My First Official Visit with the Therapist
I probably should have posted this entry immediately after my therapy session yesterday, but the emotions were too raw and I was too exhausted from even this initial visit.
I woke up way too early on Monday morning and I laid in bed with my mind racing all over the place. I was feeling both scared and eager, not unlike that feeling one gets when waiting for a turn on a thrilling but rickety ol' roller coaster. I recall a similar mix of fear and anticipation when I stepped outside the safety of my apartment for the first time dressed as Stephani when I was 19 years old. My going out dressed as a young lady turned out to be an incredibly positive experience and so I was hoping that this appointment with the therapist would be equally successful.
Not knowing what to do with myself at 2:30 in the morning, I reached out to a new friend whom I had met on line and sent a message to her. I knew she would be asleep, but at the moment she was one of the very few people to show me kindness in the past few weeks. If nothing else the message was simply a show of connectivity. I knew I wasn't alone.
Later that morning, my friend sent me a note and offered to call me from her home in Toronto. What an incredible gesture and an amazing conversation! Up until that moment I had been supported by the wonderful girls on TGTalk.com; but listening to a human voice assure me that everything was going to be o.k. was exactly what I needed.
I filed away her encouragement and advice and arrived at my appointment right on time. I was dressed as a man on the outside, but underneath my drab clothing, I was feeling the caress of silky stockings and lacy underwear. I had applied the tiniest bit of eye liner as a gesture of my femininity, but I seriously doubt that anyone but me noticed.
My therapist made me wait for 37 minutes before welcoming me into his paper-strewn office. He was obviously a very busy man or a very sloppy boy, but it made no matter to me. I was ready to get down to business. As I had rehearsed it in my head beforehand, I was ready to spill my guts and in a typical display of my anal retentive nature, I had my notes neatly stacked on my lap. I imagined a cathartic orgy of detail and gore--from a rape I endured in high school to my days as a transvestite hooker to my being beaten within an inch of my life because I was dressed in drag and dared to walk down a street in Baltimore.
Sensing my sense of urgency and noting my pressured speech, my therapist gently asked me to slow down. He reminded me that this is a process that is not to be rushed or artificial. He assured me that he would get to my issues in a timely manner, but first, he just wanted to chat about my goals of therapy. What is it that I wanted to accomplish in these expensive, 50-minute chunks of time?
My gut reaction--that is, my honest reaction--was to tell him that I wanted that little slip of paper that would allow me to begin HRT. Naturally, he balked at my impatience and then carefully guided me into a deeper discussion of family dynamics, grief and loss, fear and anxiety, etc.
The goals we developed are fairly simple, but absolutely essential. They can be broken down into three categories: Self-affirmation, Positive Projection, and Transformation. The first, Self-affirmation, simply has to do with understanding who I am, the risks associated with it, and the freedoms that will make it all worth while.
Positive Projection has to do with being comfortable in my new identity. That means clearly and deliberately coming out to those people I love (especially my 22-year old son), easily grabbing hold of the woman inside me, and then boldly living my life out loud.
Finally transformation is exactly what it sounds like. Through the therapeutic process I will take the necessary steps to birth my now-hidden, but wonderfully unique persona.
Half-jokingly, I asked my therapist, "So, do you think we can wrap this shit up in a week or two?"
He scowled at me and issued a tired and annoying cliche. "This isn't a sprint, it's a marathon."
I pretended to giggle, but I just couldn't hide my disappointment. I desperately want to move forward, but I know that there are hurdles and obstacles and bureaucracies that I need to navigate. I know that I can do it, though. I'm ready to do the hard work of therapy. I'm ready to do the emotional exercise of coming out. I'm ready to make significant changes in my life. My challenge is going to be my freaking impatience.
It's like waiting for a new pair of sexy shoes to arrive in the mail--unbearable. (Only a million times worse!)
