Joanna, The Reader's Digest Version

[Guest Joanna Phipps]

I was born male, and given the name Jonathan by my parents; I’m not sure that things were ever ‘normal’ with me. Just when did I first suspect that there was something different about me? Probably in my childhood years when I found that I just didn’t have the same interest in contact sports as my peers. This extended through most of my formative years; my friends would want to play football or something, and I would either watch them or if I did play it wasn’t with the same spirit they played with. I enjoyed things like soccer and more peaceful pastimes, at my parent’s cabin I used to enjoy just being out on the water, canoeing, sailing or swimming, of course someone had to make sure we had the firewood laid in for the fall and being the oldest son that fell to me. 

I am sure that the pattern of heavy work followed me into my adult years when I found myself doing lots of what I refer to as hyper-male jobs. These would be intensely physical types of work, farm hand, lumber yards, auto wrecking, military, moving vans and the like. Needless to say that this employment history confused some of my family when I came out to them about my transgender status; it turns out that this is one of the many things that some transwomen do. I don’t know if it is because we try to prove our manhood by doing those kinds of jobs or just what the reason is but it is quite common. I also did the other thing which society expects of a male that is to marry and help bring forth the next generation. 

There were times I thought to myself, what is wrong with you, here you are doing what is expected, working steady plus you have a wife and kids; yet you are still depressed, still miserable and failing at every juncture. You need help man, however that was help I couldn’t afford and the government wouldn’t pay for. The reason for the lack of help was that I didn’t have any overt form of mental or physical disorder so they wouldn’t pay for any more than four sessions of counseling. If I thought I needed to see a psychiatrist I could get my family doctor to refer me but couldn’t get any help paying. This meant that even though there was state run health care I couldn’t see anyone because of other things. This also meant that any underlying issues had to wait until I found myself in an area where I could get help.  

Oddly enough that help didn’t come until I found myself in the U.S., a country infamous for its poor healthcare system. However I’m getting ahead of myself. Just what is it like to go through life knowing you are different but not knowing why and not being able to bring the feelings to your parents? Why was I not able to, or felt like I was not able to take my feelings to my parents? That answer is simple yet extremely complex; it has more to do with the dynamics and how dysfunctional my family was than almost anything else. My father had fixed and rigid ideas about how things should be in his home; even if they really weren’t that way he wanted everyone on the outside to think all was well and that we actually were the happy and well adjusted upper middleclass family that the fiction said we were.

I am honestly not sure how my father kept everything going, he worked two jobs and was a full time university student. My memories of him are of a man who was emotionally distant; a man who would rather freeze you out, when he was angry, than resort to any form of punishment that would have a definite end point. My late teen years were ones of drug use, drinking and for a while I dropped out of school. This last part was not because of any innate lack of ability on my part but because my life was a mess and I couldn’t see it getting better. Almost as soon as I was able to I bailed out of the house and set off on my own; by this time I’d had enough of my father and his stubbornness and other quirks.

The first time I left, yep I did more than once; it was to join the Canadian military. Once I finished with that I moved back in with Mum and Dad but my time of independence made it impossible for me to allow my father to tyrannize me the way he had before. This lead to us locking horns on a regular basis as well as, frustration, anger and recriminations on both our parts; I knew that there was no way we could both be under the same roof without one of us doing something they might regret later. Since he was not going to leave, I was the one who had to pack up and pull out, which I did. I hitch hiked out west where I got my first oilfield job, not that I knew anything about the oil patch or what happened on a rig. My boss was impressed about the my pack and the fact I had found my own way out there, what was so impressive about my back pack well for one thing it weighed eighty two pounds; I had carried it from Ottawa to Lloydminster Saskatchewan a distance of nearly a thousand miles. I stayed with the oil patch for nearly a year until political forces shut it down. 

 

I then was hired by a local farmer to help out with feeding his livestock and doing general chores around the farm. This lasted for a season or two until he sold off the farm and moved into town. That was the end of stability for a while; I drifted around not knowing what I actually wanted to do or where I wanted to do it. I odd jobbed my way around most of western Canada before settling in Edmonton Alberta. 

