Monika: Many of us feel the pressure to “pass” as women, and even after surgeries, society keeps judging us. How
do you personally deal with the outside world’s expectations?
Jennifer: I was beyond lucky. Somehow, I pass. But it took me years to begin to believe it. I lived in fear for
almost a decade, convinced I was being clocked everywhere I went, certain that a violent assault was waiting around
every corner from some bigot who disapproved of my existence. Eventually, I realized the problem was me. I was so
afraid that I walked hunched over, nervously watching everyone, expecting hatred. I made people uncomfortable. Of
course they stared at me, I was acting suspicious as hell because I was terrified of them.
Monika: What shifted for you internally that allowed you to finally let go of that constant vigilance?
Jennifer: The moment I truly passed was the moment I stopped giving a shit. When I finally relaxed and trusted that
I passed well enough, everyone around me relaxed too. At that point, I became as comfortably invisible as any woman
in the world. I had the benefit of passing privilege and didn’t even know it. My fear kept me from seeing it, and
that cost me dearly.
Not everyone will pass perfectly, but what I learned is that if you want to pass at all, you have to find a way to
let go of worrying about what other people think. I say that casually, but it was not easy for me. I have always
been terrified of what “Other People Think”, as if that mattered, which it mostly doesn’t, except to my self-doubt
and fear. The best way to pass is to give up trying to pass. Just be. Be yourself. The more confident you are,
whether real or faked, the more people relax and stop seeing you as a threat. Confidence beats physical perfection
every time.
Monika: When we talk about passing more directly, how do you hold the tension between the very real dangers of not
passing and the personal strategies you use to stay safe, grounded, and alive in a world that can be brutally
unforgiving?
Jennifer: As for passing itself, only a fool pretends it does not matter. Of course it does. Humans notice even the
smallest deviation, a tic, a scar, a mole, and often react with cruelty. Society is ruthless about conformity. If
you fail to conform, you will be dealt with, either with ridicule or with hatred. In our current world, not passing
can be genuinely dangerous. Things can become violent very quickly when gender, sex, and appearance collide. Passing
is not just a privilege, it can be survival in its most brutal form.
My way of dealing with it includes everything I’ve said, but also one very practical rule: I never go anywhere
alone. I always have a member of my family with me. Anxiety plays a role in that, yes, but it also means I always
have someone watching my back. Someone to help if the worst happens. Companionship has survival value. Travel in
packs. Always have a friend nearby. Or three.
Monika: You were one of Dr. Stanley Biber’s patients, a pioneer in sex reassignment surgery in Trinidad, Colorado.
Reading accounts from many of his patients, I’m struck by the courage it took to undergo such a procedure at that
time. While he was clearly skilled, he was also a pioneer. How did it feel to take that leap and trust yourself as
one of his early patients?
Jennifer: Biber was a character. He was a real-life Hawkeye Pierce from M*A*S*H. He performed meatball surgery
during the Korean War, which is how he became a very fast surgeon and learned how to work with large openings in the
human body. Very useful skills, if your goal is creating vaginas. Biber made visiting him as unpleasant as possible.
His office was deliberately housed in a leaky, decaying, run-down shell of a building, filled with grime and filth.
Everything was designed to dissuade you. Once it was clear you would not back down, then you were moved on to the
clean, modern office and finally to the Catholic hospital where he worked.
Monika: What was it like recovering in a place that was so dependent on trans patients, yet openly hostile toward
them?
Jennifer: That hospital was the financial lifeline of Trinidad, yet the townspeople seemed to despise the trans
patients whose medical tourism kept the town alive. I was tormented constantly in petty ways. It was absurd, trans
people were the reason the town still existed at all. The Catholic hospital was filled with hostile nuns and priests
who made a point of visiting the segregated “Trans Ward” to insult us and pressure us to repent and become cishet
for Jesus. We were told never to leave our ward, never to enter the rest of the hospital.
|
|
Group picture from 1986, left to right, Sandi, Jenny,
below Jenny Eldenath, and finally Stephen. |
Monika: In the middle of that cruelty and isolation, was there a moment that stayed with you?
Jennifer: During recovery, I had no fucks left to give. I went searching for a gift shop, hoping to find a stuffed
animal to hold while I healed. I wandered off dragging my IV stand behind me. I never found the shop, but I was
called over by a very sick elderly woman who had been left alone. I held her hand, listened to her, and kept her
company for as long as I could manage in my weakened state. She told me I was very pretty and thanked me for
stopping to talk with her. For that act of kindness, I was loudly reprimanded for “spreading the filth of my demonic
contamination” to an innocent woman. No trans person, apparently, could ever be capable of genuine kindness. We were
demons, segregated and contained for the protection of decent people.
