Natalae... From Across The Universe

NATALAE…FROM ACROSS THE UNIVERSE

Lessons learned from a personal journey and struggle for peace

a memoir by

Natalae Jaennae Alluneedis

Smashwords Edition

Published on Smashwords by:

Natalae Jaennae Alluneedis

Natalae…From Across the Universe

Copyright 2012 by Natalae Jaennae Alluneedis

(previously published under the name Natalae Jaennae Randall)

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Foreword

Opening Quote

Dedication

Acknowledgement

Introduction

Chapter 1 – Transsexualism: A Personal Perspective

Chapter 2 – Coming Clean Children and Family

Chapter 3 – Betrayal

Chapter 4 – Social Life Place of Worship

Chapter 5 – Fantasies Supplement Perspective of Self

Chapter 6 – Dignity

Chapter 7 – Falling in Love

Chapter 8 – Social Responsibilities

Chapter 9 – Acceptance

Chapter 10 – Life

Chapter 11 – Impending Social Challenges for Women

Chapter 12 – Respect

Chapter 13 – Forgiveness vs. Indifference

Chapter 14 – Divorce Anyone?

Chapter 15 – Importance of Personal Values

Chapter 16 – Equality

Chapter 17 – Redefinition of Family

Chapter 18 – Bigotry

Chapter 19 – War: How Dumb Is It?

Chapter 20 – Reason vs. Beliefs

Chapter 21 – Intent to ‘Come Clean’ at Work

List of Stories

List of Lessons

Chronological Summary of Events

FOREWORD

Who are we? Are we a perfect creation with a cosmic purpose predestined with unquestionable character, values, and design? Are we born vessels which feed upon the knowledge to which we have access and our characters and values malleable by the forces of our environment? Of course most would agree that we are a combination of both, but which do you think has the greater influence; grand design with predestined lives, or nurture and nature? Does it seem obvious to you? Do you need to think about it for a while before you feel that you can answer with certitude?

It is amazing how some people find passion about their lives and others seem to have been designed for a world that differs from the one that we all call ‘home’. How different are we, that some thrive in an environment where others can only survive? Do the differences we have between us help or hurt our ability to adapt to a world where changes occur with ever quickening pace?

If these questions and observations seem foreign to your own, perhaps you will understand their genesis when you understand that I have been in two worlds for longer than I had known. I have memories and even fantasies that beg these and other questions… questions and lessons learned by asking questions may well provide us all with a perspective of who we are individually. However, even more importantly, who we are in the context of ‘us’, the people who share and who connect with one another in this world that we all call ‘home’.

I am a woman, but was born with a male body (‘girl-in-a-boy’). For some in my circumstances, this is a very painful (in some cases, too painful) personal tragedy or a long and arduous journey to self-fulfillment or, of course it can be an infinite number of various combinations by degree. Regardless of circumstances, it impacts friends, family, co-workers, and loved ones, usually in a negative way.

I learned what gender dysphoria was ‘up close and personal’. I didn’t lie to Annie, when I discovered the truth of who I am. Honesty is time sensitive and I came clean to her as soon as I knew the truth, and before I thought about what she might do as a result. I believe honesty is the primary reason why Annie had remained supportive.

As I discovered the truth about myself, I unleashed a world of pain to myself and to those who cared about me. My reward is living a life being true to myself, but at immeasurable cost. Still, I have no regret. I am certain that I could not have survived the betrayal of my feminine mind by my male body once I knew the truth.

Other rewards would follow, perhaps the most personally significant of which would be to have my life remembered for the person I am, Natalae, rather than the character that so many had thought that I was.

OPENING QUOTE

Destiny lies before us, not behind us. Whatever our life was cannot be relived. What is of interest then, is the state of our life, and what it can become. NJR

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to all of my brothers and sisters who appreciate the diversity among us by the trials and the rewards that life gives to each of us in differing measures, to those who are, or who feel disenfranchised by others who may feel superior to us, and to those who have found, or who seek enlightenment to love and accept us all… all people, as equal to themselves.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I will always love my partner, even though I see her through different eyes now. She used to love me back. Understandably, she doesn’t look at me with the same eyes that she had when she knew me by another name, a man’s name. We remain in a committed relationship absent customary physical intimacy that we once knew.

