Monday, December 31, 2007


Hi, welcome to my new blog. This is the first one I've ever had.

This is part of an email I sent a month ago to somebody from my Uni's LGBT organisation. Rereading it now, my feelings have only gotten stronger since then. I realise that a month is nothing, but still...

Cliff's Notes version:
Gender-confused married male wonders what he ought to do.

The start and depth of these new feelings:

This past semester, in one of my classes, we had to read a book entitled "√Čloge de la diversit√© sexuelle" ("In praise of sexual diversity). Essentially it was about how we should be more accepting of sexual and gender diversity. In that class, we also watched a movie called "Ma vie en rose" (My life in pink) in which a young boy wishes he could be a girl. As well, Susan Stryker, a transgendered prof, came to speak to our class.

I came to a very sudden realisation several weeks ago: I didn't like being masculine/male and would prefer to be somewhere in between the male/female spectrum. I was shocked to discover I had those feelings, which seemed bizarre, yet not unwelcome.

The only other time I've had a similar "sudden realisation" was about five years ago, when I started to question Christianity. That uncomfortable realisation led to exploration, and I ended up becoming an atheist.

Possible things that could indicate I had a prior disposition:

I'd always been secure in my masculinity. At my first job after high-school, I was the only male who would wear the pink work shirt with no qualms. I've never hidden my attraction to Legolas from Lord of the Rings. I've never had a problem stating which male is more attractive than another.

However, especially in my marriage, I've resisted traditional gender roles. My wife is the one who works full-time, paying the bills, while I go to school. Occasionally, she'll say something indicating that I should do something, because I'm the guy. Yet, I enjoy sewing just as much as fixing something in the garage.

Since the hair started growing on my chest several years ago, I've been disgusted by it, and have been shaving it regularily.

So, that's that. I'm not planning anything in particular for this blog. This is mainly for me, personally, to help me deal with this "stuff". But if you get some amusement out of it, good for you. Don't read what I write looking for answers. I'm going to keep this fairly anonymous. Somebody reading this that already knows me might be able to figure out who I am, but nobody will be able to find this by searching my real name. Also, I use vulgar language, so cover your virgin eyes.

I'm a genetic male in my mid-twenties, married for several years, with no children. I live in British Columbia, Canada. I work in retail, but don't deal with customers.

Fuck, I'm confused. Why do I suddenly feel this way? What do I do about it? I love my wife; she's my best friend. I don't want to lose her. But these feelings are strong. They monopolise my thoughts. I've been spending many hours a week reading whatever I can dredge up on Google. I think it would be easier in many respects if I had always known. But it wasn't like that.

Yesterday, I bought my first piece of female clothing, a red skirt, just above knee length, for $10. I was prepared to tell the cashier that it was for my wife if she asked, but she didn't. I tried it on when I got home, and found that I was indeed the size 10 that I had estimated. But I didn't tuck, so it looked funny. I've actually only been cross-dressing since this started in November. I've only done it about five times or so. I hid the skirt in the garage. I know I can't get more into dressing en femme without my dear wife knowing. I need her help to buy guy clothes. However, I have noticed that I've become more opinionated about female clothing. In The Gap a couple weeks ago, my wife touched a shirt, but I said "No!" with emphasis. This is a contrast to pretending to be bored, which is what I used to do so we'd leave earlier.

Enough for now. Don't expect daily posts, but I'll try to write something a couple times each week.