First, sorry for my bad english grammar, I am from Europe... you will understand what I wanted to say :)
I am true proof that curing all types of LGBT ilnes is possible because I passed trought almost all phases!
Firstly, in my childhood I was wearing clothes of my mother when parents was outside, every time it was harder to stop and I wanted more, in my private space I was crossdresser, after I become teenager I considered that I am Transgender (lesbian women),I wanted to change my gender(but I didn't),I dreamed of it all time,when I masturbate I imagined myself as girl (autogynephilia), after some time I started to like shemales,and I also became shemale, until that I liked only girls, but after that I first started to eat my own sperm, than I wanted to suck c*cks to other men,It made me feel more feminine, I also wanted to be fu*ked in a*s,(so I becomed gay/hetero women), and after some time I become obsessed with penises and sex(but I have never had sex with man, only with toys), all this started rapidly to grow, my only toughts was penis in my mouth, new women clothes, and every day new evil things... it is addiction like drug, every time you need more, until you
reach deadly dose.When I realized that, I started to search for
help. I found stories very similar to mine, just like I wrote that
stories. Those addictions ruined so many lives, and people usually
committs suicide. I am also religious man, but I always tought that I
will stop with this when I get girlfriend,when I get merried, when I see
how it is to be women... nothing helped... When I came near to deadly
dose, I realised that I didn't become women, regular women wouldn't
behave like me, she would disgused with everything I do. I remembered
what was my primary aim, it was to become women. After all I passed I
realised that I will never be real women, I will just prettend that I am
women, the true is that I would be just some gay man, who wears women
clothes, and looks like ugly sluty bitch. In that case I will lose all
of my family ,children, old friends, job, heaven(did I mention that I
belive in God)... I didn't want that , so I made finally decision. I
will stop crossdress, stop all negative(sex) thoughts, live as man. I
also tried hypnosis , it helped a lot. I was saying to myself all time
"I am man", "I was women who wanted be a man, and I am become man, and I
am happy", "co*ks are disgusting"... I also prayed and meditated a lot.
If I remember that I want to be girl, I think that if I would be good,
God could make me women in heaven, so I tricks my own brain very easy
:). I started to behave like man, also stop to wear unisex clothes, because
it reminds me on girly past. I had urges when I sow girly clothes, but I
didn't let it defeat me, so I didn't wear any of girl clothes. If your
mind says "Try just this time", DON'T do that, if you do that exception,
it will start again... so kill that thoughts it in the root.
Now I
can say that I am cured, I have "girly" thoughts very rarely, I made
life tasks for my success that I want to achieve and I work on it, I am
happier than ever, I can grow spiritualy, I fell clean... it was like
rebirth.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Addiction to Crossdressing Fiction - STORY 3
I confess to having had strong desires over my life for reading
crossdressing fiction. I’m talking about reading stories at places like
tgstories or fictionmania or storysite (and many other places).
I would read stories about people being forced to crossdress by other
people or by unlikely situations. Or sometimes stories about people
discovering crossdressing and enjoying it, possibly with encouragement
from family or friends. And sometimes they were just random stories
about people crossdressing. I read plenty of stories that were geared
towards the transgendered but I found those pleasurable often as well. I
hate to admit that I’ve read (a lot of skimming) probably
thousands of such stories over my life. It sucked away so much of my
time, much more than physical crossdressing ever did. I would read for
hours at a time, with an erection for much of that time, and then
finally masturbate in the bathroom and stop. Then I’d delete my
internet history. Then I’d feel guilty about what I did, but the worst
was feeling guilt at all the wasted time. I’d feel dirty especially
after some of the junk I read.
Over the last 10 years, to be real honest, crossdressing fiction has been a much bigger problem and addiction in my life than actual crossdressing itself. There are a few reasons for this -
1. Reading stories about people having to or choosing to crossdress for various reasons was extremely sexually pleasurable for me. It also was emotionally pleasurable, emotionally a relief and escape from life pressures, and it was fun. (Though I never felt good afterward, see post – here).
2. I was much less likely to be caught reading something on my computer than if I was physically crossdressing and someone walked in on me. Further it is very easy to erase internet history, but much harder to fix a torn dress or wash clothing that I got sweaty or dirty. I didn’t have a physical stash of clothes for the most part for those years, but even if I did, it would have been easier to erase internet history than to hide clothing.
3. I sometimes felt less guilty about it than if I were crossdressing. Though I knew that Jesus said thinking about sin in our hearts and fantasizing about it is also sinful, I just tried to ignore that truth at times. It felt less bad if I only read about people crossdressing without doing it myself.
And in just the past few years, a new reason -
4. Reading crossdressing fiction is MORE pleasurable and enticing than actual crossdressing. The more I’ve realized how sinful and messed up and distorted crossdressing is, the less I desire to do actual crossdressing. Actual crossdressing is too hard nowadays. I look at myself and realize how ridiculous I look, how deceptive and foolish of an activity it is, and it’s just not as pleasurable as reading the fiction. This idea I’ve noticed even more strongly now that I stopped crossdressing for good. When I finally had some long term success stopping crossdressing starting back at the beginning of September 2011 until now, I also stopped reading crossdressing fiction. Through these last 8 months or so, I’ve noticed that my temptations to crossdressing have diminished far beyond what I expected. There are still days of temptation yes, but overall I feel free from any crossdressing desires on a day to day basis.
One thing that is interesting though is that when the desires for crossdressing do rarely come, 90% of the time they come in the desire to read crossdressing fiction rather than to do actual crossdressing. At this point actual crossdressing just seems ridiculous. It seems so dumb, I have little desire for it. It would be almost hard to do and find pleasure in, because the reality of what I was doing would hit me so hard. But crossdressing fiction is different. It’s an old habit that provides immediate sexual gratification. The stories are told in such a way that they are pleasurable because in the stories there aren’t horrible consequences for crossdressing, people always feel good afterward, they look beautiful, and others encourage them and also say that they are beautiful. Sometimes our imagination is much more powerful and pleasurable than the reality. (In this way perhaps I’m more like the typical woman than the typical man, the stories are what turn me on more than the sight). Crossdressing always sounds fun and exciting in the stories, but in real life it’s not all its cracked up to be. Thankfully I have completely avoided crossdressing fiction sites since beginning of September 2011. To God be the glory for giving me the grace I needed to resist.
On a different note, I’d like to talk about another aspect of crossdressing fiction in my experience. When I was reading these stories or searching for these stories I was always looking for the “harmless” ones that didn’t include pedophilia, incest, sadism, masochism, diapers, erotica, brutal forced crossdressing, domination, manipulation, rape, sissification, women being portrayed as bimbos, homosexuality, abuse, bestiality, and all sorts of other kinds of sexual immorality. What is disturbing and maybe surprising for some of you is that the vast MAJORITY of these stories includes some of these things. I’m not sure why. It was hard to find so called “tame” crossdressing stories.
I often would spend literal hours searching on search engines like google to find more harmless stories. I wasted so much time. But usually I would end up reading the stories or skimming the stories with some of those nasty things in them. Being the man of faith I am I always found those parts of the stories disgusting, nasty, and detestable and they made me feel dirty, so I tried to skip over those parts. But I was so stuck in my addiction to crossdressing fiction that I read the stories anyway. But like with everything else in life, what we do with our time, what we fill our minds with, has an affect on us. The deeper I got into my addiction to crossdressing fiction over the last 10 years, the deeper I went into my depravity. Originally stories that I would have immediately stopped reading and closed that internet window, started to become stories I would tolerate. Stories that I would tolerate, I eventually even became sexually turned on to. I hate to admit that but it is true.
I think this illustrates that our sexuality is relatively fluid. That’s probably not a common idea, but I believe it to be true. I find it highly unlikely that I could begin being utterly turned off and detesting things like homosexuality or domination or incest in stories and then eventually being turned on by those same elements in certain stories. (For example, a boy dressed as a girl kissing another boy). You might say that I just have been ignoring these latent sexual tendencies within myself and repressing them. I don’t think that is the case, but I wouldn’t be ashamed to admit if it was. We are all born sinful and messed up completely. We are “totally depraved” to use the theological term. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that in every one of us, because of our sinful nature, we have the capacity to go towards any type of evil or distortion, especially sexual distortion. But again, I don’t think that is the particular case for my behavior. I think rather that our sexuality is relatively fluid. The more I exposed myself to such stories the more I tolerated certain things I thought were gross, and the more I tolerated them the more they started to turn me on slightly. My body and mind were learning new sexual desire and responses. I never was turned on by those other elements to the point where I would seek out stories with those in them. Thinking about them right now, I have 0% desire or attraction for those things. But there were individual times reading when those elements turned me on slightly.
I think this also illustrates well the slippery slope of sin. You give into a little bit of sin and rationalize it, and you start rationalizing even more and giving into more sin and other types of sin. This may not be true in everybody’s experience. But I think about loving my wife and having sex with her which is good and not sinful. Those actions have always only led to good things, loving her more, appreciating her more, being more attracted to her, etc. But crossdressing has been different. Crossdressing has only led into other more detestable things, like the extra depraved elements in those stories, things worse than crossdressing itself. Crossdressing might not be the most serious sin in the world to God, but if we allow a little sin in, it starts to affect our lives. We eventually can even warp our consciences, so that things that used to make us feel guilty (things that should make us feel guilty!) stop making us feel guilty. The more we allow sin to have free reign into our lives the easier it is to fool ourselves and ignore the Holy Spirit.
One has to wonder why all those disturbing elements are in crossdressing fiction. Perhaps what I’m saying is true for others. We start to rebel a bit and then it becomes exciting to rebel and we get into all sorts of depravity. Obviously many crossdressers aren’t like this, but there are those out there that once they’ve accepted crossdressing as such a big part of their lives, they think – why not embrace sadism, or sex with multiple partners, or having sex with a man while crossdressed?
At times I got so fed up with the extra depravity that crossdressing fiction brought into my life, that I flip-flopped and felt more guilty about reading that filth than actually crossdressing. I flip-flopped back and forth so many times. And sometimes I would be strong enough to resist going to my favorite crossdressing fiction sites knowing that they were unhealthy, and then I’d do hours of fruitless google searching trying to find more harmless stories that were about people being forced to crossdress because of unlikely situations. This helped to falsely assuage my guilt. It felt like if the main character was only crossdressing because he lost his luggage, then he wasn’t doing anything wrong. And if he wasn’t doing anything wrong, then I wasn’t either by reading about it. But of course I was still reading such stories for sexual pleasure. What stupid lies we tell ourselves to rationalize our behavior. I was still harming myself through them. I was fooling myself.
Another effect that I received from reading so much crossdressing and TG fiction was that I started to become more and more confused about my true sex. There were so many times where I just craved being a real woman after reading those stories. Reading the stories was sexual, yes. But there were many times where I craved being a woman and living as a woman because of those stories. I didn’t care about the sexual pleasure. I just wanted to be a woman. Or sometimes I felt like I actually was a woman (or more like a woman) in my mind and soul and personality. Again, I think this shows the confusing and negative affect of these stories. We live in a fantasy when crossdressing, but in some ways I was going even deeper into confused fantasy by reading the fictional stories.
Crossdressing fiction has been a bane on my life and I’m so glad to be rid of it. In the past I wished I could press a “delete” button and get those stories out of my memory. But in fact, they are drifting from my memory on their own relatively quickly. Now I want my mind and body to be influenced and worked on by truth. By wonderful books of truth and by God’s Word, not by messed up crossdressing fiction which mingles tiny bits of truth with filthy corrupted distorted lies. Let me end with a word of hope. If our sexuality is relatively fluid, we have great reason for hope. There is freedom and healing around the corner! Sometimes it takes a long time, but our desires can be changed. The things that turn us on can be changed. Whether we have homosexual desires or crossdressing desires, God can help us change our desires and our sexuality to be in line with what he desires for us so that we can have an abundant full joyful life in him!
