I'm the Transgender Soldier Our President Warned You About

Note please that jargon terms are linked to Wikipedia articles that explain those terms.

I'm not just transgender. I'm also a veteran. 28 years in the uniform of the United States Army, most of it as a combat arms Soldier. I've been deployed to combat multiple times.

Wait. A transgender Soldier? Yes. That's right. I was decently good at it, too. There are a lot of transgender military personnel in this country, serving honorably, doing amazing things. I've spoken with more than a few of them. They wear our country's uniform with pride, they hold their rifle, and they stand on the line between our citizens and those who mean our country harm, just like our other Soldiers do. I even know a transgender Soldier with a Bronze Star.

My wife says that I often downplay my military service. She's right. I do. I tend to avoid the spotlight. I don't like bragging about myself, though I'll gladly brag about her. She is concerned, I believe, that I might downplay who I am as a person too much, sometimes. So babe, just for you, here's my brag moment. My literary "I love me wall" (many military people have a wall that's sarcastically termed an I Love Me Wall in their home that displays their military accomplishments), if you will.

I have 27 months of combat time. I've seen a lot of horrible things. I've faced violence. I've been in difficult situations. My unit was awarded the Valorous Unit Award (the unit equivalent of the individual Silver Star) for our actions in Baghdad. I'm a graduate of the U.S. Army Air Assault School and the U. S. Army Electronic Warfare Operator's (EWO) School. I'm a certified military instructor.

I'm authorized to wear combat patches for the 1st Infantry Division and the 101st Airborne Division. I've seen men go outside the wire (off the base into the more dangerous areas) and not come back. I've had rockets and mortars and IEDs explode in close proximity. I've personally arrested and interrogated dozens of people who emplaced improvised explosive devices (IED's) or carried out or tried to carry out other types of attacks against our forces. I routinely qualified expert with my M-4 rifle. I've called for dustoffs in combat.

I've rappelled from helicopters, landed on an airfield under fire, fired cannons, and gone on dozens of combat patrols as the lead driver (the lead vehicle is in the most dangerous position and the lead driver is an extremely stressful position). I've hooked combat vehicles to helicopters in the pitch black of an overcast night, taken incoming rockets and mortars, heard my fellow Soldiers locked in a desperate struggle on the radio and anguished at the casualty reports, faced down a hostile crowd of about 50 Iraqis with just me and my driver in the middle of Baghdad in the middle of the night, survived a helicopter crash, held an armed IED in my bare hands, had shots fired at me, and found enemy weapons caches. I've literally stood on Saddam Hussein's front door, helped discover a tunnel complex, and chased a truck full of gunmen through the streets of Baghdad with a drone in the middle of the night. I've done SPIE, survived a VBIED attack, called in airstrikes and drone attacks, and frankly, did my part to rock the world, high explosive style.

I'm transgender. I am. But I'm not alone. There are thousands more, just like me. Literally thousands. Transgender. Loving America. Serving. Fighting. Kicking butt. Making a difference. Don't let anyone tell you differently. We're real!

In short: I'm the Transgender Soldier our President warned you about!

Shaving in the Men's Room

2017

I'm the brunette, transgender wife.

I Had to Try

I was in California, at a military base for a few weeks of training. Prior to traveling there, I was thinking I wanted to step out as more feminine while there.  No one there knew me, I was away from work, so it was a good time to try.  When one is in an area where no one knows you, it can be safer to try things that you can't safely try around your own community. Upon arriving there, I had decided that if I was to step out as more feminine, then I needed to do it right. So, I made the decision to shave my body while there. This is something I had never done before, though I had been shaving my legs for a year or so at this point. I was nervous about doing it and thought that I would probably not follow through. What if someone saw me shaved, and figured out the truth about me?

I already had what I needed to shave because as a Soldier I needed to shave my face. I waited until late evening and went to one of the more remote areas of the shower room. The showers were all together in a restroom, with each shower being individual, with wavy glass doors that distorted what was inside a bit, but not enough to totally hide anything. So, you really didn’t have privacy, but rather just the illusion of privacy. I will say that this is more privacy than one typically gets in a male shower room in the Army. 

