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Rachel de Blanc 's Entries

105 blogs
  • 01 Jun 2017
    Thought for today. Dressing; Elastoplast for the Soul. A little shopping, new sandals and a top. Genes happy. Rachel x
    591 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Thought for today. Dressing; Elastoplast for the Soul. A little shopping, new sandals and a top. Genes happy. Rachel x
    Jun 01, 2017 591
  • 13 May 2017
    Hi. I am visiting my parents who are now distant from home and feel further away than ever as they age, but we are still close. As an opportunist and whilst they are out I do something that I haven't done for possibly thirty years, I look into my mother's wardobe.. Don't be alarmed, no Vera Batty moments (foreign users please excuse my regional references) because I was only on the hunt for one garment, that Sixties black dress that I first wore in the late seventies. I can remember the silk lining and its embroidered texture, it was quite a firm material, shaped and I recall the difficulties of doing up the rear zip and the effervescent tingling sensations running cursing through me as I was re-shaped, awoken and stimulated by the messages that it sent me. It was of course not there when I looked, but I suspect that it may still be stored away, in the attic in a musty box of memories. I think it was a special dress for my Mum, and I suspect that if she were aware that it were my first dress, then it would be even more important too. I also drove to my old school today. It was a little tired and of course smaller than I remembered - in the manner that everything shrinks as you accumulate a lifetime of experience. Moments spent there have flickered through my head throughout the day. I was a popular and having 'finished' with a girlfriend in lower sixth momentarily became a prospective 'catch' just when sexual opportunities were first upon the horizon. Ignorant and perhaps slightly bemused by the messages my brain was sending my hormones - and in no way as well informed as a contemporary web educated teenager is, I recall being asked by a prospective suitor, 'Are you Gay?'. Sensitive, artistic male souls were in short supply in sports mad South Wales at this time so my detachment from the marauding scrum must have marked me out as being different. 'No, I'm not!' I responded, before failing to confirm my sentence with the statement, 'But I want to be a girl'. Always there, never spoken.. Kids today are so fortunate to have the information that the twenty-first century makes available, because that means that their parents are also more informed too. Ultimately she caught me of course, my Mum; lipstick and make-up in the bathroom. If I were to tell her all now I suspect that she'd be the one caught out, but if that black dress were in the attic I'm also certain that she'd let me have it. Rachel x
    569 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Hi. I am visiting my parents who are now distant from home and feel further away than ever as they age, but we are still close. As an opportunist and whilst they are out I do something that I haven't done for possibly thirty years, I look into my mother's wardobe.. Don't be alarmed, no Vera Batty moments (foreign users please excuse my regional references) because I was only on the hunt for one garment, that Sixties black dress that I first wore in the late seventies. I can remember the silk lining and its embroidered texture, it was quite a firm material, shaped and I recall the difficulties of doing up the rear zip and the effervescent tingling sensations running cursing through me as I was re-shaped, awoken and stimulated by the messages that it sent me. It was of course not there when I looked, but I suspect that it may still be stored away, in the attic in a musty box of memories. I think it was a special dress for my Mum, and I suspect that if she were aware that it were my first dress, then it would be even more important too. I also drove to my old school today. It was a little tired and of course smaller than I remembered - in the manner that everything shrinks as you accumulate a lifetime of experience. Moments spent there have flickered through my head throughout the day. I was a popular and having 'finished' with a girlfriend in lower sixth momentarily became a prospective 'catch' just when sexual opportunities were first upon the horizon. Ignorant and perhaps slightly bemused by the messages my brain was sending my hormones - and in no way as well informed as a contemporary web educated teenager is, I recall being asked by a prospective suitor, 'Are you Gay?'. Sensitive, artistic male souls were in short supply in sports mad South Wales at this time so my detachment from the marauding scrum must have marked me out as being different. 'No, I'm not!' I responded, before failing to confirm my sentence with the statement, 'But I want to be a girl'. Always there, never spoken.. Kids today are so fortunate to have the information that the twenty-first century makes available, because that means that their parents are also more informed too. Ultimately she caught me of course, my Mum; lipstick and make-up in the bathroom. If I were to tell her all now I suspect that she'd be the one caught out, but if that black dress were in the attic I'm also certain that she'd let me have it. Rachel x
    May 13, 2017 569
  • 11 May 2017
