Laying ghosts

I’ve been thinking long and hard about posting on this subject, for reasons that I hope will become apparent. Even as I’m writing I’m not sure whether to publish, so if you’re reading this then you’ll know I’ve taken a deep breath and decided to go with it.

A chance conversation recently shed light on something that I’ve actually been keeping in a dark corner, and wasn’t really aware to what extent until recently. As regular readers will know, the biggest remaining obstacle in my path to full-time living is The Conversation with my Number One Son (N1S) and, I’ve assumed, his mother – let’s call her Gayle. And I’m struggling. Still. Each time I contemplate the how and the where and the when, my mind begins turning a series of cartwheels as I consider all the possible permutations of what could go wrong. Until recently I’d always assumed the best way of going about things was to tell Gayle first as N1S’s primary carer, so that she’s there to support him if he struggles to process the news – but then I can’t predict her reaction. What if her response is that I shouldn’t tell him, or she thinks I shouldn’t even be transitioning at all until he’s older? I’ve no idea what her level of knowledge is about gender dysphoria, so for all I know she might think it’s a lifestyle choice, and that I can just say, “Oh all right then, I won’t bother if it upsets you.” What if she says she wants to tell N1S herself, and thus put her own spin on the situation, or guilt-tripping me, telling me how much I’m damaging N1S’s well-being and making him a target at school if his friends find out? What if, what if, what if… It’s been doing my head in for months, and I’m very much aware this isn’t the first time I’ve written about it.

But I’m no longer sure that telling Gayle first is actually the right way of going about this – if indeed there ever is a right way. Whilst N1S’s maturity and wisdom never ceases to amaze me, he’s also very good at hiding his feelings and being selective about what he shares if he’s in a certain kind of mood. I’m fairly sure this comes from his mother – either genetically or because I suspect she’s brought him up not to talk to me about what goes on within their four walls, on the basis that it’s none of my business and that I don’t need to know about that side of his life.

Anyway, back to the conversation I mentioned at the start of this post. Recently, I was at a family gathering hosted by my cousin Daniel that, out of necessity, I’d had to attend as Bob. Daniel’s known about my dysphoria for ages, and he and his side of the family are totally cool about it and 100% supportive. Despite a crowded house we managed to grab 10 minutes to catch up in the kitchen away from everyone else on the pretext of making everyone a cuppa. Daniel’s been through a fairly acrimonious separation from his wife over the last year or two, and was telling me how his ex tends to use their two kids as a way of guilt-tripping him into agreeing to all sorts of things – usually to do with childcare when she needs it or financial matters. “If you really cared for our children you’d… [fill in the blank].” Anyone who’s been there knows exactly what I mean.

Daniel explained that for a while her guilt-trip tactic succeeded every time, before one day he had the proverbial light-bulb moment. He realised that, actually, her approval or otherwise of him or what he did was irrelevant. His priority was building a new relationship with his kids for the time they spent with him, and that he didn’t need his ex’s consent to do that. Veiled or implied threats over restricting access, or insinuations that he risked impoverishing their children if he didn’t agree to every financial demand no longer cut any ice. He’s fulfilling – in fact exceeding – all obligations and has created a warm and loving home for his kids for when they spend time with him. They themselves have got their heads around the separation now, so what was the worst that she could do?

As I listened to Daniel, the realisation dawned that Gayle has been doing exactly the same with me for more years than I care to admit. She knows I hate any kind of conflict and that I’ll generally avoid unpleasantness at all costs, so in the interests of maintaining as harmonious a relationship as possible between the two of us for the sake of N1S, I usually find myself agreeing to pretty much all demands or requests that are made of me. Following the conversation with Daniel the awful truth dawned that she still has an unhealthy hold on me after all these years, and that’s more painful to admit than many might think.

Many years have passed since Gayle and I were an item – and we weren’t an item for very long, just a little over a year in fact. Yet it was the most disastrous and damaging time of my life, and my self-esteem, self-confidence and mental health were in tatters by the time I found the courage to walk away. I don’t intend to go into details, let’s just say I recognise much of what’s described here. Thankfully most of the wounds have healed now, but even now a few remain and it’s still painful to admit it was an emotionally abusive relationship. I didn’t recognise it as such at the time, and for a long time tried to justify her behaviour, that it must have been some failing in me that led her to it, or that she was ill and needed help… but I’ve since realised that’s exactly what victims tend to do.

Despite everything, Gayle and I have managed to remain reasonably civil for N1S’s sake, yet if I’m honest I still feel intimidated by her. Her disapproving looks chill me to the bone, and I suspect she knows it. I hate admitting that she still has that kind of hold over me, but that’s the legacy of such relationships. Abuse is damaging enough but even once the victim has found the courage to walk away, when children are involved we’re still forced to meet the perpetrator of our misery every week or so while putting on a brave face for the sake of the kids. Thankfully, the occasions on which I’m openly criticised or guilt-tripped are few these days, but it still happens occasionally and stirs painful memories when it does.

So, what does all this mean for my transition plans and coming-out conversation? First and foremost, I’ve realised that telling Gayle first would be tantamount to seeking her approval which, as I hope you’ll now understand, feels wrong in so many ways. It may well be that she turns out to be supportive – if she does, then that’s a bonus, but the most important person in this is N1S.

Call this my #metoo moment if you like. As many have courageously pointed out in recent weeks, whatever form abuse takes, ultimately it’s about power and control, and I refuse to let Gayle exercise that power over me any longer. The truth is that my transition is none of her business. Clearly she needs to be aware, but what she thinks no longer has anything to do with me or my life. She may be fine about it – supportive even – or could see it as yet another of my many failings. I have to hang on with grim determination to the thought that whatever she thinks, it doesn’t matter anymore.

Of course, none of this makes the impending conversation with N1S any the easier. The reality remains that he’s closer to his mother than to me and thus more likely to open up to her, plus of course he lives with her most of the week and has more opportunity to confide in her than me over matters that are worrying him. Yet on the other hand, when he does open up to me, there’s not a more loving, caring, diversity-aware or inclusive child on this planet – and that gives me confidence and reassurance that he’s going to be OK.

I’ve said all along the right moment will come, and that I’ll recognise it when it does. I think for those of us with children, it has to be the hardest coming-out conversation of all. I’ve friends who’ve experienced reactions at both ends of the spectrum, so we can never know until that moment comes. By coincidence, this article was in The Guardian last weekend. So much resonates with me and where I am right now, but in particular that the writer believes the most difficult task has been left until last, but for the very best of reasons.

