CROSS DRESSING – Myths, Fallacies And Most Therapists Without A Clue

Blog Number 78 Part 1         {Photo coming soon}

I must begin this final Blog with a very recent (in 2018) and unsolicited post by Rhonda Jean ─ a twelve-year member of the Crossdressers.com Forum. True that it does boost my ego but her missive also reflects a hope. A hope that I will have left a resource useful for years to come in correcting rampant misinformation not only out there but some, unfortunately, blindly believed within our TG community:

“I just spent the past half hour or so scanning through bits of Julie’s blog. I’ll read every word of it as time allows. This is a treasure! A fascinating, unique, and unabridged perspective that you just can’t get anywhere else on the planet. Julie is lovely in every sense of the word. Do not miss this!”

Though I’m preordained to lead this life as a heterosexual crossdresser ꟷ other hues of the transgender spectrum may find that some of these blogs apply to their own journey on this spinning orb.

Transgendered (Blog 78 does not address those very few who are sure they are in “the wrong body” at a very early age.) MTF individuals will, typically, recount an incident ꟷ usually it’s merely curiosity ꟷ to try on a mother’s or sister’s lingerie during their prepubescent years. Actually, millions of young males are briefly attracted but that “trigger” is, unknowingly, tripped by only a few. They will become one of perhaps five percent of the male population that become hooked. A small percentage will also be encouraged or even supported by a family member to dress. The “why” do we respond to that trigger is explored at length in many of these seventy plus Blogs. By early teenage years comes the realization that what they are doing can be described as “crossdressing” with all the preconceived guilts that come with it.

These inclinations may continue to strengthen by the twenties or may remain in a cocoon state for decades. Eventually, the majority will marry though too many, regrettably, attempt to hide their “secret” until revealed under usually traumatic circumstances. Then lives twist and turn ꟷ taking family members along for the ride. Readers of these personal tales recounted on the Internet will find a commonality in the stories told.

This writer suddenly awakened to that prevailing omission: what and where was the rest of the story? What else had they accomplished in life? Did they rear a loving family? Successful kids? Perhaps reached the heights in the financial world? In art? In education?

At least once in our lives we have  tried to explain away to family or friends our CDing by saying, “You can’t judge a book by its cover”. A lot of people out there think we are weird after seeing our cover; so what is the content between the covers? Are you presently creating your life’s story?

It’s well worth repeating, as it’s so apropos, words extracted from a letter to me from Patrick X (Pax) Nidorf, former Augustinian priest and prolific nationally acclaimed artist:

“God created you as a cross dresser ─ To accept yourself as a beautiful human being, just the way you are, just the way God made you.  Not that easy to accept if you believe society thinks you are weird beyond belief. It seems to have become an all pervasive element {True for me, I had lost sight, for a time, of other objectives.} in your life when it doesn’t define you at all ꟷ any more than playing golf {I was once a scratch golfer.} defines you as a golfer. You may be a golfer but that is not who you are.  I don’t think it is a problem if you delight in and are proud of being a cross dresser any more than I like to be considered an artist. I would certainly like to think that I’m a hell of a lot more than this ─ as you are a hell of a lot more than a cross dresser ꟷ so much more.” Thank you Pax, I could have never expressed it as well.

To encourage you, the reader, to consider and, I recommend, actually listing what else you have accomplished, or hope to accomplish, beyond crossdressing before you have finished your stay on this earth. The following Amazon Review ꟷ extracted from my 534 page awards-winning memoir ─ is offered as an illustration. It is not to boast or flaunt but to bring my final days as a cross dresser into a clearer perspective ꟷ to define the “so much more” part of my journey.

Once I have presented my own saga, as a so much more example, then I will resume recounting the final chapters of my life

Excerpts from an Amazon Review:

Emerson wrote: “How shall a man escape from his ancestors, or draw off from his veins the black drop which he drew from his father’s or his mother’s life?” And so the journey begins with the far greater influence than I have ever admitted — a mother, an immigrant toiling in a sweatshop before attaining prominence, and fortune, in the fashion world (The first couturier dress shop on Madison Avenue in New York City and on Worth Avenue in Palm Beach, Florida.) and a father, an attorney, who amasses and squanders fortunes before disbarment. Looking back, what made it even more remarkable ꟷ their financial successes were attained during the Great Depression.  Whether being born to two dominant parents – anything but close to Julian in his formative years – helped bring about his transvestism is conjecture, but this reviewer notes early on in this memoir the thread of guilt and misgivings — baggage that gnaws his conscience throughout his life. And his turmoil results in a protective veneer that shields him from reciprocating to those who love him. Julian’s frequent self-examinations are especially critical, so he might be excused for being equally harsh towards his wife’s weaknesses.