    Hi I haven't blogged for a while, so my apologies for that. I've voyeuristically visited her and take delight a seeing names of friends that I recognise and I look with absolute wonder as I see people journey from timidity and concern to open, confident realisation of their true self. That's lovely to behold. Remarkably my membership tells me that I am mid-way through my tenth year upon this site. I think I changed my description from Transvestite to Transexual after perhaps a year, but it was a much delayed written definition. So what on earth have I been playing at since, why I have failed to physical reconcile with my mind and spirit? Because I am a coward, oh, and because I am an 'honourable man'. There is no doubt that the veil of masculinity has slipped away, within my mind at least. My brain has disengaged with any attempt to be one of the boys and so I'm a peripheral male with an eye for all that is lady's. My son is upstairs asleep, my wife away and here I sit dressed, made-up and oh so content and at ease. Should the child upstairs awake then this will be a dream filled night for us both, one of us living the nightmare of exposure. I would commence upon Hormones tomorrow, now. My hair, recently cut doesn't currently require a wig to proclaim that gender of the head from which it sprouts. My breasts are false but the heart beneath connects to the mounds emphatically and pulls them close. I am thinking clearly, warmly, openly, positively and communicating with passion and freedom. I'm not thinking too much about what to type next, I'm watching the typos and this is where the stuttering takes hold. I'd like to be in a room, in a group now with Crissie, Katie, Lucy and friends knocking back a glass of wine perhaps and but in full release, with laughter hugs and undoubtably tears too. Next week I have enquired about attending a Transgender Support Group and should I attend this would be the first occasion where Rachel would introduce herself to a group, as a person rather than a online commodity. But will I go? 50:50 at the moment because I'm a coward upon the verge of a breakdown and an honorary man who has lost his masulinity and without which may be nobody. But that is wrong of course, because I'm a woman called Rachel. It's just that nobody knows and the isolation is slowly killing me. Warm Hugs Rachel x  
    537 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Hi I haven't blogged for a while, so my apologies for that. I've voyeuristically visited her and take delight a seeing names of friends that I recognise and I look with absolute wonder as I see people journey from timidity and concern to open, confident realisation of their true self. That's lovely to behold. Remarkably my membership tells me that I am mid-way through my tenth year upon this site. I think I changed my description from Transvestite to Transexual after perhaps a year, but it was a much delayed written definition. So what on earth have I been playing at since, why I have failed to physical reconcile with my mind and spirit? Because I am a coward, oh, and because I am an 'honourable man'. There is no doubt that the veil of masculinity has slipped away, within my mind at least. My brain has disengaged with any attempt to be one of the boys and so I'm a peripheral male with an eye for all that is lady's. My son is upstairs asleep, my wife away and here I sit dressed, made-up and oh so content and at ease. Should the child upstairs awake then this will be a dream filled night for us both, one of us living the nightmare of exposure. I would commence upon Hormones tomorrow, now. My hair, recently cut doesn't currently require a wig to proclaim that gender of the head from which it sprouts. My breasts are false but the heart beneath connects to the mounds emphatically and pulls them close. I am thinking clearly, warmly, openly, positively and communicating with passion and freedom. I'm not thinking too much about what to type next, I'm watching the typos and this is where the stuttering takes hold. I'd like to be in a room, in a group now with Crissie, Katie, Lucy and friends knocking back a glass of wine perhaps and but in full release, with laughter hugs and undoubtably tears too. Next week I have enquired about attending a Transgender Support Group and should I attend this would be the first occasion where Rachel would introduce herself to a group, as a person rather than a online commodity. But will I go? 50:50 at the moment because I'm a coward upon the verge of a breakdown and an honorary man who has lost his masulinity and without which may be nobody. But that is wrong of course, because I'm a woman called Rachel. It's just that nobody knows and the isolation is slowly killing me. Warm Hugs Rachel x  
    May 11, 2017 537
  • 17 Mar 2017
    Hello I run. I do so because it keeps me sane, keeps me healthy and gives me space. I have been running throughout the 'Winter' which has been mild and quite dry here in London and I am missing the acidic crisp January mornings that heightened my senses and kept my on my toes. As winter turns to Spring, my early morning companion is departing and so I am increasingly running at dawn or in daylight. No more tripping over scurrying foxes. My clothing is changing too. Full length running tights ow too warm and shorts return. Stealthy tight wearing confined to the drawer again. I look forward to Spring and re-birth and of growth warmth and sunlight, but for the covert and secretive Winter and darkness are our friends. Wrapping cosseting layers are able to conceal discrepancies and nuances, whereas Summer is brazen, revealing and open. The body here is fine - I run, remember?, but unplucked, unshaven and evidently masculine I cannot run quickly enough from reality. Here's to a great summer, of record breaking romantic evenings and balmy star lit caresses. But let some of us anticipate the gentle embrace of a concealing drape and the cosseting wrap of a softly hung profile. You can run, but evidently some must also hide. Rachel x
