Being Transgender

Ten years and counting

It’s been almost ten years since I started my first blog. Looking at my first post, my anniversary is coming up on the 13th, a week from today. Though those first posts are no longer available to the public, I have the archived to peruse at my leisure. Reading them now, well, it’s actually pretty hard to read. They are filled with an anguish that is difficult to grasp. Ten years is a long time, and it’s amazing how quickly one can forget that kind of hurt.

I began my first blog a few weeks after the collapse of my first marriage. Actually it’s my only marriage, but it’s still technically true. I needed an outlet to put my thoughts and emotions into words, to let the pain spill forth instead of letting it fester and consume my soul. Writing became my refuge from my pain, and a deeply personal form of therapy. It helped me weather a very turbulent 2011.

My devotion to blogging was almost religious bordering on fanatical. I wrote constantly, several times a week. I keep writing, typing into the ether whatever troubled me and kept me up at night. I explored a side of me that I had kept under lock and key. I opened myself up like I had never opened up before. It was freeing and exhilarating.

I wrote about feeling hurt and unworthy of being loved. I wrote about pain and misery until it became almost pathetic. I wrote about the same things over and over because it was not possible to keep pestering people about the same thing day after day. Oh woe is me! My marriage ended. Aint it sad?

As with all things, I eventually moved on. In fact, I forced myself to move on. I focused more on the creative side of blogging, writing about my goals and writing short stories. I started writing book reviews for other self-published writers. I actually enjoyed reviewing books, although I don’t think I was ever really good at it.

I started other blogs, focused on other things. I started this blog back in September 2013 to explore this side of my personality. Eventually this became my main blog and my first blog began to fizzle out, although I still pay for the domain name.

I began to experience life as Stefani and I slowly started to come out to people. I discovered that I wasn’t being ridiculed but actually accepted. I felt a sense of relief descend over me. That which I had guarded for zealously no longer was my biggest fear. Sometimes I regret taking so long to come out.

All of it wouldn’t have been possible had I not started jotting down my thoughts that September night back in 2011. It was a long journey, to be sure, but it was a journey that I had to take. It’s sometimes fun to imagine what would have happened had I made other choices in my life. The only thing for sure is that I wouldn’t be here now. I have two really good friends, and not having them in my life would have made my life a little less bright and a lot less enjoyable.

I don’t write that much any more. The pain that drove me to write has completely vanished. That need, that compulsion has been lost through the passage of time. I occasionally write short stories, I still participate in Nanowrimo every November, but as for my personaly life, there isn’t much to write about. I just work and come home. Work and come home.

Work and home.

It’s a pretty boring life, but it’s the kind of life most of us have in some fashion. I do occasionally go out, although it’s been made all the more difficult with the events of the past year. Covid-19 pretty much isolated us all. At least I’m used to a solitary lifestyle.

I probably need to write more. I definitely need to write more. I still have the dream of finishing and publishing a novel. I need to pursue creative endeavors to give my life a sense of purpose. Everyday life saps me of energy and writing helps to reinvigorate me. I should also start drawing and painting again. That would be a good thing to do this year.

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