For one, my "ex" would be a woman who is the father of my children, and that's kinda weird. He will have to be okay with the fact that I would still be good friends with my "ex. How many guys would get all that and want to be involved with that?
I'm not holding my breath. So, my wonderful readers, imagine you are a lone floaty ring in the middle of a swimming pool on an overcast, warm, windless day.
Sort of comforting and relaxing, right? But you're not exactly going anywhere, either. That's me.
Posted by Marni at AM 4 comments: Email This BlogThis! Wednesday, July 1, A Need for Clarity. Hello, all you amazing readers!
I have a request from my transfans. Will you please or ask someone in your community to create a glossary of terms the transgender community has created to describe everyone else.
I'm not joking. If the trans community really, really wants the non-trans community to fully embrace all of the wonderful qualities you all have as human beings, then you really have to consider that when the rest of us are called something that we don't understand, it kinda puts us off. Thanks to GLAAD, we can look this on up. I'm really, really not kidding my friends. Words are symbols. Words bring groups together and they can keep them apart. When someone writes something, for example, about the trans-experience in a non-trans oriented publication, do you expect to engender pardon the pun understanding or camaraderie when you use a term that only other transfolk understand?
It's like two people from different countries trying to forge a peace agreement when neither of them speak the same language nor do either have an interpreter. Besides, "cishet" sounds like asshat to me. But perhaps y'all should consider it somewhat seriously, since you know for a fact that I'm totally on your side. You know? And by the way YAY SCOTUS! Saturday, June 13, Weighing In. I read it that evening and after finishing it, wrote my response to it.
15/04/ My Husband Is Now My Wife - And Our Marriage Has Never Been Better. The life I knew - the life I had with my husband - died that night. There's no other way to describe it. This post was published on the now-closed organicherbie.com Contributor platform. Contributors control their own work and posted freely to our organicherbie.com: Yourtango
I needed to edit it down, and then I got busy, and within two days I realized my efforts to submit a rebuttal to the NY Times was moot because everyone and their sister did it already. What follows is a shorter, much more organized version of my intended response.
Do men and women have different brains? This was the pivotal question Burkett posed in her article and the proceeded to, sort of, answer. As cheesy as Chelsea Manning's comment was about having been more emotionally inspired by Jenner's story, it didn't matter.
Much of Burkett's opinions featured in this piece didn't matter because they were irrelevant to her original point of concern. Rightfully so, Burkett reminded readers that because of perceived mental capacities, women were oppressed in many cultures for hundreds, even thousands of years.
I get that. I totally get that. No one should ever "get" to define anyone else.
Like Burkett said, "Their truth is not my truth. And herein lies the enormously hypocritical flaw in Burkett's argument. She says the following:. In other words, "women" have suffered or are constantly at risk of suffering at the hands or gawking eyeballs of men or from having a period.
Well, I guess I'm something other than a woman, because I haven't suffered any of these things, except maybe for that almost bleeding through my pants in public, but I was, like 16 at the time. Sure, men have looked at my boobs while I was talking; however, I also got intelligent verbal responses from them. Maybe my boobs weren't pretty enough or what I said far outweighed the boob allure.
In all the years I was on the pill, I was NEVER ONCE terrified that I'd forgotten to take one. Like the directions said, if you missed one, take it as soon as you realize you missed it. Perhaps I was more responsible with my pill-taking, pregnancy-preventing responsibilities than she was.
As I worked in academia for many years, WE ALL HAD CRAPPY PAYCHECKS. In fact, I earned more than most because of the unreasonable number of masters degrees I have. The fear of rape thing?
Mine, my husband is a girl that can not
That cinches it for me. I have never once in my ENTIRE LIFE been afraid of being too weak to fight off a rapist. I'm so strong that other people ask me to walk them to their cars, and I'm not referring to my physical strength although my dad did always say I was strong as an ox. Burkett should dismiss me right away. I have to go to the Virginia department of records or whatever and have my birth certificate changed from girl to something else. I'm clearly not a guy. Unfortunately for Burkett, her argument that women can only call themselves such because of experience is a load of hot, stinky crap, and I am living proof of that.
To attempt a justification of this warped way of thinking, Burkett returns to the subject of brains. She says that "science" has determined that "they're in fact shaped by experience, cultural and otherwise. Those same scientists DO NOT discount the actual fact which has repeatedly been documented and proven that there are male and female brains.
