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“Maybe you can help me?”

Sophie Lynne | Jul 29, 2024

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As I have written here and elsewhere, I work for the LGBTQ Center here at Penn State. I’m what I like to call the “Graduate School Grunt”, but I actually have a fairly bureaucratic title. I do what I’m told, which is a little of this, and a little of that. It’s summer semester here, which means there are few students, so what we do here is re-set things, review programs, and clean, clean, clean. There are days during the summer when I feel I haven’t done enough (then again, I always feel that way.) However, I’m writing about a day this week (last week when this is published) when I feel I earned my pay- that I made a difference.

It was after lunch, and I was catching up on current anti-transgender legislation when the phone rang. I jumped, as the phone doesn’t often ring (and it’s a new phone with a strange ring.) On the phone was a Penn State alumnus. He (the pronoun he asked me to use- I always ask) called here as he had no idea where else to reach out. I asked if he was a current PSU student. He (let’s call him Bob) graduated in the ’90s and had been fighting certain feelings all his life- that he was transgender. As the Center supports current students (as we’re funded by student fees), and there is no current LGBT alumni group (one is being chartered as I write this), the Center could not help him. But I could.

I let him know that I was no longer speaking for the Center, and that I understood EXACTLY where he was at that time, as I had been there too. He didn’t know where to turn for help. He didn’t know what information he needed. He knew he’d crossdressed all his life- the usual cycle of buy, purge, shame, buy, purge shame, rinse repeat. I asked Bob where he lived, and he said, “New York City.” I started by looking up support groups in the city, finding several. I gave him phone numbers and websites. . . oops! Problem: he can’t use a computer, due to the sensitive nature of his job. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell.

So, I had this list I made and couldn’t send it. We spoke a bit about what it means to be transgender, about his feelings, and who he wants to be.

And I remembered my search, my scramble for information after Halloween 2008. I needed to know what was happening in my soul. What was it that haunted me all my life? Was I just some sicko? Was there a cure? Please let there be a cure- I don’t want to live with this again after pushing it down for 25 years. I knew I needed help, but I couldn’t define what I felt, nor could I prioritize what order in which to do things. Just like Bob.

I advised Bob to find community so he would know he was not alone. He would need people to talk to that know where he was and what he was feeling. He would need to know that people would accept him. He needed a hug, and sisterly advice. It will be all right.

I didn’t do that. I started by trying to stomp it out. I found transformation makeup services in nearby states. Bethlehem Pa.? Too close- I could be spotted. Long Island, NY- that’s far enough away. You see, I wanted to prove to myself that I’d just be an ugly “man in a dress” if I pursued this. I needed to see it in the mirror to burn the desire out of me. Show me what a failure I would be- that I expected to be. I made an appointment for early December. I lied to my wife about my plans for the day and left for Long Island: for Femme Fever.

The person in the mirror wasn’t who I expected to see. I didn’t see me in the mirror. I saw a woman. I was terrified.

That’s when I started looking for help. I was already in therapy, but the person wasn’t a gender specialist. I found a support group nearby that was meeting the following Saturday. Maybe they could help. I brought some femme clothes with me, my cheap corset (which broke trying to put it on this time) and Halloween wig. In the parking lot, I wondered if anyone was coming at all. After a few minutes I saw someone- a hippie woman with long graying hair. She was Rebecca Juro, then president of SEPa Renaissance. She assured me that I was in the right place and invited me to join her. The rest is history. I found a gender specialist. I found multiple support groups. I found dear friends who helped me when everything went to hell.

I don’t envy where Bob is right now, but I hope that they find the community and help they seek. Eggs need to hatch, or they rot. Bob is beginning to hatch. Slowly. Cautiously.

I wish him. . . no, HER luck.

In any case, I felt like I accomplished something that day. I felt that, for a few minutes, I mattered. And maybe that’s enough.

Be well.