I know it’s been awhile since my last entry.  Let me just say that selling a business is a lot of work and I kind of had to dedicate myself to that.  Let me also say that having the deal fall through the business not sell makes Ashley very depressed and not feel like doing anything constructive.  It’s strange, for the first time in my career as a business owner, I find myself sitting there during the day with nothing to do.  Everything is packed and moved out that needs to be.  Everything is all ready for another purchaser.  I could be ready to hand over the keys in 10 minutes now.  So where are they?  But this entry is not about my business.  It is about my ex.

I found myself coming to a bit of a realization recently regarding my ex-wife.  I’ve known for some time that she is not a good person.  I also believe that she may have mental health issues.  She recently told me that she used her money to buy part of a house in the area from some friends who were struggling to make ends meet.  They are intending to sell the house in 2009 before the world economy collapses.  This information is not based on any business acumen, study or logic.  It is based on the Mayan calendar that says the world as we know it is coming to an end.  Anyway, so while I am happy that my daughter actually has a physical roof over her head, I am upset that I am going to have to come back to this community as a woman to see my daughter.  But the major realization I came to occurred when she asked what my plans were for after I sold the store.  I told her I would be going away for a couple months and staying with my parents to take a vacation.  She then proceeded to guilt me by saying that she wouldn’t be able to bring my daughter all the way out there.  I wasn’t expecting her to and she knows that.  It’s a manipulation tactic to tell me that by leaving for any length of time, I am abandoning my daughter.  Even more important is the fact that I KNOW damn well that I’m going away for longer than 2 months.  I’m planning for more like 6 months.  But I just couldn’t get the words out.  I am still afraid of my ex wife!

Why am I still afraid of this woman?  What hold does she still have over me?  Why am I ashamed to assert what I am doing with my life when the only thing we share now is a connection through our daughter.  What’s more, I’ve worked hard to keep a happy environment for everyone.  Nice and calm and stable so everyone can get along.  I think that’s important and ultimately, I would like it if she could be my friend.  What hurts (and this is consistant) is that she never gives me an inch.  Trying to get her to talk to me in any way that doesn’t scream with the tone “what aren’t you dead yet?” is all but impossible.  She makes absolutely no effort to try and accommodate for me.  Actually I’m pretty sure that she feels that by allowing me to have any time with my daughter at all, she is accommodating me big time.

To give you some insight into my ex, she is a bully.  She spent a large part of our relationship doing a combination of lifting me up only to knock me down.  It’s a very cruel form of manipulation that keeps me looking to her for validation but destroying much hope in receiving it when it counts.  Then as I got deep into my transgender issues and she became more and more manipulative, I stood up to her bullying.  Let me just say that when you stand up to a bully, then they get really mean.  They try to push you down with force when they’re stood up to.  It was brutal, but I managed to hang onto my self-respect and get out of the relationship.  Now that she has no power over me, with the exception of my daughter, she only views me with a great deal of hostility.

I’ve decided that I can no longer allow myself to give anything of myself to this woman.  She is exceptionally good at goading me into arguments.  Arguments that cannot be won with her twisted sense of logic.  Just recently she cornered me and infuriated me to the point where I wanted to hit her.  It’s as if now the kid gloves are off because there’s no reason to be nice and all her powers of manipulation are at work.  There was a time I was able to get my game face on and let her spin her wheels without it being able to affect me.  But after awhile my guard comes down, and once it’s down I don’t like putting it back up.  Must I live being constantly on guard from this woman?  That would seem to be the case.  At least until she grows up.

Ashley

I hate trans related movies. I find them so difficult to force myself to put on and even more difficult to watch. It’s compelling to me for obvious reasons, and painful I suppose for the same reasons. The other night I made the mistake of finally getting around to watching Normal.

For those who don’t know, I own a video store. This means I have access to a lot of movies. If there’s a movie I don’t see, it’s purely by choice, not opportunity. (please, please remove the experience of watching Date Movie from my memory forever) So whenever the opportunity arises to see a trans movie, I usually find myself procrastinating. My wife told me about Normal, a movie that was in a huge batch of DVDs we took away from our second store. At the time I was still in repressed I’m-not-trans mode. She was well aware of my trans issues, but assumed (like I did) that it was a thing of the past. Never-the-less, there was always this fear to actually sit down and be confronted with a transsexual movie. I was mostly afraid of coming away from it either wanting to kill myself or needing to be transsexual. Around the same time we got the hugely successful TransAmerica in, and once again I was afraid to watch it. I fully supported the movie and even recommended it to people, but I couldn’t bring myself to watch it. I never got around to watching Normal.

Finally the other night, I made myself do it. The movie hit a lot of nerves and I ended up spending the rest of the night crying. Most of the morning too.

What bothered me the most was how silly I felt. You see Tom Wilkensen go through transition and he looks awfully ridiculous for much of it. But even worse than that, he doesn’t look any different than many transsexuals I know. So I was upset watching how ridiculous he appeared and then looking down at my own budding breasts and feeling pretty damned ridiculous myself. As well the relationship between Wilkensen and Jessica Lange hit a few sore points too, watching her struggle. I think I’ve always maintained a certain level of guilt about what I did to my family by being myself. None of this really excuses a lot of my wife’s actions and I’m happier being out of the relationship regardless.