Loving someone who cannot return your love is torturous. She would tell you that having had the ideal loving relationship with someone, and then watching that person morph into someone else, is agonizing. It was like witnessing the slow death of the love of her life; his body eventually replaced by the body of someone else. In his place would be a female roommate, someone not at all of her choosing. She would also tell you that a part of her died along with the persona of the man that she loved, and that she too has changed in significant ways as a result.

Most people have had great difficulty in understanding how our relationship had survived. We had contemplated divorce, but we knew each other and we eventually understood that we were stronger together than we would be apart. It also helped that we had been each other’s best friend since the time that we first met. We lived in a committed relationship based upon the vows that we took many years ago, and compromise… much compromise. She could never love another. No one could ever replace the memory of her soul’s mate. Nor could she open herself up to someone who might deepen the wound to her heart.

I could not have survived this journey, if not for the care and support of my best friend and my partner for life, Annie. I therefore, wish to acknowledge that this book could not have come to fruition, and that I might not be here at all, but certainly would not be the same person without her in my life. Thank you, Annie.

INTRODUCTION

This book is about my personal journey through life from James to me, Natalae, how the expression of who I am has affected those around me, and ultimately how all of us are impacted… even you. We, all of us, are made of mind, body, heart, and soul, but for a small number of us, changes to our body are required in order to be in congruence with our mind, heart and soul. The subtle physical changes made to one’s body may seem personal and insignificant to some in the grand scheme of things; after all, we all struggle… struggle is an integral part of living. But you will see through my eyes, that for its perception and impact on so many lives, physical changes made for a changed gender expression may as well be compared with a ‘journey across the universe’ to another world.

As with any journey, there had been some careful planning and other times when I needed to respond to unexpected life events as best I could, which led to consequences that might have been expected and others which were complete surprises. All of the experiences helped me to find different perspectives with which to understand my current circumstances and to learn lessons for me and perhaps for all of us to grow by.

This is a memoir and is for the most part, a chronological portrayal of my life as it happened during an intense period of achievements and setbacks on a variety of personal issues and social perspectives over the course of four years. Each of the letters, stories and insights relate to my physical transformation in order to interact honestly with you and to the rest of our world. The subject matter is somewhat limited to several pertinent categories of interest so it isn’t overly cumbersome. I have included a short introductory table of contents in order to present some structure to unfolding events and some early information is presented out of sequence, which is requisite for understanding transsexualism and the genesis of my journey.

A list of ‘Lessons’, ‘Stories’, and ‘Summary Chronology of Events’ is contained in the back of this book for your convenience.

CHAPTER 1 – TRANSSEXUALISM: A PERSONAL PERSPECTIVE

The following is one of several stories that I have written to focus on particular lessons and/or observations throughout my journey. This particular story, written July 10th, 2011 describes what transsexualism is in the context of truth and the responsibility of others to accept the truth of who we, each of us, are. While this book is a memoir and events will generally be presented chronologically, I am jumping ahead here in order to present some ideas, which will be important as a prerequisite to understanding the personal emotional and physical motivations for me to change, and for all of us to look with new eyes at our family.

TO THYSELF BE TRUE

To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man. ~William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Our society is protected by a legal system, which determines the truth of an event (motivations, parties involved, effects (injury or damage) by scrutinizing the available evidence and the testimony of those parties involved. It is imperfect, but it is logical and understandable. Truth is also sought through scientific methods for the origin of our universe and many other questions, which we collectively ask.

I know someone who recently lost her mother, and then her younger brother was tragically killed in an auto accident. Soon after, events transpired that led her to question whether her marriage of more than ten years should continue. Even more stressors were involved that led her to collapse on the floor where she worked and to be transported to an emergency room. Her doctor gave her medication and the diagnosis required her to be away from work to recover. She had been in the same career for twenty-six years and an employee of the current company for eight years, yet she was fired one week after she returned. When asked about ‘wrongful termination’, her attorney said that it would be unlawful for her to be terminated while recovering, but when there are no physical signs of disability (broken bones), it is difficult for some to believe the truth about the disability. Disabilities cost money to companies and she was likely seen as a potential liability for additional loss of revenue. Whatever the reason, the company was within their legal rights to fire her.