It was a real fun hospital.
Monika: And beyond the isolation, what was the most unforgettable moment?
Jennifer: The most frightening part was that Dr. Biber was very old. It was the end of his career, and he was making
serious mistakes. His hands shook. He forgot things. Nurses tried to cover for him, but his decline was beginning to
cost lives.
That is how my intestine was nicked, how I nearly died of infection in a hotel room on the way home, after surviving
a literal train wreck. My life was saved by an entirely illegal bottle of antibiotics slipped to me before I left.
That is how people protected the aging surgeon, and thank god they did.
I wish I had gone to another surgeon, but at the time, Biber was the only one I knew existed. Younger readers may
not grasp how difficult it was to find information in the 1980s without the internet. I truly believed he might be
the only surgeon in the world.
The isolation was absolute.
Monika: Dr. Biber performed bottom surgeries every day, which gave you the chance to meet many other trans women.
Were you surprised by how many patients were coming for surgery?
Jennifer: There were six other patients in our segregated area, and they came from every economic class and
background. One was a pharmaceutical sales representative, another was a sex worker. One was a college student, not
unlike me. I was not surprised that there were other patients there, but I was surprised by how many there were. One
of the patients was there for a follow-up surgery, she was getting additional labioplasty. I did not even know that
was a thing. I did not know almost anything was a thing. I was utterly without knowledge of my situation at the
time.
Monika: Your website offers such a detailed account of the surgery. Although my own surgery happened many years
later, I can see that some things have not changed. I also vividly remember the first time I peed afterward, it
was the very first touch of womanhood for me. Are there stories from that time that have stayed with you forever?
Jennifer: Beyond learning how to pee again, there were other unforgettable moments. The first time I could wrap my
legs around a pillow and not have that goddamned “tumor” hanging off me. Just the simple happiness of being built
correctly. The first time I could wear a proper swimsuit and it simply fit, with no tumors hanging out. Being able
to sit down without, well, you get the idea. Bad boy-tumor is bad.
Monika: Did anything about the surgery surprise you on a deeper, neurological level, beyond the obvious physical
changes?
Jennifer: Perhaps the most curious thing, neurologically speaking, was that everything felt correct. Before surgery,
I spent far too much time imagining what it should feel like to have the correct genitalia. After surgery, I was
astonished that everything felt exactly as I had imagined. How could I possibly have known? The only explanation
that makes sense to me is that my internal homunculus, the neurological body map used by the brain, must have been
wired for female from birth. Arms, legs, lips, genitals, the brain has a map for all of it.
That map is also responsible for phantom limb syndrome. Trans people almost never experience phantom limb syndrome
after gender affirmation surgery. The simplest explanation is that nothing was lost. The brain never expected that
anatomy to be there in the first place. I am firmly convinced that being trans is a form of neurological
intersexuality, that the brain is literally wired for a specific physical sex. Nothing else explains the consistency
of this phenomenon.
Monika: So your brain had known the outcome all along!
Jennifer: The realization that I had somehow known all along what it would feel like to have a vagina, labia, and
clitoris was astonishing. It was confirmation, but it also felt miraculous, like something out of The Twilight Zone.
Impossible, yet undeniably true. My internal map had finally stopped screaming that I was constructed
incorrectly. Missing vagina syndrome, if you like. Everything was finally in its proper place. All systems nominal.
Monika: I remember the time right after my transition as pure euphoria. My closet is still full of dresses and
shoes I bought by the dozens. I felt like I had to make up for all the years that were taken from me. Did you feel
the same way?
Jennifer: I absolutely grieve the girlhood I never had, the childhood I was denied. I am sad that I had to wait
until I was 21 to fix my body and save my life. That said, clothing was never a huge focus for me. Perhaps it was
denied so harshly that I developed a kind of sour grapes about it. Or perhaps I am simply bad at girling. Not every
woman loves fashion, so maybe I am doing just fine.
Monika: If fashion wasn’t an instinctive outlet for you, was there someone or something that helped open that
door, or reframed how you saw clothing and self-expression?
Jennifer: One of my spouses, Eldenath, is exceptional with clothing. She does cosplay and costume work for
Renaissance Faires, and she took it upon herself to Dress Me Well. She treated it as a personal mission, because I
was fairly hopeless. She taught me that clothing can be an art, that being pretty might be something even I am
allowed to enjoy. Gradually, I learned her lessons. I like nice fabrics now. I like the styles she chooses for me. I
am trying to learn, always trying, though I will never match her skill. My style these days might best be described
as “futuristic witch” or perhaps “techno-cottage fairy-core”. I wear asymmetric blouses in wonderful fabrics,
usually paired with black culottes.
