Saying goodbye

 I know I would be happier now had I been born male, so why do I feel this mournful attachment to the woman I am leaving behind? I thought, "Is it because I am doing the wrong thing?" But that didn't seem right, because when someone calls me "sir," or when I am referred to as my spouse's "husband," I feel like I'm being paid the best compliment I could ever be given. Still, I look back at pictures of the woman I was, and I feel sad. Maybe it's because she was really kinda hot, and I feel more dysphoric now that I am trying to hide my breasts more and putting an effort into being seen as masculine by others who don't know me. Yet, I look back, and think about the moments when those photos were taken, and I remember what hard work it was to keep up that appearance. Societal expectations and stuff. Don't get me wrong, it's fun to look fabulous, but it's also difficult to pull it off for long, at least for me. 

I wondered if I was the only FtM who felt mournful about their feminine selves, So, I asked the question in a Facebook support group for FtMs over 40, and I got the most wonderful response. N wrote:

"I totally mourned her, said my goodbyes, and sent her off into the nothingness. Similarly to how I have mourned the loss of friends and family. People occasionally ask if I am her brother, and I admit that we did grow up together. I transitioned after 40 (knew I was trans from a child, but psychotherapy didn't know what to do with trans kids in 1983.) I spent a lot of time with the person that I tried to be for everyone's comfort, so it seemed reasonable that I mourn her passing.

I grew up on the stage, and I mostly saw her as a character that I had played for a very long time. In the past when I've played parts for long times on stage, there also was a mourning process as you shed the character. I'd say it was similar."

This resonated  with me deeply. Of course I'd grown up with her! Of course she was my "sister!" So, I've decided to do, not exactly a funeral, but a send-off sort of ritual that resonates with my spirituality when I can figure out how best to do it. After all, she's not exactly dying, she's just evolving. I hate to use a tired metaphor, but one of my first online names, in my early 20s, was a variant of chrysalis, as if I knew, all those years ago, that I wasn't fully developed as a person. I didn't know how long it would take for that to happen. The cocoon is beginning to turn from opaque to clear and little cracks are forming in it, and I can see the way out, now. Last spring, I hatched two butterflies from caterpillars to cocoons to fully-formed insects. Maybe I can do something similar this year, as part of my sending-off ritual. 

Goodbye, Heather. My mother will miss you.

Just an annoyance.

Major dysphoric moment in the urology office: didn't even have anything to do with the exam. It was that the receptionist refused to call me by my preferred name. "We have to go by what's on your state ID," blah blah. Well it wasn't like I was asking her to put me into the system that way. I just wanted to be called "Morgan." Almost every other doctor's office I've gone to have either acquiesced to my request, or had a "preferred name" field on the paperwork. The worst part was correcting her from calling me "ma'am." "It's sir," I said. She looked completely confused, like she'd never seen a trans person in her life, and I have a damn mustache today.

The doctor, herself, wasn't a total asshat. She understood that I wished to be called Morgan when I explained why. 

One of these days, I'll get my name change done and I'll never have to deal with this bullshit again.

EDIT: Holy shit! This is the first time I've ever corrected someone's "ma'am" to a "sir" in public!