea if it is getting better or not. The damp patches in the bedroom are going now, slowly, but they are going. New roof, no water getting in. Good sign. Tired, slightly depressed, I watched Matrix Revolutions that I picked up on Saturday gone.

No caption required.

Apart from the one saying it's not needed...

I remembered the Abba-esque EP by Erasure, Voulez vous came on in the car on the way home you see, and the fact that I was slightly obsessed with it in 1992. Initially hearing Lay All Your Love on Me one morning as I woke up and then, after owning the cassette, seeing Erasure in drag(?) performing it. A light went on at that moment, if only I knew what that light was. 1992. Not as far back as the episode guides of Quantum Leap in my diary, but earlier than I had realised - the drag act was the thing that had fascinated me most. I remember wanting to be the performers in a way I had never wanted before. In the words of Neil Tennant, "The woman in me shout[ed] out, the man in me just smiled." Oh, yeah, that lyric that I was slightly obsessed with from about 1988 onwards. It's from 1986 or 87, but I didn't really realise it until 1988. Though it was something I recall singing along to from the moment I heard it. Huh. Egg moments? I had considered an entire blog post on it but... I don't think that would be of interest to anyone but me and... I'm not sure I'm that interested.

Tomorrow is parents' evening. And the in-person support group. We'll see.