Only she knew the truth of her state of health, and the truth in this case could only be determined through her perspective. The truth is implied through diagnosis and treatment, but is not clearly established through legal or scientific means. There was no objective way to determine the truth in order to clear any cloud of doubt.

There are few times when truth is determined through purely subjective means and it is also accepted as the truth by others.

We may be inclined to give someone a second chance who says that they have learned their lesson, or we may or may not believe someone who says that they have spoken to God and have become ‘born again’. Indeed, perhaps the only time when the truth is determined by subjective means is when we tell someone who we are. Certainly we know who we are, but the means by which we know, none of us can say in concrete or unassailable terms, and we can no more show someone who we are with pictures or even the use of poetry. We can hypothesize all day long, but there is no evidence that we can point to in order to show others the origin and the evolution of one’s self from fetus to ‘me’.

At some point or another, most of us have seen someone in public who we thought we recognized and stepped up to greet them or tapped them on the shoulder from behind. No matter how strikingly similar that person seemed to be to the person we know, we immediately accept that the truth is different from our perceptions, once that person looks back at us with surprise and says that we are mistaken. We apologize and accept the truth; after all, how can you argue with someone who says that you are mistaken about who they are?

But what happens if we don’t accept the truth when someone tells us the truth of themselves?

My name is Natalae. What if you have reason to doubt and you don’t believe me? I was born transsexual (‘girl-in-a-boy’). Congenital or innate, I have a feminine mind while my body was born male and I was raised to be a man. Even though my doctor has diagnosed me and prescribed hormones, surgery, and other remediation to change my body to conform to my mind (transsexualism is not a mental disorder) my children and my family refused to believe the truth of me and have severed all ties to me while they cling to the belief that the person defined by my former male body exists somewhere for them. Since then, expressing the truth to others has other consequences; I cannot appear without a man’s costume while in their company in public, or go to work without hiding the truth of me.

Living life with conditions imposed by others in order for them to feel comfortable with me is at my expense; denying my true self to live at all while acting as someone else.

It is unfair that part of my life is required to live as a character opposite my gender, as someone else, while time bleeds away from my own life. But there are those who are challenged by, are embarrassed by, or simply cannot accept the truth of me. However, it does me no service to declare that my life is unfair, or that life generally is unfair. My life is what it is, and I can only hope to leave this life having made it a little easier for others who suffer with me to suffer less."

There is much about this book that is written very generally in the last two sentences; fairness in one’s life is not a quantifiable metric that we can use to judge one’s self or another person’s life by; and what could be more noble for the meaning in our own lives, if not to make life generally better for those who follow us?

There was a lot of emotional healing that took place within me over the previous eighteen months before I had the awareness to have written that.

What might have caused such serious questioning of a persons’ identity, each person’s place in our family of people, and our social responsibility to each other now and in future generations? What was the cause for the emotional trauma and what was the inspiration for this journey? How can it be that someone might mistake their own gender?

BABY OOPS

So, which advice is sager?

1. Treat each and every person with the love, dignity and respect that you would wish for if you found yourself in the same circumstances, or,

2. Be yourself.

It is a question which I had posed in a letter to my daughter (see page 65) in hopes that it would help her to understand and accept me, and one which I would like you to ponder as you read.

I am a woman, however I was born as a baby girl with a male body (‘girl-in-a-boy’) (oops) in 1954. I was raised and socialized as James Randall, a male. When I was young, I was thin, but athletic. Later, I played sports, dated girls, and had male college roommates and friends, got married, started a business, and had two children. It was many years later and eight years into a healthy and romance-filled relationship with my then wife / now partner, Annie that I discovered that I was female. I was at the not-so-tender age of fifty-three.

Try to imagine the horror that most of your life might be lived in deceitfulness of yourself in such a fundamental way; that the things you would otherwise have learned and the people whom you would otherwise have known, would have led to a completely different place at this time in your life.

Looking backwards and with 20/20 vision, even Annie says that she should have seen ‘this’ coming. I could agree with every shard of evidence, but only with hindsight. Since then, I have been able to look back, even into my childhood, and say the same thing, I should have seen this coming!

