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  • 14 Mar 2015
    Hi. I'm post purge, pre-shop. Tick-tock, tick-tock. During an intensive period of gender anxiety in September of last year I found the courage - or lost the battle, and contacted a Therapist with the intention to commence a conversation. Having never participated in therapy previously I couched my language with words like conversation instead of therapy, and resultantly the person I contacted felt she was unable to help me. That indeed, 'It might be dangerous for me'. So I looked up Harley Street clinicians who would provide pricely qualification and get me out of my shell, but then of course I didn't book. I know what I am. I don't think I need inflated rate qualifications to tell me the truth, but I do need guidance and listening patient ears, and probably a shoulder to cry upon. I need a moment to scream and release everything inside. I want to feel what it is like to let it out, to relinquish this f**cked up os-so British conservative reserve and experience a pulse, and in a heartbeat to feel an essential nourishment that is unequivocal, entirely necessary, absolutely natural. I'm post purge, pre-shop. Tick-tock, tick-tock. So I am lying awake and lying asleep. I am dreaming of reincarnation, and daydreaming of a facsimile, of how I will walk, talk and present and of the clothes that I will wear as I start again. I glance at fashion pages of web-sites of wonder, and stores that sell beauty or at least an illusion. I am growing my hair but do not dare and so also I am researching new wigs and wondering about the discretion of packaging. Purchasing hair-pieces for 'Fancy dress parties or invites to Hen-Nights' are lame previous excuses, so perhaps I'll just march in, stay upright and ask, 'Inverted Bob. Blonde. For a joke bloke'. Rubbish Bins are expensive I am now thinking.. I'm post purge, pre-shop. Tick-tock, tick-tock. What I need to do - as I scan the family diaries, is to arrange an opportunity to take the dressing up and away. To move from the nocturnal internal catwalk between bathroom and bedroom and open the door. I need to go out, to be with, to talk to and engage with. Any takers? Anybody happy to receive a dishevelled friendly person in drab, with time on their hands whilst she tinkers and nervously gets herself ready? Anybody happy to clutch a bag that has never been opened, and hold her steady as she  reels from the enormity of walking in heels further than a corridor whilst challenged by environmental challenges such as wind, steps and staring eyes? Anybody happy to turn a blind ear to quavering octaves of little rehearsed pronunication, of puppetry body language and comical impersonation. Anybody up for a night with a person that's spent 46 years being another person? I'm post purge, pre-shop. Tick-tock, tick-tock. I've got dates lined up for the above, real ones. I know when I could do this, I'm even thinking of giving up alcohol, tuning my diet drinking more water in advance so that my skin is clearer. I'm looking at shoes (tricky the transition between boots and sandles) and I'm releasing that I've lost touch with whatever current fashion might currently be. I've got shortlists of who I would contact and even people here that I think might want to support my wandering that weekend. I actually (irrespective of what you have just read) think this will be fun, sweet, lovely and enlightening. I'm post purge, pre-shop. Tick-tock, tick-tock. There's a lot to do know. I need a plan, I need a list, I need support. I'm really, really sorry that I visit here often but invariably very fleetingly. I do not have the time with a hectic professional life for my family at present, let alone with my familiar self. If you see me pop up and then never contribute, I'm sorry. I'm not a voyeur watching you, the visits here are actually Gender Society watching over me. And I'm OK, thanks. I'm post purge, pre-shop. Tick-tock, tick-tock. I like writing. I like writing as Rachel and I wonder whether I have a book in me. My non-de-plume is of course my real name, but that's revealed in a chapter than nobody has read yet. I'm post purge, pre-shop. Tick-tock, tick-tock. Time's up. Rachel x    
    2653 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • 25 Nov 2012
    The alternative title for this could be 'Boxed In' This is a quick relfection upon the life of a closet dweller. I'm not going to pass any judgement here upon people in this situation, but for those who are not, or may have once passed through this gateway (sorry, bit of a clunky managament consultant term) it might serve to qualify where you are now in your own journey. My family have been away and so I have time to emerge for a while. At least between going to work. So on Thursday evening a long, luxuriant shower is taken. More aromatic than the masculine norm and heavenly as a result. Foam can become abundant and cloaking. I dare to shave my legs a little, small patches but a sensory indication of what the total loss might be like. I stop. Too difficult to explain that turkey. I towel dry and moisturise, slightly scented. Lovely. I'm disturbed by the prospect of aromatic bed-linen being discovered. I shower with rigour the following morning. Men's toiletries in abundance. Familiar clean odour for work. I plan the weekend between meetings and toil and curse the previous disposal of my wig. It'd be nice to take some new photographs, to allow hair length to obscure reality for a while. But that's a purchase that is too late to rectify. Home, another luxuriant shower. I watch the BBC Three documentary upon the 18 year transsexual beauty queen prior to sleeping. Sweet. Dreams don't transport me anywhere impractical. I go shopping on Saturday with specific aims and unspecific aspirations. I skirt the lingerie sections but decide not to purchase a new bra & knickers set because a secluded pile of clothes doesn't really represent sensible spending in a time of austerity. Whilst looking for shoes (mens) I flicker at christmas party heels and statement pieces. Once home I change. More care now. I imitate breasts and hips, I beg steal and borrow a look, and with great care make-up. I think I've become adept at make-up after all these years and tonight I think I get the balance right. My hair though is short and to the point. It reminds me of my failings and limitations. I take a few photographs but they resemble someone in trouble. A vulnerable person, attention seeking and anxious. She's also a little older now than she once was or dreams of being. A glass of wine (or two) and the X-Factor doesn't change this fact. Sunday morning is the return to the rational. To double-checking that secret activities remain so. That the make-up is clearly off. Did I mention that I'd trimmed my eye-brows last night? I anxious and wonder whether they are now too shapely - and my eyes look a little puffy from cleanser and sponges. Experience suggests that they will calm down during the day. I visit Gender Society again and hope for messages, contact or something to grasp. But you've got to give to get, and I don't give enough. So I write this. Self-imposed boundaries is a tricky title. I didn't choose to be what I am and I could of course remove the boundary entirely by revealing the truth. But some of us, many of us I suspect, are unable to do that because of existing commitments, fear or lack of self-conviction. There's no time to be down-beat. The sun is out my son is coming home too and I've worked to do. I must remember to change out of these leggings and navy-blue wrap over cardigan before I collect them, otherwise the next blog will be very different in deed. With hugs to all types. Rachel x 
    2217 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • 28 May 2011
    This a little test to see how the super-dooper up-dated blog pages works, and it works very well. So let's see whether my brain and typing are as reliable and simple to access..   Hi everyone, anyone or no-one, I hope you're all OK.    This isn't going to be a lengthy expose of my past or a revelatory re-definition of my present, it's just an opportunity to idle over a cup of tea and contribute a tiny amount to the comings and goings of GS.   I'm not progressing at the moment, of course I'm getting a little older and wiser, but I'm not out, relaxed and active as a trans-woman, and so self-critically I could suggest that I'm a non-contributor. No, I am a non-contributor, full stop. I hope someone can forgive me for that or at least appreciate the cir***stance. Perhaps someone will reassure me that change will ultimately take place and that it will be necessary, accepted and positive for all.    I read that one of the non-disclosed Super-Injunction persons is a 'member of the public who does not wish to reveal their sex-change'. That's a sad and simultaneously positive statement to read. I hope she secures the seclusion that she needs. But how can you ensure that your friends and family abide by the same restrictions, unless you've entirely separated yourself from them, have disappeared and started again? If she uses this site, hello and best wishes.   I might visit a psychiatrist and gauge an opinion. I've always wondered what the educated, gentle penetrating mind may unearth or confirm. Has anyone actually been knocked-back and told that they're not TS but CD and felt good about that interpretation I wonder? That fact that I've just typed that implies doubt in my own mind I guess, but I'm not doubtful, I'm just still. Still too conscious of others, still to scared of loss, still to bloody conservative and still too capable of living my li(f)e. I have an absolutely fantastic wife and a son I adore. How can I do anything to disrupt that?   Poor Cheryl Cole, 'sacked' from US X-Factor for an Geordie Accent and according to Heat Magazine's front cover she now has 'problem knees'. If I was Cheryl - pause for a dreamy moment, I'd hire an expert speech therapist and avoid kneeling for a bit. That would sort those two issue out. Cheryl, you've really not got anything to worry about 'Pet'. You're sorted.   Hi and bye to one and all.   Rachel ;)    
    2205 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • 06 Nov 2014
    My son - approaching five years old, has expressed a desire to own the dress from Disney's 'Frozen'. I listen to my wife explain this to me, and she discourages me from reacting insensitively to his request. I feign indifference but inwardly recoil, not because of some macho reaction to my son's current proclivity towards Princess dresses, but in fear that this might be more than a child-like intrigue. I would not wish him to be as troubled as me. I too am frozen for the moment but warmly loving.
    1847 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
2,193 views Apr 25, 2014
Poetic Justice