Over the last 10 years, to be real honest, crossdressing fiction has been a much bigger problem and addiction in my life than actual crossdressing itself. There are a few reasons for this -
1. Reading stories about people having to or choosing to crossdress for various reasons was extremely sexually pleasurable for me. It also was emotionally pleasurable, emotionally a relief and escape from life pressures, and it was fun. (Though I never felt good afterward, see post – here).
2. I was much less likely to be caught reading something on my computer than if I was physically crossdressing and someone walked in on me. Further it is very easy to erase internet history, but much harder to fix a torn dress or wash clothing that I got sweaty or dirty. I didn’t have a physical stash of clothes for the most part for those years, but even if I did, it would have been easier to erase internet history than to hide clothing.
3. I sometimes felt less guilty about it than if I were crossdressing. Though I knew that Jesus said thinking about sin in our hearts and fantasizing about it is also sinful, I just tried to ignore that truth at times. It felt less bad if I only read about people crossdressing without doing it myself.
And in just the past few years, a new reason -
4. Reading crossdressing fiction is MORE pleasurable and enticing than actual crossdressing. The more I’ve realized how sinful and messed up and distorted crossdressing is, the less I desire to do actual crossdressing. Actual crossdressing is too hard nowadays. I look at myself and realize how ridiculous I look, how deceptive and foolish of an activity it is, and it’s just not as pleasurable as reading the fiction. This idea I’ve noticed even more strongly now that I stopped crossdressing for good. When I finally had some long term success stopping crossdressing starting back at the beginning of September 2011 until now, I also stopped reading crossdressing fiction. Through these last 8 months or so, I’ve noticed that my temptations to crossdressing have diminished far beyond what I expected. There are still days of temptation yes, but overall I feel free from any crossdressing desires on a day to day basis.
One thing that is interesting though is that when the desires for crossdressing do rarely come, 90% of the time they come in the desire to read crossdressing fiction rather than to do actual crossdressing. At this point actual crossdressing just seems ridiculous. It seems so dumb, I have little desire for it. It would be almost hard to do and find pleasure in, because the reality of what I was doing would hit me so hard. But crossdressing fiction is different. It’s an old habit that provides immediate sexual gratification. The stories are told in such a way that they are pleasurable because in the stories there aren’t horrible consequences for crossdressing, people always feel good afterward, they look beautiful, and others encourage them and also say that they are beautiful. Sometimes our imagination is much more powerful and pleasurable than the reality. (In this way perhaps I’m more like the typical woman than the typical man, the stories are what turn me on more than the sight). Crossdressing always sounds fun and exciting in the stories, but in real life it’s not all its cracked up to be. Thankfully I have completely avoided crossdressing fiction sites since beginning of September 2011. To God be the glory for giving me the grace I needed to resist.
On a different note, I’d like to talk about another aspect of crossdressing fiction in my experience. When I was reading these stories or searching for these stories I was always looking for the “harmless” ones that didn’t include pedophilia, incest, sadism, masochism, diapers, erotica, brutal forced crossdressing, domination, manipulation, rape, sissification, women being portrayed as bimbos, homosexuality, abuse, bestiality, and all sorts of other kinds of sexual immorality. What is disturbing and maybe surprising for some of you is that the vast MAJORITY of these stories includes some of these things. I’m not sure why. It was hard to find so called “tame” crossdressing stories.
I often would spend literal hours searching on search engines like google to find more harmless stories. I wasted so much time. But usually I would end up reading the stories or skimming the stories with some of those nasty things in them. Being the man of faith I am I always found those parts of the stories disgusting, nasty, and detestable and they made me feel dirty, so I tried to skip over those parts. But I was so stuck in my addiction to crossdressing fiction that I read the stories anyway. But like with everything else in life, what we do with our time, what we fill our minds with, has an affect on us. The deeper I got into my addiction to crossdressing fiction over the last 10 years, the deeper I went into my depravity. Originally stories that I would have immediately stopped reading and closed that internet window, started to become stories I would tolerate. Stories that I would tolerate, I eventually even became sexually turned on to. I hate to admit that but it is true.
I think this illustrates that our sexuality is relatively fluid. That’s probably not a common idea, but I believe it to be true. I find it highly unlikely that I could begin being utterly turned off and detesting things like homosexuality or domination or incest in stories and then eventually being turned on by those same elements in certain stories. (For example, a boy dressed as a girl kissing another boy). You might say that I just have been ignoring these latent sexual tendencies within myself and repressing them. I don’t think that is the case, but I wouldn’t be ashamed to admit if it was. We are all born sinful and messed up completely. We are “totally depraved” to use the theological term. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that in every one of us, because of our sinful nature, we have the capacity to go towards any type of evil or distortion, especially sexual distortion. But again, I don’t think that is the particular case for my behavior. I think rather that our sexuality is relatively fluid. The more I exposed myself to such stories the more I tolerated certain things I thought were gross, and the more I tolerated them the more they started to turn me on slightly. My body and mind were learning new sexual desire and responses. I never was turned on by those other elements to the point where I would seek out stories with those in them. Thinking about them right now, I have 0% desire or attraction for those things. But there were individual times reading when those elements turned me on slightly.
I think this also illustrates well the slippery slope of sin. You give into a little bit of sin and rationalize it, and you start rationalizing even more and giving into more sin and other types of sin. This may not be true in everybody’s experience. But I think about loving my wife and having sex with her which is good and not sinful. Those actions have always only led to good things, loving her more, appreciating her more, being more attracted to her, etc. But crossdressing has been different. Crossdressing has only led into other more detestable things, like the extra depraved elements in those stories, things worse than crossdressing itself. Crossdressing might not be the most serious sin in the world to God, but if we allow a little sin in, it starts to affect our lives. We eventually can even warp our consciences, so that things that used to make us feel guilty (things that should make us feel guilty!) stop making us feel guilty. The more we allow sin to have free reign into our lives the easier it is to fool ourselves and ignore the Holy Spirit.
One has to wonder why all those disturbing elements are in crossdressing fiction. Perhaps what I’m saying is true for others. We start to rebel a bit and then it becomes exciting to rebel and we get into all sorts of depravity. Obviously many crossdressers aren’t like this, but there are those out there that once they’ve accepted crossdressing as such a big part of their lives, they think – why not embrace sadism, or sex with multiple partners, or having sex with a man while crossdressed?
At times I got so fed up with the extra depravity that crossdressing fiction brought into my life, that I flip-flopped and felt more guilty about reading that filth than actually crossdressing. I flip-flopped back and forth so many times. And sometimes I would be strong enough to resist going to my favorite crossdressing fiction sites knowing that they were unhealthy, and then I’d do hours of fruitless google searching trying to find more harmless stories that were about people being forced to crossdress because of unlikely situations. This helped to falsely assuage my guilt. It felt like if the main character was only crossdressing because he lost his luggage, then he wasn’t doing anything wrong. And if he wasn’t doing anything wrong, then I wasn’t either by reading about it. But of course I was still reading such stories for sexual pleasure. What stupid lies we tell ourselves to rationalize our behavior. I was still harming myself through them. I was fooling myself.
Another effect that I received from reading so much crossdressing and TG fiction was that I started to become more and more confused about my true sex. There were so many times where I just craved being a real woman after reading those stories. Reading the stories was sexual, yes. But there were many times where I craved being a woman and living as a woman because of those stories. I didn’t care about the sexual pleasure. I just wanted to be a woman. Or sometimes I felt like I actually was a woman (or more like a woman) in my mind and soul and personality. Again, I think this shows the confusing and negative affect of these stories. We live in a fantasy when crossdressing, but in some ways I was going even deeper into confused fantasy by reading the fictional stories.
Crossdressing fiction has been a bane on my life and I’m so glad to be rid of it. In the past I wished I could press a “delete” button and get those stories out of my memory. But in fact, they are drifting from my memory on their own relatively quickly. Now I want my mind and body to be influenced and worked on by truth. By wonderful books of truth and by God’s Word, not by messed up crossdressing fiction which mingles tiny bits of truth with filthy corrupted distorted lies. Let me end with a word of hope. If our sexuality is relatively fluid, we have great reason for hope. There is freedom and healing around the corner! Sometimes it takes a long time, but our desires can be changed. The things that turn us on can be changed. Whether we have homosexual desires or crossdressing desires, God can help us change our desires and our sexuality to be in line with what he desires for us so that we can have an abundant full joyful life in him!
From transsexual to recovering sex addict: a different approach to gender dysphoria STORY 2
Source:http://tsanon.blogspot.com/2006_02_01_archive.html
I was a shy and lonely boy. My early childhood was marked by two experiences of separation: hospitalization when I was eighteen months old, and a move which took me hundreds of miles away from my old home and friends when I was four. By the time I was five and starting school, I was experiencing the world as a threatening and frightening place. My family’s culture was firmly based on the notion that nice Christians do not show their feelings, so I learned to keep my fear and pain inside. I suspect that the expectation that I should be able to keep a stiff upper lip was especially strong because I was a boy.
My earliest memory of transsexual thoughts goes back to when I was six. I had a dream in which I was a young woman working as a rich woman’s maid, and wearing a pretty dress something like one of my mother’s slips. In effect I was dreaming of a life in which I had traded autonomy for security. I have little doubt that strong sexual feelings must have accompanied the dream, ensuring that it made a lasting impression on me.
I can remember a couple of other occasions during my childhood when I fantasized about being female, and found this was a pleasant escape from reality. But it was in puberty that such fantasies really came into their own. My sexuality divided me in two. I longed for a normal relationship with a girlfriend, but my crippling lack of self-confidence made it impossible for me to approach girls. As an escape from this painful reality I could spend hours in my fantasies of being a slave girl, forced to wear skimpy clothing and to have sex at the whim of my owners.
Going to university and finding myself surrounded by attractive women who were so near yet so far (a new experience, as I had attended a single-sex school) made my shyness still more painful. My sexual acting-out progressed to include pornography. As I masturbated I would imagine that I was one of the models in the photos. I had discovered the existence of transsexualism from a book review in a newspaper and a paragraph in a sex education book. I did not believe I could really be a transsexual – my yearning for a heterosexual relationship as a man was too strong, and I could not deny to myself that my transgender fantasies were at bottom sexual – but I felt very envious of those who were.
Social phobia and depression made it impossible for me to study effectively. I was living virtually as a recluse. I eventually sought treatment from a psychologist, but it didn’t help, and I could see no alternative to dropping out of university. At this low ebb in my life I lost my virginity by going with a prostitute.
I found a job after a few months, and although it was badly paid it enabled me to fund my collection of pornography and regular visits to prostitutes. After each sexual encounter I was consumed with shame, self-loathing and despair, but I couldn’t stop. I saw a “normal” relationship with a woman as my one hope of redemption. I had crushes on various women, but I only ever asked one of them out, only to be turned down.
When I was in my mid twenties a legacy enabled my parents to move into a bigger house, which meant that I no longer had to share a bedroom with my brother. My almost immediate reaction to this new-found privacy was to begin buying and wearing women’s clothes. The first night I spent sleeping in lingerie bought from a sex shop was intensely pleasurable. Although clothes were far from being enough to realize my fantasies, I decided I must at least be a transvestite even if I wasn’t a transsexual.
This phase ended after a year or so with my getting rid of all the women’s clothing I had accumulated. The pleasure of indulging my transgender urges was eventually outweighed by the fear that being ‘kinky’ would make it totally impossible to have a normal relationship with a woman. However, I could not change the pattern of masturbating to transgender fantasy.
