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Today was an adventurous day for me.
Over the last few weeks, now that my church has allowed social distanced services, I’ve been going to church in an androgynous/feminine style. Very little makeup, longer hair, skinny jeans and girls tops. Sometimes I wore a bra with a bra pad. Sandals. I was getting more and more obvious, and more and people knew about Lorie because I had been telling more people. But there was still a large contingent of the people I would see there who didn’t know.
So I invited them to my Gender Reveal Party on FB. I’ll post the letter in a separate post. I posted the letter on FB as a custom post inviting only friends that I selected. I received some amazing letters of support. No negative thoughts were posted.
Come that Sunday, I wore a lovely blue broom skirt and an eyelet lace peasant top. I didn’t wear a wig, going with my natural white hair that I’m growing out gradually.
I was surprised how calm I was, though there was a little bit of nerves running through my body as I stepped through the door of the sanctuary. Keep in mind that this church is called a spiritual center, not a church, and there has recently been a Pride flag and a Trans flag installed at the front of the sanctuary. Yet, it felt like I was still putting myself out there vulnerable and fragile.
Everyone was nice, of course, no special mention was made. It’s hard to read expressions when everyone is wearing a mask! One friend was just looking at me in the eyes, and I stopped and explained my gender. We exchanged emails later and he was able to share some of his own story as a gay man.
After the service I started on my way home and stopped the car to walk around in the local park, look at the flowers, stretch my girly (shaved and tan) legs, when a cis-woman friend invited me to another park to see the explosion of flowers on display there.
When we began walking around, as the sun got higher, hotter, and more humid, some sprinklers were watering the gardens. Two little girls, maybe 3 and 4 yo, were running back and forth in the spray. The flowers looked particularly colorful there, so I decided to take a picture, and include the girls in the shot.
The mother standing by began to call to the girls, “Girls! Come over here, these ladies want to get a picture.” I could barely contain my glee; I was a “lady!”
It may have been the skirt, but I didn’t care. What mattered was that some stranger was acknowledging me as a woman whether because I looked like one or because I was clear about my intention.
This is the beginning, and the beautiful moments that say, “I can do this. I own it.”
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