In Celebration of My Receding Hairline

Today I’m celebrating the hairline no one wanted, the receding corners by my temple greys, the forehead that expands everlastingly… During this quarantine time I’ve been simmering like stew, noticing the cavalcade of feelings surrounding the wide and deep chasm between how I feel and how I’m perceived.

I’ve been fighting since age 7 when I was told to put a shirt on for no other reason than my box-checked [penis/clitoris/glans-head] size. This country wants my body covered in specific ways for the comfort of the patriarchy, for the survival of rape culture, and for the unfair and power-hungry led economy. Though I had no puffy areolas nor breast tissue at the time, my flat undeveloped chest was a ticking timebomb some commander sent troupes to disengage. I was instructed to start minding society. The directive was clear: listen to the songs pointing out differences between “boys” and “me”. Develop an us-and-them narrative, that I might start solidifying my rank within the camp for which I was assigned. Start playing different games, perceiving different things, enjoying/celebrating/existing as/finding pleasure in everything and anything: differently. These pills that I was expected to obediently and unquestioningly swallow from that day forward though, made me angry.

Furious.
Beside myself, grieving.

How dare this community mandate I remove the pleasure of the sun from my back, my chest, and my shoulder blades?!

Many of your values, United States, have never been remotely close to mine, though we also share so many of the same. Your limits upon the civil rights of some were not and still are not about me nor any other marginalized body. They had nothing to do with my little a-gendered physique or budding egalitarian heart and mind. This was true then and is still true today.

30 years later I began hormone replacement therapy (testosterone), and little by little I started to see in the mirror a wonderful vision form: the me I’ve had in my mind for many years, a person inside who most of you had probably never noticed, or even knew how to see. 30 years is a master’s journey in the making…

So many “drag” costumes became my daily clothing in those years. It was characters of mine who taught me how to dress ~ male, female, object, other… for decades my art intuitively shouted louder and more articulately than I knew how to consciously say, especially about how much I wished I could be acknowledged and understood for the me I am inside. My character-acting career had been a pressure release valve I’d installed at the age of 11, and which I hadn’t realized I’d been so deeply, regularly utilizing.

In these past three years on T developing secondary male sex traits (including a gloriously receding hairline), I’ve gotten to stare in awe at an emergent face I thought I’d never get to see without paint and stage lights demanding. They start the kids out so young, you see, swallowing pills, learning lines, playing with toys/games/jobs they’re told are “appropriate”, and giving up the ones they’re told “are not”. It’s common that at some point in life the only accessible image in the mind of who we think we are—who we’re even supposed to be—is one put there artificially.

This is violence to little bodies.
Burden upon tiny hearts.
Stress upon growing minds.
To assimilate.
To unlearn how we perceive even our very own secret and sacred selves inside.
To wave the white flag and succumb to injustice gracefully.

Adolescence comes and we quake in nightly horror at what happens to the body naturally. We learn to control these bodies over anything and everything. We often forget what we dreamed of becoming. We let go of our passions, or they’re stolen from us by a stealthy media-run machine which cares only that we participate in the system and the always-scheming economy—that we keep IT going. “This life is expendable”, we’re told. “It’s just the way things have always been.” “Boys will be boys.” “She asked for it.” “They stepped out of line.” “They wouldn’t participate and so they got what was coming.”…

I’m grateful I’m able to live my best life today, one where when I look in the mirror I see the echoes and lines lifting me up in this life. I can see each of my ancestries iterated behind THIS face and THIS body. I am not the women who came before, and I am not the men, nor am I the few unnamed fence-fuckers for whom I am legacy. I am made up of each of these bloodlines, each of these bodies, each of these ancient voices singing battles, triumphs, fears, struggles, loves, lessons, and meanings for their lives which lead irrevocably to mine.

My face is both and neither: a dish done at least three-ways. My character is viscerally, vulnerably, authentically showing, and for the first time no mask has been donned—they’re off and away.

I am not passing.
How incredibly, joyously, free.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

My writing takes time, research, and consideration: it is my art.
Please help me continue by joining my Patreon campaign, Donating, or booking a professional or educational Session with me. Thank you!

