After about a week of getting nothing but sexual propositions, I took down the ad. I later put up another one, but I increased the requirements. The last ad was too open-ended. In the profile, I would only accept responses from individuals with pictures and who were physically fit. Since I am working out all the time I want to meet someone who appreciated it and be able to keep up with me if we did anything active. I was also looking for men taller than myself. I love a tall man.
After just a couple of days, a very attractive gentleman responded. He was tall, dark, and handsome. At six and half feet, even in my heels he was taller than me. He loved to play volleyball and fish. My heart went all funny and I could not stop looking at his picture. We corresponded for a while and then he asked me out. I was a wreck. It came unexpectedly, and I was at work. He was going to pick me up at 6:30, and I did not get home until 5:45. I quickly changed my clothes and redid my makeup. Then I ran around picking up things in case he came back to my apartment after dinner. As I was cleaning, I finished some leftover taco salad so that I would not be starving at the restaurant. My phone rang as I was finishing up: he was at the security door to the complex. I went down to meet him.
I gave him a causal hug and got into his car. This was it my first date as Stephanie. I was nervous, as any other girl would be on a first date. I knew him but not a lot. He was a true gentleman: he opened the door for me; he order dinner and paid for it. This was something I was not accustomed to. I had always been the one who had to pay in the past. It felt really good. It was a great time; we just talked and got to know each other.
I felt so small when I was with him, and it felt good. To be wanted was a new and incredible feeling. I was the one being chased for a change. I felt like a woman. The transition was successful. The whole purpose of transitioning was to be me, and I am a woman. Every day I wake up with a new lease on life. For the last three years, time could not go fast enough; now I want it to stop. I hope that everyone at least once in their life time gets to feel how I feel right now. I did transition from male to female, but even more I transitioned from torment to contentment. May life give you the opportunity to be free.
I am going to say goodbye for now because this is not the end—this is the beginning. Thank you for joining me on the Great Elephant Ride.
Stephanie Anne Timmer
Gender History
I have been to a lot of transgender conferences and talked to many of my transgender sorority sisters, but the topic of gender history is not discussed much or at all. It is incredibly important to think about not only from your perspective but that of others as well. I believe it is so important that I want to have a section dedicated to just this topic.
What is gender history? As we grow up, especially as transgender youth and more so as adults, we live our lives in gender roles. Our lives revolve around these roles, whether we are engineers or Marines. And if you are like me who was a deep-closet transsexual, I over-compensated in my male role. I set out to prove to the world and to myself that I was a man. I used to joke about it, telling people that if they had ever accused me of being a woman, I would have ripped off their arms and beat them.
Gender history begins the second we are born and in some cases before we are born. Your gender is defined by society the instant people see your genitals. It is somewhat funny that the thing that defines you when you are born is hidden instantly hidden with clothing. However, your personality is not even present yet. Your personality develops over time and defines who you are. When a child is born, the first thing we ask is whether it a boy or a girl, even before we ask if the child is healthy or how much he or she weighs.
You never hear a parent give birth and look at the child and quickly say, “Oh look! It’s an artist, nurse, or truck driver.” Nevertheless, what we quickly do is look at its genitalia and assign it a gender. Gender history begins at that point. From that point on, we push that child into a gender role by giving it a pink or blue blanket, and assign the child a masculine or feminine name.
Mothers quickly think of this young boy or girl doing different things like playing ball or dancing. Fathers think more concretely, too: “I have someone I can watch the game with” or “Am I going to have to pay for a wedding?” These anticipations and expectations are imposed on the child based solely on a single glimpse of genitalia and nothing else. If this child is transgender, it shatters all that, all those plans and ideals.
These expectations of a child are socially hardwired into our brains. It sounds like a contradiction: “Socially Hardwired.” “Socially” implies that the expectations are learned, and “hardwired” implies that these expectations are somehow preprogrammed into our brains. There are many studies on the question of whether gender is social or hardwired. Being transgender, I have a different perspective on this question: it is neither, because it is both.
We are born with a gender that will grasp on to the social norms of that gender. Take the color pink. It is just a color, and in Thailand it is worn by men and women alike; half the taxi cabs are pink. Nobody associates that color with a gender. However, in the U.S., pink and blue are associated with a gender, and as I strived to be feminine I adopted pink. My brothers would rather die than wear a pink shirt. We have a tendency to want to identify ourselves with these social norms, that is, the part that is hardwired.
The hardwired part of our gender brain gravitates towards those social norms that are associated a gender. During my transition, it was interesting how the change in my body chemistry affected my desires for these different social norms. There are things that you can generalize about the different genders that transcend local cultures and can be found in any society across the world, for example, norms that women are the caretakers and men are the providers. These generalizations are based on hardwired predispositions and enhanced with social norms and acceptance of certain gender-based activities.
