Farewell 2025

 So that was 2025.

To be honest, I won't be unhappy to see it go, though I worry, both globally and domestically, what it bodes for 2026.

I can't remember how 2025 started but it definitely ended on something of a mixed note. L had a couple of days out in the week running up to  New Year that gifted me some much-needed Susie time, although in both cases a late start and a mid-afternoon return precluded the opportunity to get out, even for a quick walk. Unfortunately L had a bad fall at the end of the second day and arrived home shaken and in obvious pain and spent the evening and most of the next day, New Years Eve, nursing a bruised knee and side, which rather put a damper on seeing in the New Year. 

  

(err, yes. One day when I'm feeling a bit braver I might try explain the thing about the overly girly white tights. Part of it comes from growing up as a teenager in the 60s and the Mary Quant/Biba thing at the time.)

Make do and Mend.

I picked up the belted polka dot dress above as a charity shop markdown just before Xmas and only noticed later that it had a slit almost up up to the top of the thigh on one side. That seemed just a bit too racy unless you wanted a flash of stocking every time you sat down, so I broke out the sewing kit and reduced it to a more modest mid thigh slit.

I've had the blue dress for as long as I can remember. Originally it had a high collar which was getting a bit too tight so earlier in the year the repair kit came out again and I removed the collar and converted it to a V neckline which felt far more comfortable.

***

Up to that point, though, much of 225 had felt like it had been stalled in a holding pattern as far as Susie time was concerned, especially compared to the 2024, with the buzz of euphoria after taking part in  Witney Pride for the first time as Susie and revealing that side of me to a number of work colleagues (admittedly in the relatively safe space of the company Pride Network). L also took several extended trips during 2024, gifting me a number opportunities where I could spend several days at a time (in once case almost a week) as Susie, during which I took full opportunity to get out as much as possible, including a visit to Blenheim Palace.

 

In contrast, opportunities for similar extended periods of Susie time or getting out during 2025 have been few and far between. 

There was one in early February where I released my inner domestic goddess. I enjoy cooking and the opportunity to let Susie take over (even if it was sadly only for one) was too good to miss. 

***

By May I started to realise Susie's stash was starting to take over more than half the closet and an ever-growing pile at one end of the spare room, resulting in a cull  of 'unsuitable' clothes, shoes and boots (some of which I'm now starting to regret) and two or three black bags being donated back to the local charity shop, releasing space which has inevitably started to refill, despite a self imposed moratorium of buying any new frocks. A resolution that lasted at least a couple of months, but which I technically broke by buying an white lace jumpsuit (not actually a frock) when I saw it marked down in a sale. Unfortunately the lure of sale racks, and a quarter of an hour wait near a charity shop where every item is marked £3 or less while waiting for the bus home from work hasn't done anything to keep Susie's stash under control.

Interestingly, both Lynn and Sue, who I shared this photo with remarked on what they saw as a nice combination of the shoes with turquoise tights even though the latter were definitely grey when I fished them out the bag and put them on. Obviously a trick of the camera, but I had to agree which set me off on a hunt for a pair of turquoise tights. 

Age, infirmity and illness (both of us) and weather managed to conspire against any extended Susie time through much of the second half of 2025, although my photo gallery shows one local outing to a local park during September. 

(L mentioned we'd just completed our 640th jigsaw puzzle - she's been keeping a count since lockdown - which will give you an idea of the busy social whirl we lead at Susie Towers, which otherwise largely revolves round Saturday coffee mornings and the monthly book and collector fairs at the local church. Not that either of us are particularly religious. We started as volunteers for the monthly book sales some years back and it's now become a bit of a focal point for our social life in village.)

***

Partly as preparation for an increasingly deferred retirement (something I really must sort out in 2026) I reduced my work week to four days with one other day set as working from home. That at least gave me a few brief periods to dress for a couple of hours at home (albeit with one eye on the clock) if L went out during the morning, something I came to thing of as 'microdosing'. (She would often phone before lunchtime to let me know she was on her way back, so I don't know how much she was aware of how I spent those mornings. I suspect so, and this was a way of avoiding any embarrassment for us both.)

