Note to those who don’t like sarcasm: the article gets less sarcastic as it goes on. So, if you can get past the first few paragraphs, I promise you, the sarcasm goes away. It’s been a year since I escaped my abusive parents, ended up homeless, and started living openly as a woman (as of September 4th, that is). There’s been a lot I’ve been reflecting upon about it. One of the things I think about is how nothing pains me more now than listening to anti-homeless propaganda. I would rather listen to someone angrily rant about how trans women are pedophile predators and that we need to toss trans people into gas chambers for the betterment of society than listen to standard Fox News talking points about why homeless people are bad. Being homeless is a whole lot harder than being trans, and believe me, being trans is hard, and not only that, is degrading. Being trans isn’t degrading. The way society treats trans people is degrading, but being trans in and of itself isn’t. Being homeless in and of itself is degrading. Society’s treatment of homeless people makes it unbearable. Because of my experience being homeless I am now a supporter of universal housing and larger social safety nets in general. No one should ever have to experience homelessness. It is truly an evil of society that could easily be fixed but our government lacks any sort of moral spine, instead, constantly bending the knee and kissing the asses of private business owners who don’t want the problem fixed, just criminalized, and home owners who want the same thing because those two groups are void of empathy for others, only caring about themselves, because, you know “muh property value,” which you know is the most important thing in the world. Even more important than human lives and dignity. I have not lived with my parents for a year. That is incredible. It is also incredibly hard. My parents raised me to be completely dependent on them. They even made me skip over consumer math in high school just so I would have to rely on them, because, well, they couldn’t have the world know they had “failed as parents” by raising a tranny. I mean, just imagine what others will think of them, because we all know that at the end of the day the only thing that matters is the parents, not the kids. Kids are just robots. They don’t think or feel anything. They exist for parents to live vicariously through and to use as slaves and to sculpt into mini versions of themselves. Everything revolves around the parent. They can do no wrong, the kid is always a little monster though. Yes, I know I’m being extremely sarcastic right now, but I don’t care. I think I’ve earned the right after the shit I’ve been forced to go through in my life. Fact is, I was not even remotely prepared for life on my own apart from them which has made it harder. But, even more than that, they were abusive. They treated me absolutely horrifically growing up. I never heard them say anything good about me to me. I heard them say a lot of good things about me to other people, but to me personally? All I heard was about how much I sucked. How lazy I was. How I was going to grow up good for nothing. How I was a drain upon the family, how I was the biggest problem upon the family. How much of a disappointment I was. How I didn’t care about their (mom and dad’s) feelings enough. How I never did enough for the family. Even when I did a good job on something or accomplished something awesome, it didn’t matter. They didn’t care. They didn’t care if I was doing well. They only cared when they could attack and shame me. So, I stopped caring. I stopped caring about doing well. I stopped caring about taking care of myself. I stopped caring about school. I stopped caring about everything. I mean, why should I care when all I can I seem capable of is fucking up, and when I do well, they never take notice? I mean, might as well be what they already think I am. That is, if I’m going to do the time, might as well do the crime. So, I did the crime. But, for a year now, I have had no reason to do the crime anymore. I am out. While I may not be in a toxic environment, I still have so many toxic behaviors embedded in me. It might be my biggest insecurity to be completely honest. I have barely begun to stop acting in a toxic way. I have such a long journey ahead of me. That, and I am still completely emotionally dependent on my parents. Even after a year, and even having cut them off for several months completely, I am still emotionally dependent on my parents. I want to stop being emotionally dependent on them, but I can’t stop. No matter how hard I try. Maybe I’m not doing it right, I don’t know. On September 4th, I had almost no experience being out in public as a woman. I had been at work a few times presenting as a woman, but that was it. My shifts were 4 hours, 3 times a week. I had only done it for maybe two weeks at that point. Maybe. So, to go from that, to immediately having to live as a woman 24/7 was quite a leap. It was a large jump. One I was not ready for, but had no choice but to take. It was frightening. It was scary. I had absolutely no idea what to do. I was now in a women’s homeless shelter expected to fit in with the other women. It was awkward. People could tell I was not cis. Not because of my face, which I always had covered with a mask when outside of my room, and even when I was eating, I always ate at an angle where no one else could see my face. The reason they could tell I wasn’t cis was because I didn’t act much like a woman, didn’t take social cues well, etc. But, I learned. By the time I left the shelter three and a half months later (felt like three and a half years) I was going about the shelter passing as a woman in how I acted. I was walking like a woman, talking in a way that didn’t get me clocked, etc. Really, one of the biggest problems I still have is doing the head nod. I still do the head nod. I know I need to stop, I try, but it is so subconscious at this point to just head nod to people as I pass by or they pass by. There are other things though. I still suck at taking care of my hair. I don’t wash it enough. I rarely comb it. I don’t put up my hair, mainly because I don’t know how. Don’t get me wrong, I try. I try to put it up in a ponytail, but it never works. I genuinely seem incapable of doing it. No matter what I do, I can’t do it right. So, I just put a headband in my hair. My body hasn’t been changing much, as in, hasn’t done much feminizing this past year due to how little food I have been eating. Been dropping weight, which is terrible when you’re trying to feminize your body, because you need body fat. The body fat needs to redistribute. So, that’s sucked