Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the "Story So Far" Page above this and the "New Readers" tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Saturday, 28 August 2021

Teacher Speak

I went to the in-person support group Thursday night and it was...

When I used the term 'alienate' in advance, I meant that I do that to others - I push away, I unsettle. Even at a group designed for people whom society deems unsettling I can unsettle others.

I really need to get better at getting
others to take a photo.

This is my attempt.
After some retail therapy in some charity shops I had a new coat and some new flared jeans. I ended up wearing my existing flared jeans (they are longer in the leg and brush the floor if one is not careful and I like that far more than I am prepared to admit) with that £7 t-shirt from earlier in the summer and the coat over the top. Oh, I also bought a new bag. Cath Kidson, baby-blue, with a rainbow-like design. I like it a lot. I mean, again, probably more than I am prepared to admit. Smaller than the black number. Along with my glasses and a cap and I didn't even feel nervous going to my car up the street. I didn't mind driving unmasked. I had splashed out on mascara and lipstick. I felt... at home.

Not trusting my voice I managed to navigate to the group past people who did not immediately suspect (I was wearing my mask by this point) and join everyone else. The glasses gained a compliment or two (I know, right?) but I suspect the work here was being done with mascara as I had worn the glasses last time and no one seemed to have noticed.

I got talking- no, I got talked to by one of the older ladies there. Self-diagnosed with autism she was wearing an awareness band and I commented on it. She then proceeded to talk to me about her life for the best part of an hour an a half. But, see, I am there to listen so pipe down, Joanna, shut the fuck up and listen. She teased me to guesstimate her age. Ever the conversationalist and smarting about some erroneous assumptions about my experience (or, rather, lack thereof) I asked in return. She bade me lower my mask and I did. "Oh," she said, "Well, your beard ages you."

Beard. I'd only spent an hour trying to get as close a shave as I could. I wasn't prepared to have that comment.

On my way to the free coffee.

It was after lunch, so that may have
been part of the reason for the
difficulty sleeping.
I mean... oh. I no longer felt at home. No longer comfortable. Nerves started again, tinged with anger and regret - aimless, baseless, at first at the lady but then, on reflection, at me. I mean, what did I expect? I was talking to a woman who had undergone electrolysis and laser treatments as well as hormones. She was around 70 years old. She regularly referenced being scared of men. I am 41 years of age, no hormones, no treatments, just a razor. My voice is still male, very male (Matt Berry male) and I am, at the end of the day, the sort of person who disappoints commenters on Stana's blog (yes, that was also about the beard and also casts a long five-o'clock shadow). I wasn't wearing a dress, but I am just a man in a dress nevertheless.

I struggled to sleep.

In the morning I tried to set up when and where I was meeting Miss Warrington for a beer and a curry as arranged - you may recall I'd turned down going to visit my mother on this - and found out that She had forgotten. Other plans had been made. Oh. I went to charge the car - eschewing dressing, I wanted to but I looked in the mirror and that fucking beard is still there, if I can be embarrassed at a group for people on the trans* spectrum then I can surely be embarrassed out in public.

Tilly called asking if I would check that she'd turned the oven off - they're off on holiday - and so I thought I may as well go Oop North anyway. On a whim, I did it. There was traffic, stationary at times, and it was a frustrating and boring drive even with me playing the album from the artists I related on Thursday. It took about three hours longer than it should. And, in the evening, my mother asked me about the group and about... well, me.

I showed her Trans: A Coming Out Story. She shared how Eddie Izzard unsettled her but Julian Clary did not. She asked if I was like the people on Ru Paul's Drag Race, how they were "less than men" but not women (interesting phrasing). If I could wear a dress all the time, would I? Because she almost always wears trousers - clothes don't make you- I finished, no, clothes aren't the thing. They're part of the thing but they are not the thing. If I felt like I had never fitted in, counseled my mother, taking any action wouldn't help me fit in more - it may even make things considerably more difficult. She wants to support me, whatever I decide to do or not do, but she finds things difficult: she doesn't know enough, maybe she should, she mused.

WWW - what went well

- The 'look' for the in person support group was one that I liked, it felt right

- I engaged in actual discussion in the group and only once felt like I was dominating, well done me

- I took a decision

- I had a haircut. It is now 'layered'

- Tilly had not left the oven on

EBI - even better if

- I did not have a beard

- I packed some en femme stuff - I carefully kept everything male

- I accept that, maybe, just maybe, this is the latest in a line of things I leap into and then do nothing because, ultimately, I am incapable of feeling happy or fulfilled (I see you Sarah over at TransRetroGurl, I see you)

- I took better decisions

- I prepared for the return to work rather than mooning over existential dread

Two Stars and a Wish

* Wore mascara and it seemed to 'pop'

* New coat

- Maybe not in polite company next time

Shit Sandwich

I managed to beat the original funk enough to get coffee, haircut and some new clothing to attend the evening; now all I have to do is be a better human being so I don't collapse over having a beard as a man; do that and I can succeed more in life.


  1. FWIW, I thought the outfit was fab and was really 'you'. The cut, style, colours, and how you seemed to be yourself in it. Did that last bit make sense?

    You've mentioned Berry twice now, but I'm not hearing his voice in you. I wonder if we hear our voices very differently to others? On a tongue in cheek note, try to avoid shouting 'bat!' when leaving the room (apologies if that's an obscure reference).

    As to the beard situation, I honestly didn't notice it as you came in or when listening to you later on. Foundation and concealer can help - I'm not saying you should or must. Only that cosmetics can help hide the things we don't like about our appearance.

    1. Thank you, honestly, thank you.

      I do need to look into foundation and concealer. I wasn't prepared for how much of a tail-spin I would go into over having my beard noted - given that I've gone nigh twenty years of being worn by one and kind of got used to it! Indeed, my appearance is something I have steadfastly ignored for a very long time, so I'm not used to being keyed in to comments about it - it was a new experience.

      I hadn't heard of Lazlo, but it makes perfect sense. I may have to try that at school. As for whether or not I actually sound like Berry, I think it's more a case of his verbal tics than his voice, IYSWIM. :)


All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!