I seldom remember my dreams, but when I do remember a dream, it is usually trans-related.
Overnight, I dreamed I was packing to attend a transgender convention. My mother was helping me pack and offered to lend me anything I needed.
Throughout the dream, I kept refusing whatever items she offered because I already had those items in my wardrobe.
Finally, she said with a knowing smile, “I bet you don’t have any of these.”
And with that, she revealed a storage area in the back of her closet that was full of girdles from the 1950s and 1960s.
That got my attention and as I began perusing the girdles to decide what to borrow, I awoke from my dream.
The dream interests me because I never confided in my mother about my crossdressing. I am sure that she knew, but she never brought up the subject.
Almost to her dying day, she often asked me if there was anything I wanted to tell her. At those times, I thought she was just trying to make conversation, but in retrospect, I think she was offering to lend a friendly ear.
I so regret not confiding in my mother. I believe my life would have been different if I knew my mother supported her “daughter.”
I am going out en femme Wednesday evening for a holiday dinner at a nice restaurant with some friends from the transworld.
