I suppose these things happen.
Forgive me if this journal entry lacks a certain readability; I'm updating on a slow and rainy day at work. I have dismantled my former journal and wish to use what remains as an introduction for what I want this to become. For years I've been thinking about this subject, but up until recent months, all the edges have been blurry, unfocused, rough to the touch. So, now, I'm going to explore my thoughts and feelings, experiment using this journal. Are you with me? Okay.
Oh, and Michele, if you're reading this, I love you. I'm just going to write and see what comes out of me. I hope that you can continue to support me because I need you more than anything.
Here goes:
Most of the time, on the inside, I feel like a guy. I think. it's hard to tell for me, because I generally think too much about everything until it's all one big gray/brown mud puddle around my ankles. I know that for the most part, I reject any association with being female, woman, girl, feminine, etc. I like the rare occassions of being mistaken for a guy. (I'm going to use the word guy, because I don't consider myself a man, and I think I'm too old to say boy. Guy is a comfortable nonspecific for me.) I like it when my partner tells me that I act just like a guy, even when that means I'm being a total bonehead about something. I like when my friends treat me just "like one of the guys." I like being a strong protector, and a gentlemen on dates.
Which isn't to say that I don't think women can be all of these things. I love my partner more than anything. She is strong, smart, and sexy. I know that she can do anything. I am grateful that she wants to build a life with me. These things that I feel, they aren't about power over her or our family. If anything, they are about personal power, they are what makes me feel the most complete.
My whole life I've been trying to know my identity. I've always struggled with it. A lot of that has to do with my relationship with my mother. (that's enough for a whole other blog) When I was in college, I became gripped by an unceasing depression that kidnapped me and my life for about a year. After that, I needed about a year to grasp and explore and claim my attraction to women. Then, it was the hunt to find someone to love. After we found each other, Michele and I, I rolled all of the past into a ball, put it in my mouth and swallowed. And said, "All of that stuff is gone now. I just needed someone to love me, now I can be whole."
Then.
Then, my brain starts thinking again. I got through the crisis of clinical depression, like a seed, I sprouted and grew tall. I extended my branches to embrace the other trees, I grew big and beautiful leaves to show the sun. Now I need to think about my roots, my bark, my crown that needs life to give life.
I'll start at the beginning as I know it.
I was 4 or 5. My parents asked me, and I can remember how they said it. "Holly, if you could, would you wear underwear for boys or girls?" I don't remember what happened before they asked, and I don't remember what they said after I answered, "Boys." But, I remember what I thought about for a long time after that. I remember that I never did get to wear the underwear I wanted to, I figured that I just didn't have that choice. I remember briefly thinking maybe when I got older I could, maybe the parents were waiting for something to happen. I always carefully tucked away the pink waistbands of what I wore. This may not have been a big deal, but it's my first memory of this kind of wishful thinking, and it has stuck with me all these years, so I feel it is worth mentioning.
The rest of my childhood was pretty typical tomboy. Hated dresses, long hair, playing with girls, unless I got to be the dad, or son, or family dog. I loved riding my bike, going fishing with the boys, having short hair. Lucky for me, my parents let me dress the way I wanted. I was mistaken a lot for a boy up until junior high. I always liked that part. I told my dad it was because I like fooling people, but it was really because I wanted to be a boy and passing for one was close enough. I was jealous of my younger brother. I remember feeling upset a lot because I always thought that I could have done a better job at being a boy than he did. I was mad because I had to be the exception. "Even though holly is a girl, she likes boy things." I just wished that everyone could have assumed what I would like. I know it isn't okay to just assume that boys will like trucks and blocks or that girls are going to like dolls and purses filled with makeup stuff. As an adult, I realize the gender bias that permeates this culture, even still. It is ridiculous of course, this social conditioning, which by the way, accounts for all of this anguish, this entire blog is because most people can't see that it isn't necessary to polarize gender for children.
Another issue was the shirt. I didn't want to wear a shirt in the summertime. My dad didn't, my brother didn't. Why did I have to? My mother threw a fit one time, when I was 8 because I was playing in our backyard by myself, topless. She made me feel bad, embarrassed me in front of my brother and sister who didn't even know until she said something. I put a shirt on and went back outside, like it was no big deal, but I hid behind some trees and cried and cried until it was time for lunch.
I never liked dressing up for things. The clothes were uncomfortable. I think I hated wearing dresses because they were a direct offense to what I felt inside. I didn't like dresses because they didn't feel right, they didn't look right. Again, internally I was mad that I couldn't wear pants and button up shirts like my brother. My parents compromise was that I could still wear my hightop shoes. That saved them from tantrums and meltdowns, but, that's because I didn't want to be ungrateful, after all, I got to wear my hightops. Again, now that I'm an adult, I can see that my parents, mainly my mother and her mental instability lies at the root cause for a lot of the bottling up of my feelings and thoughts over the years. Through my most recent months in therapy and my new-found emotional independence, I know that's why I can vocalize or at least type out these things now. And, it's probably why I'm realizing now, after 25 years, the things inside me that need to come out!
Basically, up until puberty, and I don't even like saying, I got away with being a boy, as if it is a deception on my part. More accurately, I should say, up until puberty I was a boy. It was easy because, for the most part, my parents accepted that I was happiest when I had short hair, wore boy clothes, and played with the neighborhood guys.
