Secrets of my soul

Physically, Tamsin is male. In her head, she is a woman. She tells Helen Harvey her story. - Taranaki Daily News | Saturday, 05 April 2008

Of the three women in the room, Tamsin is the only one sitting in a ladylike pose, knees together on an angle, feet together. Tall and slim, she is wearing ironed blue jeans, high-heeled black boots and a simple white top. Her tastefully applied make-up is finished off with a dash of lip gloss.

She sits forward on the couch, pushing her hands together as if praying, then clasping them. Over and over.

Her hands look slender and soft, the nails short, but manicured. They look like the hands of a woman.

When asked if her hair is hers, Tamsin bites her lip. She doesn't answer.

Of all the extremely personal questions thrown at her such as which toilets do you use (the ladies' if she is out as Tamsin) this is the only one that upsets her. There is a long pause. It's a hairpiece, she says finally.

Though Tamsin doesn't go to her job in New Plymouth as Tamsin, she dresses androgynously while there. Beautifully styled, shoulder length blonde hair would be a bit hard to disguise.

In her world, death threats come from family members, bullying is a daily event and depression a constant companion. Being anonymous is necessary just to keep safe.

The Taranaki Daily News didn't take any photos of her and her name has been changed. Outing a transgender woman could be dangerous.

Growing up in Taranaki, Tamsin was happy, bright and bubbly, maybe a little bit camp, maybe a little bit over the top.

"It earnt me beatings and hidings, because you stood out a little bit, your manner wasn't the same as everyone else, so you learnt to put that smile away, lock away that body language, walk with a heavy step instead of a light one."

As a result of being beaten up all the time, she shut down emotionally. That's probably where the depression stems from, she says. "You couldn't let out who you were."

Tamsin was four when she first started thinking something was not quite right. She remembers one wet weekend when she was eight that her mother took a brown box down from the wardrobe. Inside was her white wedding dress. The dress was unrolled a little, looked at for a few moments and put away. It held Tamsin spellbound.

"It was beautiful. I had a fantasy or a vision of me being a beautiful girl and being in it and laying it under my bed secretly. It was the only private place I knew. I imagined laying on those cold, cold floorboards, but feeling immensely warm on the inside."

It was a vision that jumped up and hit her.

Her subconscious was telling her something.

At school, she didn't fit in with the guys and the guys intuitively knew she didn't fit.

"I knew how I felt, but how does a five year-old come to terms with something that is taboo, that no one talks about?"

And there was no way she could share how she felt with anyone.

"They can take your soul and just dropkick it over the wall."

She had one friend at school who was a quiet sort of guy. But there were no friends out of school because she grew up in a strict, religious family and the weekends were taken up with family time and work with the family. It was an isolated life.

Her siblings didn't stick up for her at school and there has never been any support from her family. While she was growing up, her father was very distant, she says, old school. He was dedicated to the job, but not so dedicated to the family.

"But I can't blame Dad's absence for making me the way I am. It's nature, not nurture."

At conception, all humans are female. Several weeks later, hormones flood the foetus. Some research suggests that, at this point, the wiring in the brain sometimes forms a bit differently in some people, leaving the person with the body of one gender and the mind of the other.

The Human Rights Commission's definition of transgender is: A person whose gender identity is different from their physical sex at birth.

No medical person can diagnose a person as transgender, Tamsin says. There is no blood test. Transgender people have to diagnose themselves.

Tamsin can't remember ever feeling "like a guy". And there were uncomfortable aspects to that, especially when she hit her teenage years and had to start shaving. That was a "really dirty" feeling.

"How would any girl feel if she had to shave? It was like, yuk, I don't want to turn into one of those things, those male things. They are OK, but keep them at arm's distance."

Puberty is a hard thing for boys if they don't go on hormones, because their body starts to become more masculine, Tamsin says it's going in the opposite direction to their brain.

"That's why so many go through depression."

Tamsin had to keep who she really was hidden, though people could sense it.

"You spend your life living a lie, acting to put out the image others expect of you. You can't do that forever."

At some point, it all gets too much. Tamsin reached that point when she was 36 she is now 43 and her depression got worse and she realised she couldn't run from who she was anymore.

