Who I am picture shows Joe and I in Giza, Egypt, at the Sphinx; teasing Darth Vader; me flying.
Joe and Jen, Egypt, 1993; Darth Vader needs to be teased; flying across the country.
Picture shows Joe Ware at an airshow breakfast; me keeping a secret with Chewbacca; me parking planes in Warbirds at Oshkosh, AirVenture.
Joe (and I) at an airshow breakfast, Camarillo, CA; keeping Rebel Spy plans a secret with Chewbacca; parking planes on the line at Oshkosh.

Who I am in Brief
Transsexual
U.S. Navy, NSA, and Transition
Los Angeles, Ventura County, and Flying
Stealth Mode Living
Marriage to Joseph F. Ware, Jr.
My Better Story: On this Website and in my Book

Who I am in Brief

A widow, wife of Joseph F. Ware, Jr. (“Joe Ware“), the last of three. First we met and airshowed together, then lived together, then married each other 17 times (each anniversary) until his passing in 2012. If there is anything that indicates my character, it is that he loved me, and I loved him. Still do.

NSA, NSOC, SIGINT, NSGA, Ft. Meade, MD., while in the U.S. Navy, 1975-1977.

General aviation pilot, mostly antique taildraggers, rag wings and spam cans, most things at an airport at one time or another, also a T-28, a C-46, now a newer spam can. ATP S&M / CFI. I never flew for anyone; just for myself, then Joe and I, cross-country lower troposphere, rather as Jennifer Livingston Seagull. I commune with Joe and God when I fly.

Co-founder Joseph F. Ware, Jr. Advanced Engineering Laboratory, Virginia Tech.

MSW, LCSW.

I mainly speak English, but I enjoy greeting people in about 30 languages, easily demonstrable. I count 31, so far, then I say in humor, “32 if you count Texas and 33 if you also count Brooklyn.” It’s a hobby because I enjoy people of different cultures.

I enjoy teasing people or telling a joke if I can get a smile: dry wit or bawdy banter. I was “raised by wolves at the airport,” I say, mostly referring to fellow airport bums during my years with Joe.

Transsexual.

More In-depth

Transsexual

The word out today is that gender transition is mostly about a change in gender role and brings completeness to transgender people, needed for mental health—and it can, for them. But that word hides there are people like me who identify as sexually opposite and just how vital that is.

Neither transgenders nor society at large know the intensity of pain someone like me can feel with brain / body sexual discordance, being of one sex and needing to be the other actual sex. Neither of them feels the need. Most people who change gender role do not also want to be the other sex, and society’s insistence on grouping us together while minimizing or omitting critical sexual needs compounds the problem of not being able to be myself. Most of the time, I feel like what I am is distinctly unwanted, wrong, something that should not even be spoken as offensive.

For me, the seven months after my gender transition and before my sexual transition, 1981, were the most horrible months of my life, months that seemed like years. I was in a daily nightmare. My disgustingly wrong sex was more obvious to me than ever, something I could not block out even for a while. It was with me everywhere I went, in my sleep, at work, in class, walking, talking (I hate to mention, but also showering).

Where a gender transition makes transgenders happy, it sent me to hell. I was thankful for progress, and I tried so hard to stroke my doctors with that, but I also begged for SRS. Begged and pleaded. There were days and nights of crying to God for help, and I hate to tell you what else ran through my mind. I was desperate. I could not tolerate that nightmare. My heart knew no way to handle the putrid disgust, the hatred I had for my so terribly wrong sex that blocked me from my own self—not just genitalia that covered what I should have had, but also something much deeper, to the core of my soul. It was do or die. I could never have lived transgender.

Keep that in mind. It is relevant to everything here.

For the first 27 years pursuing this, since 1977, I learned I was / am transsexual. It was what doctors knew, staff at universities, lawyers, people at large, family, and me. But since about 2004, I was told to drop my offensive need to be the other sex, accept reference about gender role. I was told I could revel in “acceptance” if I would stop trying to be myself and just be like others wanted me to be. The social narrative changed. Since then, ideology has been pushed with intent to affect science, research, education, public opinion, and law.

This, being pressured to lock my needs into a closet, has become the bane of my existence, a hurt inside that carries every day. For that, I can point to such as the American Psychological Association, Virginia Tech, GLAAD, the HRC, and many other places who push the sex-negative transgender paradigm. I’ve had people wrinkle their nose up at me, argue that I’m supposed to be something else, even threaten me. I’m being erased. People are even less willing than ever to understand my narrative because they think I’m “transgender” no matter what I say. T sexuality doesn’t exist? Now it’s gender + surgery. The other-binary-need message of transsexualism is lost.