As I neared 30 there were some positive changes in my life. Success in studying led me into a job which had a future, and the boost to my self-esteem enabled me to begin going on some blind dates. But fundamentally I still had no confidence that I was attractive and loveable. The first woman I had a second date with became my partner for ten years. It was a sick, co-dependent relationship between two sick people. For me it was ‘any port in a storm’, as I was driven by loneliness and guilt to find some alternative to the misery of anonymous sex with prostitutes. Once the co-dependency bond was established I felt trapped.
I stopped seeing prostitutes throughout this time, but towards the end I was making increasing use of pornography – now available to me in especially addictive form on the Internet. What never stopped was my use of transgender fantasy. I would habitually use fantasy whilst having sex with my partner, both as an escape from the pain of the relationship and as the only way I could achieve orgasm.
I increasingly thought about becoming a woman as a serious option. In my distorted thinking it seemed to me to be the only morally justifiable reason for breaking my commitment to the relationship. When the relationship finally did break down, the dam burst. Within a couple of days I’d begun buying women’s clothes again. I pored over TS websites and magazines. I got involved in a TV/TS support group. I found a TS-friendly hairdresser who would give me a unisex style, and a beautician to teach me about makeup. I ‘came out’ to some of my friends and my sister. I embarked on an expensive and painful course of pulsed-light treatment to remove my beard. I thought the next step would be to see a specialist who would give me the green light to begin taking hormones.
And yet something wasn’t right. Was it that I always felt ill at ease in transgendered gatherings? That I was still terrified of going out in public en femme? That when I met TSs I could never, in my heart of hearts, feel that they were really women? That I couldn’t reconcile a realistic expectation of what hormones and surgery could do for my fortysomething-year-old body with the stunning beauty I dreamt of being? Was it the reluctant identification I felt with accounts I read of sexually-motivated, “autogynaephilic” transsexualism – being a “man trapped in a man’s body”. Or all of this rolled together into that nagging voice in my head asking if I was doing the right thing?
And there were other things going on for me that were hard to reconcile with my desired self-image as a ‘woman in waiting’. I had started seeing prostitutes again. The first time was when I was on my way home from a meeting with a pre-op TS with whom I’d been exchanging letters. I’d been disillusioned to find her highly unconvincing as a woman. After a while, paying for sex developed into a habit which I’d indulge every ten days or so. And my use of Internet pornography and prostitution-related sites was out of control. I’d stay on in the office until everyone else had left, then start surfing. Sometimes I wouldn’t even wait. Then I started working from home (I was living alone) and got a broadband Internet connection, and there were simply no boundaries. I’d surf all through the night, seeking out increasingly extreme and abusive material.
Eventually I reached a crisis point where I was forced to admit to myself that there were no longer any boundaries around my use of pornography that I could trust myself not to cross. Having admitted this I could not deny that I needed help. I delayed for a while, then a further ‘rock bottom’ experience pushed me into taking action. A woman I’d paid for sex told me her story. Basically she had been driven into prostitution by pure financial desperation after an injury forced her to give up a job she loved. It dawned on me that I had in a real sense paid for the right to rape this woman. The next week I attended my first meeting of Sex Addicts Anonymous and for the first time spoke the words “I’m a sex addict”.
I entered the recovery programme of SAA with clear goals: to stop my use of prostitution and of Internet pornography. The relationship of these goals to my transgender feelings seemed equally clear-cut: by removing the compulsion to engage in these characteristically masculine behaviours, I would resolve the conflict between them and my desired self-image as a woman, and thus clear the way to full gender transition. Others in the fellowship with whom I shared these thoughts, my sponsor included, were entirely supportive of me as a transsexual.
I did however identify the use of sexual fantasy, and masturbation to fantasies, as part of my addictive behaviour pattern, and decided that I therefore needed to try to give this up. My fantasies were so consistently abusive (mainly to myself) in nature that it was obvious to me that they could not form part of a healthy sexuality. Whereas in the first few months of my recovery I struggled to maintain abstinence from my “bottom line” behaviours for more than a few weeks, I found it relatively easy to stop fantasizing. I was very much helped by a path of spiritual growth that I was following outside the SAA programme – I was preparing to be confirmed in a church which I had started attending.
It was after I had been in the SAA programme for about four months that I had a profound experience of spiritual awakening. I chanced to be in the area where my ex-partner and I were staying when our relationship came to an end almost exactly two years before. There was a little church nearby, and I went into it to pray. Almost as soon as I got down on my knees, tears started coming, and didn’t stop for the next hour. All the bottled-up grief and pain over the failed relationship was coming to the surface. At the end of it I felt a deep serenity, a sense of being healed and at peace with God. These feelings were accompanied by a tremendous clarity of mind, through which I saw my gender issues in a completely new light. I realized how much they were bound up with my feelings about the relationship – that the dream of being a woman had given me something to hope for as the relationship fell apart, and something to cling to when it finally collapsed. I found myself positively wanting to stay male rather than try to become what could only ever be a poor imitation of a woman – accepting both my male body and my complex gender identity as gifts from God. I also felt ready to open myself to the possibility of a new relationship – not attempting to conform to anybody else’s expectations of masculinity, but simply as myself.
To be sure, I asked myself whether this was all wishful thinking. But as I wrote in my diary, “it has the ring of truth because I felt so emotionally alive after such a long deadness”.
Over the next few weeks I let go of all my transgender behaviours and, most importantly, the fantasies which fed them. I have now been abstinent from them since April 2002, and from my original ‘bottom line’ behaviours of paying for sex and using the Internet for sex since the following July. I am not “cured”, and never will be, but I am recovering. Recovery has not always been an easy ride, especially in the early stages when I was often left confronting a great emptiness which I had previously filled with fantasies of being a woman. Medical treatment for clinical depression has played a vital part here. At the same time I sought God’s help and guidance in filling that emptiness through spiritual growth – and my prayers are being answered. The most wonderful of God’s gifts to me has been my marriage to a woman I met whilst in recovery. I felt total trust that it was God’s will for me to commit myself to this relationship as a man, and the love, tenderness, open communication and joy I experience within it are continually strengthening me in my positive acceptance of my maleness. It’s great to be a man!
March 2008 update: still abstinent, still no regrets!
Transitioning back to being a man - STORY 1
Source:http://m2f2m.wordpress.com/about/
I have decided to make another blog that focuses more specifically on my de-transitioning from male-to-”female” transsexual, back to being a man. This is the first part of “my story.” I’ll post the rest of it in the next couple of days. In future posts I will try to provide a little more introspection and insight into my de-transitioning process.
I’m putting together this site because I, a man, was arrogant and delusional enough for a dozen or so years to think that it was appropriate for me to try to live “as a woman.” The “gender identity” movement is on a fast track to being normalized in wealthy countries, and I have realized how harmful this is for real women. “Transgender” status is also now routinely being pushed on small children, and a rapidly increasing awareness of this is what initially motivated me to make my other blog, “I’m Not Transgender Any More,” which generally focuses on providing perspective and analysis about the harms in “transgender” and “transsexualism.” In this blog, I will focus on my personal process.
The details of my early life are a goldmine for anyone who may wish to discern psychological components in why I became a transsexual. Believe me, I’m well aware of them all. I grew up poor in a rural community, the eldest of six children. My father was out of the picture. My mom raised us, but she had tremendous drug and alcohol problems and I had a huge amount of responsibility. She had a thing for violent tough guys, and I not only witnessed a lot of domestic violence, I was subject to it. In my early teens, we moved around a lot (e.g. I went to five high schools in the first three semesters). I left home at age 15 as an “emancipated minor.”
I remember at around age 5 believing that I was going to grow up to be a lady. From age 8 I would occasionally (and of course secretly) cross-dress, checking out clothes in my mom’s closet. When I was 12 I got it into my head that I should go into the city to walk around for a day, “as a girl.” I did so, and perhaps that’s a story for another day, or not. Suffice to say that it gave me confidence.
From my mid-teens, I will admit to a certain amount of autogynephilia. Sometimes I masturbated with fantasies of my self “as a woman,” mainly just going about everyday life and being accepted as a woman, but occasionally — and this disturbed me, because due to my mom’s violent boyfriends I hated men — having men flirt with me as a woman. The fantasies didn’t get into having sex with men.
I continued intermittently cross-dressing, gathering clothes where I could, and then intermittently feeling guilty and stupid and throwing them out. There would be extended periods, especially when I was in love (with girls) in which I didn’t cross-dress. However, I always “identified” with women. I cringed when people said “he” or “him” in reference to me, or explicitly referred to me as male. My hair was always very long. It was the ’70s so it wasn’t a big deal. I totally refused to cut it short. I had a fair number of girlfriends (in succession), and I guess you could say that I was a very attractive, intelligent young man. I was a keen surfer and worked as a landscaper. I greatly enjoyed my sex life. I nearly always told my girlfriends (those with whom I was together for more than a few months) about my feelings, but in the few times I ever “dressed” with them, it felt kind of weird to be in that context.
I felt somehow that inside I was a “woman,” but I didn’t know what to do with that information. Mind you, we had no internet. It may be hard for young folks to imagine this, but nobody talked about these things. I thought I was unique in having these feelings. The public library had no book on the topic. There were a couple of books that briefly discussed homosexuality, but I mostly ruled that out. I couldn’t do so completely because I was aware of my occasional fantasies.
Then one day in a used bookshop I encountered the book version of the “Christine Jorgenson Story.” From that point, I thought I saw a way forward, but didn’t know how I would get there. It still didn’t quite add up, because Jorgensen liked men and I really liked women.
When I was 19 I started trying to learn more about “sex change surgery” in the modern day (Christine Jorgenson had been 25 or so years earlier). Suddenly, however, I learned one day I was to become a father. After a few hours freaking out I realized that I needed to “step up,” take responsibility and raise my child to adulthood. I decided that any kind of sex change would have to wait until my child grew up.
My son’s mom and I split up pretty quick in terms of our relationship, but we were amiable so we stayed together for a few years to raise our son. After that we shared custody 50/50, and from his 10th year I raised him as a single parent. I continued with my secret occasional cross-dressing shenanigans, but no-one, especially my son, ever knew. I finished college and got a masters’ degree part-time, while working part-time as a landscaper and also raising my son.
My friends were mostly women. A couple of close friends were radical feminists and I really learned a lot from them. This was when I discovered Mary Daly’s books and Janice Raymond’s amazing book “The Transsexual Empire.” In reading these books I began to realize that a medicalized transsexual life was not for me, and that I would just need to work through and deal with, as a man, whatever sense I had of myself as a woman. I realized how hung up I was on stereotypic notions of appearance and behavior, and I understood myself and my “female” feelings from a higher level of consciousness (i.e. from a perspective that took patriarchal programming into account, the medical industry, earth-based spirituality and my own psychological pain). I had also done a lot of reading in comparative mythology and depth psychology, and I was really working on a mature, realistic sense of myself. I considered myself to be a male radical feminist.
It was hard for me to raise a son. Because my father had not been around, and because all the men in my young life had been violent irresponsible idiots, I had no idea how to be a father, and really just made it up as I went along. I made a ton of mistakes. I said a lot of stupid things. I did provide a home with his own bed every night of his life, and made sure he had sufficient food and clothes every day. I made sure he got braces on his teeth, the latest shoes, and all the usual things kids want. As I say, though, I made a lot of mistakes. When my son was a teenager (and you know how teenagers can be), we had angry screaming arguments. One day, though, my son kicked me and broke a few of my ribs. He hadn’t meant to kick me that hard, but he was unrepentant and thought it was pretty funny. I decided he needed to move out. He was 17. I paid his rent in rooms he rented for the next year.
