Coming Out is Hard Work!

Well, the tally is up to three now, not including myself and my wife.  I was able to talk to my brother-in-law across the pond yesterday, and talked to my dad-in-law about an hour ago.

So far, so good, I guess.  Everyone's made it abundantly clear that they still love me and my family, and all that.  It probably helps quite a bit that I'm not transitioning... no pronoun or name changes, etc...  That's hardest on me, obviously, but easiest on everyone else; which is whole point.

I'm exhausted though... emotional maelstrom...  It really doesn't help that this is finals week (I'm in a PhD program... first year...).  We wanted to give everyone as much time as possible before we actually see them at Christmas. I didn't want to come out on Christmas either, or somehow try to wait till afterward... I'd just be crying most of it anyway...   We're not telling anyone else, for the moment.  Everyone needs to process a bit (me included!... I'm not invisible anymore... very strange...) and we want to let the initial emotional swirl calm down a bit.  After that, we can see where we are at, and go from there.  I'm praying that I can sleep finally... we'll see, I guess.  It would certainly benefit my final exam scores next week. =)

Next Up:  Well, again, we're going to wait and see how this works out first, but, theoretically, our new friends (coworkers and.. hmm... church??? for instance) will be next.  Since we've newly arrived in this part of the country, we're building a new circle of friends already, and we want it to be one that knows what's going on... otherwise we'd just have to start again anyway. Best to do it from the ground up.  I'm sure there will be people who aren't as interested in my friendship (or my wife's), but it'll be better to know that now, than after having invested our hearts and lives.

Whew... I need a break... from life... hmm...  well, at least the worst of the anxiety is done, phone calls having been made.  I think the emotions will calm from here (with serious ups and downs, no doubt). 

(Sorry this is a pretty sporadically written post... I'm very tired, heart, mind, soul, and body.  To all the dear, beautiful girls (and guys!) in this position, past, present and future, I send my sincerest, warmest sympathies... its very hard, isn't it?)

Love,

   -Hailey-

Stress

So the anxiety and stress related to the whole, “I’m telling my family this week” thing is really making things hard.  My health isn’t doing so well (nausea, headaches, insomnia, awful dreams, the works).  Translation?  My female mind is kicking my male body’s butt!  (Is that good or bad??.. hmm…)

How I Told My Mom

First of all, let me allay one point of confusion:  My actual Mom and Dad are extremely unhelpful people and will be quite a way down the list of people to come out to.  All further references to my "Mom and Dad" in this post refer to my wife's parents, who care a great deal more about loving people, and to whom I am as endeared as any daughter (or son) to her (or his) biological parents.  I love my own parents a lot, they're just difficult, and always have been.

So yeah, I came out to my Mom last night.  My wife and I have been talking at length these last months and we've finally struck on a compromise that may work for us.  Transitioning to a female body and lifestyle is too much for her, and would be, at best, harmful to our children.  Its sad that society would be so happy to emotionally beat them for having a loving, but trans parent, but that would be the case, nonetheless.   However, as most trans folks know, living as the wrong, biologically enforced gender forever is also extremely harmful.  I feel like I'm bottling up the acid and poison of the world's hate for me and soaking my heart in it; hoping in vain that by staying secret, I'm helping someone.  But that very real hatred tears and shreds the soul, and my heart's endurance is failing...

Neither can I change to a woman, nor can I live as a man.  In one way or the other, I am neither.

My wife put it this way.  She cannot probably survive the social and familial upheaval of a transition, and could not sleep but in tears next to a fem-styled man whom she once was attracted to.  But at the same time, she cannot be the jailer for someone she loves so dearly.  She cannot bear the pain and misery of her companion's shackled life, knowing that she holds a key to her female husband's freedom.  Yet using that key will slay her.

So it seemed we were at an impasse, and that's not a place we are willing to be.  It has begun to look like we needed to start helping each other dig some other tunnel out of this cell.

What we've decided is that, first of all, I need to be out.  I cannot carry the secret between just herself and I any more than she can, because we will always have very real, legitimate, but unfortunately opposed desires.  I need to be able to tell my family and friends who I am.  We all long to be known and loved, and though in my case, being known means shocking a lot of people, it is the same basic desire of every human heart.  "Please know me. Please love me."  Not everyone will, of course, but that too is a reality that all humans face, whether they are so fortunate to be cis- or not.

Secondly, we are going to explore how I might start a slow process of presenting in an androgenous way.  I thank all the "metrosexual" style folks for opening some doors for more feminine looks for men.  I also thank the courage of the gay community for forcing the issue of looks on the world: it seems they may have bought me an opportunity.

