So, yesterday our other son came home. Martin, who is TS also, is now moved into the same room as our eldest son. This is not ideal only because it is a very small room and anatomically Martin is female and probably doesn’t want his brother to see him in various states of undress. Martin is fighting a binding battle with very well proportioned breasts that I would love to have. Is that weird?
Anyway, Martin doesn’t know about me. I don’t want to make this about me for his issues. It’s sheer chance that both of us are TS, he is my step-son, though I never call them “step” anything. But there it is, two TS in the same house. We are still trying to find out if this is his call or he is pressured by the people he hangs out with/loves into being TS instead of just being who he truly feels like he is. It’s a murky road we are traveling. I personally, just want him to be happy and well adjusted. Being he or she or a combination, means very little to me in the long run. However, his mother is very much a black or white on this issue, I think she just wants to know that her little girl is still there somewhere. I don’t have the heart to tell her that if he is TS, he was never that little girl, just a confused and conforming little boy.
I don’t know when I am going to tell Martin, or any of the other kids. I don’t really take steps to hide it anymore, I just don’t wear dresses in front of them, and I wear a mans shirt. It’s sad that it takes so little to hide who I am, that my entire presentation is female except a shirt and short hair, styled as a man. They probably don’t care at all, parents are in this other world that we are shunted into when kids think they don’t need us. But this is my story and he has his story, I will let him choose when I enter a scene and when the pronouns change. I don’t need others to define me, I’m too old to let pronouns have much of an effect. I’ve been a she all my life whilst being called he, doesn’t matter how I am presenting I won’t feel any different about that. I know it is a tough hurdle to get over, just watching Martin and his mom, I know it isn’t easy.
Something, I haven’t let Michelle see me in my wig. For one, when she gets up I am leaving to go to work, and another I don’t know but it feels like she will see it as the red nose on a clown. I would prefer my own hair, my own breasts, my own female body. But I have to make alterations to this body and I feel fake for using a wig. Don’t get me wrong, I like wearing it, I feel so much more me. But I’m afraid of being seen as a joke, it’s my major flaw in personality, I don’t want to appear foolish. And this wig may not be me, it may look stupid and I just think it’s pretty on me. It was a cheap wig and one I don’t mind putting in the closet when I’m not using. I often just don’t feel pretty, testosterone has pretty much done it’s job on me.