Why didn’t I see it? After thinking about it, I wasn’t so surprised that I missed the signs as they happened. Consider for a moment how most of us never question our religion, patriotism, values, and beliefs that we carry from our childhood which may go forever unchallenged.

For example; consider the notion that a baby or child is often indoctrinated as belonging to a particular religion, which is likely imposed by believing parents and that particular religious body. Trusting authority figures as children do, the child typically would grow up believing that particular religion is a part of him or her, and never question the personal values that other religions and philosophies might offer, or how they might be replaced by notions of their own; completely independent of bias by any external ideas.

In my case, a quick glance between my legs at birth and a blue hospital baby blanket told my parents that, without question, they had a new baby boy. The notion that I was a boy was reinforced to me by the clothes, colors, toys and my name that came with the undisputed truth of my sex; but no one had a clue of my gender. Science was unable to peer into my mind to see that it was feminine and that my body had in fact betrayed me. I was told by the authority of my parents that I was a boy. Like everything else they told me at a tender age, I accepted it as fact and without question.

I can still remember while I was very young, when my mother sat my older brother and me down in the living room to say that we should appreciate how lucky we were to be boys, to be white, and to be Americans. I could not have understood at the time what sexism, racism, or nationalism were then, but I believed every word that she said and I took her words to heart. I felt lucky to have been born into such circumstances. It is no surprise to me now and it should be no surprise to anyone that I was convinced that I was a boy. Any feelings, thoughts, or emotions that I had must therefore be within an acceptable range of behavior among boys, or so I would have thought, if perchance the thought even presented itself. I was a child and a believer, not a critical thinker and I had no inclination or reference with which to disagree.

I, like you and everyone, had no reference as to what ‘normal’ is. If asked at any tender age (say five to ninety-five), who would or could say that they weren’t ‘normal’ without having any metrics? There is no objective view of ‘self’. The fact is that in the same situation you could not either. I belabor this point for an important reason, there are many people who just cannot muster any compassion for those of us who were born into similar circumstances, and who think themselves superior to and ostracize us as a group, even though none of us chooses our parents, our place and time, the social status of our family, the health of our body, or even of our gender at birth.

Socialization is an important part of every person’s environment, which is a biological parameter equally important to genetics. I grew up with a ‘man’s man’ for a father, an older brother and two yet older male cousins living next door directing the pathway of my childhood. I had very little in the way of a feminine influence.

Looking back, I can recognize many of the differences in gender traits between myself and those male influences, my brother, father, relatives, and friends; things like a rich compassion for others (which I shared with my mother), the emotions that stirred in me during tender or terrifying moments on television or at the movies, or the fact that I loved to babysit and care for younger children.

When I was a teenager, my mother, Donna and I had an intellectual relationship that was not shared by anyone else in my family, not even my father. My father was bright, but his interests were of a different nature and his thoughts were more often kept within himself. Sometimes, my mother and I would talk until the early morning hours about things my father would likely not find of interest, or so she must have felt. She is gone now, but it is she and my adult younger sister, Teresa (who has also passed on) who I identify with most from my family. They had never heard my name, ‘Natalae’ applied to me while they lived and breathed, but they know me well now, love me, and support me.

Thinking of my name and how it might have influenced my relationship with my mother and sister while we lived together under the same roof, I wonder, almost with tears, how it might have felt to be called by them using my name so many years ago.

How influential do you suppose it is on a person that their name is feminine or masculine? I think I know. My name, Natalae Jaennae Randall resonates with me as no male name can. Just for an exercise to make my point, pick a name for yourself opposite the sex of your given name and wear it for a few minutes. As uncomfortable as it might feel for you to wear that name and to think you own it and that it owns you too is not unlike how it feels for me whenever I hear, or I am addressed by my legal name, only the discomfort increases with time.

Now imagine that you will always be remembered by that other name and that your real name and your real life will be forever misrepresented by it after you pass-on. Perhaps you can understand how powerful a motivator mistaken identity can be, even while most never take notice of the impact on others who endure this experience. Indeed, few people ever take the time or have the occasion to pose the question to them self in order to think about it, to have compassion for others whose life experience is different from their own in such a fundamental way and to process their own feelings.