    536 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Hello I run. I do so because it keeps me sane, keeps me healthy and gives me space. I have been running throughout the 'Winter' which has been mild and quite dry here in London and I am missing the acidic crisp January mornings that heightened my senses and kept my on my toes. As winter turns to Spring, my early morning companion is departing and so I am increasingly running at dawn or in daylight. No more tripping over scurrying foxes. My clothing is changing too. Full length running tights ow too warm and shorts return. Stealthy tight wearing confined to the drawer again. I look forward to Spring and re-birth and of growth warmth and sunlight, but for the covert and secretive Winter and darkness are our friends. Wrapping cosseting layers are able to conceal discrepancies and nuances, whereas Summer is brazen, revealing and open. The body here is fine - I run, remember?, but unplucked, unshaven and evidently masculine I cannot run quickly enough from reality. Here's to a great summer, of record breaking romantic evenings and balmy star lit caresses. But let some of us anticipate the gentle embrace of a concealing drape and the cosseting wrap of a softly hung profile. You can run, but evidently some must also hide. Rachel x
    Mar 17, 2017 536
  • 07 May 2016
    Hi A few months ago I think I discretely referred to a new colleague that had joined my workplace. What was evident to me (no doubt to others too as I'm no Sherlock Holmes) was that this person was Transgendered. I was delighted to receive correspondence from my employer that confirmed that this new colleague was indeed Transgendered and that She was from the following Monday asking to be referred to with her correct female pronoun. I sent a supportive email to this person and was momentarily concerned that it may identify me as more that an supportive colleague. This is because I am probably best described as a self-centred egotistical bitch, but I'm happy with that description because it concludes with the word 'bitch'.. Anyhow, I am letting the Cabernet Sauvignon to my right inform too much of what I am indeed writing, so I'll continue. I am very sorry to say that my colleague - to whom I did not come out but I who hope I offered courtesy, familiarity and a little friendship has now left the office. I am told that her departure is entirely upon professional grounds but I am not of course clear of the concerns raised by our employer or of the grounds that led to my colleagues departure. I hope she recovers from this set-back and flourishes elsewhere. Why do I raise this here? Well, I am ashamed that I did not take the valuable opportunity to engage with her whilst we were colleagues. I suspect that she would have welcomed the support during a very difficult time. I didn't of course because I'm that self-centred egotist that I have referred to previously, but also because I am too scared to come out. I also raise it here to salute her (salute seems a very masculine term, so perhaps embrace is better) as she probably undertook one of the bravest things I have ever witnessed. But I raise it here because I feel that I watched a woman desperate to proclaim her feminity and watched an almost teenage lack of self-awareness with respect to the clothes that she choose to wear at work. Transitioning amongest new work colleagues is tricky enough, but challenges wardrobe choices that scream emphatically 'I'm a woman' might have just tipped our employer over the edge.  My recommendation (I have no professional standing here and no experience to draw from so dismiss the following immediately) is that it might be better to surpress the desire to flaunt your feminity within your workspace until at least six months into your transition or until all colleagues have forgotten who you are and are judging you by what you do. Yes sisters, this is as far from a feminist statement as you are likely to read, and of course who should define what we wear or how we communicate ourselves, but sadly even the most tolerant and accommodating employer might become alarmed by overt expressionism. I hope, I'm sorry for her as I type this, that there was a real professional reason why she moved on, and that her transition was absolutely irrelevant. I hope this because I work for a great company and look up to the standards they set. I fear that the reality here is that acceptable boundaries were pushed by short skirts and exhuberant feminity and that ultimately my employer couldn't sustain the support.  Returning to me - because as a self-centred egotistical bitch I am honoured to do so, I wish I had given her a hug and talked to her as both a colleague and a friend. I suspect that I may have found a confidant and someone who understands. Rachel 