Monika: Your style sounds deliberate, but also protective. Is there fear woven into those choices?
Jennifer: There is a sad reason for that. Culottes look skirt-like, but still count as pants. Even at 66, some part
of me is so beaten down by terror and bigotry that I am afraid to wear an actual skirt or dress. Some part of my
mind still believes I will be beaten to death for it. Pathetic, perhaps, but understandable. I have faced more
violence than most, and that leaves invisible scars. I am working on it. At least black culottes go with everything,
so I have no real reason to complain.
|
| Jennifer in 2024. |
Jennifer: I learned about the concept through science fiction, Robert Heinlein and others, as well as from studying
ancient cultures. It became clear to me that the nuclear heterosexual family is excellent for social control, but
terrible for meeting real human needs.
I felt no obligation to imitate the dominant culture that was actively harming me. I believed strongly in the right
to form family according to need and desire, not according to social expectation. I was done trying to live a cishet
life. I wanted something better, something closer to the rich, cooperative lives I saw imagined in fiction. I saw no
reason not to try to make that real.
Monika: Polyamory involves sharing love, which can bring jealousy. How do you navigate those feelings?
Jennifer: I once read a study comparing relationships that lasted with those that failed. Sexual desire tends to
fade after a couple of years, while deep friendship based on shared values can last a lifetime. Sex is the worst
possible reason to build a relationship, yet cishet culture treats it as the foundation. Get married, make babies,
support the war effort. Fuck that.
Monika: So if sex isn’t the foundation, what does a sustainable, jealousy-resistant relationship actually need to
be built on?
Jennifer: My rule is simple: Always marry your best friends. Your closest friends, the people you trust emotionally
and intellectually, those are your family. Live with them. Grow old together. Never build a family around sex.
Build it around trust, cooperation, and the quiet love that comes from respect and admiration, not from twitching
glands. Most polyamorous failures I have seen collapse because of sex and jealousy. Those are monkey relationships,
formed by horny primates bouncing on sweaty beds. They are doomed.If sex happens sometimes, fine. Just do not make
it important. Do not let holes put holes in your relationships. In short, fuck sex. Friendship is real love. Most
people never figure that out.
Monika: By the way, do you like being complimented on your looks? Do you find it easy to accept compliments, or do
you struggle with believing them?
Jennifer: Compliments about me are clearly lies designed to get me to relax before I am murdered. Horribly, of
course. Somehow. Don’t ask me to explain, because my brain isn’t playing fair with any of this. It’s very hard
for me to hear compliments. Eldenath, and my family, try so hard to get me to hear them, that they think I am pretty
or that I look good in one of Elde’s wonderful outfits she has chosen for me, and it is so difficult for me to
accept any of it.
I spent a lot of time severely loathing myself, especially my body and face, my form and shape. Even after literally
shapeshifting to the point that I am unrecognizably different and new, that old self-hatred still plagues me. Yes, I
have been to therapy, no, it didn’t help. Again, still working on it. Though, at 66, I had better get some results
soon, I have recently been shown how short life is. It’s really short. And trust me, you won’t like the final
episode.
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?
Jennifer: To the extent that I tried to become as invisible as possible in dress and mannerisms, yes. Because I
could not comprehend that I passed, I felt that my only hope of survival was Not To Be Seen. Until Eldenath started
trying to get me out of my shell, I would do whatever I could to blend in with the background like a chameleon. It’s
a wonder I did not resort to Ghillie cloth and bits of bracken. Anything to go undetected.
Monika: What was the most surprising part of your transition, something you never expected, whether good or bad?
Jennifer: That, in the end, I could be loved and adored by three incredibly wonderful people, who would choose to
live with me as spouses for the last 43 years. Now two, because one just died, but still. I transitioned despite the
world telling me not to. I suffered self-loathing, fear, and danger, yet I have had a wonderful life where I am
truly loved, and I am utterly grateful for that.
When I first faced transition, I did not expect to live long or well after the process was completed. I went through
transition because I had to, because the alternative was suicide. I could not live another day in the role and body
of the wrong sex and gender. I did not expect to have a happy life of love.
That was the biggest, and best possible surprise. Surprise!
Monika: What are your thoughts on the current situation for transgender women in your country?