Better with Time

I intern weekly at an herbal apothecary, and had a sweet interaction the other day. An older gentleman was checking out, asking questions about some herbs, and then shared a bit about his experience as a man who was estranged from his father for most of his life. He spoke with compassion for this man who had not been a good father, but who he had learned to befriend later in life. As his father grew old and needed care, he cared for him. This man spoke about how he could see the young child in this toothless old man father, laughing at silly things in the hospital as he circled closer to death. He spoke about how much he still learns and discovers about his father’s perspective and journey, and with how much less complication he feels love for this man, even after death, as he grows older himself. He sees his father more and more clearly in the mirror.

I have a not-dissimilar relationship with my father. It’s been fascinating growing to understand parts of that person as I get older. It is not through spending time with him (an option I don’t readily have), but through a better understanding of my own evolving self. I see and feel the parts of me that are like him more and more as time moves on.

We are all connected.

We are each capable of hurting others and of being hurt ourselves. We are all capable of forgiveness—a state that at the end of the day benefits ourselves most deeply. We are all capable of learning something new about another person’s perspective, struggles, journey, and life choices. We human beings are not our behaviors, but our behaviors are what we have between one another. Behaviors are the messengers through which we communicate, connect, disconnect, or flag each other about what a relationship between us will look like. Behaviors are learned, practiced, often in need of updating, and also under our control for the most part. We become different people as we grow, change, and shift our practices throughout life. We are not our behaviors, but our behaviors are our legacies. We can invest in doubling down and never letting another person in, or we can face discomfort during confrontation and questioning, and we can adapt, grow.

The function of family throughout life is such a strong and relentless challenge. Family dynamics run deep. One may be able to put space between themselves and family, but those people, your family members, are always there in the world somewhere and we don’t forget them. Family, in all its frustrating, painful, loving, abusive, nourishing, chaotic truths, is ground. It is Earth. It is where we come from, and where we always refer back to as we grow. We search out new families in life—especially and prolifically do the queers, marginalized people, people without traceable/available families, and those without relatives nearby. Finding people to bond with outside of shared DNA is important for all beings. We seek out the families we want to belong to, and the families we want to help create. When we create new families we also recreate ourselves. Part of this seeking is departure from the language we first learned in order that we might learn new tongues, see more of life’s big picture, and establish ourselves in our own image apart from our origins. We belong to one another as deeply as we belong to ourselves, and so we must change from where we began, even as we cling to (or cannot shed) much of our primary teachings.

Many animals, when they hurdle through pubescence, leave home to find another pack. Humans are no different in this respect, especially in our modern era. Animals find another family to join and they establish their own bloodline, still connected to the past. Mixing bloodlines keeps the lineage healthier, more viable.

Mixing bloodlines keeps the lineage healthier, more viable.

This concept in today’s world seems particularly suitable for meditation. What world would we live in if we never left home? What if we were never exposed to other families and ways of being? What if no other cultures or traditions were able to influence and inform our own experiences and interests?

We know the short answer to this. Demographically, the spots on Earth where we see the most diversity in cohabitation (urban areas, especially urban areas with international influences), have a tendency to boast more liberal and progressive communities. Healthy exposure to differences stimulates an open mind. One cannot un-know what they have been exposed to, and it is isolation which leads to ignorance (“ignorance” is an interesting concept to think on, especially when linked to the idea of: to ignore). Education that accurately represents the entirety of the world in its lesson plan allows for students to negotiate a larger portion of the planet comfortably. Travel makes the world smaller and easier to understand. Our behaviors change and update as we come to understand a larger spectrum of perspectives. This is one reason reading improves empathy—it offers exposure to different walks of life without ever having to leave home.

Screen time is a double sided coin in this respect. It’s too easy to point a finger at the screen and blame or praise its worth. The person will always dictate what is wrung from any experience. What is the quality of one’s time with the world at their fingertips? Does one choose the fast food equivalent of never leaving their own region/town/house to navigate their basic needs? Do they have questions and skim through only the first answer they’re provided with, assuming it’s the hard and fast truth? Does one seek out multiple answers from multiple sources in order to better understand the subject they’re looking into?…

We are all connected. Like cells in a living organism, we represent one, yet affect all.