Gina Rippon, that professor of neuroscience she quoted, was the ONLY science-type person to entirely dismiss the science of the effect of hormones on brain chemistry in-utero. So, of course Burkett is going to glom onto this person who isn't actually a scientist but just a professor who makes unfounded suspicions to seminar attendees.
The notion that you can't look at a brain and tell that it's a male or female brain, as stated by Rippon, is ludicrous to suggest as proof. Of course you can't. But you can look at it with machines and other scientific tools that can.
The next couple of paragraphs of Burkett's rant is blather, so I'm going to skip them. offensive, reducing us to our collective breasts and vaginas. Yet this comment is reminiscent of her earlier comment that one can't be a woman if one hasn't suffered like she has. Feeling that a person was born in the wrong body has far more implications than being about breasts and vaginas.
Quick quiz: First, what word that starts with an H caused your body to produce those breasts and that vagina? Second, did that thing that starts with an H affect any other parts of your body or personality development?
The answers, FYI, are "Hormones," and "YES! Not being transsexual, I can't possibly imagine what that feeling is like, but my spouse completed her transition inso I've got that as a reference. It is my understanding that the feeling of being in the wrong body can often be akin to having a wet, heavy, musty blanket all over your body that you can't get off.
Now, I'm not going to nail Burkett on anything she reported about the trans community having a problem with using the word "vagina" for plays and things about women. There are radicals in the trans community, too.
That doesn't mean, nor did they imply, that they speak for all trans women. Burkett is just complaining that the people whom she aims to label are slinging mud, too. Two wrongs don't make a right, you know. I am going to nail her. Burkett has a problem with a group of people who are fighting for inclusion in abortion rights?
You go, Fund Texas Chioceformerly Fund Texas Women, for understanding that anyone with a uterus might need an abortion some day.
Women's colleges are probably not "contorting themselves into knots" for re-thinking how to accommodate women who are accepting who they are and asking their school to support them. Does Burkett have proof that these schools are freaking out? I'd like to see those documents, please.
She singles out Wellesley College as being tormented by trans issues, but hey, let's just take a look at part of their mission statement:. Wellesley encourages students to try on new ideas, try out new courses of action, and interact authentically with others whose beliefs or choices challenge their own.
I'm thinking that Burkett did not get accepted to Wellesley. I hope Columbia University's excellent reputation isn't too tarnished by Burkett's lack of "fair and balanced" reporting. Burkett lastly offers trans women a compromise: we womenfolk will happily support your right to be whomever you want to be along the X-Y chromosomal spectrum which Burkett says is possible because what you do with your life defines your gender just as long as you don't call yourselves women.
That is so kind, isn't she? She doesn't speak for me. Her truth isn't my truth.
We may have been born with the same type of brain femalebut because of our experiences, we have developed into vastly different types of human being. If being allowed to use the term "woman" means that I had to have suffered from fear and degradation at the hands of males, then you can have it.
Like topic my husband is a girl consider, that
On the other hand, I vote to remove Burkett's ability to call herself a women for the same reasons. Women are adult females. That's my understanding, at least.
I give you permission, Ms. Burkett, to continue using the word "woman" to define yourself because I'm a nice person and because my definition is broad enough to include you. I suppose that if I were to follow your lead, I could change my definition to suit my fear-based arguments, but I don't think I'll do that because I'm not afraid of anything.
Dirty litter boxes: those are scary. And that dream where you have a ton of homework due but you're already late to class.
That one terrifies me every time! Oh yeah. Those people who try to marginalize others because of difference, based on a conjecture that is utterly contrary to modern science Are black people or Jews equal races to white Europeans? Does factory exhaust contribute to climate change? Does fracking cause earthquakes? Posted by Marni at PM 3 comments: Email This BlogThis! Labels: Bruce JennerNew York TimestransTranssexual.
Wednesday, April 29, A Sad Day, Indeed. My heart goes out to her mother. I'd like to show up on the doorsteps of the assholes on 4chan and beat the living crap out of each of them. Posted by Marni at AM No comments: Email This BlogThis! Monday, April 27, The Bruce Jenner Interview Experience. It's been a few days since the interview and in those few days, the transgender conversation has exploded.
