IncrediblyTrans Spotlight Brendon!

Our newest spotlight from the southern United States the very handsome Brendon! (He/him/His)

Currently I am 19 years old, but when I was 15 years old I came out trans man! When I turned 16 I started taking testosterone, and just recently had my top surgery 3 months ago!! I love to play the ukulele and have an obsession with Disney World! In fact as I’m typing this right now I’m at Disney. I’m also a photography major in college!

My advice to anyone starting their transition is give things time. Don’t expect your life to become perfect as soon as you come out. It will get better, so as hard as it is, try to be patient. Especially if you are medically transitioning, make sure to be extra kind to your body.

IncrediblyTrans Spotlight Nina!

Id like to introduce this gorgeous spotlight Nina (She/Her) from the United States!

When i was little, about 4 to 6 years old, I believed that I was actually a girl! More than anything I wanted to be treated as one. I would came out of the shower using a towel on my head and another to cover my chess. At times I would wear my grandma’s powder “to do” or simulate my make up, trimmed my eyebrows and I was always singing songs of female singers. Growing up I always wanted to play with dolls. I remember always thinking, why I couldn’t wear the clothes, accessories, etc, or do what other girls would. I didn’t understand it!!!

Then I realized that those thoughts and behaviour started to bring me problems with the people that were supposed to love me the most and I quitted. Somehow I was able to hide it, or at least tried, for most of my life. I went through a lot of struggle during my childhood and adolescence. Just the though of me being like that was a hard thing to deal with. But I couldn’t help it! It was my nature, my essence, my very deep true self. I felt guilty most of my life until I started making peace with myself.

Having unchained my mind from others thought’s and expectations I decided to accept me and love myself first. I reset my brain and started to put my pieces together like a puzzle. Today, Im happier than ever because for the first time in my life I can proudly say: THIS IS ME!!!!

✨ If you’d like to become one of the next spotlight’s please send us a message on Instagram and we’ll send you an online form for you to fill out!

My story: The Webs of Charlotte

People refer to various items being “built like a house of cards,” clearly this is a cliché but there is a reason why this analogy works so well. A house assembled of cards requires an extremely delicate balance to remain stable, each card must be placed with all intent and caution – the slightest misalignment or incorrect touch will lead to its collapse – much like whatever is being referred to as it.

I had long believed that my life was built firmly – not flimsily as the card analogy. I was born in 1981, and that essentially meant that my representation of manhood was based on the 1950’s to 70’s family man as these were the decades my parents were raised in. 

A man to me was just, honest, honourable, upright and had strong integrity. He worked hard and was never afraid to give everything for the job so as to ensure he was properly providing for his wife and children. He took care of the house, gave back to the community, believed in God and rose naturally into leadership positions by doing these things. 

Talk about clichés.

By the time I was a teenager, I had already faced many challenges. I could never quite connect with males in general though my parents saw that I was surrounded by them constantly – a memory book following my time in grade school makes comment that I was very much a loner and had trouble making friends with the boys in my neighbourhoods. I was awkward and uninterested in almost everything that one would consider inherintly masculine, though I worked hard to get involved in such things to impress those I saw as male authority figures.

When I graduated high-school, I married my sweetheart, Jessica. We immediatly started our lives together building the white picket dream we saw as the goal. By our first anniversary she was pregnant with my son and I was being groomed into management wherever I worked – though only after I learned that minimal effort was not enough to succeed. I still couldn’t relate to any men, though connecting with women came naturally – I began to develop an unknown irritation with this and pushed myself to seek more male companionship, dragging my wife along as I would not feel comfortable without her present. Where Jessica wasn’t present, I would spend minimal time in male circles – just long enough to be seen as a solid friend and yet committed to my family and having to tend to them often.

Being a father did not come naturally to me, though sharing all the male expectations and setting unachievable goals for my son was easy and all I really knew how to do. Where I spoke as though I was doing my share of parenting, housekeeping and work – the reality was that my wife was picking up immense slack and doing all she could to keep me mentally in one peice. I was often ignorant and closed minded, when called on this behavious, I was very unreasonable – afterall how could I be failing, I’m the man and doing what I’m supposed to do although I was clearly miserable doing it.

As I got further into adulthood, it became harder to maintain my masculinity, breaking many of the tenents I was taught to uphold as the “successful” man, husband and father. Unknowingly I began finding male role models in whomever I saw on tv or in the news – rock stars, political figures, starship captains and famous building contractors or chef’s – when I found one that carried a trait I felt would improve peoples opinions of me or my feeling of being a successful man – I wore them like a mask. When I exhausted my own knowledge or interest in these men, I would break into a mess of uncontrolled emotional outbursts and depression until they were replaced with another one.

