So far, I have dated several men—many for a few weeks, some for a few months, and one, my first love, for over a year. I have not told a single one about my history. And, frankly, it's because I'm terrified. Just a few weeks ago in therapy, while analyzing the demise of my non-relationship with Glamorous, Gorgeous, & Wealthy Businessman, it hit me: This is the same fear that has haunted me all of my life. The same obstacle that made me cry my way through my first five years of therapy.
Because the fact remains that the biggest hurdle I faced when I decided to become a woman wasn't going under while a surgeon turned the parts I was born with inside out. It wasn't learning to own and operate my brand-new, $25,000 pussy. It was the bloodcurdling fear that correcting a glitch and becoming who I already felt like I was on the inside could mean I would have to live without love. Inner Beauty: What Men Don't Tell You
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I thought I had overcome this obstacle years ago, but sadly the fear persists. And I wish I could continue writing about how I have overcome it. I wish I could write further about how I solved my dating struggles. I wish I could say that I was able to create an opening in my life for a fabulous relationship that is enduring and sustaining. Yet, I am left with this horrible pit in my stomach. Do I belong on the Island of Dating Misfits? Am I doomed to either superficial, short-term relationships—while keeping my history a deep, dark secret—or a life of lonely spinsterhood? Intellectually, I can see how it would be possible for me to find a partner who is open-minded and fully accepting. Emotionally, I'm working my ass off in therapy to get there. I hope to report sooner rather than later that I've achieved this goal. Wish me luck please? I could use it.