To back up for a moment, there was a period of a couple of years when my son was a teenager in which I was the subject of a criminal prosecution. A few years earlier, I had delivered some drugs from a drug-dealing friend to someone that turned out to be a federal agent. My friend later got busted, and although my part was admitted by the government to be tiny, they still prosecuted me. I got out of it without a scratch, but as you might imagine, this was an incredibly stressful addition to my already insanely stressful life and responsibilities.
Anyway, my son moved out, and I lived alone for the first time in years. As I say, I had been through an extraordinarily difficult period. I was no longer in touch with my feminist friends. I lived in the suburbs and did freelance work from home. I was really depressed and my doctor put me on antidepressants. What I really have (because of early life) is PTSD, so I ended up taking a very large dose of antidepressants. I was still depressed, though. I just felt really out of my body, emotionally numb, hopeless. I was cross-dressing at home. I didn’t think very deeply about anything. I didn’t want to surf, go for walks or do anything. I felt extremely bleak. I felt that my “little spark of life” was very small. I was isolated from all my friends (self-isolated).
It occurred to me that my life felt so empty and bleak, perhaps I should leave it behind. I didn’t want to kill myself because I knew it would hurt everyone I loved. I decided to see a therapist, almost as a last resort. In our discussions, we talked a lot about my “transgender” feelings. We seemed to talk about this a lot. My therapist was supportive, and validated me in having such feelings. I began to feel slightly better, mainly in the context that I was validated in feeling that inside I was really a woman. In fact thinking about “the inner woman” [sic] was about the only thing that made me feel better. I thought about this a huge proportion of the time, and looked at/gathered info from all the transgender web sites of the late ’90s.
I encountered Dr. Anne Lawrence’s web page and read some of his writing about autogynephilia. This concept rang a bell for me, as it was undeniable that I felt this to some degree, but at the time I felt so dissociated from myself, beaten up, broken down that I didn’t want to think about it. There were several vehement critiques against Dr. Lawrence and autogynephilia, written by true-believer hardcore autogynephiliacs, and I allowed myself to be swayed by their arguments.
The thing about autogynephilia is that it can become obsessive, a fixed idea. I am sure my therapist didn’t understand that, if she had even heard of the term. Nor did I, at the time. Once I felt OK about my cross-dressing and notions of myself “as a woman,” recognizing myself in that “identity” became an extremely important aspect of my life.
I thought, well, maybe I should live as a woman, see what happens. “Transgender” seemed to be emerging into the mass culture. I didn’t want to do anything surgically, or even (at the time) to take real hormones. I wasn’t into guys and didn’t think I needed a fuckhole to nowhere. I was also still cautious because I remembered some of what I had read in Janice Raymond. Besides that, I had learned through my research online that the “gender reassignment surgery” was super-invasive and potentially very dangerous. I was incredulous that not only were transgender people obsessed with having such extreme, unnecessary surgery, but doctors were giving it to them.
I began to take herbal supplements that contained estrogenic compounds, but were not actually estrogen. Nothing changed physically, but I thought I felt better. I felt fortunate at age 39 in not having lost any head hair at all; in having very little facial hair and almost no body hair; and being rather “small-boned.” One day I simply put myself together “as a woman” and went downtown to buy some groceries. Nothing seemed any different, nobody said anything or looked at me funny. From then on I just started living “as a woman.”
I thought, well, maybe I should live “as a woman,” see what happens. I didn’t want to do anything surgically, or even (at the time) to take real hormones. I wasn’t into guys and didn’t think I needed a fuckhole to nowhere. I was also still cautious because I remembered some of what I had read in Janice Raymond. Besides that, I had learned through my research online that the “gender reassignment surgery” was super-invasive and potentially very dangerous. I was incredulous that not only were transgender people obsessed with having such extreme, unnecessary surgery, but doctors were giving it to them.
I began to take herbal supplements that contained estrogenic compounds, but were not actually estrogen. Nothing changed physically, but I thought I felt better. I felt fortunate at age 39 in not having lost any head hair at all; in having very little facial hair and almost no body hair; and although I was normal male height (and thus somewhat tall for a woman) being rather “small-boned.” One day I simply put myself together “as a woman” and went downtown to buy some groceries. Nothing seemed any different, nobody said anything or looked at me funny. From then on I just started living “as a woman.” I decided on a female name for myself.
Soon I had a visit with my doctor. She was surprised, but we talked for a long time and while cautious, she seemed supportive. We were mostly trying at that time to find the right dosage of the right antidepressant for me. I had been taking a really gnarly one (“Effexor”) that slightly elevated my mood, but as I say, really made me feel like I wasn’t in my body. I had a sort of plastic smile and fake-cheerful persona.
[About a year later, I began taking estrogen. By this time, I guess from the herbs, or maybe because I had gained some weight, I had some fat in my breast area. My breasts didn't look female breasts, it looked more like I had gynecomastia. I also had a thyroid condition, so that may have been part of it. I really can't remember whether I asked for the estrogen or my doctor suggested it. I know that she was concerned about the effects on my liver and kidneys of the estrogenic herbs I was taking. I'm going to ask her about "who suggested estrogen" when I see her next week. It was probably me. Anyway, I began taking estrogen.]
The reactions of my friends and family, when I would meet up with them and they’d see the new me and learn my new name, ranged from strongly supportive to cautiously supportive: “if you’re sure it’s the right thing.” No-one pushed back or suggested that I needed to step away and think about this on a deeper level. As I say, I was out of contact with my old feminist friends, who would have steered me right.
My son was living overseas by then, and we hadn’t been communicating on good terms. I thought I’d wait to tell him when next I saw him. Before long one of my sisters told him. He was upset and after a couple of e-mails we didn’t communicate for a few years. Later we got back in touch and saw each other and I explained my process to him. He was never happy about it but he accepted me as I was.
As I was working from home, I didn’t need to “come out” at work. I did need to change my ID etc. It was remarkably easy. I had understood there to be sort of a “Catch-22,” in which you couldn’t change your gender and name on your driver’s license until you had done so on your Social Security account, and vice-versa. Instead, the young woman at the motor vehicle department simply smiled and made the changes.
Freelance work was drying up with the dot-com crash, and I needed to get a job. I set my sights on a prestigious local university’s medical school. This university was located in a nearby city. A research assistant job came up. I interviewed “as a woman,” they liked me and I got the job. I moved into the city to be close to work. I was 41 years old. I envisioned myself as a middle-aged lady, settling into a quiet routine, a well-worn path between work and home, growing old gracefully and without much fuss.
I had laser treatments to remove my facial hair. After five treatments it was completely gone. Every couple of weeks or so a little straggler still shows up somewhere.
I guess you could say my transition was sort of “stealth,” in that I seemed to pass quite well, and in most ways I moved easily in women’s spaces. I never announced that I was transgender; I never talked about it with my friends or colleagues; I didn’t join up with any transgender organizations or activities in the city. At the same time, while I had a pretty good “female” voice, I didn’t use it all the time at work; I just used my normal voice, which is fairly soft anyway but is obviously still a male voice. (Outside of work, friends and family, I used my somewhat softer “female” voice.) All of my colleagues certainly knew my status, though we never talked about it. They treated me as a normal female colleague. It was really easy for me. My whole life was going easily.
I was a real loner and only kept in touch with a couple of friends from the old days. I had no sexual or romantic relationships. I was not friends with any other “transgender” people and I strenuously avoided aligning myself with or joining the “transgender community” or “GLBT groups.”
As the years passed, my career was going remarkably well. I needed to travel overseas for various scientific conferences. It took a little doing, but I got a one-year US passport marked “female.” I was able to renew this for several consecutive years. They wouldn’t grant me a normal 10-year one unless I had the sex change surgery. I figured that I’d probably need to keep renewing it, which seemed silly — would they rather give me a normal male passport after several years with a female passport?
Then I learned that “gender reassignment surgery” was available to me as health benefit through my employer. I was very sure that I didn’t want the whole nine yards, but I began to think about having an orchiectomy. This seemed a much safer option. I wasn’t much bothered by any testosterone I generated, but thought it would be good to get rid of it anyway. I figured that this was my life now, and I was OK with it; I would never go back to being a man; I might as well have the orchiectomy. Also, jeans would fit better; and I would be able to get a normal 10-year passport (the surgeon’s letter can be sufficiently vague about what exactly was done). I’m only half-joking about these last two. Kind of stupid, but these were part of my rationale. So, I had the orchiectomy. Later I got a normal US passport with the “female” designation.
I traveled to various countries around the world. I never had any problems at international borders or anywhere else.
I felt conflicted sometimes about my path “as a woman,” especially after a few years into it as I went off the antidepressants and began to remember “who I had been” in my younger days. I had thrown myself intensely into my career and had pretty much left my former life behind. I had previously been very much “in my body,” a landscaper, quite athletic. I thought sometimes about what I used to know before, and how I felt now about my life. I began reconstructing the process that lead me to transition, taking into account my PTSD/depression and suicidality of the time. I had evidently used my lifelong “gender” conflict as an escape route. On some levels, I realized that my lifestyle was completely bogus but I made excuses for myself: I thought, well, this is becoming sort of mainstream now in the liberal city where I live, go with the flow. I also felt oddly “safe,” in that my life had become a simple routine of going from home to work and back. I thought: I’m not particularly happy, but if I keep things going this way I won’t have any unexpected stress. I thought: I have made some irreversible decisions; I guess I should just stay the course. Also, still taking estrogen, I was in sort of a placid and semi-dreamy state. (I use these terms advisedly — I do not mean that women are placid and semi-dreamy — I mean that when males take estrogen, we have a sort of placid, dreamy and easy-going feeling about ourselves. At least I did.)
To sum it up, my life “as a woman” was going well, 13 years into it. I was content with my life. I had “successfully transitioned.” I had “assimilated.” Although I was lonesome and not particularly happy, I was doing all right. It would never have occurred to me to go back to being a man. It seemed inconceivable.
Then I met up again after many, many years with a feminist friend. She was not comfortable with me “as a woman,” but our conversations were very good. She was concerned about the long-term health effects of taking estrogen, and advised me to stop taking it. I felt she had a point and I did so.
After a few weeks the excuses I had been making for myself no longer seemed to hold water. Without estrogen in my body, I felt that I was thinking much more critically and acutely. Males should not take estrogen. I became increasingly aware that no matter how simple it was for me to live as a woman, and no matter how invested I was in living that way, it was still a mask, a put-on, a special effect, an illusion, an act of make-believe. Beyond that, it was intensely misogynistic and harmful to real women. How could I have ignored that, especially when I already completely understood it? The fact was that I was never female and I was always male. I realized that I wanted to be honest. I wanted to be myself, and while my female persona was a key part of myself, she was still a persona. Each of us has many personae (that we deploy in different contexts with different people etc.), and it’s not a bad thing to have them, but it was becoming clear to me that primarily inhabiting this female persona was just a way to avoid pain and to avoid knowing and being my real self. Also, I was aware that my female persona (and “the woman inside” from the time before my transition) was probably sort of an “alter” persona that I developed as a result of early trauma in my life — she was to some mild degree a dissociated identity, a way of coping. I was meditating a lot on these things, and crying every day.
I discovered the radical feminist blogs of GallusMag and others. I had not kept up at all with “transgender” issues and was not at all aware of the vicious, violent, disgusting and depraved nature of the “transwomen’s” discourse with radical feminists. It made me feel bad to be associated with anything transgender. It reinforced my realizations that I was propping up a phony world.
For a little while I still thought that maybe if I didn’t “girl it up” to much (i.e. if I presented myself in a somewhat more tomboy or butch way than I had done previously), it might be a good middle way to go.