Enter the house of cards – each mask I wore was a card and everytime I exhausted a mask – a card was taken away from the base.

By the time 2020 came around I had two children, a business position where I was pushing for the top, and was completely worn out. Masks were not lasting nearly as long as they used to, and I became increasingly unstable mentally. Doctors had a hard time agreeing on what condition I had – in my mid 20’s I was diagnosed as having hereditary depression and anxiety after an hour long visit with a psychiatrist, this was overridden in my late 20’s to be bi-polar II, and again in 2019 (at 38) to a personality disorder “of some kind.” Regardless, the medications were the same and though my dosages changed, the results did not – I remained depressed, full of anxiety and converted any mistakes into critical life failures. As before, more cards came off the base of my card house.

After struggling throgh a mental collapse, losing the sense of herself and dealing with our sons teenage challenges – my wife began taking control of her own life and was working to learn who she was – something neither of us had done having been married fresh out of highschool and going straight into the cookie cutter north american life. While I was proud of her, this was interpreted as a response to my own failings as a man, husband and father. Yet more cards being stripped from my card house foundation.

In late 2019 and early 2020, I was working as a union business representative and presented an extremely challenging case to my boss, a man that I spent almost everyday trying to impress to the detriment of my family and myself. Where I knew whole heartedly that the union needed to act in one way, I was overridden, told how to respond and I followed his orders with disgust. I lost what would be a very pivitol card from that cliché house. I mentally collapsed into severe depression with daily panic attacks, everything was a failure to me now and after a panicked call to our employee assistance program, I chose to take time off to recover and see a counsellor.

My time off corresponded with the begining of the Covid-19 global pandemic arrival in Canada, I left work in late February and by mid March we were isolated. Counselling was not productive, instead of working through my issues I was helping the counsellor to cope with the stress of the pandemic. I spent my time wallowing in “Emo” music and trying to sort my own head out.

When April came, my wife presented her desire to explore polyamory. I was scared to death at first, I felt it wouldn’t be long until she left me for another, better lover – my failures included a lack of libido, yet another failing. By the 18th, I decided to admit something I had buried away for decades – I knew I could be attracted to any gender on the spectrum – I was pansexual. In highschool I had been seen checking out the posterior of the classes basketball star, it resulted in a long term of bullying and so I hid this to protect what little social standing I had. Eventually I began dating girls and the whole thing passed, never to be brought up until now.

To me, being pansexual and sharing this with Jess was a bonus – if she wanted another man in our life, I would be able to handle that provided he was the right sort. Win, win! We discussed my sexual identity on and off until the 20th of April when my son was in a longboarding accident, and became hospitalized with a broken femur. We did not disuss my sexuality again.

My son recovered well, the pandemic meant only one person could be with him in the hospital and as Jessica has an autoimmune disease, I was the one to attend. I am thankful for this time as it brought us closer together than we ever had been. This could be a story all unto itself and perhaps later it will be.

Fresh from the high of coming out as pansexual and the positivity of acting like the father I always dreamt i was; I began feeling well enough to begin plans for a return to my work, however, once I hit send on the message to my boss – I immediatly felt nauseus. I was sinking down again and the panic attacks that were subsiding came back tenfold, I became so mentally exhausted that i decided I had to stop it by any means. On May 18th, I knew I was done for and had to stop the pain – I decided that unless something completely changed, and fast, I was ready to end my life. I didn’t know how, but I knew that I could not take it anymore.

Sitting outside on our back patio swing chair, I flipped through my social media looking for reasons to stay alive. 

I must take an aside here and draw attention to social media metrics. As we change what accounts we follow and the content we read, our metric data changes – the platforms will begin to populate your advertisements and sposored posts to reflect this newly introduced data. When I shared my pansexuality, I began feeling welcome to explore it a little more which led to my facebook and instagram content reflecting this with ads for pride groups and other LGBTQ+ related material. Back to the story.

As I flipped through my Instagram account, I was seeing this new LGBTQ+ content and around 2:30pm in the afternoon sun – I saw a sponsored post that caught my eye. It was for a counselling service which I remember rolling my eyes at initially – why would I go for counselling, to fix the counsellor again?

The ad featured a woman in a blue and purple top, with long curly hair – she was sitting on a couch and opened with a statement about how coming out is challenging and Pride Counselling was able to help. Her personal account was linked and out of extreme skepticism, I chose to find out who this woman was, and why I should listen to her. 