We're still working through the beginning details, and for her sake, we are going to be extremely slow and self-evaluating in the whole deal.  I'm growing out my hair, and finally (FINALLY!) going to be able to shave off all the rest.  I'll use girl deodorant and all those fun things that nobody will notice anyway.  That's the start, but its all still invisible to all but ourselves.  Next will be a very slow (spelled: budget) change in my wardrobe.  Not sure how to go here, but again, looking for close-fitting, sometimes mens' styles that help me look and feel more girly, without crossing too many social boundaries.  Lastly, we're talking about a very subtle makeup routine.  Just masking and brightening, the stuff actors do, and maybe the faintest of eye makeup.  Who knows where all we'll end up, as dysphoria may pop up in places I don't expect, but we're going to work on it together.   There will be some things that will cause her a great deal more anxiety than others, so we will avoid them (earrings may be on this list, sadly...).  The main hope is that we'll strike on a look that I feel good about (especially in my daily routine, which will feel GREAT), that will make some people pause and wonder.  I hope that I'll be asked if I'm gay, occasionally, because that will mean that enough of my real self is shining through as to be recognized.

So we'll see how it goes.

Back to my Mom though.   My wife decided that there was no point in forestalling the first step, as she'd just get more and more anxious as days ticked by.  So I called last night.  I hoped that both of them would be around.  Certainly they deserve to be able to grapple with it together.  But my Dad is on a business trip at the moment.  I talked briefly to my wife, and she said, just do it.  So I did.

"What do you know about transgenderism?..."

The first thirty minutes were very good.  She was shocked, naturally, and had a huge surge of compassion; wondering how I'd managed to survive it all, etc...  I talked about my childhood, and the science of it (brain differentiation and all).  Her mind started catching up with her emotions at some point, however, and one by one, her defense mechanisms whirred into action.  How wonderfully attentive to distress our minds are!  Thankfully, even after another hour, her opposition was not as bad as it could be.  She naturally feels threatened by me telling other people, and would rather a very VERY small circle ever know (like, herself, her husband, and that's it).  There is a real concern that her other daughter, my wife's sister (mostly because of her husband) would deny our family, or at the very least, myself, any access to our niece and nephews.  Can't have me corrupting their sons, after all.  I hear it's contagious...  So yes, joking aside, she's concerned, as she should be, that my "problem" will hurt the family... and it probably will...

She finished by desperately asking that I don't talk to my Dad immediately.  She seems to know something about his likely reaction...  He is a very respectable man, by the way, in whom I have the highest regard.  Religious, and extremely loving, which tends to go hand in hand with those who actually live as Jesus suggested, rather than just hammering on those who don't.  Part of what has made him such a great person is his dedication to his family, and willingness to tough it out for anyone under who has found themselves sheltered by his arm, related or not.  A man's job is to take care of his family, no matter what the cost, and no matter what his wayward heart my tell or ask of him. (Can you see where this is going?)  Furthermore, he respects me, and will absolutely tell me the truth, if I am going to hurt myself or other people.  He was the only one who was tough enough to keep me in college, for instance.  So his advice is going to sting an awful lot, I'm afraid.  Partly because he, like most others, will not see me clearly for quite some time, and partly because I myself have already told myself those things.  I know what my responsibilities are, and I will keep my promises to my wife and children.  I suffer excessively in knowing that I have not been strong enough to keep this all locked up inside.  I wish I could just bear it, but my life has shown me that I cannot.

In humility, I have to admit that I cannot maintain my role as a man by myself anymore.  I hope that I'm a girl who's made out of strong stuff; courage and resolve, patience in affliction, and all those qualities I so admire in my heroines and role models...  So he will be right. I "should" have been strong enough to deal with it all... but I am not (and that is not how God made me, it seems).

So we will see.  I hope that our imminent trip down to see them (in a few weeks) will help alleviate some of their fears.   I am as I have always been; my personality is authentic.  I hope that seeing me play with the kids and talk and love as I always have will help them see that I am neither a freak, nor psychologically deranged.  Lots of hopes...

Finally, a very positive note that has made me smile.  Why end on a downer, after all?  My mother-in-law, having heard my story, started thinking out loud.  "So many pieces are starting to make sense."  I asked her what kinds of things were coming to mind.  "Well, there are quite a few... but for instance, you've always had a way of flowing into the room, like when you are coming to get the kids, and so many of your mannerisms are so very soft and gentle... I've always noticed that about you"

=)  See, I really am buried inside this XY flesh somewhere!  I didn't know that I could be "flowing" in anything... always been sort of clumsy, I thought.  Well done, female brain!

Terrible Hope

I knew it was coming; much like a runway knows, inevitably, that the jetliner will touch down.  The shock and weight of its arrival still hurts terribly, anticipation notwithstanding.

Just another airplane for the tarmac, and just another holiday for me.  Thanksgiving has arrived in the U.S., and I find myself clawing and scraping to climb out of this well of tears.  I wonder, "will it just go on forever?"