Then one day it hit me like a ton of bricks that if I was serious about being honest with myself and the world, if I really wanted to live a life that would be authentic, natural, grounded and truthful, I really needed to de-transition and be a man again. Partially honest is pretty darn close to dishonest. This was less than four weeks ago. It was really hard for me to accept this. I cried a lot. I felt that I was killing off my female persona. I really liked myself (in that persona) and was afraid of being a man again.
But as I began moving into that space, buying male clothes, presenting myself as male etc., something interesting began to happen.
At first I was extremely uncomfortable. I had taken all the polish off my nails, so they looked like shit. I wasn’t wearing any of my jewelry or make-up. I had my hair organized more like a man’s style and I didn’t like it. I realize that these considerations are superficial patriarchal expressions of “femininity,” but I just mean that I felt very awkward leaving the house. I had a sort of androgynous get-up on. When I first went shopping for men’s clothes I went to an “off-price” department store. The clothes were so ugly and banal that I just couldn’t bring myself to buy anything. I had a few moments when I questioned what I was doing. I went home and cried some more.
The next day I glumly went to a different store and tried again. To my surprise, I thought, well, this would look good on me; and I guess this would too. So I spent a bunch of money there on men’s clothes, as well as at another store. I ordered a couple pair of men’s boots online, for next-day delivery.
Trying on all the clothes and shoes at home, I had to admit that I looked
prettygood for a man in his mid-50s. Although my breasts had developed
significantly through the many years of estrogen, and although my face
looked somewhat too soft and smooth, I actually looked “attractive” as a
man. This gave me a feeling of confidence. Also, having been off
estrogen for a couple of months, I think my breasts were not as large
and full as they had been.
I had been framing a question in my mind: Would I be able to “pass” as a man? But then I realized that it wasn’t about passing. I was already a man, no matter what, and whether or not other people said “ma’am” or “sir” to me, I was still male and it was their trip if they thought I was female, not mine.
So I began just going out and about in everyday life, as a man. I felt strangely relaxed and comfortable. This persisted for several days. In fact, I even felt somewhat empowered, not because I was now a man and could fully take advantage of male privilege, but because I was simply not trying to camouflage the fact in every aspect of life that I was a man. Everything was easier, more honest and straightforward. As a “woman,” I had passed easily, but it is undeniable that through comportment, voice and make-up etc. I had constantly made efforts, every hour of every day, to prevent people (apart from colleagues, to whom I spoke in my normal voice) from ever figuring out I was male. Now I didn’t have to think about this.
“Clothes don’t make the man,” and there were many times when I forgot to recognize myself as a man. In other words, I was sometimes still talking in my “female” voice, or glancing at a mirror to check my make-up (which of course I was no longer wearing) or hair (which no longer really required any fine-tuning). Again, I mention these stereotypic “feminine” behaviors because they were a basic part of how I had lived for many years.
I neglected to mention that for the preceding several weeks in which I had been having these realizations, I had been on vacation from work (yes, I know how incredibly lucky I am to have a job with such a benefit). This was vitally useful time for me, and I had spent quite a bit of it going through this process, crying, meditating and scribbling in my journal. Now it was time to go back to work.
Just as I have never made a big thing about “zomg i’m transgender lol,” I didn’t want to show up at work and tell everyone that I was now a man. Serendipitously perhaps, I had usually been doing sort of a tomboy look for a few months before my vacation, still with make-up, jewelry etc., and “women’s clothes” (i.e. woman’s cut of jeans, flannel shirts etc.) but at least hinting towards a “guy’s” look.
Back in the office, a couple of colleagues at work have looked at me with slightly raised eyebrows, but everything remains normal, collegial and good. Pronouns are exclusively “she” and “her,” and we are still using my female name. In a way, I think that’s all right. I don’t need to force any kind of change on my colleagues. I enjoy my relationships with my colleagues and there is no need to blow everything up. I am not going to exert myself in manliness.Women wear men’s clothes all the time, many also don’t wear jewelry or make-up.
(For that matter, all my ID is female; it would be a huge hassle to change it all back – so I think I won’t. If I need to “show ID” for anything I think my smooth face and a soft version of my voice would get me through it.)
I realize that in the context of my work life, I am perhaps not proceeding with as much righteousness and “honesty” in my de-transitioning as I had hoped to do. I am still working on this. It’s not like I need to go out and embody & re-enact a bunch of stereotypic male behaviors, or work on somehow making my appearance to be more unequivocally male. I am still just myself and in most ways I am not doing anything differently. People frequently called me “miss” and “ma’am” long before I ever transitioned. Externally, my life is pretty much the same as it was before. I am just no longer trying to make people think I am female.
To be honest, I am not sure yet what to do about the restroom issue at work. I really don’t want to start using the men’s room. This would be upsetting to me and to my colleagues. For the moment, I have used the women’s restroom. I have not used any restroom in public spaces since I began this de-transitioning. It is sort of horrifying to think of using the men’s room again, but eventually I’m going to have to do it.
Anyway, I know that I am still hung up in many ways about clothes, appearance, “femininity,” “masculinity,” etc. I am working on all this. It has only been a short time and it takes a while to work through it. There may be some bits among these introduction posts that are somewhat contradictory.
Thanks for reading this. Future posts on this blog will focus on my ongoing de-transitioning process.
I have decided to make another blog that focuses more specifically on my de-transitioning from male-to-”female” transsexual, back to being a man. This is the first part of “my story.” I’ll post the rest of it in the next couple of days. In future posts I will try to provide a little more introspection and insight into my de-transitioning process.
I’m putting together this site because I, a man, was arrogant and delusional enough for a dozen or so years to think that it was appropriate for me to try to live “as a woman.” The “gender identity” movement is on a fast track to being normalized in wealthy countries, and I have realized how harmful this is for real women. “Transgender” status is also now routinely being pushed on small children, and a rapidly increasing awareness of this is what initially motivated me to make my other blog, “I’m Not Transgender Any More,” which generally focuses on providing perspective and analysis about the harms in “transgender” and “transsexualism.” In this blog, I will focus on my personal process.
The details of my early life are a goldmine for anyone who may wish to discern psychological components in why I became a transsexual. Believe me, I’m well aware of them all. I grew up poor in a rural community, the eldest of six children. My father was out of the picture. My mom raised us, but she had tremendous drug and alcohol problems and I had a huge amount of responsibility. She had a thing for violent tough guys, and I not only witnessed a lot of domestic violence, I was subject to it. In my early teens, we moved around a lot (e.g. I went to five high schools in the first three semesters). I left home at age 15 as an “emancipated minor.”
I remember at around age 5 believing that I was going to grow up to be a lady. From age 8 I would occasionally (and of course secretly) cross-dress, checking out clothes in my mom’s closet. When I was 12 I got it into my head that I should go into the city to walk around for a day, “as a girl.” I did so, and perhaps that’s a story for another day, or not. Suffice to say that it gave me confidence.
From my mid-teens, I will admit to a certain amount of autogynephilia. Sometimes I masturbated with fantasies of my self “as a woman,” mainly just going about everyday life and being accepted as a woman, but occasionally — and this disturbed me, because due to my mom’s violent boyfriends I hated men — having men flirt with me as a woman. The fantasies didn’t get into having sex with men.
I continued intermittently cross-dressing, gathering clothes where I could, and then intermittently feeling guilty and stupid and throwing them out. There would be extended periods, especially when I was in love (with girls) in which I didn’t cross-dress. However, I always “identified” with women. I cringed when people said “he” or “him” in reference to me, or explicitly referred to me as male. My hair was always very long. It was the ’70s so it wasn’t a big deal. I totally refused to cut it short. I had a fair number of girlfriends (in succession), and I guess you could say that I was a very attractive, intelligent young man. I was a keen surfer and worked as a landscaper. I greatly enjoyed my sex life. I nearly always told my girlfriends (those with whom I was together for more than a few months) about my feelings, but in the few times I ever “dressed” with them, it felt kind of weird to be in that context.
I felt somehow that inside I was a “woman,” but I didn’t know what to do with that information. Mind you, we had no internet. It may be hard for young folks to imagine this, but nobody talked about these things. I thought I was unique in having these feelings. The public library had no book on the topic. There were a couple of books that briefly discussed homosexuality, but I mostly ruled that out. I couldn’t do so completely because I was aware of my occasional fantasies.
Then one day in a used bookshop I encountered the book version of the “Christine Jorgenson Story.” From that point, I thought I saw a way forward, but didn’t know how I would get there. It still didn’t quite add up, because Jorgensen liked men and I really liked women.
When I was 19 I started trying to learn more about “sex change surgery” in the modern day (Christine Jorgenson had been 25 or so years earlier). Suddenly, however, I learned one day I was to become a father. After a few hours freaking out I realized that I needed to “step up,” take responsibility and raise my child to adulthood. I decided that any kind of sex change would have to wait until my child grew up.
My son’s mom and I split up pretty quick in terms of our relationship, but we were amiable so we stayed together for a few years to raise our son. After that we shared custody 50/50, and from his 10th year I raised him as a single parent. I continued with my secret occasional cross-dressing shenanigans, but no-one, especially my son, ever knew. I finished college and got a masters’ degree part-time, while working part-time as a landscaper and also raising my son.
My friends were mostly women. A couple of close friends were radical feminists and I really learned a lot from them. This was when I discovered Mary Daly’s books and Janice Raymond’s amazing book “The Transsexual Empire.” In reading these books I began to realize that a medicalized transsexual life was not for me, and that I would just need to work through and deal with, as a man, whatever sense I had of myself as a woman. I realized how hung up I was on stereotypic notions of appearance and behavior, and I understood myself and my “female” feelings from a higher level of consciousness (i.e. from a perspective that took patriarchal programming into account, the medical industry, earth-based spirituality and my own psychological pain). I had also done a lot of reading in comparative mythology and depth psychology, and I was really working on a mature, realistic sense of myself. I considered myself to be a male radical feminist.
It was hard for me to raise a son. Because my father had not been around, and because all the men in my young life had been violent irresponsible idiots, I had no idea how to be a father, and really just made it up as I went along. I made a ton of mistakes. I said a lot of stupid things. I did provide a home with his own bed every night of his life, and made sure he had sufficient food and clothes every day. I made sure he got braces on his teeth, the latest shoes, and all the usual things kids want. As I say, though, I made a lot of mistakes. When my son was a teenager (and you know how teenagers can be), we had angry screaming arguments. One day, though, my son kicked me and broke a few of my ribs. He hadn’t meant to kick me that hard, but he was unrepentant and thought it was pretty funny. I decided he needed to move out. He was 17. I paid his rent in rooms he rented for the next year.
To back up for a moment, there was a period of a couple of years when my son was a teenager in which I was the subject of a criminal prosecution. A few years earlier, I had delivered some drugs from a drug-dealing friend to someone that turned out to be a federal agent. My friend later got busted, and although my part was admitted by the government to be tiny, they still prosecuted me. I got out of it without a scratch, but as you might imagine, this was an incredibly stressful addition to my already insanely stressful life and responsibilities.
Anyway, my son moved out, and I lived alone for the first time in years. As I say, I had been through an extraordinarily difficult period. I was no longer in touch with my feminist friends. I lived in the suburbs and did freelance work from home. I was really depressed and my doctor put me on antidepressants. What I really have (because of early life) is PTSD, so I ended up taking a very large dose of antidepressants. I was still depressed, though. I just felt really out of my body, emotionally numb, hopeless. I was cross-dressing at home. I didn’t think very deeply about anything. I didn’t want to surf, go for walks or do anything. I felt extremely bleak. I felt that my “little spark of life” was very small. I was isolated from all my friends (self-isolated).
