phase two

here I am again – sitting at my desk, spooning out cottage cheese from its convenient snack-size packaging onto a flavor-adding pool of balsamic vinegar dressing, sitting at the bottom of salad remnants in my zip lock tupperware. this has become phase two of my great weight loss effort. I’m wearing my tranny outfit today – khakis, brown shoes, brown socks, and a tigher-than-I’m-really-comfortable-with fitting polo shirt. if I could have my way, I’d travel in time back to any given era where it was hip to be completely baggy all the time. I know wearing baggy clothes makes you look larger than you actually are.. but there’s something to be said for being comfortable. not like my polo shirt isn’t comfortable – but looking at myself in a mirror wearing something that’s clinging to my skin (in my own sense, most everyone would say that it “fits” me), makes me uncomfortable in said clung-to skin.

see, in an effort to really figure out where my body-hating issues are coming from, I’m starting in a place that has always given me issues – my weight. I figure, if I can tackle that first, then reassess after I’ve made a dent (I’ve made a 22 lb dent so far), then that will hopefully help me put my gender-related body issues in better perspective. do I hate my body because it’s a woman’s body? or because it’s a fat body? or because it’s a fat woman’s body?

with phase two under way (phase one was 0-15 lb loss), gender issues are still in my every day thoughts. they’re more muted, yes, but they’re still there. I struggle with the fact that when I hope to be thinner, I hope to fit into all the men’s clothing I currently can’t pull off. things about my body, like my hips, will always be an obstacle to men’s clothes fitting me the way ive always wanted them to. as I’m dragging myself to the gym every day, I walk into the women’s locker room and avoid eye contact with everyone inside. I get uncomfortable if I see someone walking around half naked. not because it’s weird to see another woman half-naked, but because I feel like I shouldn’t be in there. like I’m breaking some rule. that could just be the lesbian in me, though. I think about my breasts every time I unleash them from my work bra, only then to bind them back down in my sports bra. I catch glimpses of myself in mirrors while I’m working out. I wonder if other people in the gym notice that I wear a wedding band. I wonder who they think I’m married to. my shirt clings to me, my unshaven legs show when I hike up my sweatpants leg, my hair (confined to its ponytail) frizzes, my face turns red, and I wonder who they think said “I do”/”I wanna tap that ass” to me. I wish I could carry around a picture of my hot wife and explain.

see, and this is where it turns into self esteem and a weight issue, more than a trans issue. if I could be running on a treadmill in shorts, with tan, thin legs (perhaps even shaven), and a tank top, with sweat running down my back (in that sexy way), this blog might never exist. I suppose this is why this blog still exists. cause I’m afraid I won’t ever know if I can be that girl in a tank top, much less if I could be that boy in soccer shorts with his shirt off. it’s only fitting that I finish my diet coke and make my way down to the gym – part two of phase two.