I wish that I had known better, that someone would have been able to tell right away and put an ‘F’ in the appropriate box on my birth certificate. As every other girl does, I could have evolved into the woman that I was intended to be, instead of living inside of the shell of a person which determined how I integrated with my environment and overwhelmingly influenced the path of my life.

My mother and sister did not get along very well in life. It might have been that I could have bridged their differences had I been born ‘Natalae’, but they stand with arms around each other now as they watch me. I imagine them both smiling at me, wishing me well, or sharing a tear with me from time to time. When my time comes to be with them, they will greet me in their opened arms. That is what I imagine, and that is what I hold on to.

As it is, I am still learning the things that I should have learned as a teenager, and I have learned other things that none of us should ever have to learn; like how heartless and cruel are the eyes with which so many people see me and others as ‘different’ from themselves.

On the other hand, this is my life and it is as it should be, as it must be; even though it began with a biological deception that was promulgated by everyone who I came in contact with. There are no alternate histories to the life that I have, as I would be different from ‘me’ for having grown up under alternate circumstances.

As it was, I learned well from my role models. I enjoyed being with my younger sister, Teresa too, but my larger world was male-dominated and I became successful in it.

Had life not played out as it did, I wouldn’t have the fond memories that I will always hold dear; having been a prominent member of my community, and my former profession… and of being loved by my children. I would likely have other fond memories, but my children would never be, and there is no way to tell if I would be any happier, or if anyone that I love would be equally or more happy either.

I have no regret of the fact that I am now comfortable being me, Natalae. I am Natalae. After all, who can regret being who they are? I also take responsibility for the pain that others have felt in the wake of what has happened to me. I do not take responsibility for how anyone reacts to me though. People can or can’t, will or won’t be accepting or tolerant. The choice they make is theirs alone.

I am lucky and I am forever-grateful that Annie and I chose to be partners. She has been hurt horribly, but she made the enormous effort that it took to adapt to me and we have worked together to redefine our relationship. She is a heroine for her commitment, her devotion, and her compassion for me, and I will always love her.

GENDER DYSPHORIA

It was early in the year of 2008 when my mind and body finally became aware that they were at odds; a singularity where who I am needed redefinition from a former male persona and body to me, the feminine me that was there all along, but hidden in a shadow. That is how I would describe what happened, clinically. The word ‘transsexual’ is a condition where treatment of the body is required to relieve gender dysphoria; the realization that one was born as I was, ‘girl-in-a-boy’.

Dysphoria is a word whose rather pleasant phonetics belies its meaning. Try to imagine that in order to participate in this world honestly you would need to interact with friends, family and strangers as the opposite of your biological sex, and that you desperately need to make change happen to your body in order to conform to your mind. Dysphoria is intense emotional discomfort from physical vs. gender expression. The impact on one’s life as a result is no less than personal and social inversion.

Picture it, the discovery that your life up to now had only been an illusion, and that the image as you looked into the mirror was a cruel trick played on you in order to keep you from being aware of yourself. You had been manipulated all of those years into believing the lie that is your given name.

Thoughts of self-mutilation and suicide were a daily concern for me over a period of many months. Indeed, the rate of suicide is difficult to believe until you have some basic understanding of how one truly suffers from gender dysphoria.

I think that the word I chose above is accurate, ‘inversion’. Natalae, the name I presented to myself, was an unknown quantity. She could no longer carry on living the lie to herself and to others as James; James could no longer live. Natalae was born as all of us are, fearful in a world of uncertainty and desperate for someone to hold us and to make us feel safe.

Instead, feelings of disappointment to others, loss of a sense of purpose, or even how to begin a new life ‘in the middle’ led inexorably to a feeling of worthlessness as reflected in the eyes and the actions of others, which fortified the suicidal thoughts that persistently followed. But there was more still to stir into the pot, the memories of James preserved and reexamined from the same but new eyes… but there wasn’t time to think about that yet. First, one must try to put out the fire.

In February 2008, I planned my own orchiectomy (removal of testicles). I am not a medical doctor, but I felt desperate to escape the entrapment by my male body and the influence of its hormones upon my brain. I thought for a long time about how I could minimize the pain and bleeding, but I knew that there was a high probability that I would lose consciousness in the process and bleed to death, so I asked Annie to help. I pleaded with her to assist me and I couldn’t understand how she could be so cruel to me as to refuse to help me, but she would not. I did not know at the time how lucky I was that she refused to help me.

