Monika: That makes so much sense. Did becoming more comfortable with being photographed come naturally over time, or was it something you had to practice intentionally?
Bobbie: It was definitely intentional at first. I had to teach myself not to flinch when a camera appeared. Early on, I would take small steps, allowing a friend to snap a picture, keeping a few instead of deleting all of them, letting myself be visible in ways that once felt unbearable. Over time, as my body and my sense of self aligned, the discomfort softened. I still don’t love being photographed, but I no longer disappear from the frame. That feels like its own kind of healing.
Monika: Did you ever feel pressure to meet a certain ideal of femininity, like I did by trying to look like the women around me?
Bobbie: I wouldn’t call it pressure so much as awareness. I’ve always paid attention to context. In education especially, what you wear has to support the work you’re doing. In elementary settings, that means being able to sit on the floor, move easily, and stay comfortable while still looking professional. In middle and high school environments, it also means being mindful, comfortable, appropriate, and not distracting. Those considerations apply to women teachers across the board, and I learned a lot simply by observing how experienced educators navigated that balance.
Monika: At what point did that observation shift from learning the rules to defining femininity on your own terms?
Bobbie: More broadly, I think learning how to move through the world as a woman involves noticing practical wisdom. What do women wear when they’re traveling all day? What kinds of shoes actually work in airports? How do people dress in ways that feel both put-together and livable? That kind of observation isn’t about copying an ideal, it’s about learning how to function comfortably and confidently in real situations.
Over time, that awareness gave way to something more personal. I stopped trying to look like other women and started paying attention to what worked for me, my body, my work, my life. Femininity isn’t a single look or standard; it’s a set of choices that help you feel at ease in your own skin while doing what you’re called to do. So yes, I noticed the women around me, but not to measure myself against them. I noticed them to learn how to live well.
Monika: Was there a moment when you realized, “This is my version of womanhood, and it doesn’t have to match anyone else’s”?
Bobbie: Yes, there was a quiet shift when I stopped asking whether I blended in and started asking whether I felt like myself. That’s when things clicked. I realized that authenticity is far more compelling than imitation. Once I embraced that, everything, from clothing to posture to presence, became less about performance and more about alignment.
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| On a swinging bridge high atop Lookout Mountain near Chattanooga, TN. |
Monika: What was the most surprising part of your transition, something you never expected, whether good or bad?
Bobbie: What surprised me most was how incomplete my expectations were. When I approached surgery, my focus was almost entirely on what I needed to let go of. I was thinking in terms of relief, of removing something that had never felt aligned with who I was. I didn’t spend much time imagining what would come next. In hindsight, that probably reflects a kind of emotional naivety, but it was honest.
Monika: At that point, were you thinking mostly about absence and relief, rather than imagining a new relationship with your body?
Bobbie: Exactly. What I didn’t anticipate was how profoundly integrating the experience would be. I had assumed the change would be mostly psychological, important, yes, but contained. Instead, it reshaped how I experience my body altogether. There was a sense of coherence and embodiment that I simply didn’t know was possible. The surprise wasn’t just comfort or relief, it was abundance. A depth of physical and emotional connection that felt natural, expansive, and life-affirming in ways I had never experienced before. That shift has stayed with me. It continues to feel like a quiet gift rather than a single moment. I went into that chapter thinking about what I was leaving behind.
What surprised me was how much I gained by finally being able to live fully in my body. The most overwhelming sensation was, “My body now feels like home.” I didn’t see that coming. I finally loved myself and who I had become.
Monika: That sense of “coming home” to yourself is so powerful. Did it change the way you moved through the world afterward, your confidence, your relationships, even your pace of life?
Bobbie: Absolutely. When your body stops feeling like a battleground, everything else softens. I became more patient, more grounded, more present. I stopped bracing myself all the time. That inner ease changed how I walked into rooms, how I spoke, how I connected with people. It wasn’t loud confidence, it was quiet coherence.
Monika: Many trans women are writing their memoirs these days. Have you ever thought about writing your own book?
Bobbie: Yes, I’m already writing it. But it isn’t a traditional memoir in the sense of simply recounting events or milestones. I’m much more interested in meaning than chronology. The central question I’m exploring isn’t what happened to me, but what was done to us, and how so many people were taught to distrust their own bodies, their own knowing, and their own capacity for joy.
Monika: That sounds less like a personal timeline and more like a collective reckoning. Who do you imagine this book speaking to?
Bobbie: At its heart, the book is about unlearning. It’s about how fear gets inherited, how shame gets dressed up as virtue, and how entire belief systems, religious, cultural, political, can colonize the soul without us ever consenting. I’m especially interested in how spirituality was weaponized to keep people obedient rather than alive, and how many of us confused survival with holiness.
My story is woven through it, but not as a performance or a plea for understanding. It’s there as a witness. I want readers, trans, cis, religious, spiritual, uncertain, to recognize the places in themselves where love was restricted, curiosity was punished, or authenticity was delayed for the sake of belonging. If there’s a central message, it’s this: Nothing sacred requires you to disappear. Wholeness is not rebellion, it’s restoration. And the body, when finally allowed to tell the truth, often knows the way home before the mind does. That’s the book I’m writing.
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| "When your body stops feeling like a battleground, everything else softens." |
Bobbie: It’s both. Writing helps me articulate truths I once didn’t have language for, but it also feels like stewardship. If my clarity can help someone else untangle their own story, then the work becomes communal rather than solitary. That matters to me.
Monika: Between off-road adventures, camping, and RV trips, do you have a “hidden gem” in Kentucky you wish everyone knew about?
Bobbie: If I had to name one hidden gem in Kentucky, it would be Bardstown, without hesitation. It’s about an hour south of Louisville, and I’ve spent years slipping down there for camping, day trips, and quiet resets.