I started showering. I was nervous. No, I was scared. I was shaking a bit. So, I took my time, because rushing while shaving can be a very bad idea, especially if your hands are shaky. In that barracks, hot water was nearly unlimited. So, I simply stood there and enjoyed the feeling of the hot water cascading over me, and tried to relax.

Calm Down, Already!

The hot water felt good. Finally, I had calmed down. I started to lather my chest and then got busy shaving. I’d never done it before, and had no idea which way the hair was growing, to know which direction to shave. I'd never thought about which way the "grain" went. I had to shave my chest three times, to get it right. That was a bit frustrating but at the same time, if you've ever shaved an area for the first time, the feeling of air moving across that area is exhilarating. 

Then it was time to do my armpits. That, for me, was a challenge, because there was no mirror to look in, and the angle was odd to view what I was shaving directly. So, that made things significantly slower. I was thus surprised to find a good method for shaving my armpits on the first try. So far so good!

I moved down to my stomach and shaved that area fairly quickly, all things considering. At that point, my upper body was done. Now I was feeling much more relaxed and a bit confident. 

Let me just say that many women never have to deal with shaving their stomach. But hey. One does what one must. 

Safe Territory

I lathered up my right leg. I was confident about shaving my legs because I had been shaving my legs for many months at that point. I had my razor in my hand and was just getting ready to start when I heard a shower nearby start up. I froze, and suddenly, right outside my shower, a guy was standing, wearing a towel, hanging his keys, and then the towel, on hooks.

The guy turned, and there I was, all wavy looking through the glass. He was pretty distorted, to me, and there was some condensation on the glass. That meant I was distorted too. But he had a clear enough view of my leg covered in shaving cream to be able to tell something was odd. I heard a muttered “What the hell?”, and then the guy got in his shower.

I heard him get busy showering, so I let out my breath and continued shaving. I got that leg done pretty quickly, all things considered. I enjoyed a moment of silent celebration, and then lathered and shaved the other leg. I stood there for a few minutes, letting the water clean off the remaining shaving cream.

Now for the Hard Part

I still had one area left to shave, that being my groin area, and I considered waiting until the other guy had left. I hadn’t been able to see his facial features, through the distortion, so had no idea if I knew him or not. I decided the best move was to get done. So, I got myself wet, and lathered up, and went for it.

I am trying to find the words to describe the simultaneous joy of losing the hair in the private area, combined with the fear of shaving the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong way. I’m not sure there are words. In the interest of not being crude, let's just say that shaving the genital area on a male body is not an easy thing to do. Nothing is smooth, nothing stays in place, and you have to be very careful not to cut anything, because as experience has since shown me, cutting anything in that area freaking hurts! It also tends to bleed a lot. 

I finally got done, and then realized that I was going to have to shave that area again, because the hair had been reduced to stubble, but no further. At that moment, the guy nearby banged loudly out of his shower. I nearly had a heart attack, I swear! He grabbed his towel, and dried off quickly. Then, without a comment or a look my way, he was gone. Good grief. 

I lathered up again and got to work. When I had finished, I remember standing there thinking that the only hair on my body was on the top of my head, my eyebrows, and my arms. It was a moment of exhilaration.

Thank God!

I rinsed off, making sure I got all the shaving cream off and then stepped out of the shower. I grabbed my towel and dried off as well as I could. I wrapped in the towel. and I walked out of the shower area, through the bathroom, and out into the hallway. Because the bathroom was off the side of what the Army calls a day room, which is a room with a TV and several chairs, I expected the guy from the shower to be waiting, to see who I was, but he wasn’t there. Neither was anyone else. Thank God!

I walked down the hall, wearing nothing but shower shoes and a towel, to my room. I hadn’t thought of it until I was writing this, but the towel was high on my body, tucked under my arms, covering my chest as well as the lower areas, rather than in the typical male method of wrapping around the waist. I didn't pass anyone. 