I finally watched Lana Wachowski's speech.  So many people have said that her story "could have been mine."  Something about her goofy, beautiful words capture so well the struggle we face; certainly the struggle I face.  My own story is somewhat different in the details, but so similar in the essence.  I cried and laugh (and am crying now, as I type) as she carries me through my own inexplicable life.

What strikes me hardest, is the response of her brother and parents.  How I long to be loved as a daughter and protected as a sister. (more crying). Her success has given me more hope than I thought I could have, and that hope has crushed me.  How can I hide and secretly cry when I have this hope... that I could be loved as the daughter I am. (still crying...) The beautiful people I call family, might, some day, call me beautiful too, or defend me when someone points out that I'm not (Y-chromosomes have that effect).

Maybe it's just as well that we won't see our family this year for Thanksgiving.  A move to a new state has isolated us painfully, but even so, I don't know that I could bear to be there in my shirt and slacks, crying my eyes out on the front porch and not being able to tell anyone why.

And of course, if it were only me in the world, and them, then I would throw the dice and see if I could be as fortunate as Lana.  But my wife may not survive such a change, and she is everything to me.  She was cheerfully cooking until a moment ago, and to see her downcast face, hugging me as I cry, trying not to cry as she reads my draft... Crushing hope indeed.  From here, it looks as though we will always pain each other, one way or the other, in this struggle.  There is nothing wrong with either of us, and in all other aspects, we fit perfectly... but in this, it is so hard to hope with any certainty.  I love those blue eyes, and the perfect smile.  I cannot live without her, and I cannot live without me... at least it feels that way today.

Day of Remembrance, and a Poem

There was a vigil on campus last night.   It was late for me, and I wasn't sure if I should stay; leaving all the dinner and bedtime work to my lovely wife.  I remembered later in the afternoon that I was already scheduled for a late-ish meeting... anyway, 5:00 turned to 6:00, and then to 6:30.  The vigil, and with it, a first (terrifying) (lovely) chance to finally meet more people like me was only half an hour off.  My wife was amenable and the kids seemed to be behaving, so I decided to go.

What an absolutely beautiful group of people.  "Spectrum" is a word that gets used a lot... and it fit us, gathered there, mixed and matched, remembering our brothers and sisters and friends.

We read through the death reports of about thirty transgender murder victims.  Some had names and ages, some only had the date when their body was found.  Some were beaten with rocks and concrete slabs, many were stabbed, most were shot. One was let out of a car, only to be run down and left dying in the street.

We had a hard time reading those reports.  Many were unclear about which gender, if any, the victim claimed.  Was the name their own, or the one on their birth certificate?  When it said "he was...," was it really one of our sisters, or truly a brother?  We tried our best.

So we remembered them, named, identified or no, and hoped and prayed together that next year, the list would be shorter.

Rest peacefully, beautiful ones.





Afterward, we all had a chance to write or draw our thoughts onto a paper quilt, of sorts.  I ended up writing a poem...  I felt bad, afterward, that I had rather written about myself, than about those we remembered... but anyway, I suppose my emotions are not unique, and in speaking for myself, perhaps I can speak for others who haven't found their voice.


In a dark world, and cold
  must I walk with burden great.
No peace or rest, yet hope to hold
  'gainst creeping doubt, and looming hate.

Spirit hold me, I your daughter
  through this lifelong plight, till life's begun
in Your great court and healing water
  when finally, down, I lay your son.

Choices and Chocolate

My wife and I have been talking a lot about our possible courses of actions.  (Crying more than talking, sometimes.)  There is a lot of future ahead of us, which, being a team, we want very much to work together toward the best version of it.  But right smack in the way of our view, is my femininity.  We both want to plan and dream; raise our kids, be great parents, build memories, serve our community and world... but there I am, with a giant question-mark casting its long shadow.

We both feel that we are in each other's way.  She doesn't know how to approach life with a female partner (and all the ugly family dimensions that would bring).  I don't know how to approach life as a man, even with the decades of experience.  I feel so tired of the charade.  So both of us feel like we cannot succeed in doing the thing we'd like for each other.  I'd love to bottle it all up and not let that hammer fall on her.   She'd love to press the "Freedom" button and not keep me locked in the emotional wasteland... but neither of us feel like we are able... neither of us feel like we could manage...

So here we are, our own best friend's biggest hurdle.  Neither of us have any doubt that we will weather whatever storm fate throws our way, and suggestions of giving up on each other invokes a similarly fierce defence mechanism in us both:  we will never let go of each other.. it's what makes us "us."

So here we are, clinging to each other, heart and soul as we plummet into the unknown.