Julian entered the retail field by happenstance (as do most retailers) and progressed from specialty stores to so-called “conventional” retailing and on to the discount industry as that concept became accepted. He became a top executive for several national chains. His venture into the catalog showroom business provides an interesting view of a form of retailing now completely extinct. The cameo meetings with Sam Walton, founder of Wal-Mart, offers insight not previously disclosed of this individual. Other encounters — with  Sam Bromfman, founder of Seagram’s, Andrew Higgins, creator of the landing craft vital to America’s success in World War II; and with Pedro Armendariz, once the matinee idol of Spanish-speaking countries, are only a few of the many fascinating personages the reader will meet.

Reflecting on his search in a “white no-man’s land” for the leaders of the Cleveland race riots in the ‘60s, and an armed midnight meeting with a group of rifle-bearing dissidents, Julian realizes how innocent he was venturing into a world utterly foreign to him.

I found his musings especially poignant when pondering crass commercialism while walking down Fifth Avenue on Christmas Eve; while attending High Mass at the Quebec cathedral and similar reflections at an Easter sunrise service in the Hollywood Bowl; and during his Wharton graduation ceremony — thoughts that go straight to one’s soul.

The writer’s peek into the fantasyland of motion pictures is fascinating as he rubs shoulders with the stars of post-war Hollywood. {As a side note not included in this review: Sex being traded for a part in a forthcoming movie was a very much alive and thriving activity sixty-seven years before social media was around to titillate the masses. In fact girls were converging in droves to the Hollywood area from all over the country to be waitresses, secretaries, etc., hoping to be spotted by talent scouts. Finding a job within the walls of one of the studios was ideal. One can imagine how many “scouts” were pimps looking for a lay and a recruit.}

The relating of his fumbling while preparing for and participating in his first bomber raid over Germany provides a personal touch not usually found in narratives of wartime action. A trip back to England forty years later to revisit memories of World War II finds Julian in an obscure chapel adjoining the weed-covered runway where his Group was once stationed. There he gazes, with tear-filled eyes, at the inscribed names of fallen airmen — one memorial amidst hundreds on British soil going back over a thousand years — brings home the futility of such conflicts.

Experiences now very recognizable to the many “downsized” from the work force due (never admitted) to age, but still possessed of vigor and ambition, dawns the realization that companies that do hire them are not interested in training them again for executive positions — poor investment. This acceptance is hard to swallow and often takes additional job changes before the reality becomes apparent. Julian’s selected diaries of job interviews that initially are promising and then become dead ends without employer explanations that make any sense will also be familiar to many.”

My definition of the word “Legacy” is ꟷ what contributions have we made to the welfare, the betterment of others during our brief stay on earth ꟷ what might be considered as good works deemed worthy to hand down to future generations. I would guess that most of the lives I have touched and improved have already preceded me back to dust. Nevertheless, I would like to believe that their families’, their loved ones’ lot improved, albeit indirectly, as a result of our encounters.

For this reason I would like to add two events that took place after my memoir’s timeline was completed in 1995 ─ had to stop somewhere or my writings would never be published. I’m hopeful that these episodes might be considered as part of that legacy:

After being fired from Home Depot (My memoir has the details.), we downsized to a less expensive home on Camano Island (roughly seventy miles north of Seattle). Here I set up a retailing consultant business with clients gathered from the Northwestern states.

First event: While attending the annual meeting of a Camano Island company that provides water to the Island’s homes something seemed fishy in the presented financial report. With my Wharton training and more than sixty years in business my gut rebelled. A well-known local CPA joined me to investigate. Sure enough the Secretary-Treasurer had been embezzling for years. Rather than sending her to jail that CPA, Terry Greer, and I thought it would be a greater benefit to the water company in the long run if the embezzler made restitution of several hundred thousands of dollars. The State agreed to allow residents to set up local control which they have done successfully ever since.

My second involvement: The manager of a local animal shelter, or “pound”, refused to euthanize, kind word for murder, pets that were not adopted within a short time-frame so Island County withdrew their funding. To make a long story shorter ─ I was able to prevail on the branch of a local bank to give them a mortgage on seventeen virgin acres. Then, fortuitously, a ship builder provided over a million dollars to build the largest no-kill shelter in the Northwest. Sure, I can point with pride at these accomplishments but should they, will they be worthy enough to be added to the final chapter of my life? When I pass then so will the memories of those two events as I doubt there are historical records to mark them. I’m not the one to decide which events described in my memoir, in my lifetime, will be deemed as part of my legacy ─ if any. No, only the test of time will make that determination.

Now that I’ve done my best to place into context the “so much more” chapters of my life the final (following) eight years recount those fibers that complete the whole cloth of my being.

 

Continued on Blog 78 ꟷ Part 2