Transitioning MtF girl who is just getting along in life. About 2 years on hormone therapy. Like me, love me, hate me, despise me, whatever. I've ceased to care. I've had some of the best haters in the world hate and accuse me of all kinds of things, I doubt you will do anything new or exciting. This is a place for me to bitch and whine.
What do I post? Anime (not hentai), mermaids, cute girls, cute clothes, shoes. I do memes, I repost silly pics and demotivational posters. I occasionally post pics of me, but that's few and far between. I post about trans issues, hate, getting past hating and social issues. I post girls in bondage (wishing it were me), and I post restraints (the things that tie the girls up with). I post corsets and dresses, and corset dresses and dresses than need corsets. I post beautiful women in real situations, not runway models who look like strung out boys with strange clothing on. I post jokes and puns. I'll post Doctor Who, Firefly, Disney, Star Wars, Star Trek, quotes, NCIS, NCIS: LA, West Wing, Criminal Minds. I post some awareness stuff and some political stuff, especially where it connects to Trans* issues. I post cheerleaders and their uniforms (I have a lot of respect for the sport of cheerleading and stunting, and if you think it's just a bunch of cute bitches yelling chants, GTFO now). I love Playboy Bunnies (the coctail waitresses, not the centerfolds). I enjoy and want many of the women's national costumes (Cheongsam, Hijab and chador, kimono, drindl and many others).
I post self hate, self loathing, depressive items, things where I wonder who could ever love me. I don't do Ana or Thinspiration, I sometimes do suicide posts. I try not to do them often since I know they trigger people.
The clothes that are up I think are cute/cool/nice/beautiful and ususally they are items I want to have on me. Same for the shoes. Same for the jewelry. Same for the girls (as in I want to be them or have their body as mine, not that I want to have sex with them).
I'm a lesbian. I can appreceiate the astetics of a male body, but I'm not sexually attracted to men. I am attracted to women and cute girls (and I consider a girl to be 13 to 18 and a woman to be anything above 18). If I tell you that you are beautiful or cute or pretty or anything else, you can believe me, I don't do social lies.
I don't do hate. I don't do bullying. I will keep secrets. I will do what I can for you to give you a safe space to let it out without judgment. I will ALWAYS be there for you.
That's my blog.
Okay, well, welcome to my blog. I’m Joy, my blog’s name is wide-worlds-joy.
Short intro: I’m a “whatever the fuck I want to post about” blog. Pretty much personal. I like fashion, bikinis and summer, hipster (mostly for the outfits, not so much for the attitudes and bitchyness). I’m 44 years old, lesbian, transitioning from male to female. Yes, that means I’m a girl and working on correcting my body to reflect that.
I have a job. I have an apartment, I’m married and have a daughter. I am also Pagan as a general religious classification, Wiccan and a Druid as specific sub groups of paganism. Like being Catholic and Christian.
That’s good for right now. There are some pages you should read:
I’m going to also tag THIS page as part of the GPOY set, so that others can find it when they need it.
Love ya all! Hope to see lots of good stuff on your blogs, and I hope you love mine!
(via wide-worlds-joy)
Answer:
I gotta say I like your attitude.
Most times, 99% of the people out there don’t give a rat’s ass. If they think about it at all, they come to the conclusion that it’s a) none of their business, b) my choice, c) weird and not something they would do and/or d) that I’m violating some heavenly law that says that I’m trapped in what the spin of the wheel gave me, but they won’t do anything about it.
But there’s that 1%, that one person in a hundred who does give a rats ass because somehow my taking a dump in the same place where their daughter/wife is taking a dump means that I want to have perverted sex with them Or that I have to do all these things to be myself, or that they need to embarrass me as much as possible to make themselves feel better.
And I blame the media ENTIRELY.
When you get presented with a trans person, male or female, what do the reporters/journalists/yellow journalists do, first thing? “This transsexual, name of Jane Filmore, who was born Jack Filmore…” instantly branding “OTHER” on that person. And then they sexualize or fetishize the person by saying something stupid like “are you going to have your genetals cut off?” or “how do you have sex?” which is none of their goddamn business. “Excuse me, Barbara, if you get cancer, are you going to get your tits cut off? Or if you have a fibroid tumor and are in a lot of pain and need to get a surgery to live a normal life, are you going to get your uterus cut out of you? How will you have sex then?”
It’s stupid and invasive, rude to about ten decimal places.
Or you get something like “RuPaul’s Drag Race” where gay men, who have no desire to live as the opposite sex, get out and compete in the most outrageous outfits imaginable, who are throwing out every stereotype there is (simpering, limp-wristed, man lovers who couldn’t look decent if their lives depended on it and are only out to draw attention) and they say “These people are transvestites” and since transvestites=transsexuals and transgender, we get lumped in with them.
