Between the lines of gender

Life between genders is rough.  One day living as a woman, the next as a man.  This is a blog to look at how things are separated and the emotions are totally different on the days after being Jenn.  Also the kind words from people that “know” me as both (non friends) and how supportive they seem to be.

Jenn is who I am.  It’s how feel.  It’s what is right.  The days where Jenn gets to have full reign of the world are unbelievable.  My mood is soaring.  My creativity is flowing.  I am who I am,  and with that comes all the fun and light-hearted merriment that is associated with a girl on the verge of self discovery.  I am in, for lack of a better word, heaven.

Of course, to exist in a heaven, there must also be a hell.  My hell is the majority of my time.  My time where I am living a lie.  A time where I must revert to my male self.  The mood is darker.  The emotions are low.  The state of depression running like a bottomless river.  This is not who I am.  This is not who I wish to be.  This is how I was born, however.

What I have begun to notice, though, is that the more time Jenn is out, and I am living as I know I should, the cross acceptance has grown.  The circle of people who have seen, and accepted me, as both Jenn and Steve.  The other day I was at Target, a place I tend to frequent quite, well, frequently.  I was purchasing a couple women’s items, as my guy self, and the cashierre smiled and said that she hadn’t seen me in for quite a while.  We chatted a bit, with small talk, and she commented on how cute the top and dress were that I was buying.  She followed it up with a quick, “and I am so jealous that you can wear these and look better than me” and then gave a wink.  We both chuckled and she said, “Seriously.  You look absolutely adorable and so happy when you are your other self.”  I blushed and said thanks.  Then the line behind me started to fill up, so we ended the conversation and off I went.

There is a great little Italian place in town called BELLA AVANTI.  It is a charming little place, tucked away from the hustle of the rest of the city (not that there is a lot of hustle to Muncie, Indiana, but still).  The first time I ate there, I was Jenn.  My wife and I had been out and decided we were hungry, so why not.  What a treat.  Not even mentioning the food (delicious and such large servings I ate for 2 more days on the leftovers), the hostess was amazing.  She seated us and our waitress came out.  The the hostess came out, several more times, to talk, compliment my shoes, my outfit, and just talk to us.  I have been in a few times since, though not as Jenn, and she always comes to the table (she has actually been our waitress each time) and talks, looks to see what shoes I’m wearing (as I blogged before, I only own one pair of guys’ shoes and I never wear them).  She has taken a shine to us, and not just to get tips, she is a genuinely nice person to us and to my two entities.

While a very good friend was visiting from Santa Fe, we decided to hit a local bar a couple of times while she was here.  The Silo is a decent bar with a mixed crowd.  A little more hip than most of the other crowds in Muncie, but with a few rednecks thrown in for good measure.  I had been a few times but never as Jenn. When we went the first night, it was Jazz Wednesday, with a pretty good local jazz ensemble.  The drummer had been a teacher at my high school.  So we enjoyed drinks and music, and then conversation with said ex-teacher.  I didn’t say much, but I don’t think there was any recognition there.  None that I could pick up on.  The night ended without much notice and we decided to go again at the end of the week.  It was Saturday and we decided to do The Silo once more.  When I ordered my drink, the bartender recognized us and asked if we had been there Wednesday and if we had enjoyed it.  To which we answered yes on both accounts.  I ordered a Cosmo and then Cheryl decided on the same. After receiving mine, a young man came up and began to chat me up about my drink and such.  It was pretty awesome to (1) be approached by a guy at a bar, even if it isn’t what I’m looking for and (2) not to get any negative reaction while talking to him.  When we turned to go to our table, we ended up sitting behind a lady that I worked with at my last job.  No notice whatsoever, even though she wa looking at me like she should know me.  Jenn wins again!

Hot Topic is a store that I love to go to.  Well, I used to, before they changed from dungeon chic to cotton candy, Justin Bieber supporters. BLECH!  Not that I won’t still go from time to time.  There are several of the girls, and the manager, that know me and recognize me as both genders.  They are all very cool about it.  Regardless if the manner of my dress, the girls are constantly offering up suggestions on what I would look good in, despite the fact that they can’t wear it.  No hips is a blessing at times.

Notice a commonality here?  It’s usually the girls that are more accepting, though not always.

The acceptance of me, in either gender, is rather rewarding.  I, personally, don’t think I am anything great in either role.  There are times when I think I look really good as Jenn and other times I feel like I barely blend in.  I do know that my female persona is taking over.  The Sister Hyde to my Doctor Jeckyl.  I can be out in guy mode now and still be called ma’am.  It really astounds me because I look nothing like a woman when presenting as Steve, but my mannerisms are certainly feminine, and my clothing as well, but without any makeup or a wig, I am pretty clearly a guy.  Those who do not know become very apologetic when they see I am a guy, which I tell them there is no need.

Being two genders is rough.  When you know you are one person but an only be that identity part of the time and must don the mask of “normal” for the rest of the time, it becomes an emotional roller-coaster.  I go from the highest peak as Jenn to the lowest valley as Steve.  As Jenn, nothing bothers me.  As Steve, the day after a Jenn day, the littlest thing can set me off.  I am angry at having to force myself back into this role.  To fold up my wings and crush them underneath my male guise.  It is frustrating and depressing.  I long for that day when the wings are out, and they can stay out, allowing me to soar to new heights and see life in a new way.

Advertisements

About Jennifer

She grew up in an Indiana town Had a good-lookin' mama who never was around But she grew up tall and she grew up right With them Indiana boys on them Indiana nights Well, there are partial truths above. Being from Indiana, I did grow up in an Indiana town. I did not have a good lookin mama, but she was always around.'I did not grow up tall, but I suppose I grew up right. I spent lots of time with Indiana boys on Indiana nights. It's because I was one. Still am in some ways. Certainly not in others. My transitional journey has begun. Goodbye to my male self and hello to this wonderfully feminine world in which I was meant to live. At the age of 45, I am beginning my true journey to self and home.
This entry was posted in It's Personal and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s