There’s a place for us.

September 26, 1957: Leonard Bernstein’s play, ‘West Side Story’ is first performed in the United States.

There is a song in the musical entitled, ‘Somewhere’. There are lyrics: “There’s a place for us, somewhere a place for us, peace and quiet and open air, wait for us somewhere.”

I am thankful that Crossdresser Heaven seems to be part of that ‘place’, and any place outside of the closet that I’ve built for myself for 41 years (I’m 52), is a good place to visit now and again. I can breathe a little easier here and stretch my legs, even if they are covered in hosiery—especially when covered in hosiery.

In 2005, my wife and children and I lived in a house in Appalachia that had an apartment built over the garage. The apartment didn’t have utilities, but it was clean, modern and safe—our children were small at the time and not able to access the lock to get in. It sat a little ways from the house where we lived and was the perfect little hideaway for me to be Melissa. I think I went by the name Laurel at the time, but who knows what name I will land on permanently; Melissa is working for now.

I had mostly lingerie then, and because I was in my 30s and cross-dressing still held at least a 50% erotic charge, it was a trunk full of Frederick’s of Hollywood. Sexy central! Loved it then—less so now. These days, practical fits the bill and though I still like the sexy stuff, I just don’t feel the need for it as I’ve aged, plus underdressing in a pair of fancy sexy panties for the day is less comfortable than a sensible pair that look cute enough.

That place above the garage was still a place of fear, even though it was locked from the outside world; even though it was away from the house; even though no one else had access to it apart from my wife—and she knew about Laurel/Melissa early on in our marriage. She has never said a derogatory thing about my cross-dressing. I know that is rare and that I am blessed to have her in my life. I do not take that for granted. No, the fear I had was of being my true authentic self—what if Melissa was more about being a woman, about identity rather than self gratification? What if I was gay? What if I wanted to be one of those people who looks a lot like a dude in a dress? What if I was the subject of violence and ridicule? What if I lost my job, my career, and my family? All common fears. All perhaps realistic possibilities for folks who venture out publicly: cross-dressing, or seeking gender transition.

Is it worth the risk? I guess it depends on the extent to which you can handle feeling dead inside. Morbid, I know.

However, it seems to me that this part of me is not going to go away, no matter how long I live. Hopefully, I’ll get another 20 or so years, but I could be gone later today, who knows?

I am gradually accepting that Melissa is not only a part of me that I must carry, but that Melissa is actually a place in myself that deserves as much love, acceptance and nurturing as the rest of me. If I can figure out a way to nourish this side of me without guilt, shame, or remorse, how much more complete of a human being will I become, now that I have found a place for me—and for her?

I’ve booked a makeover with a photographer about an hour and a half from where we now live—rave reviews on her website: Elizabeth Taylor in Maryland. I’m looking forward to seeing if any of the photos are ones I’d be bold enough to actually share on here as part of claiming space for myself, claiming a little corner on this website where I love me for who I am, that part of me who needs some air and light, that needs some love—like we all do.

I watched ‘Will and Harper’ on Netflix last night. It was moving, funny, gut wrenching, relatable, and overall encouraging. There is a part where Harper reveals she bought a home in rural California where she could go and dress as a woman and work as a woman—a place amongst ‘downtrodden’ others. She felt like she could be herself there and as she spoke to Will about it, she wept. I felt that sadness and pain of hiding and the fleeting moments of self-affirmation. But she has now transitioned. She is out and about, her place is no longer a run down home in a depressed place. She is out, sitting in lawn chairs with a comedy star best friend, drinking Nattie Light beer and falling into writing funny bits as part of the conversation. How beautiful. I hope you will watch it. It was a bit healing for me and it may be for you too.

This year, I will get to attend a Halloween party, dressed fully en femme, with my wife, in public for the first time—other than attendance at a couple of church support groups on separate occasions.

I am now in a place where I no longer hate myself for being Melissa. I no longer loathe the thought of enjoying the feel and look of women’s clothing. I am WAY less fearful of being out and ‘caught’ because I am now less likely to label cross-dressing as ‘something wrong’. I can’t say that there will not be risk if my work would find out somehow, this is still a realistic fear, but I am no longer content with letting this part of me be dormant.

I need to find a new place, and thankfully, here is a place for us.