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A Journey of the Inner Woman (Continued)
Considering reasons why some never transition. I personally think it determined by the decade one was born into. I was manufactured in 1937, a long time ago. The label Transgender had not been coined, let alone even thought of. People of my era did marry and have children and without doubt grandchildren. We carried (I think most did) our inner secret which at times became too much to bear, and we slithered into a depressive state, and in some cases suicide. The conflict of being transgender and married became too much; the marriage broke down or something far worse. Life was a dilemma. Transgenderism is such a complicated burden thrust upon people who never desired such a complication. It is one of those things that life has presented as a lifelong burden, something to be endured and perhaps conquered and accepted. Nevertheless, in my opinion it is a burden we carry with us to the grave.
I think I was aware of something amiss at the age of four. I was at a boarding school for the sons and daughters of gentle folk. I had a habit of wetting the bed, and frequently at that. I remember quite clearly even after all those years ago. Two women, whom to me were the veritable giants of a horror story dressed me in navy blue knickers and a white, lacy party dress which I was required to wear all day. It was meant as a punishment, however I remember rather enjoying the episode, although I did scream and struggle at the time. Perhaps that was my journey into transgenderism, although the esteemed Dr Fintan Harte of Monash would have disagreed.
I always asked for a doll at Christmas, one of those beautiful dolls with a porcelin face and beautiful clothes; my request was never granted. My asking resulted in a Meccano or some other boyish toy. Having a doll would have meant that I was descending into the perversion of homosexuality. Seventy five years later we know that such a distorted notion was ridiculous, at least to the majority of people. Die hard trans phobics would disagree, including my mum.
To Be Continued
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