I had started a new job that same month in February 2008, even as dysphoria had overwhelmed me. I maintained a dual life where no one who worked with me in my team environment could know what was happening to me. ‘Coming out’, or ‘coming clean’ (being honest about ‘who I am’) with them was not only unacceptable from the stand point of jeopardizing my new job, but also would violate my compromise with Annie; she would shudder at the thought that others could conclude (wrongfully, of course) that she was a lesbian woman by having a feminine partner. I understood and I respected her boundaries as she was beginning to understand me.

By March 3rd, 2008 I was filling out a ‘goal identification form’ at the University of Minnesota Center for Sexual Health. In it, I quoted myself, Better to be the best woman that I can be and be the least among women, than to be among the best of men. That statement was a humble acknowledgment to myself, that I was finally and decisively entering my rightful world that was denied to me, because of my socialization, my genetics, or something which might have happened (or did not happen) while still within my mother’s womb (such as the timing of or exposure to certain hormones), or some combination of some or all of those things.

My answer to another question on the form was this, "The potential for mistreatment by those in our society who cannot accept me for the woman that I am is far outweighed by my personal need to bring my body in-line with my female brain and to see myself as the female that I am.

I hate that I am trapped in a male body that seems not my own, and one in which a testicle is spewing forth a repugnant hormone, testosterone, which keeps me from being who I am supposed to be. Additionally, I wrote, When I lay down to sleep, I can focus on nothing except my illusive self-image. I understand my appearance as a man to be my costume.

I am anxious to discover my true appearance as a female, who wears feminine clothing, has feminine physical appearance and who has an untainted feminine psychology. I intuitively understand many things about what it is to be a woman that I could not understand as a man. Annie has acknowledged to me that ‘I get it’.

When I see other women, I imagine how I would feel if I had their hair and clothes. When I close my eyes to go to sleep, the fact that I don’t have a mental picture of ‘who I am’… creates anxiety. I crave to discover how my physical appearance will dovetail with my mental perception of myself as a girl. I want to get my lips plumped, my breasts to grow and ears pierced, and learn to exercise in order to maximize the feminine characteristics of my body. My anxiety level rises and falls with how I feel about making progress in my physical transformation to female.

My greatest fear is that I will be denied medical treatment of hormones to change my body. I know that the suicide rate for untreated transgender patients is 20% and I can understand why that number is so great. When I feel that I am not making progress toward changing my body to female, my mind becomes so fixated that I am no longer able to concentrate on my schoolwork or on any aspect of my life. I become mentally paralyzed and panicked. I have had disturbing and recurring thoughts of performing my own orchiectomy if I cannot get help soon, even though I know that doing so would risk my life. I often wonder how our tortured ancestral sisters could have dealt with these feelings (being trapped in a man’s body) when there was no medical help available for them."

I remember being unable to sleep and feeling desperate when I wrote the letter which follows. It was to my doctor in anticipation of my second scheduled meeting with her,

"March 20th, 2008, 1:28 o’clock a.m.

Dear Dr. R:

I have just taken my second lorazapam [anxiety medication] tonight due to my anxious anticipation of our meeting later today. I know that, as a doctor, you need to understand your patient and that requires accumulating all of the pertinent information from the perspective of your medical profession before treatment can begin. I want you to understand, however, how it feels to be the patient in this process.

As I lay down to go to sleep, I liken the situation to be as if I have stepped on a landmine, gone to the emergency room of a hospital and, although there are no patients ahead of me and ample supply of medical professionals and equipment, that medical procedures require the methodical elimination of all possible medical ailments in alphabetical order (say AIDS, arthritis, asthma...); all the while, my right leg is missing and I am bleeding to death. Further, if I say the wrong thing, or panic or demand a bandage for my leg, I run the risk of causing my doctors to lose concentration on their procedure and forcing them to start over from the beginning of their process of elimination.

In reality, I haven’t stepped on a landmine, but I have encountered something as traumatic. The feeling is that the testosterone that courses through my body emanates from a diseased organ not unlike a cancer which pulsates, spewing forth a toxic chemical like the stinger from a bee and keeps me trapped in this inappropriate body. I have never felt so humble and so much at the mercy of anyone as I feel to you – not to you personally, but to you professionally.