In my room, I got out my bottle of lotion and applied lotion to my body, because I knew from experience that my legs, anyway, would otherwise razor burn. I was amazed at how smooth my skin felt, in areas that had always been hairy. I went to bed that night feeling proud of myself, having achieved something I honestly hadn’t thought I’d have the courage to do.

What's in a Name?

2019

I'm the redhead, cis-gender wife.

On this journey of my spouse transitioning one thing I have noticed is that not only are pronouns important but her new name is important as well. I struggle with both at times mainly because utilizing the male pronouns and calling them by the name her parents gave her is something that I have been doing for over three decades. One can not stop using a name overnight that one has been using most of their life. But it is something that I am doing better with and will continue to.

One thing that helps is that my wife is understanding and supportive. She knows I try very hard. 

The name being important hit me recently. My wife’s mother was having an important medical treatment, and I was driving her to and from it. As I was sitting there and talking with her she would use my wife’s former, "male" name. I found myself falling into using it as well because I was hearing it over and over. She has made sure to use that name all the time since she was told my wife is transgender. But it didn’t feel right to me. It felt awkward and wrong. So I decided to change the tone of the conversation. As the conversation continued, I found I used my wife’s real "female" name intentionally and even used her name instead of a "faceless" pronoun.

It sounds silly that a name can be a big thing but it is. A name identifies the person for who they are. It is something that helps make that person who and what they are. I know when folks mispronounce or misspell my name it irritates me. So just imagine when a transgender person is being called by a name that they don't identify with at all. It can be heart-wrenching. It can also bring on a sudden battle with dysphoria. 

I find myself stopping and really thinking about what I call my wife. I love her dearly and want her to know she is pretty awesome. I am very intentional now on making sure I use her name. Our immediate family were all involved with choosing this name. Her name fits her perfectly. The least I can do is respect her and who she is by using her name. I know that when her parents use her previous name it grates on me and I really want to say something about it. I don’t because honestly, it would be a waste of breath. They don't accept her.

Did you know that a transgender person's former name (assuming they have changed names) is often referred to as a dead name? They have become who they really are, and no longer have to maintain the facade. 

I have also learned though that I need to be intentional in not only using my wife’s name but also the correct pronouns. True it takes time to get used to it but when one is intentional then it won’t be long before using the name and pronouns is second nature.

Not long ago my wife and I were in a store and we had gone to the atm to get some cash. The person before us hadn’t gotten all of his cash. My wife took the cash and went looking for the guy. I had seen the dude walk into the store and I yelled my wife’s old name across the store, to get her attention, so I could point out where the guy had gone. Didn’t even think about it. It just came out. She turned and looked at me with a hurt look on her face. 

Afterwards, I felt so bad. I still cringe when I remember this because her name is important and I need to continue to be intentional about using it. I also know in time that her name will come as easily as her old name did. 

What's in a name? Everything. Here's the thing. Use their real, correct name. Try. Every day. You love them. So do it. Try to do better, every day. I don't mean pressure yourself. I mean make it important to you, because it sure is important to them!

I'd Like To Introduce You

2019

I'm the brunette, transgender wife.

Recently, we became aware that a friend of ours, who had been studying and working toward becoming a minister, was going to be preaching his first ever sermon. His wife has been awesome toward us over these last years. She asked us to attend the church service.

Unfortunately, this is the same church I discussed in previous posts such as this one: Email From A Transgender Person and this one: Church Bylaws. But, we decided to attend the church service, despite our history there, to be supportive.

The service was much as we remembered, though a bright spot was that he did a really great job!

After the service, some people who remembered us from when we had attended stopped to say hi, and tell us they had missed us. One man who had previously been close to us was among them, and my wife asked him and another friend to step off to the side and asked me to join them. They asked what was up.

That's when she said it. No warning for them. Or, for that matter, nor me.

"Guys, I'd like to introduce you to my wife", she said. I was shocked. I hadn't expected that. But as shocked as I was, the two men were more shocked. My wife launched into a very brief explanation, told them what my name is now, and they said they'd like to talk more with us. Then we left.

