Life goes on there's more important things all thought provoking

It’s been one of those weeks — the kind where everything seems to demand your attention except the thing you’re quietly craving most.

So pardon the lack of blog posts it's been a hell of a week and this heatwave has been mad.. 33 degrees today scorchio.

Work has been all face-to-face meetings, the kind that people think are productive on paper but leave you wondering what you actually achieved.

On top of that, a family member was suddenly rushed into hospital — thankfully now on the mend but possibly a long journey to recovery — but it shook up our routine and took all my focus.

Without warning, as a result another chance to dress as Davina slipped through my fingers.

Last Friday had potential.

I could feel the need building in me, that itch to connect with my feminine side — to relax into makeup, heels, and soft fabrics and lingerie (I love the softness of lingerie) — Just to escape for a bit.. A few hours of Davina.

But with the heat climbing to 33°C, and knowing how makeup melts and wigs itch in that kind of weather, I hesitated.

It’s a good thing I did.

Halfway through the day someone came home unexpectedly and came straight up to see me.. Not my wife.

Had I been mid-transformation, or fully dressed it would’ve been a disaster.

Another missed opportunity, but maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

And now, I’m watching the window for Davina time slowly close.

There’s just one week left before school holidays hit — and with that, my freedom to dress privately will vanish until maybe late September.

I’m away for work next week, but I’ll be with colleagues, so Davina can’t come with me.

And though we’ve got a week away booked in September, that’s for me and my wife — no room for Davina there either.

I wouldn’t want to spring that on her during a romantic break anyway.

I’m trying to hold onto what I can do — I want to find the space to talk to my wife.

I want to tell her how much dressing helps my mental health, how it calms and grounds me.

I want her to know that I enjoy the process now — I’ve grown more confident with my makeup, found a style that suits me, and I think I’m presenting more convincingly as a woman than ever before or since my early 30s maybe.

And that’s where I start to feel nervous for some reason.

Because while I’m proud of how I look as Davina, and thrilled by how far I’ve come with my makeup and image, I’m also a little scared of sharing those photos with my wife.

What if seeing how much I enjoy being Davina makes her worry that I want to be her full time?

What if seeing how I can look as a "Woman" freaks her out.

What if she sees it as some kind of competition, or starts feeling less secure in who I am with her?

What if it reignite her fear I want to be Davina full time? I don't.

The truth is:

If I could, I’d love to have the freedom to wake up and say, “Today’s a Davina day.”

This may freak her out in itself.

I loved the recent stretch where I worked from home for five days straight, planning outfits, slipping into a rhythm that felt so me.

One of my selfies from that week even reached number 3 in the TVChix hot girl chart — a little dopamine hit, sure, but more than that, it was a reminder that I can look and feel feminine, attractive, confident.

Then the message wow you look amazing you'd make a perfect wife lol.

But I’m not asking for every day to be a Davina day.

I just wish for a little more openness between us.

A moment now and then where my wife jokes with me about my alter ego.

A check-in: “How’s Davina doing this week?”

Or even reading my blog to get a window into where my head and heart are. Or even the state of my current mental health and if I needed this escape.

These small things would make a world of difference but it feels awkward to even bring up at the moment.. Maybe if she read this she'd say don't be so stupid you're over thinking.

It’s not about competition or confusion — it’s about connection.

I know life is full of demands.

There's always something or someone we need to take care of, which means putting our own wants and needs to one side.

And we do it gladly — out of love, out of duty.

But sometimes, those days stack up, and we forget how long it's been since we did something just for us.

Time passes. Opportunities slip away.

And that quiet voice inside — the one that says “I need this” — goes unheard.

A Sign-Off from the Middle Ground

Life as a crossdresser is complicated.

For me, this isn’t a full-time lifestyle — it’s a deeply personal hobby, an emotional outlet, a way to unwind and recalibrate.

Some men play golf to clear their heads.

I dress.

I enjoy the process of trying to look passable, of doing my makeup, of seeing a different, softer version of myself in the mirror.

It’s not about rejecting who I am the rest of the time — it’s about reconnecting with a part of me that helps me feel balanced, even more whole.

But this is not the social norm, is it?

And that makes everything harder.

We t-girls carry a quiet worry — that our wives might feel like they’re losing us, or that we’re drifting too far down the “trans rabbit hole.”

The truth for many of us is the opposite: we’re still their husbands.

We just have this vulnerable, very human side we need to express, and it takes courage — and communication — to do that.

My ideal?

It’s simple: that we talk about Davina more.

We have a check in for Davina and my stupid male mental. Health.

That she’s acknowledged, not hidden. Not that she is a she you know I mean my cross dressing.

That she’s seen as the lighter, less stressed, more grounded version of me.

That instead of fearing this part of me, we can both learn to see her as something helpful, even healing — not a threat, not a replacement, but part of the same man my wife married.

Maybe she does but we've hit a rut maybe my rut but it feels hard to talk about again.

I need to resolve this.

Davina 💋