Ain't I A Woman: The Transformative Journey of BillieJean Francais

by Heather Moore

The first thing I noticed was her great smile. That and the way her eyes shone as she laughed. As we entered her home, BillieJean (or BJ, as she prefers) asked, ''What do you think?'' I thought she was beautiful and undoubtedly a woman.

She was almost always smiling; a bit nervous, a bit excited, but also calm and amazingly self-assured. ''I've had incredible peace of mind since going (as a woman) full time. I will not go back. I'd rather die first,'' BJ said.

I didn't know anything about BJ before I arrived except that she was a transsexual: one ''who recognizes they don't fit the appropriate role given by their chromosomes'' and wants to do something about it (like gender reassignment surgery). ''I realized it and am doing something,'' BJ said.

I hoped she wouldn't be too quiet, but soon realized I had nothing to worry about. BJ happily chatted with me for several hours on one of our first sunny spring days in Montana.

BJ has been living as a woman since March 1997. She hopes to have gender reassignment surgery (GRS) in June because she has fulfilled the one-year requirement of living full time in the desired gender.

This requirement is outlined in the Standards of Care (SOC), developed by the Harry Benjamin International Gender Dysphoria Association. It is a 16-page document ''on the appropriate standards of care to be offered for hormonal and surgical sex reassignment.'' The SOC details the who's, when's and how's of care for gender identity disorders, including what types of doctors should be involved.

BJ's gender identity issues began in childhood. Her uncle ''beat the shit'' out of her several times, once even putting her in a dress, in attempt to humiliate her. His brilliant plan backfired. ''All the girls accepted me'' as a girl, said BJ, laughing, ''Damn, I was full time [as a female] at 6 years old!''

Later, while in Vietnam, she was ''doing super male shit, [trying] to prove I wasn't different.'' It was good ''to be in a small unit. You just did your job like everyone else, every day,'' BJ admits, but ''I couldn't be myself. When I was in Vietnam I wanted to get killed. I wanted to be done with it. Life was just miserable, hiding.''

After leaving the military, she used the G.I. Bill to go to Western Washington State University. Although her degree was in engineering, it turned out that ''the minor in teaching came in real useful.'' BJ teaches an evening computer course in Missoula and occasionally substitutes in Stevensville.

While doing her undergraduate work, BJ took an adolescent psychology course and learned about gender dysphoria. ''It gave me a word for it besides 'nature's freak,''' BJ said.

BJ got married and moved to Stevensville after graduating from WSU in the early 70's. ''I spent the next 20 years just hiding, (which) didn't make my wife happy,'' BJ said, realizing ''the only reason I married her was to be closer to me.''

One of BJ's hobbies, ham radio, functioned as a coping device for the stresses of marriage and gender dysphoria. ''I'd be in the garage hiding for the whole day. I'd get dressed and stay out there, kind of hoping to get caught,'' BJ admitted.

Ham radio is something BJ still appreciates. When she came out as transsexual, ''to some it was a shock . . . [but] most knew the basic person doesn't change. Many are from California . . . they're more familiar with TS's and it's no big deal,'' BJ said.

Eventually, dressing up on the weekend was not enough. ''Whenever my wife went to a conference or something I'd get in the camper and go be me somewhere else, some other city,'' BJ said.

Tensions in their marriage were pushed to the limit in 1992 when her wife graduated as an RN and got a job in Florida. ''I wouldn't move, so she demanded a divorce. And I said, 'Okay!' Almost the same week I saw a judge,'' BJ said.

''I'm a little angry I took so long,'' BJ admitted, ''[but finally] I decided to go the road less traveled,'' by seeing a therapist in Spokane. ''I had the questions from hell to fill out,'' BJ laughed, like ''Briefly describe what you think your problem is. What is a woman? What is a man?''

When she saw an endocrinologist about hormone replacement therapy (HRT), BJ was armed with plenty of information as they went over ''all the rigmarole.'' BJ laughed, ''The doctor finally said, 'Well, my last question is, 'Where did you get your medical degree?''