Within the community, I've seen both overwhelming support and overwhelming damnation of Bruce Jenner coming out on national television. Dawn Ennis, a friend of mine whom I have yet to physically meet :-D in the trans community, made an excellent point in her TV interview that everyone has their own experience in how he or she discovered and figured out what to do about being transsexual, and I think people need to be conscious of that.
Jenner is a celebrity and has been for about 40 years. No one could ask him to remain closeted just because his coming out would invite so much press. In my opinion, he handled it well. I can think of several other ways this could have gone really badly. As the spouse of a transsexual I'm still not sure why no one used this word instead of transgender, but I'm no expert eitherI found the interview fascinating.
Much of what Jenner said was true for our experience - albeit from my perspective. We have two kids, but they were much younger when Tasha began her transition than when Jenner's transition started. I was amused at one of the wife's quoted comments calling transition a "journey" because that's what Tasha's father called it. It's a very impersonal comment. I would never call what a trans person goes through a "journey. But when you wish people luck on their journey, it means you are not coming along.
It's that person's journey, so send me a postcard when you get there. I think Jenner will have a lot of support throughout the transition, even outside the family. People will accept the woman Jenner is and that will be good for trans people. But what about the other trans people? The ones who are not celebrities. The ones whose name we don't know. The ones whose only person looking at him or her is himself or herself in the mirror.
I thought mostly about the wives as I listened to the interview. I'm a spouse, after all. It was nice to hear that the ex-wives were supportive although if they weren't they wouldn't say since they were quoted on national TV. I thought about having torn feelings toward Tasha's transition.
I thought about being angry at the universe for all of it. I remembered thoughts that went through my head only a few years ago that still echo sometimes in my head. As I was taking the last of Jonathan's things out of our closet and putting them into bags, I had this crazy revelation however irrational it might have been that I didn't marry a man after all.
I married a woman. The only person who wanted to marry me was not even a guy. I'd had relationships before, but none of those led to marriage because clearly guys didn't find me to be marriage material. It made perfect sense to me at the time.
If you know me personally, you'll agree that it fit nicely into my self-image. Jenner said that as a man, he was being himself under the circumstances.
That was not authentic to how he really felt about who he was, but in the man's body, he was who he could be: a woman's brain in a man's body. But did that make him a "man" while he was in that body? He certainly had that body's sensations. Like Tasha, he acted and reacted like a guy. Tasha tried to convince me of this, and I finally just let the idea go, but I maintained that a female brain was responsible for guiding the testosterone-driven body, so it was still not quite the same.
But does it really matter in the long run for me as a spouse? It shouldn't. People come in all colors. Some guys with guy brains are more emotional than other guys with guy brains.
I, for one, do not act like a "girly girl. No, but it did. Have you ever doubted your attractiveness because your partner changed genders? Do you think the average person ever would? The interview made me wonder about all of the other spouses out there.
I know that there are many spouses who say they're bi-sexual, so the gender change didn't matter to them. What about the other heterosexual spouses? That's why I started this blog: to share my experience with other spouses out there.
Maybe it was a selfish thought, but I kept thinking about the stories of those women and men who chose to stay and how many of those trans people never tried to end their lives because of it. I felt for Jenner's wives. I cannot have a shared experience with the transsexual person, but I can with their partners.
I also thought about stories of partners who left. If you haven't watched the interview, you should. I wonder what people who have absolutely no exposure to this felt about it. I mean really. I'm not talking about the people who post responses under articles. My perspective is different as a spouse to that of a transsexual.
My experience is different from someone who has never had to think about it. What this interview did was start a bigger conversation, and that's super important. Sure, it's going to cause all sorts of reactions. Some will probably be bad. But the elephant is in the room and nobody can get around it without touching it now unless perhaps you live under the carpet. So much good can come out of this.
Understand my husband is a girl are
It's true and proper education at its finest. It's a "real world application," as they like to call it. Your perspective on the interview is important. The interview itself can be a jumping-off point to meaningful conversations. Take advantage of Jenner's vulnerability, no matter what you thought of it. Posted by Marni at AM 24 comments: Email This BlogThis! Labels: Bruce Jennerspousesupport for spousetransgendertransitionTranssexual.
Older Posts Home. We took long walks, frequented cafes and bookshops, spent hours at home reading aloud, cooking and drinking wine. Tom was an avid football fan and he taught me the game so that I could enjoy it with him. He lived with my preference for what he called relationship films and I lived with his films involving aliens and violent death. We talked about almost everything.