Jennifer: America has become a dangerous and evil fascist dictatorship, a threat to the world and to its own
citizens. I fully expect, and would not be surprised by, the rise of murderous concentration camps, extermination
camps, for trans folk, and indeed for any queer folk, of any kind. Worse, I am mostly convinced that the majority of
Americans would blithely ignore or even encourage such a nightmare. The current Trumpist regime needs to fall for
America to rise from the ruins it is currently in. I see a future of absolute horror unless the current regime is
replaced.
Other than that, things are great here!
Monika: For a lot of trans girls, loneliness can become a part of life. Did you ever feel that, or were you lucky
enough to avoid it?
Jennifer: During transition, I was very lonely, which is why I was an easy mark for that ‘Trannie Hawk’ I discussed
earlier. Before transition, I was constantly lonely, partly because my family moved every three to six months,
ending friendships almost as soon as they began, and partly because my dysphoria and self-loathing were so great
that even when I had a friend, I still felt isolated, alone, and alien. Until I met my family, my three spouses,
loneliness was my only companion. Then, things got fantastically better!
Monika: Many trans women are writing their memoirs these days. Have you ever thought about writing your own book,
and if so, what would its central message be?
Jennifer: Create your own life in your own image. Do not do anything ‘off the shelf’ because other people do it. Do
not live a life because it is ‘normal’ to do so. Your life is your true artform, be creative and make your life your
way for your reasons alone. I learned the lessons of countless science fiction books, my only escape before my
transition. After I gained myself, I did not settle for an ordinary life. I have lived in a polyamoric marriage with
three spouses because I decided that was best for me. That was rational for my needs and purposes. That way I would
never be completely alone, never completely bereft when age finally started taking family members, and I would never
be poor, after all, many hands make light work.
Monika: That same refusal to live “off the shelf” also shows up in how you’ve approached work and purpose. How did
you decide what kind of career and life path actually felt right to you?
Jennifer: I chose a career not because it met some standard or expectation, but because it was where my passion was.
Yes, it was entirely a clusterfuck trainwreck, but it was also interesting, exciting, and filled with adventures,
not all good, but still better than clocking in at a nine-to-five. I have chosen everything in my life not
because it was expected, but because it made sense or delighted me, and frankly, I argue that everyone should
consider doing their own version of what I have done. Be yourself, your way. Live your life to please your senses
and agree with your reason. Be weird. Be different. Be whatever the hell you need to be.
Monika: That philosophy clearly shaped every part of your life, but one thing many trans women struggle with is
passing and the fear around it. Was there a turning point for you in how you related to that fear?
Jennifer: The true secret of how I finally got mostly beyond the terror that I did not pass: I gave up trying to be
a woman. Seriously. I decided that if my claims of identity were actually true, I should just naturally be what I
claimed to be and shouldn’t have to ‘try’ to be it at all. If I was a woman, that would show whatever I did, because
it would be the truth. So, I just stopped trying. Instead, I worked to relax into being whatever the hell it is that
I am. That was the moment people stopped staring, and I realized that I clearly must pass, apparently
perfectly. Apparently. That, or people are vastly more kind and polite than experience has taught me. Basically,
find what makes you happy, and make that as real as you can. That is my message. It works.
Monika: Finally, what’s next for Jennifer? What dreams and goals are you working toward now?
Jennifer: Right now, my biggest dream is to work through my grief over my spouse Sandi dying. I can’t see much
beyond that. It’s been three weeks since I held her hand and sang to her as she died in front of me. I keep having
flashbacks and crying at random times. It is really hard. That is the only downside to being truly loved and loving
truly in return: meat spoils. Meat dies. Meat ends.
And in the end, we are all just talking meat. That is the greatest possible tragedy. But then again, I know she
loved me. And I loved her. Not everyone gets that in life. I cannot deny my fortune in this. But that said, goddamn,
grief hurts. I guess we shall see.
Monika: In the midst of that pain, you’ve spoken before about building unconventional forms of family and support.
How are those relationships carrying you through this moment?
Jennifer: On the positive side, I still have my remaining spouses, Eldenath and Stephen, and that is a blessing
beyond measure. I have seen normal people in their normal relationships, and when they lose a spouse, it is Game
Over. There is nobody left to help them, nobody left to fill their bed, nobody left to hold them as they cry. I am
so very, very grateful I was never normal in anything I ever did.
Monika: Jennifer, thank you so much for sharing your journey and insights.
Jennifer: Thank you for wanting to hear from me, and I can only hope that I have at least been a little interesting.
I feel honored that you wanted to interview me, and it was a grand diversion to answer your questions. I have lived
a weird life, in which I have been weird, and it was and remains fun, and I am grateful for all of it. Except the
bad parts, of course.
END OF PART 3
All photos: courtesy of Jennifer Diane Reitz.
© 2026 - Monika Kowalska
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