A Visit from the Tit Fairy?

Things sort of settled into a holding pattern in the second part of the year, although a referral for a walk in X Ray after I reported chest pains send me back into the clutches of the NHS, something I have managed to avoid for years, and eventually to a diagnosis of high blood pressure and a course of of pills to try and bring it down. 

One unexpected, but by no means unwelcome, side effect of the latter appears to be a little more squeezable flesh up top than I've been used to. Unfortunately some of that spare flesh also seem to have migrated to my tum, which I'll have to watch.

Take care, and I hope you have a happy and fulfilling 2026.

Two in the morning

 

I reach over over and switch on the lamp.

“It’s nearly two in the morning for Christ’s sake. Two questions: who are you, how did you get in and what are you doing here?”

OK, three questions. Perhaps I shouldn’t have had that last glass of wine.

But once I am able to focus properly I already know the answer to the first one. The other two are going to take a bit more working out.

I look over the girl standing by the door as she tugs nervously at the hem of the too-short dress and fiddles with her hair. She looks both scared and elated at the same time and probably just as bewildered as me. I recognise her of course. She’s younger than I remember and wearing far too much makeup. When did I stop using blusher? The wig – a cheap and overly shiny Halloween blond bob – is a giveaway. And the too-thick eyebrows. She hasn’t quite found herself yet. She will. My heart goes out a bit.

“Are you ...me?” She looks a bit shocked. Understandable I suppose. It’s not every day you meet your older self. Then again it’s not every day that you take your first brave and tentative steps outside the house dressed to the nines late at night, hoping that no one will notice you or, worse, call you out as anything other than just a woman out walking, but also wanting to be noticed and seen as a woman. I need to point out the paradox of that to her, but to be truthful I’m still half caught up in that mindset all these years later. I decide to take the initiative. “I think we need coffee, don’t you?” She nods. Can imaginary visitations from the past even drink coffee? I suppose we’ll find out. She may well be wondering just the same about me. To be sure, I’m not sure which of us is dreaming who. If indeed one or both of us are dreaming this. I pop into the bathroom on the way to the kitchen and check myself in the mirror. When did my eyes start to get baggy and my jaw drop? It’s hard to tell under under the amount of makeup the younger me is wearing. Has she even found out about contouring yet?

I place a cup of coffee in front of her. At least I know how she likes it. I wonder how much I should tell her about what’s to come. Will it make a difference or change anything, and if it does what would mean for me? Will I still be the same ‘me’? Or will she (or even I) remember any of this afterwards, or experience a Men In Black memory wipe once she leaves? This is what a lifetime of reading science fiction does to you. Not that I’m tempted to go around stamping on butterflies. Especially the one sitting across from me, barely out of her chrysalis.

I wait for her to speak first. After all, I already know and share most of her story.

“How long?” she asks.

“From you to me?” It's August 2024, so just a couple of weeks over 9 years”.

“You look older obviously, but more confident and sure of yourself.”

“Compared to you, or how I remember being you, yes, I’m in a fairly good place at the moment. It’s not perfect and it’s not always been an easy road, but we’ve got through it. Finding friends we could talk to and confide in was a first step, even if only online, and a set of labels (trans, bi-gender, gender fluid) that finally fitted how we felt. And starting to learn not to worry – or indeed give a f**k – about what other people might think when they see you, and accept that if they have a problem then that’s theirs, not ours. That was really liberating.”

“So do I go out more?”

“Oh yes. Not properly for a while yet. There’s a bit of a rough patch to go though first, and then the world will get and feel very strange for a couple of years, but once you’re out the other side of that things will start to look up, especially as you get more confident about yourself and your ability to blend in. One of the keys to that is to pay attention to what other women are wearing and try not to draw the wrong sort of attention. That short dress and those heels for instance - especially when out unaccompanied after dark. I know,” I hold up a hand to forestall her. “You’re worried you won’t pass unless it’s dark. Don’t be. You don’t. I don’t. We’re tall, my posture and walk is wrong and I probably give myself away the moment I speak. We’re still working on that. But you know what? No one really gives a toss. And if they read you and peg you as trans, so what? There are some definite advantages to being older. You become socially invisible. Most people don’t give you a second glance or seem happy to treat you as you present. You won’t get many wolf whistles as a 50 plus woman, but a cheery ‘love’ can give you a buzz for the rest of the day.”