On Wednesday night, awake alone and playful, I wrote a new entry that was far more explicit and revealing than any predecessor. I was careful not to slip into poor pornography and keen to avoid the 'Bad Written Sex of the year Award' (?) as I'm happy that Alan Titchmarsh retains that crown. I actually attempted to written an honest, sensual and open note about the physical untapped sexuality that resides within.


It was supposed to be visible only to friends, so when it popped up available to all, I shuddered a little and read it again. It was a bit too descriptive in the cold light of dawn, and perhaps crossed a line. This site isn't about salaciousness or shadowy inter-play upon the margins of acceptibility, it's a nice place. So I'm sorry all if I lowered the tone.


I received a response from a few (thank you) and an almost immediate reponse from one person that  rocked me to the core. I haven't previously experienced direct, invitational male advances. Yippee or Yikes..?! I faltered, flustered and fleetingly enjoyed the moment and then ultimately froze only to delete the response. Sorry to him. 


So that's taught me a lesson. Next time I'll either go for all out pornographic arousing gratuitous sexual inneundo and await the advances in a semi-drunken come-hither brace, or I'll write an oh so pleasant ditty that distributes pastel-coloured fairies in a pretty haze around my fanciful dreamy head. I've learned a valuable lesson. Words don't necessarily come easy but boy, a woman can put them to very good use if she chooses them carefully.


Be careful what you write, you may get what you wished for.


Rachel x