It wasn’t the magical setting of the large manor or that it was the only long sunny day of the week that had that run-up to Christmas feel. Neither was it the gardens that were being tendered by volunteers this winter day digging in the soil and pushing wheel barrows. The estate sparsely populated with very few visitors.
It wasn’t the warm humid greenhouse full of special flowers still in bloom only metres away from the cold outdoors. The Christmas trees dotted around the grounds to fit in with this festive time or the grandiose piano in a glorious room that I was allowed to play with sunlight flittering through the windows that displayed a panorama of the large gardens spanning to the old trees at the end. It wasn’t any of that, it was that I was with someone sharing that day.
I could have gone to that place for the day, to look around how a family lived in such a large home and with success in the eighteen hundreds, and I would have enjoyed every minute of it. I enjoy my own company and I travel alone a lot but sharing a day with my parents makes it just that bit different. There is an extra enjoyment, a special day that we share, chatting, photos, lunch and coffee. That is special.
The worry is with the gender thing is whether, when we decide to outwardly show our gender identity and live life in the gender we feel we best fit, if we risk loosing those people that we enjoy sharing a day with. Will they be able to cope on those days even if they accept you. You get introduced to one of their friends they bump into, “Oh this is my So… Daughter.” Or just, this is my daughter, and their friend looks at you and loudly via their facial expression emit, “REALLY!” Or even worse, “Christ!”
I’m sure with my parents I’m in a position that they would except me whoever I become and in fact that might well go for most of my family but it’s one of those things that still play on the mind. I have friends that know about my gender identity and they’ve been good about it and it’s just not really a thing, not right now. It was funny when I was with my best friend, we were coming back from some night out in a car, me in the front passenger seat and him and his other mate, both very drunk in the back seats, singing The Lumberjack Song. Through the chorus he lent forward and gave me three large pats on the shoulder. I laughed at his typical drunk humour, and the fact his friend didn’t know and didn’t notice. But that’s him and that’s a way of coping and dealing with the baby elephant in the car.
I had a video call on my tablet some weeks ago. My Nan, she taps around on her tablet until something happens, usually on social media, but sometimes she calls me by accident. “Hiya.” I said loudly.
“Oh! I didn’t realise I did that. How did that happen?”
“Can you see me?” I had the camera switched on and I could see that at my end in the corner of the screen but hers was switched off.
“No, all I can see is a girl.”
“How are you Nan?”
I smirked for a moment but I didn’t follow it up with “No, thats me.” I suppose I could have but what would it have added to the call. She enjoys chatting to me and I think probing what she was seeing would be fruitless. It was what it was and it was quite nice to feel that someone in my own family saw a girl on the screen. I suspect the screen might have been a touch small anyway for her to say that or full of finger smudges, it’s not like she wouldn’t recognise me.
I still even get that thing, usually when I’m standing in a public toilet washing or drying my hands, and a guy walks in, stops and either walks out, double checks the sign on the door or just stands there for a moment trying to decide whether to come in and whether I’ve made a mistake or he has as to which toilet we’re in. It’s quite flattering in a weird way because as I’m getting older I feel like I’m loosing what femininity I had in my looks yet this has happened more in the last year than ever before.
I guess it could be confidence and the way I carry myself or more likely I’m more confident about the things I wear and how I wear my hair and how much I prepare myself that day. Impossible to know and probably not worth introspecting.
I’m not naive about my current presentation. I know I’m not one hundred percent ‘passing’, far from it, and not being treated female all the time, in fact rarely in comparison to every day but there is a foundation there. Sometimes those foundations in my mind have cracks or shift a little while I examine my own fears and feelings then eventually they’ll settle when I find ways to feel happy about those fears and confidence comes back a little more.
The most liberating, confidence boosting and progressive with this girl on the screen thing is in what little social media I still take part in. It’s one thing, turning up to the weekend running group as I want or going cycling how I wish to present myself outwardly, but posting photos of myself during these times, showing how i’m dressed, my hair straightened and long or high ponytail or even my hair falling down one side of my shoulder tied at the bottom in a loose ponytail – that is something else.
Social media is there for anyone to see. It’s unrestricted unless I become reclusive and lock it down. It’s open to people from my past that I’ve not seen in years that may have not had the build up to changes and have decided to lurk in my profile and flick through what I’ve become. The funny thing is my social media presence isn’t something I’ve worried about. I post photos where I’m already confident in my appearance and so it just blindly goes out there, and that is progress.
Until next time.