Something my husband is a girl opinion you
We had every conversation, except the ones we didn't have. We never spoke of the discomfort Tom had once expressed about his gender - but those feelings had been resolved long ago, hadn't they?
And we didn't talk about sex. For more than two decades, we had an active and, I believed at the time, satisfying sex life. We didn't sleep in separate beds. We didn't forget to touch, didn't find sexless weeks slipping by unnoticed.
But we never said much about it.
23/11/ Her husband, apparently, had been having an affair with a year-old olive skinned, thin, and tall girl who dreams of becoming a model one day. With her perfect hair and amazing walk, she can make anyone fall head over heels for her. Except for the ones who are really in love. The effects of love. When a person is in love, they do not drool over shinny long legs, or beautiful auburn hair and Estimated Reading Time: 5 mins 06/11/ My husband has put a six digit password on he cell phone! Which is odd, because I don't know the the password word numbers. He knows mine because it very simple. Also, he puts his phone on silent at night & keeps it in another room & I have noticed he's been guarded with his phone. I confronted him about him talking to her too much. I got told that well. you have your girls friends & he Estimated Reading Time: 8 mins 20/12/ Yes, She is My Husband There aren't many blogs out there written by spouses of transsexual people. Of those, few - if any - have a supportive tone. Here's one, though. It is a difficult road, but I am sticking to it! It's about love, you know? Thursday, December 20, Nothing to Say Just kidding. I have some stuff to say, my loyal readers. I'm sorry I haven't kept up with this blog, but
Why don't you check it out? I laughed.
He was kidding, right? What did he have in common with his own demographic? Tom wasn't kidding. He was angry, as insulted as if I'd suggested he join a group for the mentally impaired. Yet Tom was interested in my relationships with other women. Too interested. Whenever I began a friendship, he would edge suffocatingly close. One time he called a new friend in secret to ask for babysitter recommendations so he could take me out for my birthday.
After that, he often found some pretext - it always felt like a pretext - of doing something nice, and got his hands on a friend's phone number, calling for advice or information and asking her for secrecy. It felt creepy every time. At the time, though some friends didn't know what to make of him, most thought Tom sweet, gentle, the sensitive type - qualities that, when I encounter them in my friends' husbands, now cause me, entirely unfairly, to cringe on my friends' behalf.
As if I could see the knickers, the tweezers, the boat-sized high heels heading their way.
That night, after Tom's announcement, I tried to believe that our life together was going to continue, because, quite simply, I couldn't believe that it would not. Tom had a psychological problem, a big one.
We would find a way out of it. What other choice was there? The next afternoon we took a walk on a winding country road, with Lilly, not yet two, in the buggy, and Adam and Bibi on bicycles. When the older kids were out of earshot, Tom repeated the salient points of the previous night's conversation. He felt wrong in his body. Increasingly so. It had gone from being an occasional thought to a constant state of mind. An obsession. Tom mentioned that he wanted to find a therapist, possibly a group of people struggling with similar feelings.
Even before the obvious signs of maleness, Tom's laughter disappeared from our lives. Overnight, it seemed, he stopped smiling.
He no longer took pleasure in anything. He looked ill. He complained of fatigue, stomach ailments and dizziness. He lost his appetite and began to lose weight. But my sincere attempts to sympathise with him alternated with bewilderment and rage over the close, secret relationships he'd apparently formed with women confidantes, over his insistence that his urgent need to express his femininity outweighed every other concern. It was hard to understand the sudden dramatic change in a state of being he now claimed was lifelong.
I tried to convince Tom that he was not a woman. When that failed, I tried to convince him that, for our children's sake, he could believe he was a woman and still choose to live as a man.
For his part, Tom's perspective was that if I loved him, I would accept that a transsexual has to do what a transsexual has to do - and sacrifice my own identity accordingly. When he wasn't telling me that the person I thought I had known had never existed at all, he'd say it was a sign of my limitations that I couldn't grasp the idea of same person, different package. He didn't seem the same. He didn't act the same. His values seemed to change along with his personality.
Ice cold, the man I had once thought a wonderful father replied, "I would do it anyway. When I eventually got round to reading other women's accounts - that is, the accounts of women who stayed with their transsexual husbands - they said about their partners what my husband said about himself: he's still the same person inside. This argument reached an absurd zenith on the day he declared, "You only loved me for my gender!