I don’t know whether my conversation will be next week, next month or next year. The GIS has said there’s no pressure, that it doesn’t affect my care plan and it’s OK to just take my time. But it’s starting to weigh heavily and I need to get it sorted sooner rather than later.

Whenever it is, please wish me luck.

Thanks for reading.



Regular readers will know that my most persistent fear since being referred to the Gender Identity Service (GIS) has been that at some point a clinician was going to shake their head sadly and inform me that, in their considered opinion, I wasn’t far enough along the scale of gender dysphoria to justify their support. I would be gravely informed that there are many far more deserving people than me on the ever-lengthening GIS waiting list, and that I should step aside and make way for the genuine cases needing real help with transitioning.

Despite the many reassurances by friends and loved ones that I truly had nothing to worry about, I’ve never been able to completely shake these doubts from my mind. On the whole I’m doing OK, if not thriving, yet I know of those whose gender dysphoria has manifested itself in substance abuse and self-harm, and who’ve desperately needed transition simply to keep their sanity. Surely people like that would be prioritised over the likes of me, having experienced a relatively calm and straightforward journey? Illogical though it may sound, whilst the vaguest possibility remained that I could be deemed unworthy of support I’ve held back on a number of important or irreversible comings out and conversations lest I later needed to row back and explain, “Sorry, I got it all wrong. I’m not really transgender at all. Forget I ever said anything.”

A couple of weeks ago I had my latest GIS appointment. I’d been informed it was yet another assessment session, however this time it would be with a consultant who, I was told, would be in a position to pronounce a diagnosis – or not as the case may be – and from there help me figure out what (if anything) needed to happen next. I’d no idea whether this would be an instantaneous decision or whether the various medics I’ve seen would need to go away, compare notes and discuss my case before reaching their considered opinion. Having some experience of how the process works for other conditions I know how complex and drawn out it can get, and how easily it is for the world and her dog to get involved, to the extent where diagnosis is almost made by commitee. The NHS with which I’m familiar is not exactly renowned for its decisiveness.

Anyhow, so it was that a couple of weeks ago I trod the now familiar path to the GIS clinic. My appointment was first thing in the morning, so I had to factor in the rush-hour traffic and the fact that the population of Leeds increases by some 50,000 once the colleges and universities are up and running after the summer break. I still made it with half-an-hour to spare; those who know me will not be surprised…

I was seen bang on the appointed time – again. It must be said that timekeeping is one of this clinic’s many virtues. Alison, the Lead Professional who I’d met the time before met me with a smile, ushered me into the consulting room and introduced me to Dr Lucy, the consultant, who greeted me warmly and explained what was going to happen. She apologised that there would probably be some repetition of questions asked previously, but she wanted to go over some of the things that I’d discussed  with Alison, explore some areas in a bit more detail and then talk about what would happen next. Without going into the detail, it was again a case of making sure the three pillars of physical, psychological and social health were still sound and in place. I guess for some people, a lot can happen in four months.

I don’t know how typical I am, but I’ve never felt fazed or uncomfortable during any of these sessions even though I’ve been asked to explore some pretty intimate areas of my life. It feels natural, even cathartic, talking about things that have been bottled up all these years and never shared with a soul – more like a pleasant conversation that any kind of analysis or assessment, even when discussing very personal matters that once upon a time I’d have been embarrassed about. Eventually we got around to talking about hopes and fears, at which point I mentioned amongst other things my fear of not being ‘trans enough’, and that a diagnosis was important to me as I needed that external validation. I was told that apparently this isn’t uncommon, which I found reassuring.

After almost an hour, Dr Lucy put down her pen and looked up from her notes and said she was happy to confirm a diagnosis of gender dysphoria, and to talk about the next steps. I don’t mind admitting, I had a ‘moment’ as the words sank in. The relief was overwhelming. So that’s it, it’s official – an independent assessment. Nobody can dispute the fact or take it away now. I’m officially transgenderand I’m proud.

Dr Lucy said she was happy to make a referral straight to the endocrinology clinic, though with the inevitable caveat that I can expect another wait of three to four months. It is what it is so there’s no point fretting about it – plus there are plenty of things I can be cracking on with in the meantime. I’ve realised that hormone therapy doesn’t have to be the be all and end all of transition, any more than surgery – about which, incidentally, my mind remains perhaps a little bit more open now than it was. I don’t have to think about it just yet.

I understand of course this is only the end of the beginning – I have another appointment with Alison in a month’s time to sit down and discuss a care pathway, and to figure out what support is available and relevant to me. It was so nice to be able to arrange a time there and then, rather than having to undergo more suspense of hanging about waiting for a letter to arrive!

Interestingly, the GIS seem quite laid back about the next steps. Based on what I’ve read over the past few years in forums and the blogosphere I was expecting lots of ‘terms and conditions’ e.g. nothing can happen until I’ve changed my name, or provided evidence that I’ve transitioned at work, lived ‘in role’ for a year, etc. etc. The reality couldn’t be any different – what I’ve been told is that as far as the GIS is concerned there’s no particular order in which things need to happen. They’re happy with the progress I’ve made thus far, I can contiue at my own pace and they’ll be there to support where they can.

I have to say at this point that, based on my own experience I can’t for the life of me understand the criticism and carping I’ve encountered about GIS clinics over the past few years, for example on social media, in the blogosphere or from support groups. In fact I remember very clearly at one of the first short-lived support group meetings I went to, one of the things that put me off was that so much time was taken up by people whinging that Dr X or Dr Y wouldn’t prescribe this or that medication, or that reception staff were rude and unhelpful – in fact the constant carping and finding fault was one of the reasons I decided support groups weren’t for me. I can only speak from experience but personally, I’ve received nothing but caring, attentive support from the GIS. Appointments have run to time, I’ve been treated with nothing but the utmost respect and sensitivity and been given helpful advice while expectations have been kept realistic. The only downside has been the interminable waiting times, but the GIS is far from the only service in the NHS suffering from cuts in the face of increased demand for their services. The clinic staff can’t be blamed for that. So far, I’ve been thoroughly impressed by the professionalism and quality of service I’ve encountered.