It occurred to me that my life felt so empty and bleak, perhaps I should leave it behind. I didn’t want to kill myself because I knew it would hurt everyone I loved. I decided to see a therapist, almost as a last resort. In our discussions, we talked a lot about my “transgender” feelings. We seemed to talk about this a lot. My therapist was supportive, and validated me in having such feelings. I began to feel slightly better, mainly in the context that I was validated in feeling that inside I was really a woman. In fact thinking about “the inner woman” [sic] was about the only thing that made me feel better. I thought about this a huge proportion of the time, and looked at/gathered info from all the transgender web sites of the late ’90s.
I encountered Dr. Anne Lawrence’s web page and read some of his writing about autogynephilia. This concept rang a bell for me, as it was undeniable that I felt this to some degree, but at the time I felt so dissociated from myself, beaten up, broken down that I didn’t want to think about it. There were several vehement critiques against Dr. Lawrence and autogynephilia, written by true-believer hardcore autogynephiliacs, and I allowed myself to be swayed by their arguments.
The thing about autogynephilia is that it can become obsessive, a fixed idea. I am sure my therapist didn’t understand that, if she had even heard of the term. Nor did I, at the time. Once I felt OK about my cross-dressing and notions of myself “as a woman,” recognizing myself in that “identity” became an extremely important aspect of my life.
I thought, well, maybe I should live as a woman, see what happens. “Transgender” seemed to be emerging into the mass culture. I didn’t want to do anything surgically, or even (at the time) to take real hormones. I wasn’t into guys and didn’t think I needed a fuckhole to nowhere. I was also still cautious because I remembered some of what I had read in Janice Raymond. Besides that, I had learned through my research online that the “gender reassignment surgery” was super-invasive and potentially very dangerous. I was incredulous that not only were transgender people obsessed with having such extreme, unnecessary surgery, but doctors were giving it to them.
I began to take herbal supplements that contained estrogenic compounds, but were not actually estrogen. Nothing changed physically, but I thought I felt better. I felt fortunate at age 39 in not having lost any head hair at all; in having very little facial hair and almost no body hair; and being rather “small-boned.” One day I simply put myself together “as a woman” and went downtown to buy some groceries. Nothing seemed any different, nobody said anything or looked at me funny. From then on I just started living “as a woman.”
I thought, well, maybe I should live “as a woman,” see what happens. I didn’t want to do anything surgically, or even (at the time) to take real hormones. I wasn’t into guys and didn’t think I needed a fuckhole to nowhere. I was also still cautious because I remembered some of what I had read in Janice Raymond. Besides that, I had learned through my research online that the “gender reassignment surgery” was super-invasive and potentially very dangerous. I was incredulous that not only were transgender people obsessed with having such extreme, unnecessary surgery, but doctors were giving it to them.
I began to take herbal supplements that contained estrogenic compounds, but were not actually estrogen. Nothing changed physically, but I thought I felt better. I felt fortunate at age 39 in not having lost any head hair at all; in having very little facial hair and almost no body hair; and although I was normal male height (and thus somewhat tall for a woman) being rather “small-boned.” One day I simply put myself together “as a woman” and went downtown to buy some groceries. Nothing seemed any different, nobody said anything or looked at me funny. From then on I just started living “as a woman.” I decided on a female name for myself.
Soon I had a visit with my doctor. She was surprised, but we talked for a long time and while cautious, she seemed supportive. We were mostly trying at that time to find the right dosage of the right antidepressant for me. I had been taking a really gnarly one (“Effexor”) that slightly elevated my mood, but as I say, really made me feel like I wasn’t in my body. I had a sort of plastic smile and fake-cheerful persona.
[About a year later, I began taking estrogen. By this time, I guess from the herbs, or maybe because I had gained some weight, I had some fat in my breast area. My breasts didn't look female breasts, it looked more like I had gynecomastia. I also had a thyroid condition, so that may have been part of it. I really can't remember whether I asked for the estrogen or my doctor suggested it. I know that she was concerned about the effects on my liver and kidneys of the estrogenic herbs I was taking. I'm going to ask her about "who suggested estrogen" when I see her next week. It was probably me. Anyway, I began taking estrogen.]
The reactions of my friends and family, when I would meet up with them and they’d see the new me and learn my new name, ranged from strongly supportive to cautiously supportive: “if you’re sure it’s the right thing.” No-one pushed back or suggested that I needed to step away and think about this on a deeper level. As I say, I was out of contact with my old feminist friends, who would have steered me right.
My son was living overseas by then, and we hadn’t been communicating on good terms. I thought I’d wait to tell him when next I saw him. Before long one of my sisters told him. He was upset and after a couple of e-mails we didn’t communicate for a few years. Later we got back in touch and saw each other and I explained my process to him. He was never happy about it but he accepted me as I was.
As I was working from home, I didn’t need to “come out” at work. I did need to change my ID etc. It was remarkably easy. I had understood there to be sort of a “Catch-22,” in which you couldn’t change your gender and name on your driver’s license until you had done so on your Social Security account, and vice-versa. Instead, the young woman at the motor vehicle department simply smiled and made the changes.
Freelance work was drying up with the dot-com crash, and I needed to get a job. I set my sights on a prestigious local university’s medical school. This university was located in a nearby city. A research assistant job came up. I interviewed “as a woman,” they liked me and I got the job. I moved into the city to be close to work. I was 41 years old. I envisioned myself as a middle-aged lady, settling into a quiet routine, a well-worn path between work and home, growing old gracefully and without much fuss.
I had laser treatments to remove my facial hair. After five treatments it was completely gone. Every couple of weeks or so a little straggler still shows up somewhere.
I guess you could say my transition was sort of “stealth,” in that I seemed to pass quite well, and in most ways I moved easily in women’s spaces. I never announced that I was transgender; I never talked about it with my friends or colleagues; I didn’t join up with any transgender organizations or activities in the city. At the same time, while I had a pretty good “female” voice, I didn’t use it all the time at work; I just used my normal voice, which is fairly soft anyway but is obviously still a male voice. (Outside of work, friends and family, I used my somewhat softer “female” voice.) All of my colleagues certainly knew my status, though we never talked about it. They treated me as a normal female colleague. It was really easy for me. My whole life was going easily.
I was a real loner and only kept in touch with a couple of friends from the old days. I had no sexual or romantic relationships. I was not friends with any other “transgender” people and I strenuously avoided aligning myself with or joining the “transgender community” or “GLBT groups.”
As the years passed, my career was going remarkably well. I needed to travel overseas for various scientific conferences. It took a little doing, but I got a one-year US passport marked “female.” I was able to renew this for several consecutive years. They wouldn’t grant me a normal 10-year one unless I had the sex change surgery. I figured that I’d probably need to keep renewing it, which seemed silly — would they rather give me a normal male passport after several years with a female passport?
Then I learned that “gender reassignment surgery” was available to me as health benefit through my employer. I was very sure that I didn’t want the whole nine yards, but I began to think about having an orchiectomy. This seemed a much safer option. I wasn’t much bothered by any testosterone I generated, but thought it would be good to get rid of it anyway. I figured that this was my life now, and I was OK with it; I would never go back to being a man; I might as well have the orchiectomy. Also, jeans would fit better; and I would be able to get a normal 10-year passport (the surgeon’s letter can be sufficiently vague about what exactly was done). I’m only half-joking about these last two. Kind of stupid, but these were part of my rationale. So, I had the orchiectomy. Later I got a normal US passport with the “female” designation.
I traveled to various countries around the world. I never had any problems at international borders or anywhere else.
I felt conflicted sometimes about my path “as a woman,” especially after a few years into it as I went off the antidepressants and began to remember “who I had been” in my younger days. I had thrown myself intensely into my career and had pretty much left my former life behind. I had previously been very much “in my body,” a landscaper, quite athletic. I thought sometimes about what I used to know before, and how I felt now about my life. I began reconstructing the process that lead me to transition, taking into account my PTSD/depression and suicidality of the time. I had evidently used my lifelong “gender” conflict as an escape route. On some levels, I realized that my lifestyle was completely bogus but I made excuses for myself: I thought, well, this is becoming sort of mainstream now in the liberal city where I live, go with the flow. I also felt oddly “safe,” in that my life had become a simple routine of going from home to work and back. I thought: I’m not particularly happy, but if I keep things going this way I won’t have any unexpected stress. I thought: I have made some irreversible decisions; I guess I should just stay the course. Also, still taking estrogen, I was in sort of a placid and semi-dreamy state. (I use these terms advisedly — I do not mean that women are placid and semi-dreamy — I mean that when males take estrogen, we have a sort of placid, dreamy and easy-going feeling about ourselves. At least I did.)
To sum it up, my life “as a woman” was going well, 13 years into it. I was content with my life. I had “successfully transitioned.” I had “assimilated.” Although I was lonesome and not particularly happy, I was doing all right. It would never have occurred to me to go back to being a man. It seemed inconceivable.
Then I met up again after many, many years with a feminist friend. She was not comfortable with me “as a woman,” but our conversations were very good. She was concerned about the long-term health effects of taking estrogen, and advised me to stop taking it. I felt she had a point and I did so.
After a few weeks the excuses I had been making for myself no longer seemed to hold water. Without estrogen in my body, I felt that I was thinking much more critically and acutely. Males should not take estrogen. I became increasingly aware that no matter how simple it was for me to live as a woman, and no matter how invested I was in living that way, it was still a mask, a put-on, a special effect, an illusion, an act of make-believe. Beyond that, it was intensely misogynistic and harmful to real women. How could I have ignored that, especially when I already completely understood it? The fact was that I was never female and I was always male. I realized that I wanted to be honest. I wanted to be myself, and while my female persona was a key part of myself, she was still a persona. Each of us has many personae (that we deploy in different contexts with different people etc.), and it’s not a bad thing to have them, but it was becoming clear to me that primarily inhabiting this female persona was just a way to avoid pain and to avoid knowing and being my real self. Also, I was aware that my female persona (and “the woman inside” from the time before my transition) was probably sort of an “alter” persona that I developed as a result of early trauma in my life — she was to some mild degree a dissociated identity, a way of coping. I was meditating a lot on these things, and crying every day.
I discovered the radical feminist blogs of GallusMag and others. I had not kept up at all with “transgender” issues and was not at all aware of the vicious, violent, disgusting and depraved nature of the “transwomen’s” discourse with radical feminists. It made me feel bad to be associated with anything transgender. It reinforced my realizations that I was propping up a phony world.
For a little while I still thought that maybe if I didn’t “girl it up” to much (i.e. if I presented myself in a somewhat more tomboy or butch way than I had done previously), it might be a good middle way to go.
Then one day it hit me like a ton of bricks that if I was serious about being honest with myself and the world, if I really wanted to live a life that would be authentic, natural, grounded and truthful, I really needed to de-transition and be a man again. Partially honest is pretty darn close to dishonest. This was less than four weeks ago. It was really hard for me to accept this. I cried a lot. I felt that I was killing off my female persona. I really liked myself (in that persona) and was afraid of being a man again.
But as I began moving into that space, buying male clothes, presenting myself as male etc., something interesting began to happen.
At first I was extremely uncomfortable. I had taken all the polish off my nails, so they looked like shit. I wasn’t wearing any of my jewelry or make-up. I had my hair organized more like a man’s style and I didn’t like it. I realize that these considerations are superficial patriarchal expressions of “femininity,” but I just mean that I felt very awkward leaving the house. I had a sort of androgynous get-up on. When I first went shopping for men’s clothes I went to an “off-price” department store. The clothes were so ugly and banal that I just couldn’t bring myself to buy anything. I had a few moments when I questioned what I was doing. I went home and cried some more.
The next day I glumly went to a different store and tried again. To my surprise, I thought, well, this would look good on me; and I guess this would too. So I spent a bunch of money there on men’s clothes, as well as at another store. I ordered a couple pair of men’s boots online, for next-day delivery.