She'd never referred to me publicly as her wife before. I looked totally composed as we left the church, but my heart was soaring!

* Note from the redhead cis-gender wife:  My wife had a big goofy grin on her face the rest of the day. I'm just sayin'.

Remember How to Walk

      

1982

I'm the brunette, transgender wife.

I was in high school, a Freshman. My brother was a Junior, and he didn’t want anything to do with me, at school. I was destructive to his reputation, he felt, and probably not unfairly. He had been in fights and had friends who were convinced that he was very manly. I, on the other hand, got along much better with girls, and not in a boyfriend/girlfriend sort of way. Rather, I just had several female friends.

Sometimes, Laughter Cuts

One day, I noticed that some older guys at school would snicker when I walked past. I had no idea why and asked this girl named Lisa, who was in some of my classes and I was friends with if she had noticed. She was a reasonably pretty brunette who always wore the most awesome looking tops. I had no idea where she shopped at, but she always wore stuff that flattered her. 

She laughed and said something like “I would think it is because of how you walk”.

What? What’s wrong with how I walk? I was surprised and asked her to explain. She just laughed and said I’d figure it out. I honestly didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

Though a freshman, I was already active in school events. I was on the soccer team, though honestly, I was a slow runner. I played chess, and was in the orchestra, and involved in the school plays and musicals. A few days after my talk with Lisa, I was walking to the drama room to help work on the set for the fall drama. At the end of the hallway, by the stairway that went up to the stage, was a large, full-length mirror. The hallway was quite long and descended in a slope. The mirror was at the bottom of the slope. I was plainly visible to myself as I walked down the hallway, and despite the distortion of the mirror at a minor angle to me, suddenly I noticed something odd. I didn’t walk normally.

The previous year, there had been this boy, an 8^th grader, in my class, who was gay. He had enough of the hazing and ridicule he had gotten, and had walked in front of a train, resulting in his death. Because people are cruel, he was mocked for committing suicide too. I had seen him around the school and had seen him walk, and it looked rather feminine all the time. I was shocked to notice I was walking just like he had. Shocked is probably an understatement. It had never seemed to me before that I walked more like a girl than like the jocks in class. Most guys seemed to walk the same, you know? Kind of a lumbering stomp.

When I had a chance, I asked Lisa again, had that been what they were talking about? She laughed and said yes, that was it. In a moment, I was on the bathroom floor in 6^th grade again in my head. For the first time ever, my brain wondered “am I gay, or something?”

The Man in the Mirror

You’ll probably find it amusing, but over the next several school days, in the evenings while working on the set, I would practice walking in that hallway, watching in the mirror, hoping no one saw me. I also watched a few different guys walking, and noticed the traits of their walks. Then I practiced some more. I was determined to walk like a man, rather than like something else. I learned to stomp, rather than step. I learned to take longer strides than I was used to. I learned to swing my arms differently and to hold my body rather still in the middle, so I didn’t look so feminine. Though it didn’t feel like me, I got pretty good at it, I suppose, though the end result was something a bit more Frankenstein than masculine, a hodge-podge of masculine and feminine walk that leaned more toward the masculine. I made a point of reminding myself how to walk, because the last thing I dared to do, wanted to do, was to be perceived as something, anything, other than masculine.

It worked because I noticed over time that those guys who had been snickering had stopped. I suppose they found someone else to make fun of.

By the time the marching band season started up my Sophomore year, my walk had changed noticeably toward the masculine. My dad even observed that I looked "very manly", as he said, when I marched.

This even followed me over into the military, where I had a unique walk that was a mix of masculine and feminine, a rather upright, too quick to be manly and too slow to be feminine. The woman who was then my girlfriend and is now my wife observed many times that she could spot me in an instant by my unusual walk.

But the overall result? Years later, I was still doing that. I walked intentionally. I reminded myself on an ongoing basis that I had to. 

I'm out publicly and don't need to walk in a manly manner to protect myself. Now that I am free to just be me, I still catch myself doing it sometimes.