So what does this all mean for me? The simple answer is nothing and everything. Life goes on and the diagnosis doesn’t mean I’m going to suddenly become full-time overnight. There’s still work to do and conversations to be had, but I feel there’s been a tectonic shift in how I’m thinking about transition. It’s no longer something that’s in the distant future any more, and is going to happen within months rather than years. It’s become a definite and not a maybe – a when rather than an if. It feels like at last I’ve been given permission to transition.

I can hear the cries of ‘nobody should need permission’, but bear with me and I’ll try to explain. In a world full of rules, I’ve always been the sort of person who tends to stick to them – I’m one of life’s obedient souls. If a road sign says 30mph then that’s the speed I’ll drive at – my philosophy is that rules are there for a reason, not that rules are made to be broken. I’m the sort of person who feels guilty if a policeman so much as looks at me suspiciously. One person close to me who knows my attitude to rules annoyingly well did once tell me once that it makes my entire journey towards transition seem so out of character, except I replied that in transitioning I’m at last trying to live to the rules that should have been put in place some fifty-odd years ago.

How it feels right now.

I’ve always known that I’m on the right path, and that the decision taken three-and-a-half years ago to finally acknowledge who I am was undoubtedly the right one. I’ve taken the journey since one step at a time, and will continue to do so. If you’re the same kind of person as me then you’ll understand that despite all the logic suggesting that it’s unnecessary, independent, professional validation that – d’you know what? – I’m not making this thing up in my head, that my gender dysphoria is genuine and not a figment of my imagination, is akin to the moment when, as a child, we’re given permission on Christmas morning to open our presents. We’d known since about 4am they were there and that no-one would come and take them away, but – most of us, anyway – didn’t just start tearing open the wrapping paper until we had permission. But when that permission came, we savoured the moment and it made the experience exquisite. I hope that metaphor makes sense – it’s the best I can think of.

So now I just want to crack on with my social transition as soon as feasibly possible. Medical and cosmetic interventions almost feel incidental to making that leap of faith to live full-time as the women I was born to be. A few pieces of the jigsaw remain, but most are in place now, and the final picture is clearer than it’s ever been.

Thanks for reading, more soon.

Just popping to the shops…

I’ve been doing a bit of taking stock – well, what else is there to do while waiting for next GIS appointment that hopefully will give me the green light to start cracking on in earnest with transition? – so do bear with me as I muse and reflect a little, as I suspect this post could end up wandering all over the place.

It occurs to me quite often how much changes without us realising it – we get so focused on the big stuff that the small things tend to get overlooked. I’m tantalisingly close to being full-time, but the fact remains that for now circumstances dictate that I still have to alternate between Ruth and Bob according to social circumstances. Once upon a time I was once worried that this might be confusing, but it’s funny how people understand and adapt. At one extreme there are, for example, good friends who first met Ruth about two years ago and I’ve reckoned up have literally never, ever met Bob since. In fact, it would be unthinkable were they to meet ‘him’ should we bump into each other accidentally. In fact I’d cross the street to avoid them. Yet, on the other side of the coin there are plenty of folk who have met me as Ruth and see her regularly, but completely understand the need for me to be Bob as well until ‘T-Day’, and the reasons why. Flip-flopping between gender identities used to bother me, as if I wasn’t being authentic or that it was a sign I wasn’t trans enough, but over time I guess I’ve simply learned to accept it. It’s a part of my mindset that’s changed so gradually I’ve hardly noticed – although it bothers me in a different way now.

I’ve also been thinking about other shifts since this journey began that have happened almost without me realising. For many years before deciding to come out, being able to express Ruth’s identity was something that was only ever done within the confines of my own four walls, as the thought of venturing out into the wide world was too terrifying. Nowadays that situation has completely reversed (not that I find my own four walls terrifying, but you know what I mean) in that I only ‘make an effort’ when I am going out or meeting friends. When I’m home alone I’ll just slob around in anything comfortable sans makeup or hairdo, and if I’m doing something mundane like just popping out to the shops then I hardly ever bother with anything other than perhaps a swipe of lippy. Thanks to laser treatment and the fact there’s nothing I now actually need to cover up facially, makeup has become an enhancer rather than an absolute necessity. It’s a choice I thought I’d never have, and am truly grateful for it.

Popping to the shops… when we had to actually ask for stuff.

I say ‘just popping to the shops’. Something I haven’t shared before is that I suffer from a mild form of anxiety. It comes and goes, but on bad days can be quite debilitating in that it makes simple tasks – especially anything involving social interaction – feel like huge obstacles to overcome. I can have plans in my head about all the things I want to do, places to visit or friends I’d like to meet up with, but the nature of my anxiety means that I’ll deliberate, prevaricate… and by the time I’ve made my mind up usually it’s too late to do anything, or the opportunity has passed me by. It seems to have grown worse over the past year and I’m beginning to wonder if – in fact pretty I’m much convinced – it’s connected to my gender identity issues.

Generally speaking, if I have a specific appointment or have actually made an arrangement with a friend then I’ll get over myself and, once out of my front door, I’ll be absolutely fine. If not then it’s far too easy to talk myself out of an invitation, and sit down with a good book instead thinking I’ll do it another day. Same goes for emails, or seemingly simple tasks like picking up the phone to call friends – or anyone else for that matter. Things that for most people don’t seem a big deal, but if you’ve ever suffered from anxiety you’ll understand why it can take me days – even weeks – to respond to emails or phone messages. Some days I may not even check my emails at all for fear there will be one there in amongst all the safe marketing emails from Evans or M&S that needs action or a response. And being asked to commit to social events weeks or even months ahead adds a further layer of complication, because I worry that if I say ‘yes’ I’ll end up finding an excuse (genuine or, I hate to say, made-up) to back out nearer the time, so sometimes it’s just easier to offer my apologies and decline up-front, just in case. It all must make me seem very anti-social to my friends and others who only want to wish me well.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve not exactly started to live the life of a hermit although I do have a tendency to stay within a kind of social comfort-zone, and have a definite routine that’s hard to change. The paradox is that when I do step out that zone, nine times out of ten I end up thoroughly enjoying myself and wondering what on earth the problem is – until the fog descends again.

