Boobs & Brains

I took a story. . .

Transvestism is about changing your clothes.
Transsexualism is about changing your body.
Transgender is about changing your mind.

Monica isn’t taking the route of reprogramming, of opening her heart to use the plasticity of her brain to overcome the compulsory gender training, that brainforming that everyone undergoes. She isn’t focused on reshaping her understanding of the world in a way that reshapes her choices, dropping her barriers and exposing her tender feminine heart, learning to be vulnerable and open hearted.

Instead, she is trying to reshape her relationship with the world by reshaping her body. She knows she will get a different reaction from men by inserting more plastic under her skin, by giving them the big boobs that they respond to. She knows that she will feel better armoured against the world with bigger knockers, imagining them to be the magic key to get more of what she craves, affirmation of her feminine heart.

“Soon we will go to Thailand together,” she tells me, “and come home with real slits, and then no one will ever call us men again!”

I resist her plan. I too crave being accepted as a woman  Not growing up in the world of women, I learned to see women as men do, with masculine priorities. In the past year, I have found that assimilating into the world of women, seeing womanhood as women do, has changed my choices and opened up womanly paths for me. I love being accepted as a woman by women, as it opens my mind and heart to connection in a way that I know changing my body to be a man’s vision of a woman never will.

“Don’t you want to be a real woman anymore?” Monica asks me. “Don’t you want to reshape your body and simulate a female so well no one will ever hold your history or your birth biology against you? I thought you wanted what I wanted! Why are you abandoning me?”

I want to be real. Like every transwoman, as a kid I dreamed I would wake up with a female body. I wanted a perfect sex change, the magic to hide what people focused on, the biology that gave me the challenge of being assigned a gender that flattened my heart.

What I have realized, though, is that I am real, that I have always been real.

No matter how much I would love to be more curvy and sensuous, being female in the world, fake boobs will not make me more real. If they only form armour for me to hide behind then they actually stop me from being receptive to other people, stop me from opening my own heart and showing all of me, including the parts that twist through conventional gender.

I can’t be a woman only on the outside, working to hide the truth on the inside. My womanhood has to come from my truth, from my feminine heart and has to reflect my genuine experience, or my expression will never be real and authentic.

Sure, I may choose to reshape my body, but I will do that for the same reasons any other woman does that, because it satisfies me, because I own my own body. I will not do it to try and build my shell more strongly, trying to create a puppet and create a false, external self.

Trying to explain this reality to my friend is very difficult. She has bought into the transsexual notion that femaling your body, cutting off the outward signs of male biology and cutting off the history of being pounded into compulsory manhood is the only way to really be a woman in the world.

How can I explain to her my new, revealed vision of the world where I see so many sad and needy transwomen who work so hard to sculpt their new puppet armour that it leaves their hearts isolated and bereft in the world? How can I talk about the futility of erasing truth and the joy of opening to receptive authenticity? How do I convey the power of seeing the world not as the men we were coercively trained to be, the men we thought have to affirm us as real women, but instead as women, people with open hearts and open stories, struggling to engage the tender, emotional, feminine power of the heart?

I know how to feel shamed by my imperfect body, but then again, every woman knows how to feel shamed by her imperfect body. We have all had to endure and compete for the gaze of men, letting them validate our femininity by their judging our sexual attractiveness, battling with other women to draw the most attention and affirmation.

My sisters have taught me that we are not our bodies, rather we are our choices, especially our choice to be open and loving and connected in the world.

As I see my friend flounce back from the women’s room, her implants jiggling with every step of her high heels, her fuchsia lipstick replaced to create a more complete mask of seduction, I see how separate she is from the other women in the circle. They have all surrendered any desire to be a princess turning the eyes of men to instead be full and complete women, coming from their heart and not from their looks.

I want to explain that experience to my friend, but that would require her to leave behind the notion that following her childhood dream to be pretty and transformed is the only way she will ever get her to being treated as a woman in the world.

The work she is doing to reshape her body is so much easier than the work I have had to do to reshape my brain, the scary, vulnerable work to silence the bear in the closet and get naked and plastic in the world, ready to be transformed by the power of sharing my experience and love in the world, by seeing and feeling the world with the power of my sisters.

Only women can help me become a woman, I have found, and they do that by letting the eternal power of women’s experience reshape each others choices so we move beyond pretty princess desire to profound woman love. For me it has taken being stripped naked, letting go of the defences I built while I pretended to be a boy and exposing my feminine heart to the forces of womanly wisdom to get where I am.

Until my friend exposes her heart rather than just hiding it behind a more shapely chest, she cannot find transformation beyond gender training, cannot transcend her gender history.

I feel so much for her, because I know that a tender, feminine heart beats under those new bags of silicone. I know why she finds it easier to chase the plastic image of being realistic to male gaze rather than the womanly image of being real, authentic and open in the world, being willing to be receptive to taking in and healing the energy of the world. I know why she wants to dress better rather than get naked better.

Being a woman, though, demands a lifetime of womanhood. The hot moments of catching a lovers eye is a small part of a woman’s life, but the sharing and respect and service is something that continues far beyond the experience of being attractive to the opposite gender.

How do I help change my friend’s mind while she spends so much energy wanting to believe that changing her body is the way to affirmation, affection and love?

People heal in their own time and their own way. I know that Goddess will keep giving her chances to learn, but she has to take those opportunities on her own. I can’t demand she start to do the hard work of letting go of her transsexual armour and exposing her own transgender heart. Transgender isn’t about concealing our sex, it is about revealing our heart.

My mind is changing, still struggling to own the womanhood that was denied me because people said my genitals were more real than my heart. The shame my friend feels about her imperfect exterior, her imperfect choices still plagues me, asking me to armour up, to bolt on big defences or even cut off errant bits that distract from my still vulnerable heart.

It is that heart, though, so long hidden under pain and anger, that gives me the divining rod to find my true and authentic path to a powerful, feminine presence in the world.

Everyone wants to go to heaven. No one wants to die. Unless we let the old defences die, though, we never get the new tender growth of spring.

I really, really wished my friends new boobs opened her to happiness, rather than just being another pair of factory made red shoes that dance her around the expectations of she-male porn and tranny-fucking. I see her tender and beautiful heart and dream of everyone else in the world seeing it too.

But she just isn’t ready to change her mind and trust that beautiful heart.

Bless her.