Tapping into her Instagram account, the first post I saw was this woman in a yellow top, with a hand up to her hair and her pride rainbow watch strap popping. The caption on this post was talking about her being a mother in her 30’s – I was a dad in his 30’s so, okay, I’ll keep looking. As I scrolled down, I saw more pictures of her with positive content, there was something about her that drew me in and for some reason I felt truly compelled to keep scrolling, so scroll I did.

After multiple posts, I landed on one with a person that had extremely similar features as the woman whose account this was. However they looked different – less feminine, a relative perhaps? I read the post and learned it was the same woman, it was a picture from years before when she was in South Korea awaiting vocal feminization surgery – she was transgender. I was stunned that such transtitions were possible – I had never put thought into it before.

At the exact moment I accepted that transitions were possible – 2:38pm to be specific – my brain allowed me to contemplate something I’d not allowed prior. What if I looked through my entire history – the years having issues relating to boys and men, my years of struggling to be the man I was “supposed” to be, the use of so many masks to try and succeed – what if I looked at it all through the lens of my being female instead?

Each stressful moment was suddenly easier to understand, repression lifted and I could remember clearly moments I had tucked so deeply away – times I had looked in a mirror thinking how much I wished I was born a girl, times I thought how much more fun I would have had as a woman, the time I wore a one piece swimsuit and stuffed the cups just to see what I might look like…and enjoyed it…missing the sensation when I forced myself to reject it. 

It all made sense.

My heart warmed and I felt a self love I had never felt before – my inner monologue told me to look and accept it, it was true and it was time was now right to face it. My thoughts of ending myself immediatly vanished and I felt a freedom as I continued looking at this woman’s early transitional photo.

Out loud, in my backyard, swinging on the back porch swing – I spoke in a clear and loud voice “HOLY SHIT!!! I’M A WOMAN, THATS IT, A WOMAN….” The inner voice of mine agreed and I knew it to be true. The last card was pulled, the card house collapsed as the mask I had worn my entire life vanished entirely. From that moment forward, I have never been anything like the person – the “man” – I was prior. 

The following week was a mess of discovery, crying for my “maleness” to return and talking deeply with my wife while facing the new reality of my true gender. I fought hard to resist my need to transition – but by the following week, the love of my life looked me dead in my eyes and told me to stop lying to myself. She knew, as I did, that I had to transition – for me such a journey was truly life saving and therefore essential. 

I have written many versions of this story, it has been the hardest thing for me to write and I still don’t feel I’ve done the experience justie. But the fact is, my life was the cliché – a house of cards which had its foundation slowly taken away over 39 years. When at last this house fell, the only survivor was a woman named Charlotte – a raw and naked girl who was now free to learn who she was, and live her life open and authentically. 

Although I am sure she would never accept this, I owe a lot to this woman who chose to do a sponsored ad for Pride Counselling. A woman who shared openly of her transition to bring visibility and show that transitioning as a transgender person is possible – it is largely in part to this sharing that I am here to share this story now, and why I dedicate myself to a community I love so dearly. Thank you – I hope to one day say this to you and share your name.


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This is Really Me…graphic information of an uncomfortable type enclosed.

I am a transgender woman. I am a male to female transgender person. I lived a male life publicly and professionally because people could not handle things that stretch their concepts of gender, sexuality, and appearance. Oklahoma, where I lived when I came out, is very much a regressive state when it comes to accepting transgender people. Crossdressers are still mocked. Bathrooms are still sacred ground. Boys are boys, girls are girls, and there this no room for anything else. It was only a short time ago that a 12 year old transgender girl in rural southeast Oklahoma was threatened publicly with violence, including castration, for using the girls bathroom. I grew up 50 miles from that town.

I am going to back up here and tell you my story. It may be too much information for some to handle. If so, you read at your own risk. There is intimate information of sexual and possibly offensive nature. You have been warned!

How did I come to identify myself as a transgender woman? Well, it didn’t happen overnight. It didn’t even happen over a year. It has been an ongoing struggle of self-identification throughout most of my life. It was a journey of discovery that began early in my childhood, transformed in my teenage years, and has been refined in my adulthood. I am still discovering what it means. Writing this down is part of making a map of the journey so far. I will be able to see where I have been. Maybe I can catch a glimpse of where I am going.

Maybe the earliest hints of what would become a way of expressing part of who I am began in infancy. Mom always said I loved to play with the satin edging on my blanket. Satiny materials are my favorite items to wear. The feeling is soothing and comforting, even now. Maybe it had to do with the image of me, standing next to my female cousin, both of us wearing dresses. Could those early events have been stepping stones? Who knows?