One reason for speculating this behaviour may be connected to my identity issues is that I’ve realised I increasingly feel inauthentic as a person when I have to present as Bob. Again, this is another complete reversal from a few years ago when presenting as Ruth in public still felt new and slightly edgy, and outings had a frisson about them or still felt like a bit of an adventure. I’ve also started to recognise a pattern connected to GIS appointments and other transition milestones, especially over the past 12 months. As I alluded to in my previous post, progress along this journey has been somewhat staccato in nature, however I’ve noticed that positive events invariably have an upbeat effect on my mood and motivation. Hence on the two occasions I’ve attended the GIS so far – one a screening appointment, the other my first appointment proper – I’ve been left feeling almost euphoric afterwards, and that anything is possible. It’s been the same with signalling my intentions at work. A major hurdle that once felt insurmountable has been conquered, and I’m working with my employer towards a plan – what’s not to like?

Here we go again…

The trouble is that these moments of progress and positivity tend to wear off, and when nothing seems to be happening in between then the roller-coaster ride plunges into a dip, taking me with it. And the longer the gap, the deeper the dip – which probably explains the lengthening pauses between posts on this blog, because in my head I feel as if I’ve nothing to write about that anyone will be interested in reading…

Regular readers may recall that I entered the GIS system in earnest back in May, and left my first appointment proper with the indication that I’d be seeing a consultant after roughly a further three months thence, with the caveat that summer holidays might extend that timeframe a little. So recently I’ve been like a teenager waiting for their first Valentine card, looking eagerly on the doormat each day for a letter bearing the tell-tall Private & Confidential stamp – which finally arrived last week. The fact that this time it was actually addressed to Ruth rather than Bob was perhaps a bit more of a giveaway…

So I have my second GIS appointment for later on this month, this time with one of the consultants. In other good news I met earlier this week with Penny, my line manager at work and HR adviser Melanie to discuss workplace transition plans in a little more detail. Taking a leaf out of my friend Kirsty’s book we met up in a cafe away from the office so that they could meet Ruth in person. I think they were more nervous than I was about it, but hopefully I managed to reassure both that a) I’m actually quite presentable (though I say so myself), so won’t disgrace the department and b) I’ve reached the point where I’m quite laid-back about transition and not going throw a hissy fit if everything isn’t quite perfect. As I suspect is often the case in a lot of organisations, they’re on a learning curve as much as I am and both Melanie and Penny seemed appreciative that I’d put so much effort into researching the practicalities and created a document listing in some detail the areas I think need to be addressed. For the benefit of anyone reading this who is about to face the same situation, I can highly recommend the GIRES website and in particular their Transgender Policy Guide for Employers as a rich resource covering  wide range of both practical and legal matters from both sides of the employment fence. My own work is largely office-based and most colleagues pretty well laid-back, but I can see how further layers of complication can easily be added depending on the type of work someone actually does, who they interact with and the culture of the organisation. I stand to be corrected but I imagine the experience of workplace transition will be very different for a manual worker in a typically male-dominated environment, compared to someone working in a more office-based role where there’s usually a better balance of demographics.

So there are some positive steps that have given a bit of a push to the old roller-coaster ride, setting it off in an upward direction for a while. The upcoming GIS appointment is the next significant milestone, as after all the talking in previous appointments I’m hoping it will to be something of a turning point, leading on to some practical steps to move the process forward.

We shall see.

In the meantime, thanks for reading and more soon.

Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow

I’ve never learned to dance properly despite a number of valiant attempts (usually at the behest of partners) so I can promise you the title I’ve used for this particular piece has absolutely nothing to do with the ballroom. Apologies to any who were expecting me to regale you with exploits of Ruth donning sequinned frocks and learning to tango or foxtrot.

The words are intended to reflect the pace of change in recent weeks and months , which is perhaps something of a paradox as ballroom dancing – when done properly – is as smooth and a co-ordinated activity as you’re likely to encounter, what with all the variations in tempi, steps and twiddly-bits connected seamlessly in one flowing movement. Provided that the participants know what they’re doing, of course.

Regular readers may recall the last two posts hinted at having made significant progress, but then I went and left you all dangling in mid-air, so sorry about that. I’ve realised it’s been a while since my last post, too. Goodness, there’s even been time for a General Election.

Back at the start of May you’ll recall my first GIS appointment had left me full of hope, confidence and energy to actually start taking some serious steps towards full-time transition – not that steps thus far have been anything less than serious, but I’m sure you know what I mean. Despite being told to expect a further three months to see a consultant, then three more for an appointment with the  endocrinologist – hence the slow, slow bit – within a week of being officially in the GIS system I took the plunge and start the ball rolling – however gently – at work. Far quicker than I’d expected, but I was surfing a wave of positivity and it just seemed the right thing to do.

If I’ve learned anything since this journey began, it’s that everyone’s experience is different. One size definitely doesn’t fit all when it comes to transition or identity expression, and I’d say that’s especially true when it comes to transition in the workplace. Despite the best efforts and excellent resources that organisations such as GIRES place at our disposal, each situation will be different. At one extreme I know there are a few who approach their employers with a list of demands, waving the Equality Act 2010 in their manager’s face and expecting instant compliance, erasure of any record of Bob on all systems and records and woe betide anyone who accidentally misgenders them. Most I suspect are a bit more circumspect and collaborative.

Ruth’s annual appraisal, 2017…

It just so happened that my annual workplace appraisal was scheduled for the week following the GIS appointment. Over the years and in the various organisations I’ve worked with, I’ve had good, bad and indifferent experiences of the appraisal process. In my time I’ve put in hours of preparation, kicked off when I’ve disagreed with what’s been said but as the years have passed I’ve become more philosophical, and simply learned to regard appraisals as a necessary evil of being employed and receiving a salary. If nothing else, on the positive side appraisals are a focal point where manager and team member can be honest with one another, confidentially – and hopefully safely – at least once a year.

My appraisal with Penny – my line manager – was unremarkable, though not in any negative way. We followed the process, and after discussions about achievements, positive characteristics and the euphemistically-named ‘development areas’, we came to a section towards the end entitled ‘health & well-being’ – presumably there to make sure that the process hasn’t reduced the appraisee to a gibbering wreck by then. Seriously, it’s good it’s there if only as a prompt to a discussion – I’ve encountered far too many managers in my time who are utterly insensitive to how their or others’ demands can sometimes affect their team members’ health – equally how events in home or personal lives might be impacting on their workplace performance . Anyway, Penny broached the subject and gently asked if there was anything I wanted to share with her. “Well,” I replied earnestly, “there is something you need to know about me. You know that clinic appointment that was in my diary last week? Well it’s like this…”

Penny later admitted that she thought I was going to tell her that I’d been diagnosed with a serious illness, and was relieved when my news was merely that I was transgender. She wasn’t fazed in the slightest, and listened to what I had to say carefully and caringly. As it transpired, a teenage member of her extended family had, not so long ago, transitioned from female to male and the whole family are totally fine about it so gender dysphoria wasn’t unknown to her, although she admitted there was a lot she didn’t know and promised to go away and read up about it so that she could make sure I got all the support I needed.