    631 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Hi A few months ago I think I discretely referred to a new colleague that had joined my workplace. What was evident to me (no doubt to others too as I'm no Sherlock Holmes) was that this person was Transgendered. I was delighted to receive correspondence from my employer that confirmed that this new colleague was indeed Transgendered and that She was from the following Monday asking to be referred to with her correct female pronoun. I sent a supportive email to this person and was momentarily concerned that it may identify me as more that an supportive colleague. This is because I am probably best described as a self-centred egotistical bitch, but I'm happy with that description because it concludes with the word 'bitch'.. Anyhow, I am letting the Cabernet Sauvignon to my right inform too much of what I am indeed writing, so I'll continue. I am very sorry to say that my colleague - to whom I did not come out but I who hope I offered courtesy, familiarity and a little friendship has now left the office. I am told that her departure is entirely upon professional grounds but I am not of course clear of the concerns raised by our employer or of the grounds that led to my colleagues departure. I hope she recovers from this set-back and flourishes elsewhere. Why do I raise this here? Well, I am ashamed that I did not take the valuable opportunity to engage with her whilst we were colleagues. I suspect that she would have welcomed the support during a very difficult time. I didn't of course because I'm that self-centred egotist that I have referred to previously, but also because I am too scared to come out. I also raise it here to salute her (salute seems a very masculine term, so perhaps embrace is better) as she probably undertook one of the bravest things I have ever witnessed. But I raise it here because I feel that I watched a woman desperate to proclaim her feminity and watched an almost teenage lack of self-awareness with respect to the clothes that she choose to wear at work. Transitioning amongest new work colleagues is tricky enough, but challenges wardrobe choices that scream emphatically 'I'm a woman' might have just tipped our employer over the edge.  My recommendation (I have no professional standing here and no experience to draw from so dismiss the following immediately) is that it might be better to surpress the desire to flaunt your feminity within your workspace until at least six months into your transition or until all colleagues have forgotten who you are and are judging you by what you do. Yes sisters, this is as far from a feminist statement as you are likely to read, and of course who should define what we wear or how we communicate ourselves, but sadly even the most tolerant and accommodating employer might become alarmed by overt expressionism. I hope, I'm sorry for her as I type this, that there was a real professional reason why she moved on, and that her transition was absolutely irrelevant. I hope this because I work for a great company and look up to the standards they set. I fear that the reality here is that acceptable boundaries were pushed by short skirts and exhuberant feminity and that ultimately my employer couldn't sustain the support.  Returning to me - because as a self-centred egotistical bitch I am honoured to do so, I wish I had given her a hug and talked to her as both a colleague and a friend. I suspect that I may have found a confidant and someone who understands. Rachel 
    May 07, 2016 631
  • 10 Mar 2016
    Hi Everyone. It's been a long time, and it's been a long time coming, but Ihave finally spoken face-to-face with someone about my Gender Dysphoria and my belief that I am Transsexual. That person was Dr. Stuart Lorimer (Gendercare & Charng Cross GIC) and the conversation was as recently as last Friday. For those that have completed SRS, have transitioned years ago or those that have been out to their friends and family for years the above is powderpuff news of insignificance. But, if your life's focus seems to be it protecting your family and loved ones from yourself, then this is a big event. Go on, bear with me for a while.. So why now he asked, a reasonable and penetrating starter for one. Well, because I cannot continue like this and advice is required from knowledgable professionals. My ability to cope is exhausted and my capacity to compartmentalise myself has run its course. The knives are in the spoons drawer and the forks are all over the place - that mixed up. I was asked if I was concerned about erectile dysfunction if I were to commence Finistaride or low dosage Estrogen. No I replied, because when I make love, I imagine that I'm a woman and that I yearn for sensitive caressing and for my breasts to be fondled. I told him that I would prefer to dress full-time if the opportunity allowed but that I hadn't dressed for ages. I explained that apart from friends, yes Friends at Gender Society that I had not conversed with anyone about Rachel, and I mocked the non de plume but accepted that I had grown fond of it. He encouraged me to speak to my wife and I await his diagnosis. Speak to my wife.. All those knives in the cutlery draw now rise as one and the dagger is drawn. I am cut down and at a loss because this scares me so. I am weak, plaintive and lack substance and as I burn £200.00 on a private diagnosis I waste the opportunity to fund a worthy charity. But the talking helped. I am what I am.