There’s something about Bardstown that feels both grounded and quietly magical. It’s small-town Kentucky at its best, beautiful, historic, and genuinely welcoming. It’s known as the heart of bourbon country, with an astonishing concentration of distilleries nearby, but even if bourbon isn’t your thing, the town itself is worth the trip. The people are friendly in that effortless way that comes from being used to visitors without being overwhelmed by them. You feel welcomed, not marketed to.
Monika: When you’re in a place like that, do you find it influences how you recharge or approach your adventures?
Bobbie: Bardstown is also deeply woven into Kentucky’s cultural history. My Old Kentucky Home State Park is there, tied to the life and music of Stephen Foster, and like much of our history, it’s beautiful, complicated, and honest if you’re willing to sit with all of it. Sometimes I even imagine living there. But truthfully, I love being close to the airport too much, easy in, easy out suits my life right now. So Bardstown stays my favorite place to visit, not settle. If someone wants to understand Kentucky beyond stereotypes, its beauty, its contradictions, its warmth, that’s where I’d send them.
Monika: And when you’re there, away from airports, panels, and advocacy, what does a perfect day in Bardstown look like for you?
Bobbie: A perfect day there is simple. Coffee in town, a slow walk through the historic district, a few hours wandering the park, and then finding a quiet spot to read or write. Bardstown invites you to breathe differently. That’s why I keep going back.
Monika: Ten grandkids! Do you see them following in the family teaching tradition, or is rebellion in their DNA?
Bobbie: I try very hard not to steer them too much, and that’s intentional. If one or two of them end up drawn to teaching, that wouldn’t surprise me at all, but I don’t feel any need to pass the profession down like an heirloom. What I care about far more is that they’re discovering who they are and what lights them up. And honestly, they’re doing that beautifully. They’re a wonderfully diverse bunch, artists, performers, athletes, thinkers. I have one who seems born for the stage, another with extraordinary athletic talent, others who gravitate toward creativity and design.
Monika: I love that mix. Do you ever catch glimpses of yourself in them, little traits, habits, or quirks that make you think, “Ah, that one’s mine”?
Bobbie: What they all share is kindness, curiosity, and a strong sense of themselves. That matters more to me than any specific career path. The world they’re growing into is changing so fast that it would be foolish to pretend we know what the “right” professions will even look like by the time they’re ready. I don’t want to box them in with my imagination when theirs is so much bigger.
Monika: And as a grandmother, how do you strike that balance between guiding them and simply letting them unfold?
Bobbie: So my role is mostly cheerleader and witness. I show up. I go to the plays, the games, the performances, the exhibits. I celebrate who they are becoming without trying to script the ending. If there’s rebellion in their DNA, I hope it’s the healthy kind, the kind that says, I’m going to be fully myself. And honestly, being surprised by them is one of the great joys of my life.
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| With a Turkish delegation visiting through the U.S. State Department’s International Visitors Leadership Program to learn about LGBTQ+ inclusion in public schools. |
Monika: With all the decades in education, what’s one piece of advice you’d give new teachers who feel overwhelmed?
Bobbie: The one piece of advice I give new teachers, especially when they feel completely overwhelmed, is simple, but not easy: keep showing up. Most people have no idea how many first-year teachers go home exhausted, discouraged, and in tears. That doesn’t mean they’re failing. It means the job is genuinely hard, and the learning curve is steep. Feeling overwhelmed is not a sign that you don’t belong, it’s a sign that you care.
Monika: That’s such a humane way to frame it. What do you think new teachers misunderstand most about those early months?
Bobbie: Going back tomorrow is more than persistence; it’s how confidence is built. Over time, things that feel impossible start to feel familiar. You find your footing. You learn which battles matter, which ones can wait, and how to pace yourself. That only happens if you stay.
Monika: And what about support systems? So many new teachers feel like they have to prove themselves alone.
Bobbie: The other thing I always encourage is connection. Find your people, other teachers, mentors, administrators, and let them know when you’re struggling. Teaching was never meant to be done in isolation. Asking for help isn’t weakness; it’s professionalism. I don’t minimize how hard this moment is for educators. The pressure is real. But teachers are extraordinary people, and the work they do matters deeply. If you can keep coming back, keep learning, and keep leaning on one another, you’ll discover strengths you didn’t know you had. And I promise, you won’t always feel like this.
Monika: Finally, with all your roles and adventures, what’s the part of your life that still surprises you every day?
Bobbie: What still surprises me every day is the power of gratitude. I’ve lived long enough to know loss. I’ve outlived people I loved deeply, and I’ve had to remake my life more than once. But what continues to astonish me is how gratitude changes what I’m able to see. When I focus on what’s missing, life feels narrow and heavy. When I focus on what I’ve been given, relationships, opportunities, purpose, possibilities seem to multiply.
Monika: Do you think gratitude is something we learn with age, or something we choose over and over again?
Bobbie: Gratitude has taught me that abundance isn’t something you wait for; it’s something you notice and then participate in. It opens doors, introduces people, and reveals paths you didn’t know were there. At this stage of my life, my biggest challenge isn’t scarcity, it’s choosing which meaningful opportunity to say yes to next.
Monika: And when you wake up in the morning, what’s the first thing that reminds you that your life is still expanding?
Bobbie: I wake up grateful, for the life I’ve lived, the people who’ve shaped me, and the work that still calls me forward. That sense of thankfulness keeps expanding my world. And the fact that life can still surprise me this way, still feel generous and alive, that’s something I never take for granted.
END OF PART 3
All photos: courtesy of Bobbie Dodds Glass.
© 2026 - Monika Kowalska
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