I explained that transitioning full-time was something that wasn’t likely to happen in the next few weeks, worried that Penny might be thinking that Ruth would be walking through the door on Monday morning, although it will happen within the next six months if all goes to plan. We both agreed there was quite a bit of planning needed to make the experience as positive and supportive as possible for me and all concerned, but that I was in the driving seat and workplace transition would happen at my pace. I agreed I’d no problem with Penny sharing my news with our Head of Department and the other senior manager on our team, plus of course Human Resources would need to know, but that for now my intended transition would remain confidential until I chose to break the news. Finally, I offered to send Penny a link to the GIRES website, and that I’d have a go at drafting a Memorandum of Understanding as per their suggested approach. So far, so good.

News of Ruth’s intended transition reaches senior management…

The following morning it got even better. Penny having had the conversation with her, Head of Department Kay popped her head round my office door and asked if she could have a quick word. Closing the door, her face lit up and she seemed quite giddy telling me she’d heard my news, and that she was thrilled to bits for me. “I just wanted you to know you’re in safe hands and that we’ll do everything we can to help. I’m determined that we’ll make a success of this,” she added, sounding a bit like a certain politician. We then had a good long chat as I brought Kay up to speed on my journey so far. She said that it was fantastic news for the department, would be great for our profile in the organisation and force certain people in the team who ‘talked the talk’ about diversity to ‘walk the walk’, or words to that effect. I knew exactly what she meant by that. Most of the people I work with are very laid-back and open-minded but there’s one individual in particular who’s a huge advocate of equality and diversity in the workplace… provided it’s to do with their particular protected characteristic. It’ll be quite interesting to see how they react to me once I’m fully ‘out’ and realise that E&D isn’t a game of top trumps. Other than that person, I can’t honestly see anyone else being anything less than supportive.

Kay asked me about my next steps and reiterated what Penny had said that everything would move at my pace, and that I only had to ask for support if I needed it. Kay even asked if I wanted to begin coming into work presenting as Ruth immediately if it’d help. I thanked her for the offer, but gently explained that it wasn’t quite as straightforward as that, and one or two things needed to happen first, both outside the organisation and internally – pointing to Bob’s ID badge – but I have to give her full marks for enthusiasm. As she left, she beamed again and said, “I’d give you a great big hug now, if I wasn’t your boss!” Aw, bless!

Then nothing much happened for a while. Not through anyone’s lack of interest or enthusiasm, though – after all, we’d agreed the ball was very much in my court – but simply because there was no real hurry. My ‘coming out’ had been a signal of intent as much as anything. I’d explained about the expected timeframe for the GIS and that I’d prefer to have sound, well-thought-through plans in place rather than rushing at things and getting them wrong. But nor had anyone forgotten about me – Penny had diligently read the material I’d sent her from the GIRES website and tried to get hold of the right person in HR (who was proving a bit elusive), and I’d had a go at drafting a Memorandum of Understanding in line with recommended best practice. As I worked through the items one by one, it occurred to me I was probably having a relatively easy time of it compared to many others in the same situation. The biggest issue seems to be one of communication – who to tell, how and when. Or put another way, who needs to be told upfront and who can be allowed to discover Bob’s demise and Ruth’s ascendancy organically. I work for a large organisation, and as a relatively small cog in a very big machine I’m not expecting (nor would I want) to merit a headline in the weekly staff bulletin. Also I realise it’s not practical for me to tell everyone myself. That’s fine for my immediate team and those with whom I have regular working relationships, but impractical for many with whom I deal only occasionally. I’m still working it all through even now and it will require a joint effort from me and my managers, but the overarching principle already agreed is that nothing goes out without my input or agreement.

I’m also very fortunate in that the organisation I work for is very hot on equality, diversity and inclusion generally. Transgender awareness sessions are already a regular feature of the training calendar and the people I work with are a healthy balance of male and female, gay and straight – so I couldn’t really be in a better place. I suspect that workplace transition would be a very different experience were I to work in a traditionally male-dominated environment. There are no issues with uniforms (for me, anyway) and most ‘facilities’ are unisex in the building where I work.

Penny did finally manage to make contact with our HR representative, who suggested that Penny and I sit down and try and work through some kind of outline plan (which we’ve now done) before the three of us sat down together to make sure that all legal and procedural boxes were ticked, and that nothing had been overlooked so that everything’s ready and in place for when I finally give the go-ahead and actual dates.

Since the famous (notorious?) Eastbourne weekend in 2014 I’ve always been aware that – whether they admit it or not – most people outside our community have their own preconception of what a trans* woman looks like, depending on their particular life experience. Whilst there’s room for everyone, the transgender spectrum is broad and encompasses many different manifestations. Now perhaps it’s my own prejudices showing, but I wanted to reassure Penny that I wasn’t going to turn up for work on Day One in fishnets, 6” heels and a PVC mini-skirt. For my own personal reasons I’ve remained rather camera-shy throughout this process so don’t actually possess a decent photo of myself that I’m happy to show others. So, in a moment of rashness – or perhaps sensibly – I tentatively suggested that the aforementioned meeting might take place off-site, perhaps in a cafe in town so that the two of them could meet Ruth properly and see face-to-face exactly what they were getting. I could tell straight away my suggestion was well-received. The beaming smile that immediately spread across Penny’s face said everything, and I rather suspect I’d answered a question she’d been dying to ask for ages. I have to say I’m rather looking forward to that meeting.

But it won’t happen just yet awhile. As we’re entering the holiday season, co-ordinating diaries starts to become that bit more difficult so that particular encounter could still be some weeks away. Like the title of this post says…

So that pretty much brings me up to date. My journey of late seems to have been characterised by short but intense bursts of progress, followed by long periods of inactivity – admittedly some of it self-inflicted, but delays nonetheless. What’s beyond question however is that I have neither doubts nor regrets and that I’m definitely heading in only one direction. Perhaps that’s always been the story of my life…

Thanks for reading – more soon.

