Presentation
Presentation
Last year my employer embarked on an initiative to improve presentation skills company-wide. We broke into groups of ten or so; ran through some training courses; and culminated things by each preparing a ten minute presentation on a topic of our choosing, to be delivered to our colleagues via video conference.
I was already out with half of the people in my group; so I figured this was as good a time as any to out myself to the remainder and to that effect prepared a presentation on the subject of transgenderism.
(It’s probably worth stressing at this point that I had been on HRT for a while at this point; and while the outward effects were minimal, internally it had realigned my brain and I was now all about being out; consequences be damned.)
Come presentation time, there were three people ahead of me. The first was the head of the customer service team, who delivered an excellent sermon on the subject of climate change. She was followed by a sales executive, who covered the importance of giving back to one’s community. The third was an intern from a musical family and sharing their passion.
(Impressively, he transitioned between his slides in such a way as to give the impression that he was flipping through pages of sheet music.)
Then it was my turn.
Alas, due to time constraints, I had neither prepared an accompanying PowerPoint, or practiced my presentation, or even put together anything bar the scantest notes taped around my monitor.
I launched right in with: “Today, I’ll be talking on the subject of transgenderism. This is a topic that is near and dear to my heart, because - as some people here already know and the others have most likely surmised - I am in fact transgender myself.”
(This brings me to two interesting asides:
First, I was dead wrong: nobody had deduced that I was trans.
Second, that human beings commit certain facts to memory in relation to their acquaintances - such as gender - and unless explicitly given reason to, will not update this information. I had bangs, pink streaks in my hair, and I was wearing a mint green top imprinted with a delicate floral pattern; and yet it was apparently still a surprise to some that I was not, in fact, male.
Both of these things were audibly confirmed when one audience member gasped into their microphone.)
I then proceeded to explain the concepts of gender identity and dysphoria; the pain the latter had brought me (having been actively suicidal as a teenager and passively suicidal as an adult); the process of transitioning and the many different parts involved.
Each presenter was given a few minutes afterwards to answer questions and solicit feedback. I opened the floor to my fellow group members, and our West Coast sales exec chimed in to let me know that she admired my bravery, and that she had my back. I was not aware at the time, but I had brought her to tears during my talk.
(This was apparently a common theme; several of my colleagues - including a number that already knew I was trans - had cried during proceeds.)
The course presenter then opted to postpone the next presentation to a later session, wryly noting: “There’s no way anyone tops that”.
In the following days I received emails from each and every person in the group; reiterating their support for me.
This was, for me, one of the highlights of my coming out process; but also, a most surreal event. What I perceived to be an nervous, stumbling exposition (made all the worse by hormone therapy, as I experienced stage fright for the first time in my life) was interpreted by the audience as a courageous baring of the soul.
If there is one takeaway for me, it is this: I had spent the entire duration of my career at this organization - a decade and a half - in utmost fear that were my second side ever discovered, I would most certainly be terminated. When it came time however to reveal my authentic self, I received only unanimous love and support.
There is no joy to be found in the anxious what-ifs; only in what lays beyond those fears.
More Posts from Pamprinninja and Others
Nominally I’m not in the habit of reblogging (nothing against it; I just prefer to create myself) but Nick is not only an incredibly talented artist, he’s also an amazing human being and deserves so much love!
Collection of Nick Robles Nightcrawler, for…uhh…art reasons.
Signal
Several friends of mine have recently switched to Signal as the messaging app of choice; in significant part due to privacy concerns with other messaging apps (specifically, those owned and operated by Facebook).
Now, I’m not hip to the intricacies of said privacy concerns; however, after using Signal for a bit, I will note the following:
Pressing the enter key does not send your message (unlike, say, WhatsApp). It just adds a line break. As someone that writes particularly long messages, I cannot stress what a game-changer this was for me.
It has the most comprehensive spell check dictionary I have ever seen in any application, ever! I cannot stress how tremendously frustrating it is for me to use a word like ‘tremendous’ in other applications and have it redlined! (Point in question: Signal recognizes ‘redlined’ as a word; Firefox does not.)
So: if, like me, you write ridiculously long messages filled with needlessly prolix vocabulary, perhaps Signal is the app for you.
After many attempts, I was able to record myself playing the piano. I had only been playing for about three months at this point.
For the curious - the audio was transmitted from the 1/4" headphone jack of my Yamaha P-71 to a Behringer U-Phoria UM2 audio interface, which in turn transmitted the signal to my laptop. Video was from a Logitech c920 webcam, suspended by a hilariously rudimentary wooden dowel armature.
(Alas, the webcam was primarily designed for video chat; hence the constant auto-focusing. Purportedly there is a Logitech utility for disabling this feature.)
I've mentioned before my newfound propensity for stage fright. Apparently this carries over into video recordings; despite the lack of audience and my complete control over the recording environment! The human brain is a strange and silly thing; regardless, it took about eight hours of attempts before I finally got an acceptable take...
Back in the day, in the pre-HRT times, I found it tremendously difficult to connect with my own emotions. One of the few ways I could do so (at least, partially) was with the accompaniment of appropriate music.
For me, Any Other Name was a quiet, contemplative piece by which I could access the piercing sadness, the constant hurt, that punctuated so much of my early life. I have at times dubbed it a 'suicide song'; although this is perhaps a misstatement: it was by listening to these gentle notes, that I was able to release that pressure and stave off a dark fate.
I no longer require the service of this incredible musical work; but I will not forget it in a hurry, or the tremendous aid it rendered me.