I have never wavered from my conclusion that I am a female kidnapped and held hostage in a man’s body. In fact, since last week, I have remembered a dream (a rare fact in itself) in which I was a female trying to help another woman with her problem(s) (which I cannot recall). What I do remember is waking and feeling as self-satisfied as I have never felt from any dream. I am as sure that you will eventually find that I am a very strong candidate for treatment, as I would be in an emergency room with my leg blown off from a landmine.

I know that I must wait for the process to evolve so that I can be properly diagnosed, and if that means taking time from my new job to drive four hours and waiting forty minutes in a waiting room to see you for one fifty-minute session each week, or it means walking across broken glass or hot coals to get there, I will. I am desperate for help, yet I understand that I have lorazapam and Prozac [medication for depression] to keep me calm enough to endure the process…

If you look at the questions you gave for me to answer last week, you will see that I filled out all of the information on the same day that you gave it to me. I will not be the cause of any delays in this procedure of diagnosis or treatment. While I found most of the questions highly personal and mostly irrelevant, there are no questions that you could pose to me that I would not answer from my heart and without hesitation.

I very much look forward to seeing you."

That was the voice of gender dysphoria, and my own written words made me cry again to recall the agony of that time in my life.

On March 21st, 2008 the day after I had written the previous letter is the day that I settled on the name which I have ever since and will forever define myself by; Natalae Jaennae Randall. I had wondered for over a month about what my name should be, what would resonate with me. Perhaps it is our name which is the vessel which identifies ‘self’ and contains our soul. All that I really know is that our name represents ‘who we are’ and that once I knew my name, I was better prepared to understand the context of ‘who I am’.

I relished the new experiences of my rare personal time when I was permitted to be myself and sharing a shard of life in real-time with the rest of the world. I knew who I was as far as my feelings and values, but I was only beginning to become a person in the context of life experience. For example, the act of driving to see my therapist was actually therapeutic and I would travel for about two hours from Rochester to the Twin Cities each way to see her.

I recall the first of many times that I went to see her. Each time, I would spend days anxiously waiting, then hours getting ready at home before sneaking to the car so that no one who lived in nearby apartments would see the surreptitious me.

Once safely anonymous among all other drivers, I would check my smile, and practice my greeting voice at frequent and regular intervals. Sometimes, I looked into my own eyes in the mirror and saw them fill with happy tears. I remember feeling so contented to see my own painted fingernails, rings and bracelets (that Annie let me have) to broadcast my femininity, and I hoped that everyone who passed me on the highway would notice them too. I adjusted my driving habits (daring not to exceed the speed limit) to avoid drawing any attention by police, but as other women drivers passed me on the highway, I would feel like they were my sisters for the first time, and that I was finally within and among the Sisterhood where, in my heart I have always belonged. I respectfully viewed other women by thinking of myself as only a ‘member-apprentice’, but I knew that I was in my element and proud to be seen as the woman I am… at last.

On March 28th, 2008 one week later, Annie discovered that our insurance would not cover gender identity counseling. Still, I needed to meet with my doctor weekly at first, then bi-weekly. Annie might have secretly hoped that the lack of insurance to fund counseling could wake me from a dream and from a nightmare for her, but she never deceived herself or me. She was the unwitting passenger on a perilous trip and she was holding on with all of her might… for now.

I thought of those who were less fortunate than I was those who would have to come to a full stop when hope had finally arrived because in that same moment, insurance and thereby the means to pursue treatment had failed to cover the costs. I was struck by our social inadequacy through ignorance, intolerance, or indifference to promote access to acknowledged and accepted medical needs.

How could insurance companies, the medical community, and ultimately society at large ignore anything as important to our own sense of self as the ramifications of being born in a body that is the antithesis to one’s mind?

Over the following six months I continued with my temporary position, started a new job when that project terminated, and continued with my on-line paralegal studies program. With all of those changes, and continuous therapy, the greatest challenge remained with determining whether Annie and I could make sense out of what might become of ‘us’. We took each step together and neither of us knew at the time if we were going in the same direction anymore. Annie became as isolated and lonely as me, and neither of us dared to confide in anyone else about our ‘life and times’ together. On a daily basis, I could focus on what needed to be done only while I had a target to make progress in aligning my body to me and while knowing I was transitioning slowly enough for Annie to adjust and evolve herself.