I think there’s a sense for many transsexuals that they will reach the end. They will get SRS, or become passable and the journey is over and they can live life as a woman. But it never really ends. The trade off for living a life that I can find respectful is that I no longer have the ability to effortless manipulate through society. That’s a simple fact, and it saddens me. I’m not a shut-in or a trailblazer, I just want to live a comfortable, and yes, even normal life. My great fear is that I will spend my life with Suzanne and we will tuck ourselves away creating a semi-deluded environment where we don’t have to examine how ridiculous we appear. And really who gives a fuck what other people think. At the end of the day, I think I have to raise my hand sheepishly and say “I do.” I think there a sense that it wasn’t watching the movie that upset me near as much as it felt like I was being forced to really see myself rather than living inside myself. I’m not entirely sure I liked what I saw.

At the end of the day though, no matter how depressive this may sound, I know it’s just that I’m down and I’ll get over it. Really, it has to be expected that when travelling a journey as unpredictable as this, that the road will be bumpy.

Ashley

It’s the little things that matter the most in this critical time.  I’m definitely very awkward right now.  My hair is long.  My skin is softer.  I have to wear a sports tank under my shirt to keep my budding breasts from poking out.  I flailing around with clothes trying to find a style and a look appropriate for me.  I’m playing with my voice.  I continue to walk in both worlds out of necessity, succeeding absolutely in neither.

And still, of all the brave accomplishments I’ve achieved here, it remains to be the little things of external validation that give me the greatest joy.  Yesterday I had an Instant Message conversation with my mother, which is a massive achievement on her part being technologically challenged.  But when she greeted me, she said “Hi Ashley.”  Something I hear 50 times a day from people online.  But none of those 50 people are my mother.  It may seem like such a tiny, insignificant thing, but it meant the world to me.  More than she’ll probably ever understand.  I hear tales of girls who are post-op for years and still can’t get their family to use female pronouns, must less their new name.  Not only is that a massive affront and insulting, it is hurtful in ways that they will never understand.  To the opposite end, having my mother right out of the gate willingly use my new name just kept me floating in clouds all day.  We continued to have a conversation about the changes my body is going through and talked about our breasts for awhile.  It occurred to me after that this was perhaps our first mother/daughter conversation.  And I couldn’t be happier.

Last week I left a long comment on an old friend’s blog, whom I am already out to.  I post on his blog as Ashley Lynch.  I always knew he would be respectful of my decisions, but I think he had some difficulties understanding in the beginning.  He probably still doesn’t understand.  But I think there were some aspects about it that felt very “off” to him.  But when he responded to my comment, he started off by saying “that’s right folks, everything she says is true.”  Once again, an incredibly simply, possibly even token gesture, but it meant so much.  One simple voluntary and non-prompted use of a 3 letter pronoun and it’s like being completely validated by someone you care about.

So I will continue to cherish those little moments when my daughter calls me Ashley or someone says “Miss?” in public.  These are the moments that make me feel like I am really accepted in the world.

Ashley

There sits a portal that consists of a single free standing frame. Lining the frame is a thick, stretchy membrane. The only way through the portal is to stand head on and push at the membrane with all your might. Pushing inward, inward into the next world. Stretching that thick membrane as you fight it to gain ground. Pushing so hard until it starts to stretch thin. And eventually with enough force and sheer determination, the membrane starts to tear. Your hand reaches through to the world on the other side. You can feel it. It feels so beautiful, more than you ever imagined. You want to pull back and look at it, but that would only cause you to lose your footing and be pushed back. No, that cannot happen now. So close. You can taste it. Can’t stop now.

That approximates how I’m feeling right now.

There’s one thing I’ve discovered in my journey that is wondrous beyond all else. Self-esteem is something that has eluded me most of my life. I grew up as a precocious, outspoken young boy, I liked to think of myself as a young Lenny Bruce – making people laugh and pushing the boundaries of what was acceptable. Then high school happened. There can be any number of explanations: the insecurities of puberty, growing into an awakening male body that was not my own, being small and intimidated amongst a large group of hormonally aggressive boys. No matter what the cause, I retreated into myself and became very depressive and incapable. This insecurity and social anxiety was something I was never able to break free of, no matter what I did. I tried self help courses and books, I made lifestyle changes, tried creating a new “me” in a new city… nothing worked. Life always seemed to be mostly about “someday” and I remained meek. And as time marched on, I grew to be even more cynical and jaded, especially concerning other people. I hated everyone. Everyone seemed like a joke to the universe is what I expressed, but on the inside I knew it was I who was the joke.

Another thing that always bugged me is how my skin fit. That may or may not sound like a goofy notion, but the term “sagging skin suit” always seemed appropriate to me. It wasn’t that I was out of shape or anything, but there was always a definite feel of wearing my body like getting lost in a baggy sweater that’s just too large to be comfortable or practical. This vague discomfort in my body is the closest I ever got to “hating it.” Part of me just knew it wasn’t right.

And now… now I am a woman. I can feel my budding breasts pressing against my shirt. I continue to remove much of the annoying hair that grows on my body. My skin is becoming soft and supple. But strangely enough… my skin feels tighter.

Getting back to what I was saying earlier… I always worried greatly about my self-esteem. Even more so as I anticipated transitioning. I feared becoming one of those bitter transsexuals that hates themselves and the world and continues to do so until they finally kill themselves. My ex used to tell me continually as well that she was sure transitioning would only make me more miserable, not happy. And so I entered transition. And along the way found a sense of self-esteem I never imagined possible. I have now accepted myself, love myself, and am confident in my ability to be who I am and do what I want. It’s really an amazing feeling. Mostly it just makes me want to reach back in time and shake myself silly until I get it. But it’s okay. I’m here now. To be honest, there’s very much a sense of the universe unfolding for me.

And I can’t wait fully push through that portal.

Ashley