“Although,” I add, jealously, “you do have better legs. They won’t look quite that good again”.

“Maybe”, I muse, “I should visit you instead so I can have your body and my confidence.” She has the grace to look alarmed. “No, we’ve both seen Invasion of the Body Snatchers. And not without a good dose of jealousy, although neither us ever understood quite how the heroine ended up swanning around the desert in that in that gorgeous evening dress after being taken over. Perhaps even aliens have an inner drag queen.”

“On the other hand I have gained a bit more flab over the last few years, so with a bit of help I can almost fake small tits and a bit of cleavage. We’ve always wanted to have breasts, through experimenting with those pills wasn’t such a good idea.” She smiles, nods.

“But please, for our sake, don’t make a habit of going out dressed on your own late at night. It’s not really safe.” Perhaps I should warn her of the scary feeling of being followed late at night, feeling someone still behind you whichever way you turned, but she’ll learn soon enough and it’ll put a stop to many more night time jaunts,

“And at home…?” The question hangs unspoken.

“No, that hasn’t changed. But we’ve learned how to compromise, and give each other time and space to do our own things, even if this is one thing we still can’t share. I still wish, of course, though not without much real hope. It would be nice (big understatement) to be accepted rather than merely acknowledged and tolerated. Birthdays and Christmas can still be tough. Outside the house, though, I can be a bit more open, less guarded.”

“Do other people know about you/Susie/us?”

“A few. It means not always having to pretend or cover up any longer any, which is a relief.”

“How many? Who?”

“Sis initially, then big brother. Not mum though.” I don’t say what provoked that first drunken coming out. It’ll be too much to cope with. I’m not sure I can reply on the MIB memory wipe thing, and there are some thing you shouldn’t know in advance, especially family bereavements.

“Two or three people in fandom who we’ve known for years. I think you can guess who. Then three people on the new Pride Committee at work when I first joined. Rather more now since I attended the last Witney Pride March as Susie. The family don’t know about that one yet, though.”

“You did what?!”

“I thought it was time I lived up to the slogan on the company’s Pride t-shirt -“Bring Your True Self to Work’. OK it wasn’t work exactly, but we had a banner and a place in the march as one the sponsors, and a stall at the event. Although nothing’s been said about it since.”

She’s starting to fade a bit and go transparent. I can see part of the wall behind her. Her coffee remains untouched.

I’m aware I’m talking to much. But there's so much to tell her. To reassure her.

“Listen”, I say. “It’ll be alright. I’m -you’ll be – happy. Or if not happy, content. Just stay away from TERFs and right wing politics and media. Not that I need to tell you that. There’s an anti-trans backlash coming. It won’t be pretty. But real people will have a lot more important things to worry about than whether the unusually tall woman walking along the canal path or in a park, shopping or waiting at a bus stop is trans or not. You’ll do all of those in time, and more. Though you still need to be wary of teenage girls in groups. On their own there’s no problem, they’re usually too busy looking at their phone to even notice you, but in groups of three or four they seem to develop a collective t-dar that can result in odd looks or giggles that can be a bit unsettling. Older women, though, are quite happy to chat to you at a bus stop or in a queue without giving any indication of anything amiss.”

“T-dar?”

“Sorry. Trans radar. It’s a term I picked up from a friend. You’ll develop one of your own because we are constantly watching people around us for clues as to how to try and fit in. You can’t help it.”

“You’ll have good days. Euphoric ones even. Ones you’ll look back on and remember fondly. You’ll have a bucket list of things you want to do as Susie and see a lot of those ticked off. Days out in the park, visits to art exhibitions, museums and church sales, tea rooms, shopping.”

