Mass was at 9:30 AM, so I had to get up early to get ready. Shaved, showered, made-up and dressed-up, I was out the door at 9:10 AM for a 10-minute ride to church.
It was chilly, so I dressed for winter, not spring and wore my Venus plaid blazer dress, dark hosiery and Nine West black high heels, the same outfit I wore for my Christmas card photo. I skipped outerwear because I would only be outdoors briefly – between my car and the church.
The church parking lot was very full, but I managed to find a spot in front of the church.
Mass was about to start, so I did not hesitate and exited my car and walked quickly into the church. Inside, I found a seat about halfway down the main aisle next to a couple of middle-aged women (I assume they were mother and daughter).
I did not recognize anyone, but it is not easy to recognize people just seeing the backs of their heads. I am sure there were people I knew in the church having lived in town for over 40 years and being very active in a town civic organization. Anyone I knew would probably not recognize me (girl me looks nothing like boy me), however, they might recognize me as a trans person, so I did my part for trans visibility.
Being Easter, Mass was longer than usual and lasted to almost 11 AM. Exiting church, I exchange smiles with a lot of people and I recognized a few, but they were not people I knew by name – just people I’ve seen around town.
A priest said goodbye and shook my hand on the way out and I was quickly back on the road and back home 10 minutes later.
And so it goes.
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| Wearing Elie Tahari |
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| Femulating at the Kottankulangara Festival. |
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ReplyDeleteJohn, do you have an online platform where you post pictures/stories from your adventures/
DeleteNo, I don't have a blog. However, I do post regularly in skirtcafe.org.
DeleteJohn
That was a bold and brave move for visibility. Thank you and very well done. The family I come from go to church all the time and have a crazed, frothing hatred for trans people. I avoid them and their church. Sue x
ReplyDeleteCongrats to you for going en-femme to mass. Out here in fly-over rural America, I went to the Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Vigil services. I was with my lady friend and I not dressed of course. What I did observe is that more women wore dresses or skirts the closer you got to the Easter vigil service and with more women wearing dresses and skirts on the Easter vigil than pants. Doesn't matter; young or old, even my lady friend wore a dress (she never does normally).
ReplyDeleteWhat does it mean? Who knows? My guess it is a respect thing for placing their sense of "feminine self" in front of God. Especially during the most holy Catholic holy days. Otherwise, maybe a chance to dress up, display femininity, and at the same time satisfy their own feminine urges without having to defend it.
From Fly-Over Country
Angel Amore
In decades gone-by a woman not wearing a dress would have been turned away at the church doors. I'm talking about the 1950's in my heavily catholic neighborhood where no women wore pants any time.
DeleteI can remember when a woman would not enter church without a hat or some kind of head covering.
DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
DeleteSo can I, back in the 1960s & 70s my mother wouldn't dream of leaving the house in pants of any kind, especially to church. And a hat was compulsory. Danielle in Au.
DeleteAwesome. What else can I say? Stana, your blog is an excellent antidote to many of the headlines we're all subjected to on a daily basis. Thank you for that. :-)
ReplyDeleteAmanda Hawkins
Stana, I always think of you wearing short dresses or mini-skirts. Do you ever wear longer dresses or skirts? For example, would you ever wear something like that short-sleeved blue floral tiered-skirted midi dress in the picture today?
ReplyDeletePenny from Edinburgh.
I have a few long dresses. For example, see the image in the upper right hand corner of the blog today.
DeleteYou pass and look great in both the side bar photo and the post photo, but to me you look better in the longer dress. I guess it is just a question of personal taste.
DeletePenny from Edinburgh.
The Easter air hung heavy with the scent of lilies and something else, a distant memory I can't quite place. I sat crammed next to Sarah, a kaleidoscope of colors exploding from her Easter dress. Flowers danced across the fabric, mimicking the ones tucked behind her ears. Beneath the dress, layers of white petticoats whispered secrets with every rustle. Her white tights were as smooth as freshly fallen snow, disappearing into gleaming Mary Jane shoes that clicked a cheerful rhythm.
ReplyDeleteI was eight years old, a tangle of ill-fitting clothes and a heart overflowing with something I couldn't name. Sarah was a vision, a portrait of everything I wasn't – everything I yearned to be. My gaze lingered on her tiny flower-adorned purse, a symbol of a femininity that felt both forbidden and strangely comforting.
"I wish I were a girl," the thought slammed into me, a raw, desperate plea. Not just any girl, but Sarah, existing in that perfect world of Easter dresses and sunshine. I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing the scene unfold differently. Me, in a dress like hers, hair adorned with flowers, not the too-short mess I sported.
The booming voice of the priest shattered the image. He spoke of Jesus' resurrection, a story of renewal and rebirth. In that moment, a child's desperate hope flickered to life. Could Jesus work magic on me too? Could I be reborn, not as a boy, but as the girl I felt I truly was?
But the hope was quickly extinguished, replaced by a suffocating sense of shame. These were forbidden thoughts, a secret I had to bury deep within me. Everyone – society, religion, everything I knew – told me it was wrong.
But the desire, it wouldn't be silenced. It burned, a constant ember beneath the surface. Every stolen glance at another girl, every time I longed to twirl in a dress, the fire flared.
Growing up in that time, there were no words for what I felt. No role models, no community to understand. This burning desire became a lonely secret, a constant weight on my chest.
Looking back, the memory of that Easter Sunday is bittersweet. It's a stark reminder of the confusion and isolation I felt. Yet, it's also the spark, the first flicker of self-awareness that ignited a lifelong journey.
Today, as a transgender person, that burning desire has transformed. It's a flame of self-acceptance, a deep understanding of who I truly am. And while the path hasn't been easy, the memory of Sarah, and that yearning for a different Easter morning, reminds me of the strength it took to get here.
Yesterday I happened to walk past a large Catholic Church with my dog as people were arriving for Easter Mass. I noticed that many of the women were wearing dresses and skirts. I was certain that more did than on most other Sundays. It was a cold blustery morning and almost none of the women appeared to be wearing pantyhose.
ReplyDeleteI kept thinking that of course I'd wear pantyhose under my dress on Easter Sunday. In fact, I had a pair of pantyhose on under my jeans. Thinking that I had on hose while so many lovely women did not kind of gave me a thrill inside. Back home I put on a nice dress to spend a little "girl time: with myself. It felt lovely.
Happy Easter. Emily
Thank you for all you do for those of us who continue to remain - for a variety of reasons - invisible❣️
ReplyDelete