completely. My breasts haven’t grown, my face hasn’t changed, and a lot more things haven’t changed. But, my hips have started swaying while walking. So, at least this year hasn’t been completely void of changes. Getting to wear women’s clothing, finally, outside of my bedroom has been beyond affirming. I actually feel some comfort in my body now. Not only that, I actually like the clothing I’m wearing for once. I’m actually wearing stuff that feels like me. Still kinda scared of wearing dresses out in public though, to be completely honest. I’ve done it twice. Both times were scary, and each time has been many months apart. I like doing it though. It’s a literal dream come true. All of this is. I remember as a toddler inside of Kohl’s looking up at a female mannequin and thinking to myself “I can’t wait to grow up to be a woman.” I could only ever live life as a woman. That has NEVER been in question. So, when I learned I wasn’t going to grow up to be a woman, literally all my desire for life died. I had absolutely no interest in life and saw life as nothing but an exercise in misery. I never thought that I could be a woman. Now, I am. It still doesn’t feel real. I still wonder how on earth I survived those years living as a guy. I could never go back to being a guy. I would literally rather die. Anyway, another highlight was getting to do nail polish for the first time. It was beyond awesome and something I will always remember. I haven’t messed around with any other makeup type thingy. I know nothing about makeup really. When you say things like “concealer” or “mascara,” I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about. I have no idea what they do, and I don’t care enough to look them up. I really don’t have an interest in makeup to be honest. I know I should learn it to conceal facial hair, but I have decided to just wear a mask in public for the rest of my life, literally. Not joking. So, no need for that now. Apparently, eyebrows for men and women are different, I guess. I don’t really know, I just see other trans women talking about it and how they shape theirs. I don’t really care. I don’t notice them like, ever. I forget they’re even a thing 99% of the time. I know I should probably look into it more if I want to pass easier, but I don’t care enough. I’ve already resigned myself to forever being known as “sir” without a mask on (and even with a mask on I still misgendered, but nowhere close to as much, so that’s why I like masks. At least the majority of the time I get gendered correctly), so who cares? Shaving legs? Not fun. But, actually showing my legs for once is weird. Never did that as a guy once puberty hit, It felt too dysphoric to show my legs so I always just wore long jeans all year, even in 100 degree weather. At this very moment when I’m writing this, I’m wearing jean shorts. It’s nice to expose my legs to the sun finally and not feel super dysphoric about them. Getting used to being subjected to “the male gaze” is an adjustment. Not exactly used to having people so intently stare at my body parts. Especially my butt and breasts. Definitely very, very uncomfortable. Having people hit on me for the first time in my life is also been extremely uncomfortable. I don’t like it. Please stop. I’m a woman, not your sex doll. Anyway, it’s been nice to hear people call me by my name for once. Not my old name. To be honest, I kinda hate the term “dead name” because it’s not how I view my old name, I just use that term because it’s the one widely used in the trans community. I don’t view “Nicholas” as my dead name, it’s just my old name. It’s who I used to be. It’s a part of my story. Don’t get me wrong, I NEVER want to be called that again, but I’m not going to pretend it’s not a part of my story. That’s why I am so open about my old name. You can’t understand me, without knowing who I was. That said, thank god people call me Anna now. So much more fitting. So much more affirming. It’s a name that actually fits. Names are very important to me, and the trans community in general. One of the things I picked up on early on is how differently cis and trans people view the importance of names. I often try to use the person’s name of whom I am talking to as much as possible in a conversation to affirm their name. For me, using their name is a sign of respect and affirmation. Cis people don’t do that. When I talk with them, they literally almost never say my name. But, when I talk with other trans people, we often use each others names when talking to each other. Just interesting how cis and trans people have such different views and priorities. Anyway, Anna Marie Hudak. I almost never bring up my last name being Marie, or hear anyone else do so. I often even forget I have a middle name now to be honest. Huge upgrade from “Nicholas Earl Hudak.” Anna Marie just has a ring to it, you know? In addition to hearing people call me “Anna” hearing people refer to me as she/her. I notice it every single time. Sometimes it still doesn’t quite register with me that people are referring to me when they use those pronouns. Still weird. One of the most affirming things that ever happened was listening to a friend tell her three year old daughter that I’m “Miss Anna.” That, and hearing employees at restaurants and stores as “honey” and “darling.” It’s charming. I love it. I feel so much more whole. More whole than I could ever imagine. Still not completely whole due to how much trauma I live with, but I actually do feel somewhat whole, as in, I don’t feel completely empty anymore. I never thought that was possible. I thought I was doomed to a life of empty meaninglessness. Now I’m not. It’s so freeing. Everytime someone calls me “Anna” I feel free. I feel so much more alive. I for the first time have a sense of who I am. I’m actually discovering myself finally. Being a woman has given me a life I never dreamed possible. I’m thankful God saw fit to make me a woman. While being trans has been extremely hard, I could never give up being a woman. If I were given the choice to be a cis man or a trans woman, I would still pick being a trans woman. Being a woman is who I am. It fits like a glove. I know myself for once.
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AuthorHi! I'm Anna, a currently transitioning transgender woman! I started my blog "Ramblings of a Trans Woman" as therapy for gender and identity issues and abuse from my parents and church. Hopefully, someone else out there can get something from this. If you want to talk, just get in contact with me, there's plenty of ways how and we'll discuss the best way to talk! Archives
June 2022
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