"I'd reached a crossroads. It was pretty much to live or to die. I thought, I've got to get help for this ... I was contemplating suicide."

Since Tamsin was a teenager going through puberty, she had believed all she had to look forward to was death.

"There didn't seem to be any other practical course. Live a good life, do your bit for others. Death would cure everything: depression, your feelings, the whole lot."

For some reason, she never believed she could pass as a woman or be accepted as a woman or even be accepted as a reasonable looking transgendered woman.

"But it's amazing what a little bit of slap does. Look at stars without make-up."

She sought out members of the transgender community in Auckland and met a woman who took her out in public, as a woman, for the first time.

"I asked if I could go to such-and-such a nightclub. Her reply was: That sleazy joint? I'm not taking you there. We'll go to the best establishments in Auckland."

It was fabulous, she says.

"I was a little bit nervous, but I was determined. I had to let out who I am. That was a really liberating experience, just passing in public."

Going out as a woman felt natural, she says. She was nervous, though, checking everything was right.

"I don't want to look like a drag queen, over the top. Every girl wants to look nice."

For the past two years, she has been taking hormones

"There were a few reactions at first, but I didn't notice anything really unpleasant."

The hormones have reduced her physical stamina chopping firework is harder than it used to be. Her facial hair has lessened, but she still has to shave, and fat has been redistributed around her body.

"These are real," she says of her breasts.

The hormones have also brought her a bit more piece of mind. She doesn't have so much of a battle with her body.

They haven't done much for her voice and smoking doesn't help, she says. But Tamsin speaks very softly and, for someone who didn't know her, her voice may be confusing, but not necessarily enough to give her away.

"And whatever sex drive I had, which was only physical, it was never in my mind, that's disappeared. I have no regrets about that."

The next step is to have sexual reassignment surgery. It is funded in New Zealand and about four operations are performed each year. Transgenderism is the only psychological condition treated by surgery, Tamsin says. People complain about spending the money, but she reasons money is spent on the methadone programme, so why not for people born with a condition beyond their control?

The options in Thailand and overseas are far better, Tamsin says. "It's affordable. The operation is a lot more refined. You can have cosmetic surgery done at the same time breast enhancement, whatever you want, in the same package."

That's the path Tamsin is thinking about taking.

The standard procedure involves penile inversion. The most sensitive parts from the head of the penis are used to form a clitoris for full orgasm.

"That maybe important to some people, for others it's not an issue."

About one third of transgender people are asexual, one third are homosexual and one third heterosexual.

"For some, if they can have sex with a man, it is a sense of acceptance as a women."

Others, such as Tamsin, are happy to be non sexual because, for them, the surgery is all about realignment of their spirit and their body.

Tamsin is happy not to have a partner. It is not about sex for her. It never has been.

She is not gay, she says. She has always known that. Being gay is about sexual preference. For a transgender person, it is about gender identity.

Tamsin is pleased with the changes that have come about because of the hormones. And she hasn't put on weight.

But, she says, every girl would like to look a bit better, so she is looking at a bit of plastic surgery in Thailand.

In the meantime, she is moving towards a new life where she can be Tamsin all the time and is making an effort to meet more transgendered people. Tamsin has just heard of three in Taranaki who are alone, so intends to contact them.

"I have only just started to realise how strong and how valuable a peer group is. Trans have usually got no peer group, no nothing. People who have a peer group should never take it for granted."

This is the reason Tamsin is sharing her story. She wants others in the same position to know they are not alone and a support group is being organised in New Plymouth.

The group will be facilitated by psychosexual counsellor and qualified social worker Jane McPherson, who has been working with transgender people for few years.

"My role has been to help people find confidence to be who they are.

"We don't know who the people are out there in Taranaki who need the support group."

And there are also safety issues, she says. They can't just come out at night or they'll get bashed.

Tamsin knows of four young guys who were either gay or trans who committed suicide. There was no one to talk to about the attitudes around them. Men need to realise she doesn't have anything contagious, she says.

"If you sneeze, they can't catch it. That's pretty much how they treat you like a leper."