Oh no I deleted my videos! Read on to find out why~

I’ve made it no secret that internally I feel like a transgender person. Specifically, woman. Female. She. Her. But, my life is far more complicated than that. I am a Christian. A Catholic. I am looking into, considering possibly going into the ministry or doing more to serve God in the church. No matter what I end up doing, as I grow in the church, in my faith, unfortunately I will have fewer opportunities to express my feminine side. I am not giving up my femininity. I will keep cross dressing and doing make up as needed. I will continue to grow my Barbie collection and as with my Transformers I will continue to play with my dolls. Yes I said dolls.

But what is going to change, for the time being, is my public discussions of trans gender related issues. I have things I struggle with that I have to settle for myself. Does this mean the Retro Witch is done? NO! Not even close. In fact what it really means is I expect to rebrand my show to be more inline with how I really feel. Retro Witch was a character I played. Obviously the real me, the woman inside is not the retro witch, she is Stephanie and that will never change. Nothing is going to remove her from me. Ever.

However, as I move towards a public life of service to the church I will have to align my outward appearance with that which is more edifying to the church. I have been told as I heal spiritually, as my heart heals, then Stephanie will go away and I will become more man, masculine or comfortable with my outward maleness. I am not so sure. I did that. I lived that life. Stephanie is not a part of me, she is me. No, she isn’t me. I am Stephanie. Period. There is no RAT. There is no, him. Only me. That is who I ~AM~ and nothing is going to change that. How far I want to take it is another story.

Every time I try to cover her up, deny the truth and hide, in shame, I feel bad for a while until the overwhelming, no over powering desire to be my authentic self bubbles up and I sink back into a slump. Dresses, makeup, dancing, etc., that is when I am the most happy. But, I still have to fight the urge to give into sin. Male or female, queer or straight, trans or cis, I am still celibate and as long as I remain single, unmarried, that will continue to be my state of being.

This is not easy. I wish I could get HRT, change my name, come fully out of the closet and eventually pursue GRS. Those are things I desire above all else in life. With one exception. To serve the Lord Jesus. How do I reconcile being a Godly man with being, internally at least, a transgender woman? OR gender queer? At the very least extremely effeminate person with strong desires to just be left alone? Maybe, at the end of the day, I need to be comfortable living alone. Living by myself. As me, the real me.

I was told if you feed one nature it will grow. The more I give into femininity the more feminine I become. I don’t feel myself feeding the masculine and becoming more masculine, I find myself becoming more, depressed with the prospect of having to be force into a box I do not wish to be in. This mask I wear, sometimes it kills me inside. Sometimes I long for the day I can, in a red dress and red leather boots walk confidently out in public and shop for makeup without feeling guilt, shame or worse.

Last year I made big strides in freeing myself from the burden of my bondage. This year, this new year has begun to tie my hands, push me back into the cage and proceeds to beat me back into submission. I suffocate. The woman wants to roar. But she wants to be accepted by her female peers, trans or otherwise. She wants to be feminine. She wants to be feminist. But she also wants to be a devout Christian living life pleasing to the Lord and obedient to the stewards of his Church. For the first time in my life as Stephanie I think I might make a plea to the Holy Mother of God, Mary, whom the Catholic church has taught me to admire and adore. In the meantime I deleted all my Stephanie videos and will let the fear that keeps me enslaved continue to keep me from living my life, my way.

~Stephanie Bri.

Super Gobot Baron Von Joy and what he means to me personally and my collection

This is not one of those tales of how I fell in love with a Gobot over a Transformers because of the superior quality of the toy compared to the other brand. Nor is it a story on how nostalgia clouded my judgement into thinking the Gobot was inferior to the Transformer brand.

This is a person story of how I left a particular toy from my childhood in the past as it remained tied to a painful memory I had every intention of avoiding. This is the story of the day my grandpa died and how my dad comforted my with what became my first Gobot toy.

I have been a toy collector, off and on, my entire life. It started when I was a kid. I have dabbled to varying degrees well into my adult life. I recently began the quest to get back fully into the collecting of toys and collectibles from my childhood. I have spent much of the time focused on Transformers that I had as a kid or those I picked up the first time I got back into adult collecting.

I had avoided buying Baron Von Joy for a number of reasons. The first and foremost is Gobots are not a top priority for me. As my financial resources are fairly limited I concentrated on the Transformers that were most important to me personally. The second reason I held off on seeking this toy out was the painful memory associated with the passing of my grandfather. Obviously as time has passed the pain has diminished as I have aged. Recently I lost another grandfather and decided it was time to honor the memory of the one I lost ages ago as a way to move on.

I wasn’t much older than somewhere between the ages of three and five. I have no more than a barely confirmed fuzzy memory of sitting with my grandpa before he passed. What I do have is a very vivid memory of my dad, the man I looked up to most as a kid, being away from his family for what felt like forever to a child when he went to California to attend his dad’s funeral. As a kid all I knew about California is it was where my grandpa went to die. It left me with a feeling of California is a bad place where people go to die. It wasn’t a rational fear but it stuck with me for a very long time.

Upon his return my dad filled the void in my fragile little heart by bringing me a present. It was, at the time, a fairly impressive Super Gobot toy. I knew it was special because all my Transformers were plastic but this was metal and had rubber tires. It was like those metal cars you see in the collectible aisle at the toy store. You know the ones old men were always looking at.

It was a sci-fi alien robot like my existing Transformers, except it also turned into a realistic car, in this case a Porsche. Little did I know that the Transformers toys that predated my late entry plastic possessions were also die cast metal with rubber tires. Hey, I was a kid and it was the late 80s the Gobots had already met their maker and Tranformers was taking over the world of young 80s kids.

Unfortunately the original one from my childhood failed to survive all those moves my family made over the years. I honestly cannot remember what exactly happened. What I do know is when I returned to the hobby as an adult collector I intentionally avoided buying this specific Gobot. In fact, I didn’t get nostalgic for the brand at all until I was in my late 20s.

It started slowly with my stumbling into a junk store in a small lakeside town in Nebraska. There on the shelf was a retro Gobot toy I had never seen but it had the branding plastered on its chest. I immediately bought it, took it home and looked it up on Google.

As I began researching the toyline that nostalgia began swelling up.

I took a few years off from collecting entirely before I came back around to collecting last year. As I decided to get back into collecting I made a choice to get the toys from my childhood. I had struggled with whether or not I was going to get this one or not. I decided it was time and so I made the plunge.

Once it arrived I was overwhelemed with emotions as the memory of my grandpa came back to me.