Trying on all the clothes and shoes at home, I had to admit that I looked
I had been framing a question in my mind: Would I be able to “pass” as a man? But then I realized that it wasn’t about passing. I was already a man, no matter what, and whether or not other people said “ma’am” or “sir” to me, I was still male and it was their trip if they thought I was female, not mine.
So I began just going out and about in everyday life, as a man. I felt strangely relaxed and comfortable. This persisted for several days. In fact, I even felt somewhat empowered, not because I was now a man and could fully take advantage of male privilege, but because I was simply not trying to camouflage the fact in every aspect of life that I was a man. Everything was easier, more honest and straightforward. As a “woman,” I had passed easily, but it is undeniable that through comportment, voice and make-up etc. I had constantly made efforts, every hour of every day, to prevent people (apart from colleagues, to whom I spoke in my normal voice) from ever figuring out I was male. Now I didn’t have to think about this.
“Clothes don’t make the man,” and there were many times when I forgot to recognize myself as a man. In other words, I was sometimes still talking in my “female” voice, or glancing at a mirror to check my make-up (which of course I was no longer wearing) or hair (which no longer really required any fine-tuning). Again, I mention these stereotypic “feminine” behaviors because they were a basic part of how I had lived for many years.
I neglected to mention that for the preceding several weeks in which I had been having these realizations, I had been on vacation from work (yes, I know how incredibly lucky I am to have a job with such a benefit). This was vitally useful time for me, and I had spent quite a bit of it going through this process, crying, meditating and scribbling in my journal. Now it was time to go back to work.
Just as I have never made a big thing about “zomg i’m transgender lol,” I didn’t want to show up at work and tell everyone that I was now a man. Serendipitously perhaps, I had usually been doing sort of a tomboy look for a few months before my vacation, still with make-up, jewelry etc., and “women’s clothes” (i.e. woman’s cut of jeans, flannel shirts etc.) but at least hinting towards a “guy’s” look.
Back in the office, a couple of colleagues at work have looked at me with slightly raised eyebrows, but everything remains normal, collegial and good. Pronouns are exclusively “she” and “her,” and we are still using my female name. In a way, I think that’s all right. I don’t need to force any kind of change on my colleagues. I enjoy my relationships with my colleagues and there is no need to blow everything up. I am not going to exert myself in manliness.Women wear men’s clothes all the time, many also don’t wear jewelry or make-up.
(For that matter, all my ID is female; it would be a huge hassle to change it all back – so I think I won’t. If I need to “show ID” for anything I think my smooth face and a soft version of my voice would get me through it.)
I realize that in the context of my work life, I am perhaps not proceeding with as much righteousness and “honesty” in my de-transitioning as I had hoped to do. I am still working on this. It’s not like I need to go out and embody & re-enact a bunch of stereotypic male behaviors, or work on somehow making my appearance to be more unequivocally male. I am still just myself and in most ways I am not doing anything differently. People frequently called me “miss” and “ma’am” long before I ever transitioned. Externally, my life is pretty much the same as it was before. I am just no longer trying to make people think I am female.
To be honest, I am not sure yet what to do about the restroom issue at work. I really don’t want to start using the men’s room. This would be upsetting to me and to my colleagues. For the moment, I have used the women’s restroom. I have not used any restroom in public spaces since I began this de-transitioning. It is sort of horrifying to think of using the men’s room again, but eventually I’m going to have to do it.
Anyway, I know that I am still hung up in many ways about clothes, appearance, “femininity,” “masculinity,” etc. I am working on all this. It has only been a short time and it takes a while to work through it. There may be some bits among these introduction posts that are somewhat contradictory.
Thanks for reading this. Future posts on this blog will focus on my ongoing de-transitioning process.
32 Things Every Man Should Do
1) Physically build something
- Nothing says girly man like an inability to build even the most
simplest of objects. If you can’t build a bookshelf or a nightstand it’s
high-time you get to building. I tell you, one of the only physical
things I truly value is a high-end bookshelf my father made for me many
years ago. Since that time I have moved probably a dozen times and I’ve
even sold 100% of my furniture, but I still have the bookshelf. It’s the
things we build with our own hands, with our own sweat, that are worth
something in this life. You can give me an entire Ikea store or keep my
bookshelf and I will keep my bookshelf.
2) Build a business - Working for someone else is a soul-killer. Taking orders is for order-takers. Building a business will teach you more about life than all your schooling and work experience combined. There is nothing more satisfying than seeing a big-fat check with your name on it as a result of all your sweat equity. Building your own business(s) will develop unwavering confidence in your abilities. Leave the modesty for the modest. You can’t be modest and be a big-dog.
3) Take privacy seriously - It’s a new world, boys. All that seemingly harmless information you give to the internet can and may come back to haunt you. Your name here, your address there, your date of birth here, your social security number there and pretty soon a social engineer has all your information and will take you to the cleaners. It will be a very nasty process trying to get all your dough back after a clever hack robbed you blind because you GAVE AWAY all of your information.
4) Own his online name - See above. Every man should own HisOwnName.com. Whether you want to use it or not. Your name is your identity, it’s your reputation, and you should own it. One day in the future you may want to sell your consulting services online and you want the instant credibility of a dot com behind your name, but if you wait you will not get it. Domains are only going to become harder and harder to come by. If you have a common name like John Smith you will never get your own dot com with your name (unless you use initials like JRSmith.com or something similar) but if you have an uncommon name you should grab your name dot com domain RIGHT NOW. Someday in the future you may have enemies who wish to harm you, they could grab yourname.com and do some real reputation damage. go to GoDaddy and get yourname.com immediately. Domains run less than $10 per year and now you have peace of mind knowing you own your name and insurance against anyone else owning it.
5) Lift weights - Every reader of BOLD & DETERMINED knows this. Weights are for men. Little baby boys have Olive Oyl arms and fat bellies. Get in the gym and kill it. Lifting weights will teach you how to push yourself to the limit. It will teach you about setting and reaching goals. It will give you confidence in yourself and your abilities. And it will make you STRONG.
6) Eat meat – Meat is what produces testosterone, testosterone is what makes men. All those vegetarian dweebs you see are effeminate for a reason.
7) Dress for success - You can tell everything about a person by the way they dress. Filthy, dirty hippies dress like filthy, dirty hippies and you can tell instantly that they a) have no work ethic, b) want to steal from you and yours, c) hate everything good, wholesome and strong, d) deserve a punch in the face.
Clean and Sharp is the rule. You don’t need to wear a three piece double breasted suit everyday but you do need to be clean and sharp and ready for business.
8) Wet Shave - Shaving with a disposable razor is like shaving with a toy. When you grow up you’re supposed to stop playing with toys. Men should shave with real razors, like their Grandfathers did before them. Wet shaving isn’t just shaving and grooming, it’s a ritual.
You get out your razor, and shaving cream, and badgers hair brush.
You wetten the badgers hair brush and take the brush across your whiskers to wetten them.
You mix up the water and your shaving cream in a coffee mug.
You lather up your face, you really work in the cream in between all the whiskers.
You get out your dual sided safety razor and you start shaving, being careful not to cut yourself because it’s extremely sharp. By the time you are done there is not a single whisker to be found. Your face is as smooth as a baby’s.
9) Shake hands - The hand shake is how men greet and address each other. The ‘fist bump’ and other assorted bullshit is how lower forms of life greet each other. A firm handshake is an indicator of strength and respect. Respect for yourself and respect for others. The fist bump shows a clear lack of respect for tradition, strength and pride. Fist bumpers deserve a fist bump to the face.
10) Follow the 30 Days of Discipline bootcamp for winners - Discipline is the mark of a man. A man can control himself. A man sets goals and follows through. A man does what he aims to do. A man does not let baloney get in his way of achievement.
11) Keep a Positive Mental Attitude – Read motivating works and listen to motivating music. Despair art and sad music can easily put us into a depressed mood. Uplilfting art can uplift you and put you in a positive state of mind. Just say no to despair blogs, sad music and whiny bullshit. Say yes to high energy art.
12) Own you car outright – Debt is slavery. If you have to make payments on your car you can’t afford it. Buy a cheaper one and pay ALL CASH. 48 months of payments is a long time to pay to get from point A to point B. If you have the dough, go ahead and splurge on a luxury car. If you don’t have the dough, work and build until you do have the dough. Until then, drive something cheaper. Remember, if you can’t afford it in cash you don’t deserve it. LIVE LIKE A SPARTAN.
13) Be loyal to blood - The thing about lowlife liberals is that they hate everything about their race and culture and wish to destroy it. They hate the strength and pride of tradition. Nonsense, embrace the traditional and embrace your blood. When push comes to shove all you have is your blood. No one else will ever do for you in times of need. Blood first, everything else a very, very distant second.
14) Stop watching porn - Heavy porn watchers are always Low-T having, light avoiding, pussy repellent boys. It’s embarrassing to be a masturbater and it is shameful. No matter what the degenerate liars on tv say, it is nothing to be proud of. If someone walked in on you masturbating you would feel righteous shame. When you give up the porn you have time for more important things, like building a business, having more energy, attracting women, and being a damn man.
15) Never supplicate to women – Men are the rightful leaders. When you give your power over to a woman you are truly a vile little specimen. Women don’t deserve undo praise and they certainly do not deserve everything men deserve. You’ve got to be the leader of your woman. If you aren’t the leader of your women you are her follower. A follower is also known as a chump or a cuckold. Don’t be a chump, be a champ!
16) Just say no – Forget the excuses after you say “no”.
Punk version:
Someone: Do you want to help me take care of my sick grandma?
Punk: Oh, well, I would but you know, I have this and that to do and I just don’t have the time…
Man version:
Someone: Do you want to help me take care of my sick grandma?
Man: No.
17) Seek out adventure - What is life if without adventure? BORING. Jump off some cliffs. Run a Spartan death race. Go to Mexico and avoid being kidnapped. Jump from an airplane. Life is for the living, baby. Have fun with it.
18) Take cold showers – Cold showers will turn a sissy into a man. Cold showers are the best. Cold showers refresh you. They make you feel alive. Cold showers get your blood pumping and your lungs working. Cold showers are how a man should start his day.
19) Don’t talk too much - Talking too much about your future plans fools your mind into thinking you’ve already accomplished it. The more you talk about your goals, the LESS LIKELY you are to accomplish them. The rule is don’t say nothing until you’ve accomplished. Before you accomplish you’re just a talker, after you accomplish you’re a walker.
20) Know how to throw a punch - You’ll probably never have to fight anyone in your life. Doesn’t mean you don’t need to know how to throw a punch. Knowing how to throw a punch will give you the confidence you need if ever confronted. There is no reason to go through life not knowing how to do something as simple as throwing a punch.
Besides, punching a heavy bag is a lot of fucking fun.
21) Stay out of debt – Debt is prison. As long as you are in debt you will always be a prisoner. CASH IS KING. If you have the cash, pay for it. If you don’t have the cash, SAVE UP! It is one thing to use credit cards to take advantage of frequent flier miles and other points, it’s another to use credit cards because you can’t afford to buy your girlfriend Christmas gifts. STAY OUT OF DEBT AT ALL COSTS.
22) Subscribe to the BOLD & DETERMINED email updates - Come on. It’s free and it isn’t spammy. It’s full of kick-ass shit you don’t get anywhere else on the internet. [Note: We used to have two different mail services, now we have one. If you aren't getting email updates and you want them you will need to sign up again.]
23) Never rely on anyone else for your income - It’s a changing world, baby. Jobs are going everywhere except right here. Wherever it’s cheaper, that’s where the jobs go. You cannot rely on a job to provide for you. You got to be a motivator and make your own living. It’s all up to you, a job can be taken away at any moment.