No one knows, really. There are no hard facts on what leads to people to experience gender dysphoria or crossdressing. Some evidence points toward hereditary links. Some evidence points to in utero chemical influence. Some evidence leans into the way that the neural network of transgender brains work. Some evidence points to post-birth family influence. I don’t know what chemicals were influencing the development of my body. There is some possibility that my mind and soul were shaped by the abuse and leaving of my father. Who knows what could have contributed to the image of myself I have created.

What I know is that early in my life, wearing women’s clothes was natural. It felt right and brought me a sense of self that nothing else has in all of my experiences. 

The first time I ever tried on women’s clothing happened when I was 6-8 years old. It was in my grandparent’s house. My grandfather was at work. My grandmother operated a beauty shop in her home. I found my grandmother’s panties and bra. I slid them on over my clothes. But once in place, something seemed to click within me. I remember sneaking into the bathroom and trying her undies on a few more times over the years. It is strange that it was only my grandmother’s clothes. I don’t remember ever trying on my mother’s clothes until a few years later. 

The next experience of “difference” happened just before my teens. It may be my first memory of transgender association. It involved my Star Wars action figures. I remember playing in my room with Luke and Leia. But instead of hero/heroine or rescue, I imagined a scenario where Luke was body switched into Leia. It was a strange scene to play out. But even more strange was that I remember thinking, “I wish I could do that.” The idea of switching to a girl’s body seemed to resonate in my heart. 

When I began to find my sexual drive, I found my stimulus in the place many young boys did: catalogs. JCPenny and Sears were the main sources of tantalizing imagery in those tween and early teen years. I had found a stash of my step-dad’s Playboys, but they were not easily available. And to confess, at that early age, I was more interested in the cartoon comic strips than the glossy photos. But the catalogs had sections where my fertile, hormone-induced mind was introduced to the female form. It also introduced me to a broad range of fashion in lingerie. I learned the styles and cuts. I saw the colors and various materials. I wanted to wear things like that, to be able to dress in beautiful and sexy things. The stimulation I received was as much about what I could look like as what I saw. 

This perhaps fueled one of my earliest recurring fantasies. As a young and not very suave lad, I did not have much luck with the girls around me. There was one older girl who occupied my imagination. My fantasy involved being stuck in a department store, with her, and we were able to try on clothes in the lingerie section. Not the typical boy fantasy, I’m sure. 

Lingerie became my focal item. It is fair to say that I created a fetish around it at that time in my life. I began to experiment with my mother’s lingerie. Panties, bras, and pantyhose were the only items I had access to. As my sister got older, she brought more frilly items with lace and satins. I was nearly caught a few times, but I don’t believe I was ever found out. My mother and sister were both shocked when I revealed my crossdressing to them recently. 

When I entered college, crossdressing took a hiatus. I was, perhaps, too busy with school work and developing a career path, trying to work and socialize with people for the first time, and dating – real girls. I didn’t find the outlet for it, even though I was living on my own and had the power to purchase what I wanted. It seemed to be all behind me, a phase I had passed through and matured out of. Then, one night, a girlfriend and I were fooling around and she said something that kinda shocked me. “Do you want to trade underwear?” Had I had a presence of mind, I would have responded with some confessional statement of having loved wearing those things since childhood. In the sex hormone-induced delerium I was in, I just responded, “uh-huh”. That night re-ignited my desire and longing to dress again. But it was short on fulfillment and opportunity.

When I got married, to a different person, I never confessed my crossdressing. I attempted to broach the subject. This was the days when thongs were becoming the thing to wear. I really wanted to try some, and my wife had a few pair that I had worn. I suggested buying women’s since men’s thongs were not yet popular in mainstream stores. That was quickly dismissed as negative. I was left to secretly wear her things. Especially the one pair of underwear I desire above any other, even to this day.  I love the lingerie of the ‘80’s and ‘90’s as my favorite period: satins and hi-cut panties, flutter and lace trims, bikinis and thongs, and of course teddies.

The other thing that I had access to was my wife’s wardrobe. I began to see the beauty and design of women’s clothing. I moved from wanting to wear only lingerie to wearing dresses and other feminine articles. As I shopped for my wife, I saw things I wanted to wear. I began to imagine what I would look like. 

I also found the internet. It was something that wasn’t easily accessible to me until I was married. And it was Pandora’s box of discovery. Crossdressing and transsexual and shemale imagery was accessible. I began to see the world as more than just men and women. There were many different expressions in between. Not all of it was wholesome. Not all of it was encouraging or healthy. It was all part of understanding myself better. 