    624 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Hi Everyone. It's been a long time, and it's been a long time coming, but Ihave finally spoken face-to-face with someone about my Gender Dysphoria and my belief that I am Transsexual. That person was Dr. Stuart Lorimer (Gendercare & Charng Cross GIC) and the conversation was as recently as last Friday. For those that have completed SRS, have transitioned years ago or those that have been out to their friends and family for years the above is powderpuff news of insignificance. But, if your life's focus seems to be it protecting your family and loved ones from yourself, then this is a big event. Go on, bear with me for a while.. So why now he asked, a reasonable and penetrating starter for one. Well, because I cannot continue like this and advice is required from knowledgable professionals. My ability to cope is exhausted and my capacity to compartmentalise myself has run its course. The knives are in the spoons drawer and the forks are all over the place - that mixed up. I was asked if I was concerned about erectile dysfunction if I were to commence Finistaride or low dosage Estrogen. No I replied, because when I make love, I imagine that I'm a woman and that I yearn for sensitive caressing and for my breasts to be fondled. I told him that I would prefer to dress full-time if the opportunity allowed but that I hadn't dressed for ages. I explained that apart from friends, yes Friends at Gender Society that I had not conversed with anyone about Rachel, and I mocked the non de plume but accepted that I had grown fond of it. He encouraged me to speak to my wife and I await his diagnosis. Speak to my wife.. All those knives in the cutlery draw now rise as one and the dagger is drawn. I am cut down and at a loss because this scares me so. I am weak, plaintive and lack substance and as I burn £200.00 on a private diagnosis I waste the opportunity to fund a worthy charity. But the talking helped. I am what I am.
    Mar 10, 2016 624
  • 30 May 2015
    So the Cat's away and the little mouse is out and about (in the house..)A first time for me, I purchased some false nails and set about setting about. Although the glossy grey colour was OK and a little morbid, I thought I'd finish them off with a top coat or two of something glossy. Time consuming work indeed but eventually the talons were in place. I wafted my hands around in order to dry them to a consistent shine, and then gently tap, tappity tapped them and they were done. Quite a lovely revelation and almost immediately the desire to paint them another colour. I avoided doing this and so just thought let them walk..   A slight problem then presented itself. I couldn't pick up a thing.   I mean, come on girls, how the heck do you do a think when you've got long nails. I couldn't even type and so I'm doing this with them removed and in the bin.   A girl could starve with long nails. How do you eat?!   Yours, and no scratching,   Rachel x  
    638 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • So the Cat's away and the little mouse is out and about (in the house..)A first time for me, I purchased some false nails and set about setting about. Although the glossy grey colour was OK and a little morbid, I thought I'd finish them off with a top coat or two of something glossy. Time consuming work indeed but eventually the talons were in place. I wafted my hands around in order to dry them to a consistent shine, and then gently tap, tappity tapped them and they were done. Quite a lovely revelation and almost immediately the desire to paint them another colour. I avoided doing this and so just thought let them walk..   A slight problem then presented itself. I couldn't pick up a thing.   I mean, come on girls, how the heck do you do a think when you've got long nails. I couldn't even type and so I'm doing this with them removed and in the bin.   A girl could starve with long nails. How do you eat?!   Yours, and no scratching,   Rachel x  
    May 30, 2015 638
  • 30 May 2015
    Hi. Those with memories and perhaps mammaries will remember that I recently 'purged' and disposed of clothing and other things that gave me spirit and life. Correction, I do have spirit and life of course, but the items I threw enabled the female version to come to the fore. This evening, during an hours sprint through a local shopping centre, I rectified some of this, and so now sit here in a new bra & panties, high heels, tight stretchy jeans and a clingy black t-shirt. So, basically the stuff I wear daily to work I guess, without the bra and the heels.  These are the highest heels I've purchased and I'm slipping about a bit like Naomi on a bad night. My heels appear to want to disengage with my 'heels'. The jeans - actually a size too large for my liking, are relatively tight but a little long. My black t-shirt is lovely but a little straightforward perhaps.  So, you can shop in an hour and redfine yourself, but to make a change taks more than an hour, probably a lifetime.   Rachel xx  