With that thought I wish you a happy Winter and Holiday Season. May your time with family, chosen or of origin, be illuminating and offer you more to work with than you had yesteryear. It takes humility to become a bigger animal. May the new year see each of us expand and grow.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

My writing takes time, research, and consideration: it is my art.
Please help me continue by joining my Patreon campaign, Donating, or booking a professional or educational Session with me. Thank you!

To a Day of Thanks and Mourning

TDay is a hard one for me. I don’t celebrate it for plethora reasons. Family is one of them. Today commemorates my break-up with the born again Christian missionary contingency of my family when I was 15 in an incredibly humiliating and painful scene — a family which still (to my perspective) refuses to speak with me because I ask questions, do not adhere to religious authority, and live my life as authentically as I know how. My marriage to someone of the same sex years ago was an issue, I’m sure my gender is one, I’ll bet being a kink writer and sexuality educator etc. counts. I know that calling out hurtful behavior and asking for a conversation a number of years ago broke the camel’s back and has resulted in radio silence since. I usually spend this day alone, and feel the freedom and weightlessness of quiet resilience when I do. I’ve had the experience of being deeply triggered in the past — thankfully I think I’m past that intensity of emotions.

I’m not telling you this so you can feel sorry for me. I’m sharing my experience because this day is a complex one. It’s a day of celebration and family gathering, and it’s also a day of genocide, betrayal, and much pain. It’s a day defined by the political spin machine which persists in its lies to this day. It’s a day in a week of advertised over-consumption between food and things (no coincidence that consumption is both nourishing and self-soothing — what stories are we nourishing, what fears and pain are we self-soothing?). I believe that until we can speak with one another about our differences, our pasts, our pains, and try to navigate through acknowledgement and acceptance of each person’s roots, until we learn to have hard conversations and take manageable steps toward peaceful coexistence with those who we do not understand (even sometimes those who have mistreated us), we will never celebrate anything as the family, the Nation, we could be. The American dream is not a picture perfect reality bought with dollars and social graces. My American dream is living in acceptance and celebration of the richness of diversity this land contains. No one of us deserves this land, it is not ours. We belong to the places we set down our feet and dreams, and we owe that land commune-ity. We will create and become the dirt of this place after death, which is a powerful acknowledgement, yet life was meant for the living — the beautiful, vibrant, multicultural, mutiperspective reality of our autonomous brains and bodies coming together to create better life and more life before the finality of each body’s return to earth. Love each other. Rise above pain. Be uncomfortable on someone else’s behalf instead of superior and steadfast in your resolve. Clay is malleable, as are our minds and bodies…

Back to my family for a moment… my cousin, the one my age, had a baby this morning. I heard about it from my siblings instead of directly from my aunt who no longer speaks to me. I still texted her congratulating her on being a grandmother and asked for my cousin’s number. I still wished her a happy thanksgiving. I’m pretty sure those things mean something to her, and though there is a hole in my heart from her silence from all these years, I prefer not to play into it or be victimized. I don’t know if she’ll respond. That’s ok. It’s funny that this day, of all days, I should reach out… appropriate I guess. Our lives are built in circles.

To a thoughtful day however you do or do not observe its gravity. We are all expected to reflect, today, on the meaning of where we come from. Perhaps this will lead each of us to more clearly know who we are and who we can still strive to be. Much love to you and yours.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Support my writing on Patreon. For one time Donations: Support the Artist or email.
This writing takes time, research, and consideration. It is my art. Thank you.

Age Verification: www.ABCsOfKink.com addresses adult sensual and sexual information, including imagery associated with a wide variety of BDSM topics and themes. This website is available to readers who are 18+ (and/or of legal adult age within their districts). If you are 18+, please select the "Entry" button below. If you are not yet of adult age as defined by your country and state or province, please click the "Exit" link below. If you're under the age of consent, we recommend heading over to www.scarleteen.com — an awesome website, which is more appropriate to minors looking for information on these subjects. Thank you!