Alias Smith or Jones

I’d better warn you in advance. This is one of my occasional ‘thinking aloud’ posts, and so is likely to ramble all over the place before helping me to reach some kind of conclusion. Hopefully.

At some point in the not too distant future I’ll be changing my name legally. On the face of it, it’s a foregone conclusion – I’m Ruth, so all I need to do is get rid of the Bob, right? For most people, I imagine that’s quite a straightforward decision: Bob Smith becomes Ruth Smith, end of. As I explain elsewhere on this blog, my parents made no secret of the fact that Ruth would have been my given name right from the beginning, had Mother Nature not been distracted for a crucial moment when dishing out the chromosomes all those years ago. I even have a middle name in mind that I’m guessing would have also come my way, one that belonged to my great-grandmother, and which my mother always said she’d have preferred to have been given herself. I happen to like it, too… but I’m not telling you what that is just yet.

It’d actually be much easier if my surname really were Smith, because what complicates matters is the fact I was cursed with a rather unusual and distinctive surname – one that has been a source of comment, curiosity and occasional mirth from others all my life. Like the rest of my family, I’ve learned to shrug off the inquisitiveness and inappropriate comments but, as anyone with a non-standard surname will testify, it gets a bit wearing after a while. That’s even before we get on to misspellings – there are few who get it right first time, and even people I’ve known for donkey’s years still get it wrong. Sigh.

I realise I have a heaven-sent opportunity to leave all this behind. If I’m going to change my name through transition, then why not go the whole hog and fix my surname too? In fact, had I realised at an earlier age that changing one’s name was as easy as it appears to be, I’d have probably done it a long time ago.

If I do, it’ll once and for all put an end to a lifetime of constantly correcting mispronunciations and misspellings. My mother told the tale many years ago of explaining her new married name using Fingerspell to a hearing-impaired friend, almost caused a falling out between the two of them as the friend thought my mother was taking the rise out of her. Personally, I’ve lost count of the times I’ve had to respond to well-intentioned comments on the lines of, “Oh, that’s an unusual name, where does it come from?” Yes it is – and no, I haven’t a fecking clue.


OK, maybe not quite that bad…

So I have an alternative surname in mind. Not just some random creation, but one which has existed previously in my family and while still distinctive, doesn’t raise eyebrows or  questions about its origin, and can really only be spelled one way. Let’s call it Jones. Thus it solves a life-long problem in more ways than one. Also – in theory at least – Bob Smith would effectively disappear forever as I become Ruth Jones.

I stand to be corrected, but my understanding is that in UK law anyone who transitions has the right to be able to sever links with their past if they wish. I believe that’s the whole point of the Gender Recognition Certificate and associated equality rights. If we want, effectively we get the chance to wipe the slate clean, to the extent that an employer or any other organisation can be deemed to be acting illegally if they wilfully reveal a person’s transgender history to anyone who doesn’t need to know, for example through shoddy procedures or record-keeping. I have to say I’m not sure how that actually works in practice – for example what happens with employment references, security and credit checks etc. – but that’s the theory at least; future anonymity and protection .

But that then raises the question of how wise it would be to try and do some kind of disappearing act. I’ll admit that a fresh start has its appeal, and means that I’d be able to leave behind all the people and connections that have no place in my life anymore, and who don’t know about my transition. But I can’t help thinking it might create more problems than it solves, because despite the obvious appeal to the contrary, I can see disadvantages to severing all links with the past – the most significant being whether I’m actually being true to myself in doing so, or simply hiding? If I were to keep my existing surname, there’d be continuity but at the cost of more people knowing – possibly including some I might think needn’t know – that I’m transitioning, as it wouldn’t take a genius to make the connection. I guess it’d also provide some continuity professionally, rather than colleagues and clients thinking Bob has left the building and been replaced by a new girl.

I imagine most others in my situation keep their surname – famously, women such as Stephanie Hirst and Rebecca Root have done so, plus other less well-known friends– but maybe they’re all happier with theirs than I am mine – and their past too. I’ve certainly no intention of trying to deny or forget what’s gone before.

One topic that comes up in the blogosphere and forums from time to time that may be relevant here is how we feel regarding the Bob Years. I know there are some who feel so strongly about their identity that they treat that earlier part of their life as if it never happened. They seem to literately hate Bob and everything he stood for, and want to leave him behind. I’m not sure if that’s ever going to be possible without simultaneously moving home, changing job and severing all contact with friends and family – including not telling anyone your new name or whereabouts, but I dare say people do it, even though it would be akin to how I imagine a witness protection scheme might be.

Personally, while I wish there hadn’t been quite so many of them, I don’t look back on the Bob Years with any particular bitterness. There are plenty of good memories, lots of love and friendship and wonderful people I don’t want to leave behind. People who know all about my journey – or if they don’t already, soon will – aren’t really bothered whether it’s Bob or Ruth who’s their friend and are happy to support any decisions I may make. As we occasionally need to remind people, transition doesn’t involve a personality transplant; we’re still the same person, only happier.

hr dilemmaSo given I’ve no desire to transition anonymously, is there any point to my dilemma? Would a wholesale change of name make the future easier, or just add another layer of complication? There’s no necessity, so any decision would be purely cosmetic. Yet as I roll my likely future name in full over and over in my mind, it feels good, has a resonance and rhythm that I’ve not had before. I can say it out loud with confidence, something I’ve never been able to do. Bob has always felt rather apologetic and self-conscious about his name when forced to say it out loud, in the same way he’s never really liked looking in the mirror – but that’s all changed now.

It seems a long time ago now, but I have a clear ‘landmark’ memory of the very first time I had my hair fixed properly, looking in the mirror and actually liking who I saw looking back. It was a revelation that I’ve never forgotten. Similarly, I’ve tried saying both alternatives for my new name out loud and whilst the first option is palatable, the complete change involving a different surname not only sounds better, but also feels utterly natural. I can’t help thinking this is how it probably is for most people with uncomplicated surnames matched with well-thought-out first names throughout their life – except of course that they probably never notice.

So if a complete change of name feels inexplicably right and lightens my heart in the same way as the reflection of the new me in the mirror, it’s probably a no-brainer. And if my choice confuses others, complicates systems and processes etc., then that’s someone else’s problem, not mine.

Isn’t it?