I no longer even get to be a noun in a sentence; I’m supposed to be an adjective, because “transsexual” as a noun is also offensive. I can be a Jew, a pilot, a wife, a student, a teacher…but I am told I can’t be a transsexual.

Most of what you hear on TV or other media is a false perspective on what is really going on—even within transgenderism—because they’re hiding sex issues which are very real, present and important. Yet most of what I am about, as transsexual, if you read these pages, is the opposite of what is popularized.

As such, please do not apply the narrative of the transgender social movement to me. It is deeply offensive to indicate my issues should not be spoken or included. Please do not refer to me as “transgender,” a need to be another gender. You will cause hurt, and God knows I don’t need more of that. Please accept me as a transsexual, the need to be the other sex, which I can say as a noun. Admit that what I am, my neurological needs I’ve had since birth, are okay to say, okay to be.

U.S. Navy, NSA, and Transition
Military barracks showing where things were in 1975 to 1977, when I was there.
National Security Agency (NSA), Ft. Meade, MD, and surrounding area.
National Security Agency (NSA) and near-by area. Showing where things were when I was there. Top Secret, SI, Cat III “Umbra” which is why I can’t talk about it beyond what the NSA has already published.

For my personal history, in the latter 1970s, Cold War, I was in U.S. Naval Intelligence, NSA, NSOC, NavSecGruAct (NSGA), Meade, MD, got out, switched. I’ve been in the past employed as a forensic psychiatric social worker (MSW, LCSW) working with felons, and I have spoken in universities, counseled trans populations on social and familial integration, stealth living, employment discrimination, surprise violence, assault, rape and suicidality.

Los Angeles, Ventura County, and Flying

After I was settled in my new life, I got my pilot’s license. I say I’m a “double ATP” so I don’t have to say “I’m an ATP S&M,” single- and multi-engine—kidding myself that, with my history, people will think leather and chains. And I’m a CFI, though I do not instruct any more.

Stealth Mode Living

In my 20s, after having trouble in life for years with rejections and discriminations, I went “stealth,” as it were, refusing to let transsexualism be a social issue for me. It was nobody’s business, I felt. It made sense, in my mind, as it does for most trans people with similar concerns—people hurt me when they know, so except for those close to me, I shut it down.

Yet after 31 years in stealth mode, through much worse hell than before, I learned stealth is exactly the wrong thing to do.

Now I try to share my mistakes, and the mistakes of others in a general sense, to help people see the pitfalls of not owning our sexuality.

Marriage to Joseph F. Ware, Jr.
Four photos of Joe, 3 of them before I knew him; Tony LeVier had that same cheeky grin when I knew him, early 1990s.

In 1989, I met a man who changed my life. It was an unlikely love: He was a conservative Christian Republican, Caltech Master, aerospace engineering icon, 40 years older; and I was a liberal Democrat Jewish transsexual who had gone to Caltech years before to buy a T-shirt. But respect with difference was natural to us both, and we were both pilots, so…we were glued together from the first, fell in love, lived together, then married.

Playful time at our wedding, 1995, stuffing cake into each other’s mouth; 1993, inside the King’s Chamber, Khufu’s Great Pyramid, Giza, Egypt; in contrast, angry people at a Trump rally.
Joe and I at an airshow, possibly Madera, CA; us at Meteor Crater, AZ; taking Joe to Disneyland when he had Parkinson’s; me taking Joe and Troi flying in our Cardinal, while he had Parkinson’s. He passed in 2012.

It’s been suggested to me several times that all that is false, but it’s true. Some people seem predisposed to prejudice, intolerance of or anger at difference—while other people seem to be absent those primitive qualities, don’t see difference as a violation of humanity but instead see the value of the person inside, regardless of difference, or even see the value of diversity, itself, as interpersonal depth, cultural richness, and a source for problem solving.

Neither Joe nor I really understood why anyone would hate someone else because of their race, religion, sex/gender, or who they love. We accepted diversity.

My Better Story: On this Website and in My Book

I share myself here and in Shadow Life as an example of

  • how a conservative like Joe can love a liberal like me,
  • how we hurt ourselves by hiding our sexuality, and
  • how we can eventually learn to embrace ourselves.