I don’t pass right now. Look at my pics and you will see. I am getting closer, but I have to put on fucktons of makeup just to go out the door to get the mail. I have to put on more to get to work. I have a lot of surgeries ahead of me and I envy the hell out of the kids these days who are starting their transition at 10 or so, they might be able to avoid the hair transplants, the laser surgeries on my face to get rid of a beard and more.
So, that’s the status. Don’t think that others should have control over my gender and my life? Cool, welcome to the club and let’s get you voting so we can get those assholes out of office.
#teenage-relate #joy in the fleshWow, post one sincere and nice compliment in someone’s Ask, get 10 followers in one hour. Man!
Okay, well, welcome to my blog. I’m Joy, my blog’s name is wide-worlds-joy.
Short intro: I’m a “whatever the fuck I want to post about” blog. Pretty much personal. I like fashion, bikinis and summer, hipster (mostly for the outfits, not so much for the attitudes and bitchyness). I’m 44 years old, lesbian, transitioning from male to female. Yes, that means I’m a girl and working on correcting my body to reflect that.
I have a job. I have an apartment, I’m married and have a daughter. I am also Pagan as a general religious classification, Wiccan and a Druid as specific sub groups of paganism. Like being Catholic and Christian.
That’s good for right now. There are some pages you should read:
I’m going to also tag THIS page as part of the GPOY set, so that others can find it when they need it.
Love ya all! Hope to see lots of good stuff on your blogs, and I hope you love mine!
SO MUCH THIS!!!!
(Source: mtfconfessions)
I’m not sure if I should be offended by it or not.
I mean, it’s a legit question. I know a few trans activists here on Tumblr that would be all up in the anon’s face, yelling and screaming and so on, but while I don’t have a problem answering, being trans is not about sex, sexual identity or even who you have sex with.
It’s about being you.
and that’s all.
I have felt off for the majority of my life, ever since I felt a difference between boys and girls. I have wanted to be treated with courtesy, to present myself as beautiful, to be a princess. The whole thing that I was more or less “forced” into in my life only made me feel uncomfortable. I was wearing a full body mask, and it wasn’t one I liked.
I had to be strong when I wanted to fall apart. I had to repress emotions when I wanted to express them. I had to make fun of girls crying when I was teary eyed too. I had to grab all the heavy things and carry them since girls were weak. I had to get kicked in the nuts and not show any pain or vulnerability. I was supposed to want to play team sports. I was supposed to be a killer who went out and hunted on demand. I was supposed to do to others before they did unto me.
And I hated it.
One time I did actually work hard to sabotage someone else’s “job” so I could take it. It was being photo editor on my school paper. It was him and I and I was the better photog, but he had the editorial whatever, because the teacher said so. I pointed out flaws, I stressed him out, I complained, and finally, he was out as Photo editor, and I was in. But the joke was on me since I was then the ONLY photographer. And I have felt guilty for doing that to him since then, something 27 years. I never did it again, and I never tooted my own horn, which meant that everyone was taking advantage of me.
I always figured that if you do your job, do it well, that it is up to the management to notice and promote, not the other way around. I could never feel right going “SEE WHAT I DID MOM???? AREN”T I A WONDER!!!?!?!?” Which is not how a guy operates.
However, girls (women) look for consensus. They look for solutions. They don’t blow their own horn. It’s okay to cry if you want. And being a princess is part and parcel for the whole experience. And I LOVE it.
Now, losing my sex drive is not what I’ve wanted. I can’t wait to get it back. I want to be the one getting the attention, the agressee rather than the aggressor. And yes, I would like to be forced sometime, by the person I love. I won’t say the R word, but that is what it would be, with consent given well before hand. Play r—- if you will.
And the whole thing is STILL not about sex. It is about me, being me, the me I’ve been all along. Letting myself be the woman I am.The woman I’ve always been.
Know what the easiest part of this was? Letting go of the fear, the “what will they say?”. I just got to the point of not giving a fuck what others say, that’s THEIR problem, not mine. Where the problems come is when they try to force their narrow minded idiocy on me, and say that because of something that was totally out of my control that I can’t be me. That is where I start having a problem, and then I start getting mad and working to change it.
And it’s still not about sex. It’s about FINALLY being me, wearing what I want, the materials I want, the bras and the panties (and yes, I LOVE bras, wouldn’t burn mind if you paid me), the skirts and dresses. And the HEELS, I love heels. Gimme….
They feel right, and they are right. And I am right, and I look in the mirror, I don’t see a depressed man, I see a joyful woman looking back. No, my hair isin’t long and red, it’s a wig, but I see it on my head, and the earrings, the cheekbones, the makeup, the thin neck and I see someone I’m proud to be. Someone I’ve always wanted to be.
And there are days that I feel that I look like an extreme example of a drag queen, like Dr. Frankenfurter, an object of derision and ridicule. Everyone has that. But I feel NORMAL.
And THAT, dear reader, is what this is all about.