My next few posts will more than likely explore my earliest memories of being Stephani (and not Edward). I hope you'll continue with me on my journey. 💗
I woke up way too early on Monday morning and I laid in bed with my mind racing all over the place. I was feeling both scared and eager, not unlike that feeling one gets when waiting for a turn on a thrilling but rickety ol' roller coaster. I recall a similar mix of fear and anticipation when I stepped outside the safety of my apartment for the first time dressed as Stephani when I was 19 years old. My going out dressed as a young lady turned out to be an incredibly positive experience and so I was hoping that this appointment with the therapist would be equally successful.
Not knowing what to do with myself at 2:30 in the morning, I reached out to a new friend whom I had met on line and sent a message to her. I knew she would be asleep, but at the moment she was one of the very few people to show me kindness in the past few weeks. If nothing else the message was simply a show of connectivity. I knew I wasn't alone.
Later that morning, my friend sent me a note and offered to call me from her home in Toronto. What an incredible gesture and an amazing conversation! Up until that moment I had been supported by the wonderful girls on TGTalk.com; but listening to a human voice assure me that everything was going to be o.k. was exactly what I needed.
I filed away her encouragement and advice and arrived at my appointment right on time. I was dressed as a man on the outside, but underneath my drab clothing, I was feeling the caress of silky stockings and lacy underwear. I had applied the tiniest bit of eye liner as a gesture of my femininity, but I seriously doubt that anyone but me noticed.
My therapist made me wait for 37 minutes before welcoming me into his paper-strewn office. He was obviously a very busy man or a very sloppy boy, but it made no matter to me. I was ready to get down to business. As I had rehearsed it in my head beforehand, I was ready to spill my guts and in a typical display of my anal retentive nature, I had my notes neatly stacked on my lap. I imagined a cathartic orgy of detail and gore--from a rape I endured in high school to my days as a transvestite hooker to my being beaten within an inch of my life because I was dressed in drag and dared to walk down a street in Baltimore.
Sensing my sense of urgency and noting my pressured speech, my therapist gently asked me to slow down. He reminded me that this is a process that is not to be rushed or artificial. He assured me that he would get to my issues in a timely manner, but first, he just wanted to chat about my goals of therapy. What is it that I wanted to accomplish in these expensive, 50-minute chunks of time?
My gut reaction--that is, my honest reaction--was to tell him that I wanted that little slip of paper that would allow me to begin HRT. Naturally, he balked at my impatience and then carefully guided me into a deeper discussion of family dynamics, grief and loss, fear and anxiety, etc.
The goals we developed are fairly simple, but absolutely essential. They can be broken down into three categories: Self-affirmation, Positive Projection, and Transformation. The first, Self-affirmation, simply has to do with understanding who I am, the risks associated with it, and the freedoms that will make it all worth while.
Positive Projection has to do with being comfortable in my new identity. That means clearly and deliberately coming out to those people I love (especially my 22-year old son), easily grabbing hold of the woman inside me, and then boldly living my life out loud.
Finally transformation is exactly what it sounds like. Through the therapeutic process I will take the necessary steps to birth my now-hidden, but wonderfully unique persona.
Half-jokingly, I asked my therapist, "So, do you think we can wrap this shit up in a week or two?"
He scowled at me and issued a tired and annoying cliche. "This isn't a sprint, it's a marathon."
I pretended to giggle, but I just couldn't hide my disappointment. I desperately want to move forward, but I know that there are hurdles and obstacles and bureaucracies that I need to navigate. I know that I can do it, though. I'm ready to do the hard work of therapy. I'm ready to do the emotional exercise of coming out. I'm ready to make significant changes in my life. My challenge is going to be my freaking impatience.
It's like waiting for a new pair of sexy shoes to arrive in the mail--unbearable. (Only a million times worse!)
My next few posts will more than likely explore my earliest memories of being Stephani (and not Edward). I hope you'll continue with me on my journey. 💗
Congratulations, I know this will be a wonderfully rewarding journey that you've just embarked on. Enjoy every step, ((((Hugs)))) Steffy
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