That Ship has Sailed

Sabrina,
Thank you for sharing. I haven't been here in a while, and I read your article just now and it really hit home with me. How far to go to catch the ship, that seems to be the question. I know I am in the right place in my heart and mind, now to get to the right time. It will come, patience and perseverance will carry us through
JaiymeLynne

Hi Sabrina,
Oh, to be so young again (but still retired). No dear, at 60, your ship has not sailed, it's just better prepared for the journey. I was married for almost 50 years before my wife's passing, yes, we married very young. She discovered my 'secret' after about 25 years together, fortunately, unwilling to throw away 25 years of a decent marriage, and not wanting to break another one in, she accepted my dressing, as long as it was strictly within the confines of our personal space. To the outside world everything had to be normal. This worked for us for the remainder of our lives together. Her passing left a great vacuum in my life and took about a year re-adjusting, a time where I didn't even have the desire to dress any more, and, unfortunately, did the dreaded purge thing. But then, as always, one day I saw a nice red dress in the store, and OMG, I had to have it. And there was another like it in pink. And then I needed shoes. And it all started, again. Widowed, retired, with no restraints but my own fears, that female inside suddenly pounced out of the closet. I started dressing more and more, and then one day I realized that I didn't have a name. I was still me, cross dressing. Looking at myself made up one day I thought "Why, I look like a Jennifer" and adopted the name. This moment proved to be a turning point, I now had an identity, someone to wrap all these feelings around, and Jennifer was born. I now dressed full time at home, still trying to play the role to the outside world. But I was becoming more feminine, my mannerisms, the way I sat, the way I walked, the way I moved. Sometimes I'd have forgotten to remove all my eye makeup or nail polish, and although it was obvious to my friends (we don't always hide as well as we think) they never said anything, at least to me. After about a year I started venturing out a little, go to the gas station after dark, and when I hit 75 I decided it was time. I get out of bed myself in the morning, wipe my own butt, brush my own teeth, dress myself, feed myself, pay my own bills, just when am I going to stop caring what people think and start living MY life. I came out to my friends, they really weren't surprised. Fortunately, they're all still friends, my biggest problem was that some were upset that I hadn't thought I could tell them before. I started going to an alternative bar, a 'safe' out, and was immediately comfortable. OK, I am probably the oldest person there, but that doesn't matter. People expressed admiration for me having the courage to come out so late in life, and many younger cross dressers come chat with me, just to talk, these young people have no one who really listens. Yes, as you're seeing, the years do add wisdom, and if we make ourselves available the younger girls, and boys, experiencing these feelings will come talk with us. We've been down the road, we can help, I've build some wonderful relationships on a level I'd never experienced before. There I met a younger transsexual who had transitioned 5 years earlier and we became friends. She's quite beautiful, passable (unlike me) and she took me to the next level. We went OUT, like OUT out, outside the safe out, out to a very nice upscale downtown restaurant for dinner. We went on a Tuesday, I thought it would be quiet, but instead when we got there it was packed. I was so nervous, but she took my hand and in we went. It was a wonderful evening, we closed the place chatting with some of the staff over chocolate martinis. Now we go out almost every week, sometimes multiple times, to dinner, shopping downtown, movies, checking out new bars and clubs, I no longer worry about being 'passable' but I do my best to look as good as I can of course. We always have a great time. We've found, even here in the deep south, that people are basically accepting. If we go somewhere being afraid, ashamed, people will respond that way, but we go happy, have fun, and people respond in the same way. People want to be around happy people. Just Tuesday, even in what's quite possibly the most smoky red neck dive on the outskirts of town, we went in, and I can assure you we were not only the only people like us in there but were probably the only ones like us to ever walk in there. After awhile we were chatting with people (women are the quickest to respond, men have more issues being afraid of peer pressure) and playing team pool. Tonight we'll go to another outskirts lounge for karaoke where we've been going Thursday's for a couple months now, and we'll be the only trans people there. But it's the only way for others to meet us, all people know is the crap they see on TV or in the movies. At first they're curious, but soon realize that we're real people too, we're not all cartoonish drag queens trying to corrupt their children. Now, if we miss a Thursday, the regulars wonder why we're not there. My 76th birthday party was there. The times have changed, even down here, and we don't have to be slaves to our fears any more. I think people like you and I are in a unique position. We're secure in ourselves, we know the fears, we can relate to those struggling with their identity as well as those who are attempting to accept and understand us. By getting out we give others the opportunity to actually meet and talk, many for the first time, with us. It can be frightening, but it is so, so rewarding. Jennifer lived in the dark closet, and then peeked out, and then kicked the door open and said "Never again". She lives full time now, and has never been happier. As for my old male side, well, he seems to be quite content to spend his retirement sitting quietly in the closet now.
Wishing you the best on your journey. It's possibly the hardest, but most rewarding one we'll ever make.
Hugs,
Jennifer