Thanks for reading – more about recent progress next time.

Groundhog Day

Earlier this month, the day finally came that I’d been anticipating for just over two years since taking that momentous, tentative step of asking my GP for a GIS referral. After many months of waiting, anticipating and worrying I finally had a date for my first real GIS appointment. I say real to distinguish it from the screening appointment last August, which isn’t to say that particular session wasn’t in any way authentic. It’s just that this time I knew I was at the start of something a bit more meaningful – or at least hoped so.

The appointment letter – copied to my GP – included a note that the GIS needed up-to-date results for a number of blood tests. I could have predicted that the tests that were done at the point of referral all that time ago would be wasted but hey, that seems to be the way things are. My ever-efficient GP surgery beat me to it, and actually phoned me before I contacted them to make an appointment, so at least full marks to them for that. I duly went to see the vampire phlebotomist a few days later and several phials of the red stuff were sent off for analysis. On closer inspection of the letter I noticed that the tests were a bit different to the ones I’d had done previously, and for the first time included hormone levels.

The fact that I’d already attended the screening session last August made a big difference, both emotionally and practically, and had mostly reassured me on that most thorny of topics – was I trans enough, although the passing of time had caused some of those doubts to come out to play again. This time the mantra was less about being trans enough, more about how deserving my case appeared in comparison to others who may be coping less well than me, and who were in rather more dire straits mentally or physically, especially with scarce NHS resources being spread as thinly as they are.  My mind was cast back to some of the people I’d met at my early forays to the local support group, and the mental health or addiction issues they were facing concurrently with their transition. In comparison I seemed to be coping too well.

Came the day, and in practical terms at least I knew this time where to go and where I could park my car, so no dry runs were needed. Even so, I still set off leaving far more contingency time than I needed (those who know me will understand this isn’t uncommon…), and having sailed through the unusually light traffic, arrived with almost an hour to spare before my appointment. I gave a thought for those I know who in some cases have to travel hundreds of miles by rail or coach to their GIS appointment, and take two or three days out of their lives for each consultation. I silently thanked the powers-that-be that fate decreed I only had to travel from one side of the city to the other.

It may sound a bit complacent, but as I sat in my car whiling away the time listening to Ken Bruce,  I realised I’d given no thought to the issues that a few short years ago tended to consume me about how I looked, did I ‘pass’ and what others’ reaction might be. That’s not to say that when I was getting ready earlier I’d not thought about making sure I looked presentable, but what had changed was that it was no longer from the perspective of fear or uncertainty. I was simply a woman wanting to look her best for a particular situation, rather than trying to fool anyone into thinking I was anything other than who I am, if that makes sense. That change in thinking has been quite subtle in recent months, and recognising it made me feel positive that something significant had shifted in my head.

I presented myself at the reception in good time and sat to wait for my appointment. I have to say that based on my experiences thus far, this particular GIS seems to manage time very well indeed.


Unfortunately, I still read the occasional horror story of patients waiting several hours to be seen, but right on time a friendly face popped round waiting room door and invited me into the consulting room. Alison introduced herself as my Lead Clinician and said she’d be with me throughout the process, explaining that even though I’d be seeing different specialists she’d be my point of contact for any queries, and generally be ‘in my corner’.

During the following hour-and-a-half it felt like we were covering much of the same ground as in my screening appointment last August. Alison recognised this and apologised for the repetition, but explained that for many patients eight months can be a long time, and much can change – for good or ill. This made complete sense, plus she said it gave her the opportunity to get to know me first-hand as a person, rather than just a ‘case’ through someone else’s notes. One or two personal areas were explored in a bit more depth than before, but overall the process was about making sure I was still OK in the ‘three pillars’ of physical, psychological and social health and well-being. Perhaps disappointingly, no reference was made to the results of the blood tests, which in fact hadn’t been looked at and Alison said weren’t actually necessary until the next stage. I think we can all guess what’s going to happen before my next appointment.

As we went along, the transition process was explained to me. Not surprisingly, this is going to involve yet more waiting as Alison told me that following her own assessment based on our meeting, she would arrange for me to see one the team’s consultants – there are two now, both of whom I was assured are very nice and friendly. Apparently, even in a nurse-led pathway only a doctor can still make a formal diagnosis. That’s the next key stage on the critical path, and it seems nothing can happen until that prognostication is made, but once it has been then all manner of support kicks in. She estimated a wait of about three months to see a consultant, considering that we’re approaching the holiday season which can reduce availability. Seems fair enough to me – everyone’s entitled to a break. After that I’ll be referred to an endocrinologist – a further estimated three month wait – and assuming all’s well health-wise I’ll be prescribed my first HRT at that point.

I got the impression that there’s been some relaxation of qualifying periods to allow the GIS to treat more patients. I may yet be proved wrong, but I sense that the GIS is adopting a more pragmatic approach, at least to the early stages of treatment. Whilst there was no question about needing to demonstrate at least 12 months Real Life Experience (RLE) before surgery can even be considered, it would seem that if someone has come this far in the process, that they’re sound in mind, body and spirit and various practicalities have been addressed – e.g. legal name change and being ‘out’ in sufficient areas of one’s life – then it will be taken as an adequate indication that the patient is serious and HRT – whilst not quite a ‘done deal’ – will follow with less fuss than perhaps it may have done previously.

As the session drew to a close, Alison apologised if it had felt a bit gruelling. I said that was the last word I’d have used to describe it, and that everything had felt really positive. On reflection, I suppose we had explored a few more sensitive topics than before (which I’m not going to go into detail about here – sorry!) but it had all felt necessary, relevant and appropriate.

So I’m well and truly ‘in the system’, but do I feel any different about it?  I certainly feel calmer and more positive about the future than I have done for ages and, importantly, my faith in the process has thus far been vindicated. As I wrote in my last blog, everyone’s experience with their respective GIS seems to be different, but so far I’ve found the people I’ve encountered knowledgeable and friendly, and there’s no question that they only want to help. I’ve never once felt ‘challenged’ or that I’ve had to go out of my way to justify myself. On the downside, the months of waiting continue to be the worst thing, but Alison pointed me in the direction of some coping strategies in case I find myself in too much of a dip again, which we both agreed was likely. She also said not to forget about rewarding myself on the good days, or for progress made. As if I needed an excuse to go shopping after my appointment.

