Jess Love and Her Transition:

Patience = Success

Part 1

     So for those who have seen my blog, you may wonder: who is this person that is hard to "figure out" and why is s/he wearing underwear over his (or her?) jeans?  What does this have to do with "transitioning" and why aren't there any pictures to show some progress that this person is becoming a woman?  My story and journey are a difficult account of my life which I will have to break down in pieces.  I do acknowledge that I am probably the most difficult person to understand, but then again life is complicated enough.  We can only judge things based upon our sense of self and will never be able to experience what another does.  However, by looking into another person's lens, we can come to at least understand what the other person feels, thinks, sees, and experiences.  My journey is one marked by so much emotional pain and suffering, a lifelong struggle (in December it will be 40 years) with feeling uncomfortable about myself, knowing and sensing that something is wrong inside of me, and an overall feeling of embarrassment about my body, uncertainty about how I should behave in order to "hide my true self".  That true self was etched in stone even while I was in my mother's womb (the first and eternal love of my life who doesn't know about my transition plans).  Put simply: I am a woman trapped in a male body!

     While I have delayed and been resistant to blogs in the past, I have overcome all of that and feel that now, as I am about to approach a milestone in a few months, I would like to come down on record on my transgender experience as well as begin documenting for those who see this blog my transition which will pick up speed after the end of this year.  I feel that at 40 and while I still have my youth, I should not postpone this process any further.  I need to solidify myself as a true woman, one who feels, acts, thinks, and can contribute of herself to society as her true self.  It's no more time for lies; it is time to be true to myself, and perhaps I can also be of some inspiration to those trans girls out there who have gone through a similar situation.

Then why did it take so long for you to come out as transgender?

The answer is very simple: fear of judgment but most of all, wanting to make sure that conclusions about myself were right.  Sure, we all go through phases in life but some "phases" are more than just a phase.  These "episodes" may just be an ongoing underlying condition which we must deal with or may not be well equipped to handle.  So, for the most part, it is preferable to hide those signs rather than show them to the world.  I was brought up in a typical Hispanic home of Ecuadorian parents and I was first-generation American-born.  Their culture is one that still holds on to the "machismo" attitude prevalent in Latin culture, one that in my opinion is oppressive and outdated.  My parents, especially my mother, are of Catholic upbringing and I saw nothing but good moral examples in a peaceful home which shielded me from the dangers of the outside world.  Of course, my mother was in this country at first with no legal status so she had to be very careful that every step we took was made with the utmost intelligence.  Yet that did not prevent my home to be riddled with daily arguments and fights over stuff that occurred between my parents in the old country.  Among this tumultuous and overprotective life, I was brought up.  While I did survive, it left me traumatized in ways that most people would never imagine and still haunt me to this very day.

Probably for me, the most difficult of the experiences that I have had to endure was that "ambiguous manner" in which I was socialized.  I was never allowed to go outside and play with other kids of my same "gender" or interact with children my age in general.  On the other hand, my mother was always by my side, my father and other male "role model wannabes" rejected my presence, so my mother became my role model in all ways.  Not only that, ever since I can remember as a child, I felt "different".  While I was being reminded that I was a boy every time, I always saw something different in the mirror, something emulating that of my mother and of other females that were present when I was a baby and growing up.  I was aware that my features were soft and that I was extra sensitive to things, like I would cry easily if I tapped myself against a door or just being reprimanded for the silliest things.  When I would see my father and uncle, my mother would also not allow me to get close to them because, of course, if I did, both men would deliver me back into my mother's hands.  It's like these two men were afraid to touch me or have any interaction with me because they may have sensed something in my aura.  You know, all of us can sense vibrations from other individuals.  I was caught in a world of many contradictions.

My mother would allow neither my father nor my uncle to touch me or bathe me or whatever.  My mother had exclusive rights to it.  Not only that, I always rejected any male if they approached me or got scared of them.  I would always allow some of my mother's girlfriends to touch me and handle me any way they could.  With regards to socialization, I had poor socialization as a child in interaction.  On the other hand, my mother kept my hair long (well that was the style back in the 70s) and always brushed it, dressed me with brighter colors than your typical boy, always put on fragrance to help me smell "fresh and flowery" and talked to me as a mother would talk to her daughter.  I love her to death and she is my best friend, but there were times when (and here is where the contradiction come in) she would see me walk so carefree, wiggling my butt, that she would smack me up my behind and reprimand me yelling in Spanish: "PARECES UNA MUJERCITA CAMINANDO, CAMINA BIEN!" (meaning"You are waling like a pretty little woman walk right!).  The way my mother said the word "mujercita" was in a very ugly and almost derogatory manner.  I sometimes, and later in life, checked her on that by reminding her that she should not express herself like that of women in general because she herself is a woman!  That always seemed to bother me because I did not see anything wrong with being a woman, so why should she?  Is that something so evil?  I mean, if there is anything evil it is the way that our society tends to manipulate our socialization claiming that anything that is male in character is well desired.  Please don't make me puke!  I was about 3 years old at the time, so since then I have a sense that I was born in the wrong gender.  This is only the beginning of my travesty.  I will continue in my next post on my childhood and how this would become a lifelong problem, the search for my gender identity.