24) Be proud - Pride is a sin? It’s a sin to be a little bitch.
25) Be fit – We already said a man must lift weights, but lifting isn’t enough to give you a hardbody. You’ve got to take control of your diet and supplement regimen. If you’re a fatso you may have to do some cardio as well. Have you ever had someone tough your arms and her eyes go wide? It’s a great feeling. Have you ever heard someone say “Whoa!” when you took your shirt off? My program Body of a Spartan the best program on the internet for natural, drug free trainers.
26) Never argue with idiots – Arguing is a waste of time. In any argument one person is right and one person is wrong. Why would the person who is right waste time with the person who is wrong? A stupid person will never be able to understand that they are stupid and wrong, but you make a fool of yourself when you treat stupid people as if they were smart and capable of understanding the truth. If they were smart and capable of understanding the truth then you wouldn’t be arguing in the first place. Arguing is for children. It is unbecoming of a man to be caught acting like a child.
27) Not spend all day on social networking sites - These sites are for girls. Liberated women who are so independent that they have all the time in the world to whine about how there are no real men. Stay the fuck off of these places, there are better uses of your time. (Don’t forget to like this post so your facebook friends can show up and get the kick in the ass they need).
28) Hold yourself accountable - It’s all up to you. If you want it to happen and you put in the work and sweat equity it’s all your fault if it succeeds or fails. Blaming others in the cowards way out.
29) Give 110% at all times - Winning isn’t everything, if you’re a loser. It’s one thing to give it your all and come out 2nd or 3rd best. It’s another to put in only half effort. Half effort motherfuckers are dead to me. You’re either full on 100% or you’re a ghost.
30) Live Like a Spartan – Don’t spend your money frivolously and haphazardly. Keep your body lean, keep your mind mean and keep your credit clean. Simplify your life. It makes things so much easier.
31) Like, retweet, or share this post!
32) BE BOLD.
Source:http://boldanddetermined.com/2012/04/12/32-things-every-man-should-do/
2) Build a business - Working for someone else is a soul-killer. Taking orders is for order-takers. Building a business will teach you more about life than all your schooling and work experience combined. There is nothing more satisfying than seeing a big-fat check with your name on it as a result of all your sweat equity. Building your own business(s) will develop unwavering confidence in your abilities. Leave the modesty for the modest. You can’t be modest and be a big-dog.
3) Take privacy seriously - It’s a new world, boys. All that seemingly harmless information you give to the internet can and may come back to haunt you. Your name here, your address there, your date of birth here, your social security number there and pretty soon a social engineer has all your information and will take you to the cleaners. It will be a very nasty process trying to get all your dough back after a clever hack robbed you blind because you GAVE AWAY all of your information.
4) Own his online name - See above. Every man should own HisOwnName.com. Whether you want to use it or not. Your name is your identity, it’s your reputation, and you should own it. One day in the future you may want to sell your consulting services online and you want the instant credibility of a dot com behind your name, but if you wait you will not get it. Domains are only going to become harder and harder to come by. If you have a common name like John Smith you will never get your own dot com with your name (unless you use initials like JRSmith.com or something similar) but if you have an uncommon name you should grab your name dot com domain RIGHT NOW. Someday in the future you may have enemies who wish to harm you, they could grab yourname.com and do some real reputation damage. go to GoDaddy and get yourname.com immediately. Domains run less than $10 per year and now you have peace of mind knowing you own your name and insurance against anyone else owning it.
5) Lift weights - Every reader of BOLD & DETERMINED knows this. Weights are for men. Little baby boys have Olive Oyl arms and fat bellies. Get in the gym and kill it. Lifting weights will teach you how to push yourself to the limit. It will teach you about setting and reaching goals. It will give you confidence in yourself and your abilities. And it will make you STRONG.
6) Eat meat – Meat is what produces testosterone, testosterone is what makes men. All those vegetarian dweebs you see are effeminate for a reason.
7) Dress for success - You can tell everything about a person by the way they dress. Filthy, dirty hippies dress like filthy, dirty hippies and you can tell instantly that they a) have no work ethic, b) want to steal from you and yours, c) hate everything good, wholesome and strong, d) deserve a punch in the face.
Clean and Sharp is the rule. You don’t need to wear a three piece double breasted suit everyday but you do need to be clean and sharp and ready for business.
8) Wet Shave - Shaving with a disposable razor is like shaving with a toy. When you grow up you’re supposed to stop playing with toys. Men should shave with real razors, like their Grandfathers did before them. Wet shaving isn’t just shaving and grooming, it’s a ritual.
You get out your razor, and shaving cream, and badgers hair brush.
You wetten the badgers hair brush and take the brush across your whiskers to wetten them.
You mix up the water and your shaving cream in a coffee mug.
You lather up your face, you really work in the cream in between all the whiskers.
You get out your dual sided safety razor and you start shaving, being careful not to cut yourself because it’s extremely sharp. By the time you are done there is not a single whisker to be found. Your face is as smooth as a baby’s.
9) Shake hands - The hand shake is how men greet and address each other. The ‘fist bump’ and other assorted bullshit is how lower forms of life greet each other. A firm handshake is an indicator of strength and respect. Respect for yourself and respect for others. The fist bump shows a clear lack of respect for tradition, strength and pride. Fist bumpers deserve a fist bump to the face.
10) Follow the 30 Days of Discipline bootcamp for winners - Discipline is the mark of a man. A man can control himself. A man sets goals and follows through. A man does what he aims to do. A man does not let baloney get in his way of achievement.
11) Keep a Positive Mental Attitude – Read motivating works and listen to motivating music. Despair art and sad music can easily put us into a depressed mood. Uplilfting art can uplift you and put you in a positive state of mind. Just say no to despair blogs, sad music and whiny bullshit. Say yes to high energy art.
12) Own you car outright – Debt is slavery. If you have to make payments on your car you can’t afford it. Buy a cheaper one and pay ALL CASH. 48 months of payments is a long time to pay to get from point A to point B. If you have the dough, go ahead and splurge on a luxury car. If you don’t have the dough, work and build until you do have the dough. Until then, drive something cheaper. Remember, if you can’t afford it in cash you don’t deserve it. LIVE LIKE A SPARTAN.
13) Be loyal to blood - The thing about lowlife liberals is that they hate everything about their race and culture and wish to destroy it. They hate the strength and pride of tradition. Nonsense, embrace the traditional and embrace your blood. When push comes to shove all you have is your blood. No one else will ever do for you in times of need. Blood first, everything else a very, very distant second.
14) Stop watching porn - Heavy porn watchers are always Low-T having, light avoiding, pussy repellent boys. It’s embarrassing to be a masturbater and it is shameful. No matter what the degenerate liars on tv say, it is nothing to be proud of. If someone walked in on you masturbating you would feel righteous shame. When you give up the porn you have time for more important things, like building a business, having more energy, attracting women, and being a damn man.
15) Never supplicate to women – Men are the rightful leaders. When you give your power over to a woman you are truly a vile little specimen. Women don’t deserve undo praise and they certainly do not deserve everything men deserve. You’ve got to be the leader of your woman. If you aren’t the leader of your women you are her follower. A follower is also known as a chump or a cuckold. Don’t be a chump, be a champ!
16) Just say no – Forget the excuses after you say “no”.
Punk version:
Someone: Do you want to help me take care of my sick grandma?
Punk: Oh, well, I would but you know, I have this and that to do and I just don’t have the time…
Man version:
Someone: Do you want to help me take care of my sick grandma?
Man: No.
17) Seek out adventure - What is life if without adventure? BORING. Jump off some cliffs. Run a Spartan death race. Go to Mexico and avoid being kidnapped. Jump from an airplane. Life is for the living, baby. Have fun with it.
18) Take cold showers – Cold showers will turn a sissy into a man. Cold showers are the best. Cold showers refresh you. They make you feel alive. Cold showers get your blood pumping and your lungs working. Cold showers are how a man should start his day.
19) Don’t talk too much - Talking too much about your future plans fools your mind into thinking you’ve already accomplished it. The more you talk about your goals, the LESS LIKELY you are to accomplish them. The rule is don’t say nothing until you’ve accomplished. Before you accomplish you’re just a talker, after you accomplish you’re a walker.
20) Know how to throw a punch - You’ll probably never have to fight anyone in your life. Doesn’t mean you don’t need to know how to throw a punch. Knowing how to throw a punch will give you the confidence you need if ever confronted. There is no reason to go through life not knowing how to do something as simple as throwing a punch.
Besides, punching a heavy bag is a lot of fucking fun.
21) Stay out of debt – Debt is prison. As long as you are in debt you will always be a prisoner. CASH IS KING. If you have the cash, pay for it. If you don’t have the cash, SAVE UP! It is one thing to use credit cards to take advantage of frequent flier miles and other points, it’s another to use credit cards because you can’t afford to buy your girlfriend Christmas gifts. STAY OUT OF DEBT AT ALL COSTS.
22) Subscribe to the BOLD & DETERMINED email updates - Come on. It’s free and it isn’t spammy. It’s full of kick-ass shit you don’t get anywhere else on the internet. [Note: We used to have two different mail services, now we have one. If you aren't getting email updates and you want them you will need to sign up again.]
23) Never rely on anyone else for your income - It’s a changing world, baby. Jobs are going everywhere except right here. Wherever it’s cheaper, that’s where the jobs go. You cannot rely on a job to provide for you. You got to be a motivator and make your own living. It’s all up to you, a job can be taken away at any moment.
24) Be proud - Pride is a sin? It’s a sin to be a little bitch.
25) Be fit – We already said a man must lift weights, but lifting isn’t enough to give you a hardbody. You’ve got to take control of your diet and supplement regimen. If you’re a fatso you may have to do some cardio as well. Have you ever had someone tough your arms and her eyes go wide? It’s a great feeling. Have you ever heard someone say “Whoa!” when you took your shirt off? My program Body of a Spartan the best program on the internet for natural, drug free trainers.
26) Never argue with idiots – Arguing is a waste of time. In any argument one person is right and one person is wrong. Why would the person who is right waste time with the person who is wrong? A stupid person will never be able to understand that they are stupid and wrong, but you make a fool of yourself when you treat stupid people as if they were smart and capable of understanding the truth. If they were smart and capable of understanding the truth then you wouldn’t be arguing in the first place. Arguing is for children. It is unbecoming of a man to be caught acting like a child.
27) Not spend all day on social networking sites - These sites are for girls. Liberated women who are so independent that they have all the time in the world to whine about how there are no real men. Stay the fuck off of these places, there are better uses of your time. (Don’t forget to like this post so your facebook friends can show up and get the kick in the ass they need).
28) Hold yourself accountable - It’s all up to you. If you want it to happen and you put in the work and sweat equity it’s all your fault if it succeeds or fails. Blaming others in the cowards way out.
29) Give 110% at all times - Winning isn’t everything, if you’re a loser. It’s one thing to give it your all and come out 2nd or 3rd best. It’s another to put in only half effort. Half effort motherfuckers are dead to me. You’re either full on 100% or you’re a ghost.
30) Live Like a Spartan – Don’t spend your money frivolously and haphazardly. Keep your body lean, keep your mind mean and keep your credit clean. Simplify your life. It makes things so much easier.
31) Like, retweet, or share this post!
32) BE BOLD.
“Fortune Favors the Bold”-Old Latin Proverb
Source:http://boldanddetermined.com/2012/04/12/32-things-every-man-should-do/
Monday, October 28, 2013
Become real MAN with hypnosis
It realy works, for better results you must listen it more often. Alse make sure that you must jump part of hypnosis where it says that it will last for 15 minutes (because it is made for females) and imagine in your brain that it says FOREVER. Also it will cure all your gayly movements, habits and desires.
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