Puberty is maybe a topic for my next blog. I can break up my gender issues in blocks, childhood, puberty, college, today. I got through some of the major points in my childhood so far, and because it was so long ago, and what I remember has evolved over time, I will leave it at that.
Oh, and Michele, if you're reading this, I love you. I'm just going to write and see what comes out of me. I hope that you can continue to support me because I need you more than anything.
Here goes:
Most of the time, on the inside, I feel like a guy. I think. it's hard to tell for me, because I generally think too much about everything until it's all one big gray/brown mud puddle around my ankles. I know that for the most part, I reject any association with being female, woman, girl, feminine, etc. I like the rare occassions of being mistaken for a guy. (I'm going to use the word guy, because I don't consider myself a man, and I think I'm too old to say boy. Guy is a comfortable nonspecific for me.) I like it when my partner tells me that I act just like a guy, even when that means I'm being a total bonehead about something. I like when my friends treat me just "like one of the guys." I like being a strong protector, and a gentlemen on dates.
Which isn't to say that I don't think women can be all of these things. I love my partner more than anything. She is strong, smart, and sexy. I know that she can do anything. I am grateful that she wants to build a life with me. These things that I feel, they aren't about power over her or our family. If anything, they are about personal power, they are what makes me feel the most complete.
My whole life I've been trying to know my identity. I've always struggled with it. A lot of that has to do with my relationship with my mother. (that's enough for a whole other blog) When I was in college, I became gripped by an unceasing depression that kidnapped me and my life for about a year. After that, I needed about a year to grasp and explore and claim my attraction to women. Then, it was the hunt to find someone to love. After we found each other, Michele and I, I rolled all of the past into a ball, put it in my mouth and swallowed. And said, "All of that stuff is gone now. I just needed someone to love me, now I can be whole."
Then.
Then, my brain starts thinking again. I got through the crisis of clinical depression, like a seed, I sprouted and grew tall. I extended my branches to embrace the other trees, I grew big and beautiful leaves to show the sun. Now I need to think about my roots, my bark, my crown that needs life to give life.
I'll start at the beginning as I know it.
I was 4 or 5. My parents asked me, and I can remember how they said it. "Holly, if you could, would you wear underwear for boys or girls?" I don't remember what happened before they asked, and I don't remember what they said after I answered, "Boys." But, I remember what I thought about for a long time after that. I remember that I never did get to wear the underwear I wanted to, I figured that I just didn't have that choice. I remember briefly thinking maybe when I got older I could, maybe the parents were waiting for something to happen. I always carefully tucked away the pink waistbands of what I wore. This may not have been a big deal, but it's my first memory of this kind of wishful thinking, and it has stuck with me all these years, so I feel it is worth mentioning.
The rest of my childhood was pretty typical tomboy. Hated dresses, long hair, playing with girls, unless I got to be the dad, or son, or family dog. I loved riding my bike, going fishing with the boys, having short hair. Lucky for me, my parents let me dress the way I wanted. I was mistaken a lot for a boy up until junior high. I always liked that part. I told my dad it was because I like fooling people, but it was really because I wanted to be a boy and passing for one was close enough. I was jealous of my younger brother. I remember feeling upset a lot because I always thought that I could have done a better job at being a boy than he did. I was mad because I had to be the exception. "Even though holly is a girl, she likes boy things." I just wished that everyone could have assumed what I would like. I know it isn't okay to just assume that boys will like trucks and blocks or that girls are going to like dolls and purses filled with makeup stuff. As an adult, I realize the gender bias that permeates this culture, even still. It is ridiculous of course, this social conditioning, which by the way, accounts for all of this anguish, this entire blog is because most people can't see that it isn't necessary to polarize gender for children.
Another issue was the shirt. I didn't want to wear a shirt in the summertime. My dad didn't, my brother didn't. Why did I have to? My mother threw a fit one time, when I was 8 because I was playing in our backyard by myself, topless. She made me feel bad, embarrassed me in front of my brother and sister who didn't even know until she said something. I put a shirt on and went back outside, like it was no big deal, but I hid behind some trees and cried and cried until it was time for lunch.
I never liked dressing up for things. The clothes were uncomfortable. I think I hated wearing dresses because they were a direct offense to what I felt inside. I didn't like dresses because they didn't feel right, they didn't look right. Again, internally I was mad that I couldn't wear pants and button up shirts like my brother. My parents compromise was that I could still wear my hightop shoes. That saved them from tantrums and meltdowns, but, that's because I didn't want to be ungrateful, after all, I got to wear my hightops. Again, now that I'm an adult, I can see that my parents, mainly my mother and her mental instability lies at the root cause for a lot of the bottling up of my feelings and thoughts over the years. Through my most recent months in therapy and my new-found emotional independence, I know that's why I can vocalize or at least type out these things now. And, it's probably why I'm realizing now, after 25 years, the things inside me that need to come out!
Basically, up until puberty, and I don't even like saying, I got away with being a boy, as if it is a deception on my part. More accurately, I should say, up until puberty I was a boy. It was easy because, for the most part, my parents accepted that I was happiest when I had short hair, wore boy clothes, and played with the neighborhood guys.
Puberty is maybe a topic for my next blog. I can break up my gender issues in blocks, childhood, puberty, college, today. I got through some of the major points in my childhood so far, and because it was so long ago, and what I remember has evolved over time, I will leave it at that.