Sitting with my male co-workers yesterday, I couldn’t help but feel like a true space invader. While I have relationships, superficial as they are, I can’t get over the fact of this secret of mine that I can’t tell anyone – at least not yet. I’m not male, but I still occupy their space. I couldn’t help but wonder how they would, or wouldn’t, act if I were fortunate enough to be outwardly female.

Really, it’s not fair. It’s certainly not fair to me, forced as I am into a role I don’t want to play. It’s not fair to them either. Just as much, I wouldn’t assume the couch in the ladies restroom for fair game for me yet either. It’s not fair, that because of my body, the wrong body, that I’m forced to invade a space I’m not really a part of.

All of this is to say, I’m tall for a female. Really tall, WNBA tall. Actually it’s not that bad, there are females taller than me, including WNBA players, but my therapist was to the point when she told me “You’re going to be a big girl, you will probably stand out.” Oddly, I’m ok with that. Again with my WNBA references, and not to disparage the WNBA, but there are taller women out there. I prefer to acknowledge that I occupy supermodel range, though I probably shouldn’t wear heels either. Like dresses, though, the idea of heels is still taking some getting used to.

Despite my height, I have no aspirations of being a transgender activist or wearing t-shirts that say “Ask me about my penis” or some such nonsense. I don’t plan on total stealth either. I have too much of a past, as a space invader in manland, to pretend it never happened. I can’t shrink myself, at least not significantly, but I’m motivated as I’ve never been to lose weight and get into shape. I’m ok being tall, and given my choice, my goal is for a deep, though female voice. Ask yourself, would you expect a tall woman to have a really high pitched voice? Big women, in my experiences, seem to have big (deeper) voices. That constitutes my image of myself.

So I found myself sitting there, knowing that, for the most part, I will have spent thousands of dollars to mostly hang out in (cute) jeans and whatever top I happen to have on (t-shirts are fair game) and I’ll settle for people allowing me to just be myself. I am and always will be transgendered, just as soon as I declare it my “male card” will be seized and destroyed immediately. I can only hope that I am at least given refugee status as a female. Though, as I said, I’ll settle for the gender equivalent of Sweden. I’ll do my part, I won’t dress like Donna Reed when I shop for groceries, just don’t make a huge fuss about the big girl on aisle 5 either.