Oh no
I was doing my progesterone shot last night and the plunger in the syringe got stuck 20% of the way in. I really put some force behind but, but it wasn’t moving and I was terrified that if it did suddenly give way I’d dump the entire contents of the syringe into my thigh in a split-second.
(I’m not sure of the exact ramifications for doing so, but my nurse practitioner was quite clear during instruction that this was an undesirable outcome.)
I really didn’t want to toss the rest of the progesterone (it’s not like I had more on hand), so I withdrew the syringe and switched to a fresh needle. Poked myself again, depressed the plunger, and...
...The syringe got stuck again.
As classic “Well, what the hell do I do now?” scenarios go, sitting there with an immovable syringe sticking out of your thigh has to count pretty highly, I reckon.
I wiggled the plunger a bit and applied more force than sensible, and finally the damn thing overcame whatever the resistance was and immediately dumped half the load (so I guess I will find out why that’s a no-no in short order). Everything proceeded smoothly from there.
I’m still nonplussed as to what the issue was. A manufacturing defect in the syringe itself perhaps? Some kind of sediment in the progesterone blocking the barrel of the needle? I have no idea.
I just really hope that this doesn’t happen again...
Update 1: I talked to my friend about this and her first go-around, the needle disengaged from the syringe while it was in her leg. OMG!
Update 2: I had more soreness than usual but was otherwise okay; so I’m guessing that firehosing half the dose didn’t do too much damage, thankfully.
Unexpected HRT side-effect #8
Skittering!
Strictly speaking I started HRT on year ago; but my endocrinologist didn’t want to go full-throttle with dosages until he had established that doing so would, in fact, not cause me to die (which seems perfectly reasonable).
It really wasn’t until around... April-ish?... that my levels actually got to where they needed to be; and the moment it happened, it was like a switch in my body just flipped.
Then I started skittering around the apartment. I would bounce off the walls! Dance in the kitchen. There was shimmying. Oh so much shimmying!
I told my spouse: “Sorry, I don’t know why I do this. I guess it’s just a thing!”
I’ll never forget their response: “You don’t need to apologize. It means you’re happy.” Beat. “I’ve... I’ve waited so long for this. For you to be happy.”
Of course, this does rather make it sound as if the preceding years were spent in unspeakable misery, and this was not the case. It might be accurate however to say that I spent a lot of time giving my love to others and never reserving any for myself. Undoubtedly there are greater acts of loving oneself out there; but I figure committing to turn one’s gender upside down is up there!
Here’s to my newfound physical expression of joyousness!
A year in review: 2021 edition
Tracking my transition progress!
There have been lots of big developments this year: I returned to the office as Lauren (the last and biggest social hurdle); began trauma therapy; attended CONvergence in Minneapolis; started my journey as singer, piano player, and guitarist; and gained new friends.
For what was in many respects Pandemic Year: Redux, it’s been a productive time. (Although the way 2022 is shaping up...)
Dresses
Each year my company celebrates Christmas with an all-employee dinner. I greatly enjoy socializing with my colleagues, but I’ve always found these events a bit overwhelming and have tried to dodge them where ever possible.
Not this year however! I am out, and very much planned to celebrate in style... Which, of course, did not happen (what with there being a very disruptive killer virus on the loose and all).
All the same, I bought myself a delightful Christmas dress - I was particularly smitten with the lacy sleeves. So imagine my confusion when it arrived, and instead of getting the dress on the left:
...I received the one on the right (sans sleeves).
Two months later, I realize that these are in fact two entirely different dresses and that I had mistakenly ordered the second one on the insane assumption that the brand only carried the one sangria-colored number.
I... am not a smart girl.
Delightfully, they still had the original dress in stock (and only in my size to boot); so I have one winging it’s way to me now!
Gardasil
During my last check-up, I got my first shot of the Gardasil HPV vaccine. The administering nurse did mention at the time that it would sting; and I say that she lied, it is only in the sense that the sensation was closer to what I would describe as a tremendously uncomfortable burning.
(I've accidentally achieved a similar effect when injecting my estradiol, by giving the alcohol I swab my skin with insufficient time to evaporate before inserting the needle.)
I did some research afterwards to see if there was an explanation as to why the vaccine had developed this reputation; the manufacturer indicated that the discomfort was the result of "Virus-like particles" in the vaccine content (which strikes me as a cop-out if ever there was one).
Today was my second shot; and playing a hunch, asked my nurse to try injecting the vaccine slowly. This was hardly a scientific test, but she kindly agreed and the injection experience was definitely more tolerable.
I am most certainly not medically trained; but I was instructed by my endocrinologist's office to administer my own estradiol and progesterone shots as slowly as possible. (My takeaway was that injecting a sizeable amount of fluid into a muscle at high speed causes unnecessary trauma to the surrounding tissue.)
Conversely, I've noticed that vaccine administration is usually done extremely quickly - I assume in part because the amount of fluid injected is much smaller; and also to minimize the length of the procedure. (You really don't want the patient to get restless and move while the needle is still inserted...)
It appears the Gardasil vaccine might utilize a larger amount of fluid; and a thicker medium, also. These things being true, I can see how rapidly injecting the stuff could be a lot more unpleasant versus most other vaccines.
So: if you're getting the shot for yourself, or for your loved ones - maybe ask the administrator to go slowly?
Clint Eastwood
Last night my spouse hit me up with one of their best impressions. With the most gravely, world-weary voice they could muster, they said the following:
“I want to do a Clint Eastwood impression, but... ...Turns out you need to know... ...Some of his lines.”
I love them so much!
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