This is what makes it so difficult for many cultures to accept gay individuals. Gay individuals do not fit into the culturally accepted norms, making it difficult for some of the population to accept them. Gay couples challenge these social norms—in the U.S. the Christian conservatives are frightened by this because it challenges one of their core beliefs. They feel that being Gay is a direct attack on their religion, which is based on a black and white belief system. It is either right or wrong. There is no gray in the ultra-conservative’s belief norms.
These norms make it difficult to grow up transgender. I was gray and raised in a black and white religious belief system. My parents belonged to a conservative vein of the Christian Reformed Church. It was like conservatism with whipped cream and a cherry on top with a whole lot of nuts. They even had the audacity to call the Taliban radicals. But in this sect of Christianity, the woman had to wear a hat and dress to church. If she did not, she would be asked to leave. The religion made clear distinctions between male and female.
The church in my family defined the roles of gender. To have a female pastor is just heresy. Women are required to wear dresses and pantyhose. I’m not sure who came up with the pantyhose requirement—I did not ever read that in the Bible anywhere, so I think it was some pastor with a stocking fetish who thought it would be nice to have all the women walk down the aisle in stockings. Hats were required as well. You always wore your best cloths to church, and the women always wanted to outdo each other. To wear the same thing two Sundays in a row meant you were poor or of low standing.
The church also determined social standing based on where you sat. If you were of a certain descendent with right last name, you could sit in the old section near the front. My grandparents where close to being respected: they got to sit in prime seats in the old section right near the exit. You arrive at church forty-five minutes early to make sure you got your special spot. Never miss a Sunday, either, because someone may want to move up in social standing and take your seat.
My father married someone outside the church, so we never had the bloodline required to sit in the o
ld section; we had to sit in the new section. I liked the new section better, anyway, because the seats had a thin pad on them, making it easier to sleep during the two-hour ramblings. Towards the end of my prison term at that church, they got a little more progressive, or too many people were falling asleep, but they let us stand for the songs. I lived in a world that if you question your faith, you must be unfaithful. There was a clear distinction between men and woman, and I did not fit in. It was a sin to lie, it was a sin to covet. Desires were the work of the devil, it was wrong for me to look at men, it was wrong to want to wear to women’s clothes. Here is the dilemma: I could not be myself because to be myself was a sin, but if I lied to be accepted, that was a sin, too. For me just being alive was a sin.
I challenged everything about my religion until it got to point where I was asked not to comeback to catechism. Catechism is a sample of this black and white world. They created a book with questions and answers. You were to memorize both the questions and answers. You were not asked to think; you were told to just memorize the questions as fact and that is just the way it is—do not question. Well, I had to question the answers because they did not fit with who I was. I questioned everything, while the people teaching catechism never questioned it before; the only answers they could give me was what they had memorized. Catechism was mandatory: if you ever missed a class, they would call your parents. They would usually cringe when I showed up for class because they knew an argument would ensue. When I was old enough to drive, I never showed up again, and they never called my parents.
It takes a long time to change social acceptance when you spend your entire childhood being programmed one way. It is incredibly hard when just being alive was a sin in your parents’ eyes. I learned that peace came with few words. I spent a lot of time by myself where I could be myself. Working hard was socially acceptable to my parents, and I developed a solid work ethic with led to the path of becoming a workaholic later in life. I let my feminine side show when I could. I was always bringing flowers home to my mother, but in our family, I was often criticized for some of my personal stances.
I have a tendency to be what my parents called “limp wristed.” I was often scolded for doing so because they did not want people to think I was “simple,” which meant “homosexual,” but you could never use the latter word in the house. Surprisingly, the words “fag” and “queer” were OK. I guess the Bible phrase “Love thy neighbor” only applies to straight people.
All these things build the gender history. What our parents believe plays a significant role in how they raise us, setting the stage for our gender history long before we are able to create a history of our own. They impose their history on you. Because I had a penis, my parents set my gender history of what I was and what I would be solely based on who they were. To be a transsexual would destroy all that. I would become one of those “fags” or some other undesirable. It would be easier for them if I went to prison. Yes, going to prison would ruin their expectations for me, but I would not be one of them. I think being transgender is the hardest thing for my parents to ever have to deal with.
I am sure in my parents’ narrow perspective on life they did love me, not sure any more, but as long as I stayed within their accepted social norms I was acceptable. I could have varying, viewpoints, I was always a democrat and they were stout republicans, and could argue with them, but I would still be accepted. Why I would ever choose to be a woman is beyond them. Transgender was just too much. They could only remember me as Steve and not see the future with anything but Steve.
