Watching freedom walk thru the pub door

Saturday night sat in a local pub with my wife, four young girls walked into the pub.

Black tights.

Short dresses.

Heeled boots.

Hair styled

Make-up done

They didn’t announce themselves but all eyes in the local pub turned to them.

I felt that familiar, quiet punch of jealousy hit me square in the chest.

Not because of their age.

Not because of attention.

Not even because of how good they looked, though they did.

But because of the freedom.

They can decide, on a whim, how they want to present to the world.

They could have been in jeans, joggers, trousers, shirts, t-shirts, hoodies.. but they were dressed how I'd love to be dressed and made up, which when you've not done it for a few weeks brings jealousy and frustration.

They can get ready openly.

Take their time.

Experiment.

Change outfits twice.

Walk out the door knowing their presentation matches how they feel inside at the moment.

No mental gymnastics.

No risk assessment other than thinking about men letching at them.

No internal negotiation.

And there I was.

Jeans.

Trainers.

T-shirt.

Hoodie.

The uniform of invisibility.

Male me — practical.

No make-up.

No tights.

No boots.

No expression.

Just containment.

That occurrence reminded me of everything I’m not allowed to be as I'm a man, a husband and a father and I'm not allowed to walk into a local pub as "Davina" wearing what those young women were wearing — or rather I am allowed but I'd be putting myself as a tgirl, something my wife doesn't want to happen.

Rightly so given how local the pub is and people there know us. It would make life too complicated.. the word would get around.

People say, “Clothes and makeup don’t matter.”

But that’s only said by people who have never had to suppress part of themselves, a part that acts as a reset of mental health and a part they enjoy.

Did those young women enjoy what they were wearing and how they were presenting or was it just normal for them.

Presentation matters when it’s tied to identity.

When it’s expression.

When it’s relief.

Watching them laugh and order drinks, they were just being themselves and being noticed in a positive way, admired by some no doubt .. a stark difference maybe if I were to be there as Davina.

The oother version of me — one that loves black tights, heeled boots, carefully chosen outfits, perfume, the ritual of getting ready.

A version that doesn’t want attention, just a bit of personal authenticity.

A version that doesn’t want to shock or provoke, just sometimes exist honestly for a few hours, a day or days would be nice.

But that version stays packed away.

Managed. Timetabled. Restricted to rare, stolen moments when the house is empty and the clock is watched more closely than the mirror.

So tonight wasn’t about four girls in a pub.

It was about watching freedom walk through the door while I stayed seated, smiling politely, playing the MAN role I’ve perfected.

Saturday night, it just reminded me how heavy it is to live a life with this Trans side while others don’t even realise they’re carrying a greater freedom of expression and choice.

I'm hoping I can have a few uninterrupted hours working from home as Davina today 💋

Davina