The Things that Scare You
C/W: food issues, drug use, suicide
I am a trans woman who does stand-up.
I’ve got this joke about how I can’t afford vaginoplasty surgery, so I just won’t lose any weight so I can’t see my dick anymore.
Here’s the thing: it’s kinda true. I am nearly 40 years old. I am well over 6 feet tall, and I am super fat. If I gave you a number you would probably not be surprised. It’s big.
I don’t say I’m fat as a bad thing. It’s just a matter of fact. It also is a bad thing for me in a way, because it is the primary source of my dysphoria.
If you want my history of transition and my relationship to food, I’m not gonna bother. Just…no. Let’s just say “Heroic Dose.” And “Passive Suicide through unhealthy living.” That’s enough, isn’t it?
(Semi-) Nudie!
But then a peculiar thing happened when I did transition. I did something that scared the shit out of me. Well, besides transition. And the stand-up comedy thing. And the publish a novel thing. I guess I do things that scare me all the time because I am always scared, but this thing is special.
I got asked to do a Skinny Dip show, where the comedians take (most of) their clothes off during a comedy routine.
So, the day came and I was scared. I had been scared since I booked the gig. Beyond the normal “am I funny?” feels were the “am I worth looking at and doing this?”
I was literally sweating (being fat does at least that, I will freely acknowledge) and then I got on stage…
And I owned it.
I told my jokes and played with the audience and stripped…a lot of clothes off. Not all of them, but down to my undergarments. In front of strangers and friends, even. And, well, I didn’t die. Which was, in the words of Douglas Adams, widely regarded as a bad move.
I haven’t taken my shirt off in front of anyone that wasn’t my wife in decades.
I wore a headband, a mesh shirt, a pair of arm warmers, knee high boots, a skirt, a top…they all came off and I was standing in a bustier and a piece of shapewear to keep my dick from flopping out.
And nobody died. They laughed at my jokes and my swagger and, holy fuck, for a few minutes there I was happy. I didn’t get people falling to their knees and worshiping me. But I wasn’t treated as if I were toxic. Even as I stood there in my underwear.
SelfImage = SelfImage ++
I get told on occasionally on the internet that I am attractive. I don’t believe it. I believe, down to my core, that I am a gross mistake of a human.
What I see is not what others see.
I know I am not a sex worker or a stripper, but I felt something there. Something good. Something powerful.
I believe people on the internet when they say they think I am attractive. But, like everyone, I curate what I post and only the rare item gets put up. When nobody runs away from my half-naked ass, hugs me and says I did well, well, that goes a long way. Even strangers and peers, who have no reason to pity me or humor me in any way.
So I have to update my priors. Think that I am at least attractive enough to not be repulsive. In real life, not just a carefully curated selection of people.
And I can do the things that scare me. And having confidence in myself scares the shit out of me. It’s something I don’t have and those who know me often say is one of my most annoying features. Which is fun.
It will take a bit to get used to. But I hope that I get the hang of it. All I know is what little tastes I have had, I like it.