I open the phone and scroll through folders of photos of Susie out at different times and places.

“Wow. That’s quite a lot. I see what you mean about dressing down when out. That little red number would attract all sorts of unwanted attention.”

“Outside of our private fantasies, yes.” We haven’t changed that much it seems, though it now requires a longer stretch of imagination from my perspective than it would from hers. In 2015 she could still get away with something that short without her internal critic muttering something about mutton and lamb.

“And as someone pointed out recently, as a group we are notoriously prone to self documenting. But then so is almost everybody else now on social media. Posting photos is a mix of holding on to and preserving the good times as well as looking for a bit of validation or reassurance. Plus, it has to be said, an element of narcissism.”

I point the phone at her and take a quick snap.

“That’s strange.” She’s not there. Not in the photo anyway, although I can still see her sitting across from me even if I can see most of the wall behind her now. I’ve heard of camera shy (try getting non-Susie me in a group photo) but this is taking it to an extreme. Struck by a sudden thought, I turn the camera around a take a quick selfie. No, I’m still there. I wince a bit and delete it. Not that this really proves anything. Dreams have their own peculiar logic. If this is a dream. I can never remember my dreams anyway, except as short disconnected fragments. And aren’t ghosts supposed to be scary and bring dire warnings rather than appearing as nervous figures from the past looking for reassurance? Or is it me that’s looking for reassurance, that while not perfect, things have actually turned out to be OK after all, or at least something I am reasonably comfortable with? It’s nearly three am now and my brain really isn’t up to this.

She’s almost disappeared now. I wonder what will happen when she’s finally gone. Which of us will wake up and remember any of this?

I can still just about see her. I’m tempted to give her a hug before she goes but I don’t know what would happen or whether it would freak her out. And then it’s too late.

“It’s nearly two in the morning for Christ’s sake”, I hear someone say before the room floods with light.

*****

This was partly inspired by an article written by a friend of mine about an imaginary conversation with her younger self in a dream. Then though my Tumblr page is long deleted my account seems to be still active and sent me an email to remind me that Susie turned 9 on the 18 July, around the same time I started this blog, and the two came together and set me thinking about what had happened in the time between then and now.

xx

S

Witney Pride (slight return)

 One of the few photos posted on Witney Pride (Witneyhaspride) from last month's parade that doesn't make me cringe.

I am rather jealous of the propeller hat that the kid in front of me is wearing. And the Pride leggings of the kid behind me for that matter. I did see some in a charity shop a few days before the parade but they were size 6 or 8. Shame.

 

(Photos from GRH Vision, posted on  Witney Pride's Facebook page)

Happy Pride Month to everyone.💓💛💚💙💜

Susie does Witney (Pride)

 

If you clicked in hoping for a version of 'Debbie does Dallas' then sorry but you're probably better off looking elsewhere. Besides, I'm far too old for that sort of thing.

Last year I went to my first Witney Pride. This year my workplace decided to help sponsor the event and also have a stall there.

Since I'm approaching retirement, this year might well be my last opportunity to take place in the parade under the company banner, and so about a month back I put out a tentative feeler to a couple of people on the workplace Pride Network about the possibility of attending as my other self. And having got an answer that they were happy for me to come as whoever I wanted to be, that threw the ball back firmly into my court. That just left the logistics of how I'd manage it on the day, given I had to keep my plans secret from my partner, who would definitely not be on board, plus the strong possibility that I would chicken out at the last moment.

Come the day, I leave the house in morning with a suspiciously bulging backpack. Why does Susie need so much stuff to get ready? Other women can throw on a simple top, long skirt and sandals and leave the house looking fabulous. We part time girls need a small armoury of shaping, padding and squeezing, not to mention half a Boots counter of cover up and contour. And, given I'm about to meet my colleagues for the first time as Susie, a pair of Big Girl Pants.  Eventually Susie emerges, nervous as hell, and I make my way down to the Leys to where a handful of volunteers are setting up our booth before the march. Somewhat disconcertingly  Sarah recognises me instantly.