Whilst I’m still officially without a formal diagnosis yet, Alison was able to dispel most remaining concerns about being ‘trans enough’ or sufficiently deserving of support. Seemingly these are very common doubts, and she reassured me that I seemed a relatively straightforward case (her words) and that she couldn’t foresee any problems.

I titled this post Groundhog Day originally because so much of this appointment mirrored that of my initial screening appointment last year, but then I began thinking about that particular film – in particular how it ends [spoiler alert for anyone who’s not seen it – look away now].

Groundhog Day isn’t just about repetition; it’s about the central character trying to become a different person (albeit not exactly through choice, at least not at first). Trial and error, measuring the changes they make against the world until finally getting it right and walking out of Groundhog Day into a bright new future. The analogy might not be perfect, but I can see similarities with my own situation. So much has happened in the past three years or so since those early days of nervously venturing out into the world, expecting ridicule but receiving nothing but support and encouragement. There have been plenty of giant leaps and momentous steps, but most of the changes have been small and subtle – changes in thinking as much as in practical terms. Transition no longer seems a remote possibility or something that only happens to other people. It’s becoming a reality, and while my overall philosophy remains ‘one step at a time’, I’m beginning to see some light at the end of the tunnel at last.

Significantly, the GIS appointment has given me the clarity and confidence to confront the remaining social issues I need to tackle. One in particular was broached within a week of my appointment, but for now I’ll keep you in suspense and simply say that I’ll explain more in a future post.

Thanks for reading.

Keeping the dream alive

The observant may have noticed this is almost my first post in nearly four months, and that I’ve been taking a bit of a back-seat in the blogosphere generally. I apologise for the fact that I’ve also not been reading others’ blogs as assiduously as usual, or adding my two penn’orth to comments sections. It’s nothing personal, I promise – I just needed a bit of a break.

Truth be told, there’s been very little happening in my life that’s seemed interesting enough to write about, the closest item of topical interest probably being that I’ve completed my course of laser hair removal, which I’ll come to in a bit. The absence of anything else strange or startling happening for the last six months or so has caused me to feel a bit like I’ve been living in a kind of suspended animation, waiting for something to kick-start me back into life.

There are other reasons. One can only write so many times bemoaning the seemingly interminable wait for the first GIS appointment before it starts to become repetitive, especially for those who may have forgotten what it’s like, or were referred in the days when the wait was measured in months, not years.  wait_square_sticker_3_x_3Whilst no doubt well-meant, advice and suggestions about what I should or could be doing in the meantime, or to speed up the process are rarely as helpful as the giver may intend, as indeed are reminders that the GIS is not some kind of silver-bullet and that I should (that word again) by now have a transition plan that dots all the is and crosses all the ts, preferably supported by a Gantt Chart and full Critical Path Analysis (OK, I made that last bit up). A dear friend coined the term transplaining in an email to me, which I think sums up pretty well the way ‘advice’ is sometimes perceived. That person knows exactly where I’m coming from, and continues to be amazingly helpful with her own words. I’ve probably ‘transplained’ myself to others unwittingly, and if so then I apologise. We’re all at different stages of our journey and keen to impart the benefit of our experience to those following behind, which in theory is a good thing but sometimes can feel like a telling-off, and end up leaving the the other person feeling deflated. We’d do well to remember that sometimes when people offload or have a moan about something, all they might want is a sympathetic ear and not to have all their shortcomings fixed. I shall leave that there.

Rightly or wrongly, actually getting onto the GIS pathway is incredibly important to me and the way I want to handle my transition. In my mind it provides an element of validation when precipitating conversations with the remaining significant people in my life who still need to know about my journey. It provides the catalyst for conversations at work, if only to put the right people on notice that this is happening rather than trigger full-blown workplace transition just yet. I hope it will help me feel better supported and let certain people know my direction of travel. Others in a similar situation might handle things differently, but this is the way I’ve realised it has to be for me.

What’s been keeping me afloat in recent months are the recollections of my screening appointment with the GIS last August which left me on a high, and feeling the most


Always a sucker for the inspirational quote, me…

positive I’d ever felt since this journey began – yet as I remarked at the time there was the sting in the tail of still having to wait months for my first appointment proper. Unfortunately, like many positive and uplifting experiences over the past three or four years – indeed in life generally – time has the effect of slowly dulling the memory of floating out the clinic on a cloud of euphoria and optimism, believing that anything was possible. Last year, I felt I was starting to surf the wave of transition – albeit in a small way, more like what you find on a seaside holiday rather than the huge breakers of the Old Spice advert – now there’s a memory for those of a certain age. Slowly, everything seemed to be falling into place. Unfortunately as time’s passed, the more it’s felt like someone slowly letting the air out of my balloon (to mix metaphors). Despite a number of reasons to be cheerful, after the high of the screening appointment, the wait got the GIS proper began to get me down, and on the worst days I’ve ended up wondering if I’ve left it all too late or whether I’ve even got the energy to go through transition. From all the carpe diem moments of recent years, I began thinking I’d seized the wrong day. So, as the winter months set in, I decided to back off a bit as there seemed little point forging ahead with much more until I had a clearer idea of timescales.

One thing I have pressed ahead with is facial laser hair removal which, although nothing else much was going on did at least give me the feeling I was doing something. I completed the programme recently, and am awaiting a final review at the end of the month. It’s not perfect – and probably never can be 100% – but the difference is remarkable and worth every zap and moment of gritted teeth (those who’ve been through it will know!). I think a little bit of tidying up may still be needed but, as they say, the proof of the pudding is in the eating and I can safely say that the days of ‘specialist’ foundation are behind me. The difference this makes to one’s confidence – let alone how long is needed to get ready to go out – is unbelievable. I think even that in extremis now I could get away with nothing more than a bit of lippy and mascara. Plus in practical terms it’s one less thing to worry about from the point of view of transitioning.

Returning to last August’s screening appointment, I was told to expect a delay of at least a further eight months before my first appointment proper. Despite my irrational fears that I must be slipping down the waiting list in favour of more deserving cases, and the occasional suggestion that I was doing myself a disservice and extending my wait by not pestering the medical secretaries every couple of weeks to make sure I wasn’t forgotten, almost eight months to the day I came home to find a letter on the mat with the tell-tale red Private & Confidential stamp of my GIS, offering my first appointment proper in the next couple of weeks.

I should be more trusting.  The wait is nearly over – now it really begins.