I began to understand that I wanted to look more feminine, not just in clothing but also in physical appearance. I wanted to experience what women experience, the good and the bad. I identified with women more than men in many areas of interest and subjects of conversation. I appreciated the beauty of women in appearance and dress and I wanted that for myself. Sexually, I wanted to be romanced and cared for and made secure and beautiful. I wanted to please my partner for her satisfaction and that brought me satisfaction. My pleasure was found in being pleasurable to her. And I wanted to be on the receiving end of sexual penetration. I wanted to know what it was like to be the one who received another’s passion intimately. I knew what that meant physically for a male. I wanted to experience it as a female. That is when things began to click that I wasn’t just a crossdresser.

I questioned my sexual orientation. I was attracted to and loved having sex with my wife. I knew I was heterosexually orientated in that regard. I was also interested in being made love to, by a woman with assistance or by a man. I began to question how bisexuality worked. And when dressed, I was interested in being sexual with a man or with another crossdresser. That is where things moved outside of my realm of understanding. I didn’t know how attraction could move that far. And I still don’t.

I came out to my wife in about 2002 that I was a fetish level crossdresser. That resulted in a “don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t talk about it” detente. It also was in the midst of a sexual drought between us. We had sex less and less often. Months stretched into a year between encounters. Dressing was my only avenue of sexual intimacy. After many years of this, I finally came out again (2013) to my wife and explained that dressing made me feel good about myself. It wasn’t just a fetish. It was about being me. 

We came to an understanding and set boundaries. I could wear underwear made for men that were patterned after women’s lingerie, but only panties. I wasn’t allowed to wear bras or anything else. And the panties couldn’t be ultra-feminine. Laces and materials were approved. Colors were questioned. When I bought a pair of pink briefs, she retreated from accepting this agreement. When I confessed my interest in getting some bras made for men, she broke off the understanding. So I made the promise that I would not dress if it made the difference in saving our marriage. 

It didn’t work. Our marriage was spiraling downward. We finally decided that it wasn’t going to work any longer. We had both reached the end of changing for the other. We had both achieved a place where we couldn’t be ourselves tied to the other. For me, I felt that I now had the freedom to explore my female side. My coming out to confidants, family, and friends has been liberating. Finding a supportive group of crossdressers to ask questions has been affirming. Buying the items that I want without complete secrecy has been refreshing. But the journey is not at the end.

In September, after our divorce was set, I began to question what my identity was. I had been married more than half of my life. I had been a father for two decades. I have been a pastor just as long. All of those things were coming unraveled. I wouldn’t be married any longer, but single. My boys would be going their own ways, so I would be living alone without the need to supervise them. The church I was serving had demolished my remaining sense of being called to local church ministry. My identity – who I was/am/will be – was wide open to discovery.

The process to awareness that I am transgender happened swiftly, but only because the foundation and framework has been part of who I am all along. I began to think that after the divorce, I can wear what I want without anyone to judge me, around the house. Then I broadened that to the idea that I can wear what I want around the house all the time. It wasn’t too long that my thought jumped to going out in public would be possible, as long as it wasn’t in my professional setting. Finally, I realized, this isn’t about crossdressing. This is about my identity. If I desire wearing women’s clothes (and I try to emulate women’s behaviors while dressed), and I am okay with going into public, this can’t be just a fetish or sexualized concept. 

What I feel while dressing, what I desire in dressing, is a confirmation of a broader identity than just a male/masculine identity. It is an deeply ingrained sense of being someone else. But it isn’t the end of me. I may be someone in between. I may be completely this beautiful, happy feeling lady I love so much. By the way, her name is Genevieve Bergman. She is named for some of my ancestors. One a female. But she is real. And she is me.

This is me. The person I see in my mind when I envision my true self.
I’m not drop dead gorgeous, but I’m beautiful. 
I’m not graceful and elegant, but I’m gentle and fragile.
I’m not going to steal anyone’s heart, but my heart has been broken and needs to heal.
I don’t want to be seen as a freak, but I realize I live in a culture that can’t handle what it doesn’t understand.
I want to be loved unconditionally for who I am, but I know that I will be loved conditionally only as people can associate with who I have been in the past.
I am trying to be fair to everyone, but in the process, this beautiful lady doesn’t get her chance to be treated fairly.
I’m happy when I am like this. Happier than I have a right to be.
I’m complete when I am like this. That wholeness threatens people’s image of who they think I should be.

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