BJ began HRT about three months later and legally changed her gender to female, including a common law name change, which was fairly easy. ''I wrote the declaration, signed it, got it notarized and had it posted. Not on every street, of course.'' BJ laughed.

The community support has been mixed but generally outstanding. BJ had one local cop tell her, ''Well, BJ Is nicer than Bill ever was.'' However, another cop just ''doesn't understand,'' she said. BJ thinks it's ''probably not much different throughout Montana. Some are ignorant and some good.''

Experiences as a local substitute teacher were also interesting. Somebody on the board found out about BJ's gender change and complained. In response ''I said [to the staff member], 'I've been here for 12 years and nobody noticed. You're just ignorant.' I gave them some medical information . . . they didn't do anything about it,'' BJ remarked.

I was surprised to discover that not only did BJ attend a local church, but also that the congregation was extremely supportive. The female priest, Jean, received the first disclosure letter before BJ informed the other church members.

''Lo and behold, she's someone who actually walks the talk instead of talks the walk,'' BJ said happily. She wrote in the disclosure letter: ''I have been a female since I was a child. I've grown tired of hiding from others and from myself.''

Only four members of the congregation rejected BJ after reading her letter. ''They asked me, 'how could you do this?' I said, 'there really isn't a choice. I had four options. Do nothing . . . (dress) at home only . . . go full time as a woman, or suicide,'' BJ said.

Going full time as a woman was ''A big fear for me,'' BJ admitted, ''Fear I will hurt someone (and) lose the respect of those I love.'' However, she realized ''I have to be true to myself before I can be true to someone else.''

The path to transformation is not always smooth. ''A lot of people can't do it and they bail,'' BJ said, ''they just go back to being miserable.'' But it's good to have a year of being ''full time,'' BJ says, because you can find out ''Are you really a true TS or someone who just has a fantasy?''

BJ's one year of real life time as a woman ''or real long time,'' as she says, has gone pretty well. ''I'm feeling good enough for the first time in 50 years. I just have to be open. Hiding used to be my coping mechanism but now my love of bad humor is my way of surviving,'' she admitted.

During the last year BJ has enjoyed meeting other transsexuals around the state through a local support group. ''So many times they [just] wanted advice and makeup tips,'' BJ said. ''They asked me, 'how do you pass?' And I said, 'It may seem insignificant to you, but when you see the restrooms, which one do you go into?' They said, 'The men's.' And I said, 'Well, there you go,''' she laughed.

Like many other members of the queer community, BJ is concerned with discrimination issues. In the work setting, many TS's are fired, BJ said, and ''given all these reasons, like, you're making some people feel uncomfortable, customers or co-workers are complaining, and so on.'' Laws barring discrimination on the basis of ''gender, gender presentation and gender orientation . . . would give the gender community, LGBT, some semblance of security,'' BJ believes.

Even so, a new law ''is not going to eliminate everything, [but] at least it would be a law and people would know they'd be at risk of losing something, like money, and they won't do it [discriminate],'' BJ continued, ''Montana needs to join the 20th century.''

Finding acceptance within her family has been a slow but rewarding process for BJ ''My brother said, 'I can see now that you're happier than you're ever been.' . . . I've got a lot of peace of mind and I didn't have that before,'' BJ said. Also on BJ's side are one of her daughters and, finally, her mother.

''My mother cried. This year she finally accepted it. She realized that the last 47 years . . . [were] not a phase. I tried to dispel her idea of guilt and shame. I said 'Mom, it's nobody's fault, let's go on,''' BJ said.

Indeed, things are going very well. ''My mom wants to come up and stay after my gender reassignment surgery and 'take care of her new daughter,''' BJ said with a grin.

BJ smiled as she told me about when she called her mom and then afterwards, asked to talk to her sister. BJ could hear her mother yell out, ''It's your sister on the phone!''

''What determines who you are is between your ears not your legs,'' BJ said. Some have asked her, ''Just what are you?'' She told them, ''Get a grip. I'm not male or female, I'm both.''

If you are interested in a TG/TS support group you can contact John Harris at 721-4610, extension 3, for more information.