There is one more thing I told my parents that at first probably sounded like good news. I told them that I was not gay, I was straight. I think they were probably happy at first, then, I think it finally set in what that meant. I was a woman, and I was straight. That meant I was into men. See, their history has always seen me with my wife, and now I was dating men. You have to look at the dynamics. If I started dating women, then I would be gay, and if they accept me dating men, that would mean that they would have to accept me as a woman, which was also not acceptable—either way I was not acceptable to them.
It turns out that the gender history was too great for my parents to deal with. It was easier for them to pretend I was dead than for them to accept me. My bothers and sisters sided with my parents or they might suffer the same fate as me and be excommunicated as well. When you are transitioning, you must remember that you have gender history regardless of your age. It is difficult for some individuals to look past this history, especially people like my parents who have been conditioned with religious dogma for years. I believe everyone is free to worship how they feel fit, but when they use that dogma to justify hatred and bigotry toward others, it becomes wrong.
I lost my parents and family during the transition. They have not spoken to me since and probably never will again. After my final surgery, I told them that if they did not put my legal name on the letters they sent me, they would be returned. I have yet to receive another letter from them. Just putting my legal name on the outside of the envelope was too much for them—that would mean recognizing me.
My parents’ reactions to me coming out were not a surprise. If you look at the gender history, the person they knew and the expectations they had for that person were gone. Therefore, to them it was easier to think of me as dead than try to get to know me. To get to know me would challenge their religious beliefs, and sixty years of conditioning would not allow that. The closer and longer you are with someone, the harder it is for he or she to overcome your gender history.
A lot depends on the background of the individuals: where they came from, what kind of religious conditioning they have been exposed to, all play a role in how easy it is for people to get over your gender history. Because of my occupation and working with individuals who were exposed to a very diverse culture, I found them to be very accepting and understanding. It took time for my closest friends to overcome the history. The relationships I had with them had to be rebuilt.
Your work environment may have a hard time with your gender history. When you go to the restroom, some will see a female going into the woman’s restroom, others will see a man in a dress, regardless of how passable you are. They still see a man because you don’t have a gender history as a female yet. Over time, it gets easier because you will develop your new gender history. Thankfully, many people’s memories are short and soon they will forget about the old you and only look at the new you. Of course, this is also the case when you transition: you may have done a lot in the past that was good for the company, but it is so easily forgotten when you transition.
There are many girls who take time off from work, transition, and then come back to work as the opposite sex. When you return to work, it will not be like returning from vacation. It will be like starting a new job—actually, a new job would be easier. When you return to work, you will need to make new social friends; it is highly unlikely you will be one of the boys, and things will be a bit awkward. It is not that they don’t like you; they are just imposing that old gender history on this new individual, and it is not going to fit.
If you have a professional career, you may find it easier to get a new job or transfer within the company to a new location where your gender history will not have such an impact on your career. Moving to a new area, you are just a new face, not a new face on an old body. Transitioning can significantly impact your ability to climb the corporate ladder at your current location. Equality can go out the window if you are dealing with people who cannot let go of your gender history or are plagued by religious dogma. Even if your accomplishments are in your personnel folder, those accolades belong to the old you. They are unsure what the new you can do.
We all have gender history we must deal with. I have heard people use the saying “If I only had known what I know now when I was twenty.” Have you ever thought about what it would be like to start over? In a sense when you transition you do start over. No, you don’t change as a per
son, and you will still come out of surgery older than when you went in. But you will need a plan for dealing with your gender history before you transition.
I was forty-three when I completed my journey. I had lived four decades as a male and had acquired a lot of history. I was well known in my profession and had given countless keynote addresses. I had published a book. I had 2 patents and 251 separate copyrights. Over the years, I had acquired multiple degrees, and I had four world records in long distant running.
I was an over-achiever, because I never felt good about myself. One more degree, one more world record, it was always one more. When I got to the next thing, it was not enough because my accomplishments still left me feeling empty. Oh, they felt good, but soon I was back looking for the next thing to make me feel good. For whatever reason, a person accomplishes something it still took a lot of work and you earned it. I am proud of my world records in track and field, but they came with something I did not like: my male name. They are part of my gender history. I had to make a decision that when I transition how much of the history I am going to bring forward, and what are I’m going to leave behind.
Stealth is the term that is used by transitioning individuals. When they say they want to be stealthy, they want to be undetectable in the new gender role. That seems great at first, but what if you have things you have done in the past that you want to keep, things that you worked hard to achieve and are worth something. If you still lay claim to a book or a project that you have done in the past, you will out yourself, making going stealth is nearly impossible. There will be times where you have to reveal your past, like with a credit check or a reference. What if your new employer wants to check your work history and your old employer does not know about Jane?
The Great Elephant Ride Page 18