    650 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Hi. Those with memories and perhaps mammaries will remember that I recently 'purged' and disposed of clothing and other things that gave me spirit and life. Correction, I do have spirit and life of course, but the items I threw enabled the female version to come to the fore. This evening, during an hours sprint through a local shopping centre, I rectified some of this, and so now sit here in a new bra & panties, high heels, tight stretchy jeans and a clingy black t-shirt. So, basically the stuff I wear daily to work I guess, without the bra and the heels.  These are the highest heels I've purchased and I'm slipping about a bit like Naomi on a bad night. My heels appear to want to disengage with my 'heels'. The jeans - actually a size too large for my liking, are relatively tight but a little long. My black t-shirt is lovely but a little straightforward perhaps.  So, you can shop in an hour and redfine yourself, but to make a change taks more than an hour, probably a lifetime.   Rachel xx  
    May 30, 2015 650
  • 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    
    1711 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • 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    
    Mar 14, 2015 1711
  • 30 Dec 2014
    Happy New Year, well almost..   I recall a time when Christmas presents included the receipt of a small, pocket-sized diary into which you scribbled family birthdays and lists of christmas presents received. Like me you may well have religiously maintained a diary throughout the new year listing everything that you did on a daily basis. These entries would run for, well a few days at least. One year I made it all the way through until 6 Jan.   I'm not foolish enough to suggest that for a New Year's Resolution that I'm going to submit a blog a day, but I'll get in early and submit an end of year blog for good measure, to encourage others that anyone can write anything if you put your mind to it.   I received some lovely presents this year, but here is my fantasy Christmas Present list;   From my wife; a set of Clarins skin care toiletries, body creams and massage oils, new bed linens and matching lingerie - nothing overtly sexy. These presents would say, 'I want to hold you, caress you and sleep closely with you'   From my mother; a simple understated Cashmere sweater (well, Cashmere mix) roll-kneck, bat-wing sleeves and a tight fitting pair of black jeans. These presents would say, 'i understand that you are a woman, no more or less and that you don't need to prove it with exhuberant clothing'   From my sister; a pair of soft leather black ankle boots with a good heel. These presents would say, 'I understand that you are a woman, no more or less and that every woman needs killer heels.'   Fom my brother; a scrumptious large leather bag that illustrates an exceptance of my feminity but also would be large enough to still holding some camping gear 'You're not giving that up are you?'   From my in-laws (tricky one this) a compendium of LGBT writing and matching bracelets for their daughter and I. Big acceptance.   From my son; a pair of running shoes, woman's training gear and a sports bra. Because 'Daddy, you are not getting away with avoiding all of that sports stuff just because you're a Mummy too'   From myself; a big-kick up the a**e, a gender psychiatriast's appointment, a manicure and leg wax, 12 monthly hair appointments and a new perspective on life.    There.. Definitely a Happy Christmas.   Rachel x  
    924 Posted by Rachel de Blanc
  • Happy New Year, well almost..   I recall a time when Christmas presents included the receipt of a small, pocket-sized diary into which you scribbled family birthdays and lists of christmas presents received. Like me you may well have religiously maintained a diary throughout the new year listing everything that you did on a daily basis. These entries would run for, well a few days at least. One year I made it all the way through until 6 Jan.   I'm not foolish enough to suggest that for a New Year's Resolution that I'm going to submit a blog a day, but I'll get in early and submit an end of year blog for good measure, to encourage others that anyone can write anything if you put your mind to it.   I received some lovely presents this year, but here is my fantasy Christmas Present list;   From my wife; a set of Clarins skin care toiletries, body creams and massage oils, new bed linens and matching lingerie - nothing overtly sexy. These presents would say, 'I want to hold you, caress you and sleep closely with you'   From my mother; a simple understated Cashmere sweater (well, Cashmere mix) roll-kneck, bat-wing sleeves and a tight fitting pair of black jeans. These presents would say, 'i understand that you are a woman, no more or less and that you don't need to prove it with exhuberant clothing'   From my sister; a pair of soft leather black ankle boots with a good heel. These presents would say, 'I understand that you are a woman, no more or less and that every woman needs killer heels.'   Fom my brother; a scrumptious large leather bag that illustrates an exceptance of my feminity but also would be large enough to still holding some camping gear 'You're not giving that up are you?'   From my in-laws (tricky one this) a compendium of LGBT writing and matching bracelets for their daughter and I. Big acceptance.   From my son; a pair of running shoes, woman's training gear and a sports bra. Because 'Daddy, you are not getting away with avoiding all of that sports stuff just because you're a Mummy too'   From myself; a big-kick up the a**e, a gender psychiatriast's appointment, a manicure and leg wax, 12 monthly hair appointments and a new perspective on life.    There.. Definitely a Happy Christmas.   Rachel x  
    Dec 30, 2014 924