Maybe, at the end of the day, it pays to just sit down with a big bar of chocolate.  How else do you get by, sometimes?  I don't have a feminine figure to worry about, after all...  though now that I think of it, my wife can't eat chocolate... allergy and all... just can't win tonight. ;)

Much Love,

Hailey

A Crying Day

Its just one of those days.  I've been on the verge of tears since I woke up.  I always hope that the weeks and months of melancholy will be punctuated by weeks and months of peace, but this latest bout  is worse than it's been before.  My wife is watching me closely, wondering if an explosion is immanent; some horrifying break with all she's known and cherished... and of course, that is precisely what I can be... a very loving, caring, possibly ticking bomb.  We just don't know.

In the mean time, I want to cry, and can't, because of my Y-chromosome...  It's just not socially acceptable, even tolerable...  and I couldn't tell anyone what the matter was anyway.  Will it pass soon? I pray it will, but I don't know precisely where His plan for me actually lies, so I know not how to hope, except that I can hope in Him in a general way...  Isaiah 40 records the prophet asking, "why do you say your way is hidden from the Lord?  Why do you say the Lord has disregarded you?" (paraphrase).  But He, like so many of you, know how hard the emotions can be.

Sometimes a girl just needs to cry... even if she's a boy.

Loving Haters

I wonder how many people, if asked, would think of me as something of a contradiction.  Not only am I a girl with a Y chromosome (p < 0.05...), but I am also a very sincere Christian. To be sure, there are a lot of Christians who believe all sorts of things, even those who find their own, personal theology to follow... but I think you would find, if you delved a bit, that I really am fairly centric in the greater distribution of Christian beliefs... and yet, I am not against transgenderism.  

I understand the hang-ups... believe me; I've grown up cherishing every word of the Scriptures, and know which ones might be talking about me... and I understand the way my brothers and sisters see things...  What makes me so sad is how the community I love, to which I will always belong, tends to fall into old, worn-out, hatred on issues like this.  It really doesn't bother me so much that many men and women around the world who would gladly have me serve in their ministries would also choke and yell "repent" if they understood my "psychology."  The fact is, I love my community.  I love them.  I want to serve them, and in all of that, serve my King.  He's a lot nicer they are, and very worth serving.

But here I am, loving the very people who hate me the most.  I support the Church, even though it, by and large, would not support me.  I hope, someday, that I might have a role to play there.  If I navigate this whole, non-transition thing, I would be as much a contradiction to them (doing what they want on the outside, but refusing to on the inside) as I am to those who have been hated by Christians.

For the behavior of my community, I am very, very, sorry.  I do not excuse their hatred for you and me, or anyone else.  It is very easy to judge other people when you've been convicted as to the waywardness of your own heart.  It's the wrong response, but one that we are all very good at... I've done that myself, on other issues, so I can't really blame them for doing it too... I just don't hate them back, I guess... and hopefully, maybe, some day it won't be so bad...

Thanks for reading, and much love!

-Hailey-

PS:  So if you have questions, by the way, especially theological ones, or "how could God..." sorts of things, I think you'll find me a fairly neutral source.  I have not been through seminary or anything, but I've spent a lot of time and energy on the topics; more of an educated layman than an expert;  but conversations with laymen are sometimes more helpful than lectures from experts. =)   I'd like to think that I can do some good in defusing some of the tension, even if it's only one-sided for now. (The Church will take some time...)

In the Pressure Cooker

I'm not really that phenomenal a chef, so when I run into something that makes tasty food without much requirement for skill and experience, I definitely take note.  One such masterpiece of modern engineering, is apparently, our pressure cooker.

The thing about pressure cookers is that they keep, well, everything, locked up inside.  All the heat, all the steam, all the food, is trapped inside, and things not only heat up, but get squeezed quite exceptionally by the pressure.  Apparently, water boils somewhere past 400F inside that pot.  The results, after a few minutes, are quite delicious, and I highly recommend you try one.

But food isn't the only thing in the pressure cooker, it would seem.  I'm not sure when the analogy struck me, but I feel very similar to my carrots last night.  There is an often-overwhelming pressure to present myself as the square-bodied, rough-chinned girl that I am.  How I would love to go on those fascinating hormones, and let my body work its way into a slightly better, slightly curvier, (and hopefully less stubbly) shape.

But all that pressure has a lid on it.  A tight, intentionally pressure-proof lid built out of the last 30-some years of my life.  The painful knowledge of the consequences of opening that lid are blisteringly clear.  In a very similar, though much less humorous way, coming out (especially given my family and friends), would mirror very well the explosion of steam and carrots which might have painted my kitchen a soggy, steamy orange, had I removed the lid.

I'm not sure the carrots would have been so happy to be "free" when they had been splattered, heart and soul, across the appliances.  How similar I feel, knowing just how similarly splattered myself, and my darling wife would be in the analogous life of "freedom."

So again, back to the same old, lidded life I come.  Unwilling to blow the lid, barely able to survive the internal pressure and temperature, but knowing that somehow, I must.


Much Love,

-Hailey-