TREATMENT

HRT

Annie signed consent for me to begin hormone replacement therapy (HRT) in September 2008. That same month I had written,

Annie is not a lesbian. She is not able to think of me, physically, as a man because she knows I am a woman inside of a man’s body and she is unable to respond to me sexually. I know that if our roles were reversed, that I would feel the same as she does. While I can hold her, we cannot touch or express ourselves sexually to each other – we are celibate. Annie has lost her husband and lover, but our friendship, respect, and honesty to and for each other sustains us for now. Some days the outlook for our marriage looks bleaker than others, but we take each day as it comes.

Annie’s signature was required in order for me to proceed with HRT and it showed that she understood the likely physical effects (and possible side effects) that hormones would have on me, to grow my own breast tissue and redistribute what little body fat that I had, in order to produce a more feminine silhouette, and to accommodate my feminine psyche.

Only Annie could say how much it broke her heart to sign her consent, but I am sure that she was personally hurt to the same degree that I felt relief. Both of us were so lonely, with only ourselves to share our disparate and desperate feelings.

Even after she signed it, I would have to wait for three more months before I could begin the hormone regimen which would help me.

HRT is not without its risks, which is reason for our compassion for those who need treatment but who are physically unable to tolerate their side-effects. What a nightmare to live then, both unable to tolerate treatment and equally unable to tolerate the physical body which is opposite of their gender.

It is dangerous to self-medicate. Temptation may be strong for some who may be reading this to try dangerous methods or procedures, so you must seek professional advice for safe and effective use and monitoring of any medications.

In addition to the consent form which insured that Annie understood the purpose and the health risks associated with HRT, I was required to have a letter from my primary care physician that a regimen of female hormones would not pose an unacceptable health risk before I could begin taking them in December 2008.

I would come to learn that, HRT, would have both a physical and psychological effect on me; to make a significant change in overcoming what time under the influence of ‘boy’ had already done to my body, but also to have an even more significant role in the immersion or marriage of a new self-awareness to a newly developing body.

All of the while, the only times that I was allowed to feel comfortable, the only times that I had to express myself honestly was to occasionally dress in feminine clothes to see a doctor or a therapist, or very rarely to shop. Otherwise, I could dress in feminine clothing only at home on Sunday, Monday, or Tuesday nights, and only if Annie was agreeable; I needed to ask her permission first. Annie rarely answered ‘no’, but sometimes she needed to and I wouldn’t beg the question.

It is nearly impossible to overstate how important and fulfilling each step was in transitioning my body to become in line with my feminine persona. The completion of each milestone meant that I could take a breath and smile briefly before becoming focused on the next step. Between steps I felt as though I was under water and holding my breath. With each and every delay, I would feel panicked because I needed to breathe again but felt as though I just couldn’t ‘hold my breath’ any longer.

Many things can be done in order to enhance feminine appearance and self-esteem, few of which cost little or no money. I won’t go over all of the physical changes made to my body, but will emphasize the emotional and other costs and benefits that I experienced due to some of them. The most profound concern, which I worried about throughout the entire process, was my potential personal cost should I lose my partner and my best-ever friend, Annie.

Annie once told me that I can make adjustments and adaptations to transition two ways; I can run and get there alone, or I can walk at a pace where she can try to keep up. There was never any guarantee that she could keep up. I wouldn’t run as a result, although it was my impulse and instinct to do so. I am ashamed to say that there were times when I realized that I was running and needed to stop and reach back for Annie.

From the beginning, Annie and I have been honest about our feelings and there had never been a betrayal of our trust. Since we had first known, it had been a delicate balancing act for me to transition at a pace where I threatened our relationship the least, while still being able to meet the personal goals which were fueled by sometimes unbearable anxiety. Even with a good sense of center mass, it would be nearly impossible to know if Annie and I could endure the tension, but I rarely had a good sense of where the ‘center’ was. Emotions and attitudes for each of us were ‘all over the map’ while I was dealing with dysphoria. Annie wondered what would be the final result of