We spend an hour setting up and chatting with people in the neighbouring booths, helping assemble giveaway pride flags (red at the top) and then it's time to walk back though town to the meeting place for (after what seems an inordinately long wait) the start of the Pride march through Witney high street back down to the Leys. 

First Pride as Susie, and the first time I've outed myself like this to anyone in the workplace. Nobody batted an eye. Although the next week or two might prove interesting when I'm back on site.  Shame about the company t-shirts this year. Grey is so not a pride colour. I should have brought some face paint. And in keeping with tradition I managed to lose an earring somewhere along the march. 

Party time. The band onstage are the KokRoachez who did a rather fine set of pop/indie covers including a nice version of Garbage's 'Stupid Girl'. 

In Thru the Out Door

 When you realise that you now own most of those items of women's underwear that you looked at furtively in your mum's mail order catalogues as a confused and troubled ten year old.

Followed by the sobering realisation that you now need them them as essential shapewear to hold everything in place, rather than as curious and exotic objects of desire.

there will now be a short intermission...

What?

Yes, I know. Ten months between posts is rather a long time.

Real Life rather got away from me since the last post back in August and I didn't feel up to blogging about anything until it all settled down.

For a start, there has been been - and still continues to be - almost a year-long hiatus over time as Susie for the whole of the winter and pretty much up to the start of this August. Although for a long period, that wasn't the the main thing on my mind.

For a start, my father was diagnosed with untreatable cancer at the end of last year and passed away a few weeks later.

After the funeral I stayed over at my sister's a couple of times to give her a hand looking after Mum. On night over dinner she confronted me about why I had always appeared distant and apart around the rest of the family. So I came out about being trans/ bi-gender and that I had felt that way (even if I didn't have the words for it back then) as far back as I can remember. I don't think it what she was expecting. In fact I learned that people in the family had long speculated that I was gay, but were waiting for me to come out.

I don't know whether I was more disappointed or relieved that the subject was never mentioned again after that night, as if a door had been opened and then just as firmly shut again.

That feeling of limbo persisted until June, when I posted a photo on FB where I had taken part in the second Pride Day at Witney where my workplace was helping to sponsor that year's march. That post prompted an IM from my brother, asking if this was me finally coming out, and after a bit of hesitation and continued prompting I finally came out to him as well. 

(" You look a lot better as a woman" was his comment. I'm still working out how to unpack that, even if it is something I've thought since I took my first selfie as Susie.)

Which is where we are, at the moment. Two of my siblings now know, one doesn't (as far as I know) and neither does my mother. Opinions are divided over whether that is a good or bad thing.)

I did eventually get a few days to myself at the start of August, but the weather decided to be typical of an unpredictable British Summer, which meant it rained constantly and heavily apart from one day, which was the day that the gardeners working in the neighbouring garden knocked on the door to get access to our garden to cut back the branches of an overhanging tree. Luckily I was still in male drab at that point, although I had been looking forward to some time out as Susie later. I do wonder what would have happened if I had already changed. Would I have been confident to open the door as Susie, or pretended to be out?

blurring the borders

An email from Tumblr reminded me that Susie turned 8 in mid July.

Actually, I now think of that initial period of 2015-2016 as a bit of a false start, albeit one that allowed me to reach out and build some confidence online.

Susie as a person in the real world, or at least outside the confines of the house, really started in 2019 (see Back in Black https://susie-sometimes.blogspot.com/2021/05/). All though that period I was careful to the point of paranoia about keeping Susie completely separate from my day-to-day self. Both had different email and FB accounts with no overlapping contacts, used different browsers, mostly in Incognito/Privacy mode when using Susie's accounts. Even then, male me would sometimes get some odd and surprising ad suggestions which indicated that the behind the scenes separation wasn't quite as complete as I hoped.