I stayed here for a number of years and got married for the first time, my wife and I had 3 kids together but I was still not settled or happy, the drinking continued and eventually the kid’s maternal grandmother stepped in and, in my opinion, stole them from us. The matter never went to court; we never had a chance to refute anything that might have been said against us. I stayed around the Edmonton area for a number of years and tried to maintain some form of contact with the kids from that marriage. However since they lived outside of town and there were times that my lack of a car made it difficult to see them. 

Their mother and I divorced after around ten years, by that time I’d had enough of the Edmonton area and was looking for greener pastures and warmer climes. During my separation from my first wife I had met another woman. She and I moved in together, at this time she was already pregnant, but not with my child. It didn’t matter to me that the kid wasn’t mine I had resolved to do the best I could for that baby and any others that we might have. What I didn’t realize was that the woman I was living with had severe mental issues and wasn’t going to be a stable mother for the kids. The other issue was my gender status, but I didn’t know this at the time. I was depressed, stressed and seeking escape from the hell at home in nearly any way I could. It shouldn’t surprise the reader that given her issues and my issues we would eventually lose the kids to social services. Mental health stepped in, and put her in a group home. I was asked by them if I wanted her back I said no. Frankly I’d had enough of the fights, arguments, recriminations, and abuse I suffered at her hands.

This brings us to my current relationship. She and I met online and spent hours and hours talking and getting to know each other. At the time she was in Australia and I lived in Canada; it got to the point that we were effectively running a family across about nine thousand miles. One thing lead to another, we agreed to marry and she moved up to Canada to be with me. I have, until now, neglected to mention that she had a daughter who had recently graduated from high school in Australia. Both of them are American Citizens and had the option of continuing to on to the US if things didn’t work out between us.  

 

Things went along well for several years, and even survived us moving to the US separately. She had to come down ahead of me because of employment. My visa was taking longer to process than we had initially hoped. 

We lived on the big Navajo reservation for a while, in one town where the nearest Wal-Mart was ninety miles away, but like everyone else we did the trip weekly for food, and other things which could not be had at the local stores. Living there was an eye opener, the reverse racism the hatred born of the abuses of two hundred years ago but still not allowed to be forgotten. Seeing how the culture worked when you found some who lived traditionally or nearly so. Learning how to look at and listen to the elders, hearing their words of wisdom born of years of living. Finally one day finding some form of acceptance with one family and being accepted as family. 

Then came the time where we live now that I described, to my wife, a really odd dream that I had. This one had me happy and content but the weird thing was that I was dressed not as a man but as a woman. This brought consternation all the way around. I didn’t think then that it was anything more than a really odd dream. My wife did buy me some women’s clothes, I think she was hoping that this was just a phase and we would soon get back to whatever normal was.

However this plan kind of back fired on her since it actually opened the floodgate to the underlying issue. I had been seeing a counselor and psychiatrist for other issues so I brought this up with them, we discussed it and I did lots of research and soul searching finally coming up with the diagnosis of Gender Identity Disorder. Like many diagnosis this one was not an end point but the beginning of a journey that will be detailed in this book. 

I will admit that my partner has always been at least partially supportive of my need to express the female side of me. In the early days she would help me shop but didn’t want to see me in any of the clothes. Once the diagnosis was confirmed and we had several wars over how things were going to look in the house she slowly came around and now is quite accepting of who I am.

[gennee]

Welcome to Laura's, Joanna. THank you for sharing your story. We have some similarities. I felt different all my life and never knew why. When I found out that I was transgender I was shocked to say the least. I am much happier now that I have accepted who I am and loving it. My spouse is accepting. I'm happy to see that your spouse has done the same. The best to you as you continue on your journey.

Gennee

[Cyndee]

Very interesting Story Joanna, I enjoyed reading about you this morning.

Peace be with us

Cindy -