It began with a pair of purple cotton underpants. A woman's underpants. I pulled them out of the dryer amid the rest of the usual laundry produced by a man, a woman, two children and one baby. I had never seen them before.
Tom came upon me in the basement, standing before the dryer, staring at them. I've been trying to keep them out of your sight. This was the first time I had ever seen an item of female clothing that belonged to my husband. It was also the end of Tom trying to keep women's clothes out of my sight. Female clothes - tarty and juvenile, conservative and middle aged - appeared in our home. His new things came from charity shops, where he openly shopped for himself in our small community, and from a growing network of women who saw my closet as the repository for their castoffs.
Tom acquired garments from all over the fashion map, ranging from things that I would know weren't mine even if I was struck blind most to the occasional item that resembled something I wore. I felt ill handling his women's wear, but sometimes I had to examine the family laundry closely to separate what was his from what was mine.
My husband is a girl
Tom was allowing his once very short, mostly grey hair to grow out. It looked terrible, but of course that was beside the point. He brought home a hairbrush and kept it in the bathroom closet. One day, he walked into the bathroom while I was combing my hair. He positioned himself next to me before the mirror and began to brush his own hair.
When he was done, he smirked knowingly at his reflection and, tracing an exaggerated arc with his hand, very deliberately dropped his brush into a basket I kept for my things beside the sink. Such moments packed a breathtaking array of meaning and emotion.
All at once there was the pathos of witnessing a middle-aged man - the husband I loved and had admired - taking pleasure in gazing at the woman he evidently saw when he looked at himself in the mirror. His satisfaction with himself. His in-my-face "I'm going to do this and you have no choice but to accept it" attitude towards me. The painful fact that such moments represented his departure from our marriage and from the person he had been, and that I was forced to watch that departure not once but over and over again.
The terrible feeling of intrusion into my space, my privacy. Like a rebellious teenager, he wanted me to know: you aren't the only woman around here any more. He wanted me to know: absolutely nothing will be left to you. My basket had become a public receptacle marked All Women's Things Go Here.
Like womanhood itself, it was no longer my domain. Tom found a circle of women to sympathise with, encourage and dress him. Once, he left his laptop open to a message from one of them that read, "Your wife has to accept losing you.
From his cheerleaders I learned that in the new political correctness, female solidarity is out. A man in a dress is in. Among women who consider themselves feminists, a man who declares himself a transsexual trumps another woman any day.
One of Tom's supporters would eventually sum up this perspective most explicitly: "He's a transsexual. Anything he does is what he needs to do. These career women told Tom, and some would later tell me, that my wifely role was to support my man and to get my children on board with the project. My responsibility was to Tom. Tom's responsibility was to Tom. In the Valley of the Politically Correct, being a transsexual means never having to say you're sorry. Tom shaved off the beard he had been wearing since I met him at He shaved off the chest hair I had loved to run my fingers through.
One day he came home with his eyebrows plucked to within an inch of their lives, a style choice I tried unsuccessfully to convince him no actual woman had made since the s. In our joint account I saw payments to a voice coach.
I discovered that he carried a portable tape recorder with him during solo drives, so that he could work on raising his pitch. I found this out when he let our toddler play with the tape recorder, a button was hit, and out of the machine came a weird, feminised lisp that neither the children nor I had ever heard before: Daddy's new voice.
Did the kids notice Tom's transformation? They didn't say and I didn't dare ask. Neither the kids nor I would actually see him dressed as a woman during the two years his transformation took place under our roof, or for many months after.
We didn't have to confront him modelling the new threads, but I, for one, couldn't forget that they were there.
Catfishing My HUSBAND MATT to See if HE LiES! (Surprising Secret to Reveal Truth)
Knickers that weren't mine were now regulars in our laundry. I also caught glimpses of their lace edges peeking out of his jeans when he bent over to help one of the children, and a bra was sometimes visible underneath his man's shirt.
He said it made him feel better. Presumably the falsies I found around the house also made him feel better. The only problem was, they made me feel worse. I felt like a woman encountering the presence of an intruder in her marriage in the traces of infidelity among her husband's things. Only the lipstick smears weren't on my husband. They were my husband's.