What changed was that in 2020 I found myself on the committee of a new UK Pride Network chapter at work, where I had originally signed up as an ally. Coming out as a Pride ally at work and letting other people draw their own conclusions as to how far that went removed a lot of the stress of trying to keep that part of my private life completely separate from work. In due course, on one TDoV, I introduced Susie to other members of Pride committee and even allowed them to meet Susie online (this was in the middle of lockdown) although I chickened out of later attending Witney Pride as Susie. I regret that now. Maybe next year.

Somewhere around the same time I came out to a couple of other people I'd known for a very long time, and then, as mentioned above, I came out to two of my siblings. So even if I'm not fully out, the lines of separation are now starting to blur a little. And you know, it's a relief not to be constantly worrying about hiding myself after all those years. Who would have guessed that would come from a diversity and inclusion initiative at work.

xxx

Susie

TED Talks- on transgender identity and experience

There are a number of inspirational and thought provoking talks on the transgender identity and experience as part of the online TED Talks series at www.ted.com.
In his talk, How I help transgender teens become who they want to be, Norman Spack outlines the importance of modern techniques early intervention to delay puberty to give teens time to decide who they want to be.

Alice Dreger asks is anatomy destiny? and discusses her work with people at the edge of anatomy, such as conjoined twins and intersexed people, and wonders why, despite the evidence, the medical profession is still fixated on binary either/or concepts of sex and gender, and for whose benefit?

Transgender pageant queen and model Geena Rocera tells why I must come out after keeping her birth-assigned sex a secret from her colleagues and even her agent for years, “not because I thought what I am is wrong,” she says, “but because of how the world treats those of us who wish to break free.”

On the TED talks blog site, a series of 7 talks on the transgender experience to celebrate International Transgender Visibility Day on March 31st features talks by speakers from across the tg spectrum, including retired ex-CIA employee Alice Miller, model Geena Rocera and documentary film-maker Fox Fisher on how his own transition helped to kickstart a mission to help tell the unique stories of gender-variant people. 
Other talks are by Valentijn De Hingh, who has rejected the idea of the binary gender divide to become comfortable with her identity, the founder of Sirius XM satellite radio, Martine Rothblatt, and a fascinating talk by scientist Kate Stone, which isn’t primarily about gender (which she considers the least interesting thing about her) but is a demonstration of the various applications and toys she builds from conductive inks. Watching this, and struck by Stone’s obvious joy and enthusiasm for her work when she demonstrates a handful of music making apps, including a full functional DJ deck on a printed card, my first thought was “I want one of those.” And the second one was “I want her job”.

Back in the jug agane

How do you explain to someone what the problem is when they have made it clear to you that the very subject that lies at the heart of your mood swings is a topic that off limits?  Something that might be alluded to occasionally - often with a put down comment that make you want to retreat further back in your shell – but that can and will never openly discussed between you.

The thing I can’t get my head around is that L has been there, come out the other side, and now lives as the person she wants to be. Far from understanding, accepting or tolerating my need to dress, she finds constant opportunities to belittle it as something kinky and ‘pervy’.

 “There are also transsexuals who dislike transvestites as well as homosexuals. Intolerance can be found in strange quarters.” 

Harry Benjamin. The Transsexual Phenomenon.

 

 Saddening, but absolutely true. As cross dressers, we are sometimes seen as the pond-life end of the scale not only by mundane women and men, but also by some transwomen who, having struggled to arrive on the far shore, can be more militant in their intolerance and dislike of ‘mere’ TVs than born-that-way women.

Sometimes we can be our own worst enemies.

This definitely seems to be the situation I find myself in. L knows about my need to dress – has known all along in fact, since we first met – but has always rebuffed and deflected any attempt to discuss it openly. She certainly doesn’t want to be involved in or confronted with it, or meet Susie.

I should be grateful I suppose that at least I’m spared the problem of coming out to her, and as long as I’m reasonably discreet, I don’t have to find hidden corners of the house to hide Susie’s clothes in secret.  Which is starting to be a problem as I tend to shop as a displacement activity when I'm denied the opportunity to dress, and she probably now has many clothes as my male self (and far more shoes) and running out of places to put them.