Way back in 2001 or thereabouts, I wrote a song called "Pariah". The lyrics are a bit cryptic, but it's basically about a person who goes crazy at work and starts singing and dancing in their cubicle until they're carried off. Some of the lyrics, though, are less fantasy and more autobiography:
Daring to dream I'm as good as you
Was I made in His image, too?
Once I thought I knew (Afraid of knowing where I belong)
Even then, I was acknowledging that I was afraid of knowing the truth about myself. And I have been pretty successful in my denial. In fact, for someone who is so introspective, my capacity for self-deception is astonishing. Even as I type this, I hesitate in stating the unvarnished truth.
I want to be a woman.
There it is. To be fair, I have long admitted that "in a perfect world", I would choose to live in a more feminine role. If there were a third gender role, I would belong to that gender. But this is the real, imperfect world, and it's time I confront what I really want for the rest of my life in this world.
I have been thinking about transition a lot in the past year or so. Trying it on for size in my mind--if I transitioned to full-time womanhood, what would I do in this or that situation. Most likely another transition--my wife's decline in health and the inevitable end of that decline--has been a stimulus, forcing me to examine what my life will be like after she's gone. And middle age is a time to reexamine the road you're on. Yesterday morning I was brought up short when I suddenly realized that I am already transitioning!
When did it start? When I started coming out to people at church? When I starting writing a transgender rock opera? Or is it more recently, when I started laser hair removal on my face? That was certainly taking it to a whole new level. My decision to start coming to church services as Wendy was probably the real turning point. At first I was a little ambivalent, but as I've grown more comfortable and confident I've gotten to the point that I'm reluctant to go as a male. I've started going to other social events as a woman as well--keeping within my comfort zone, but pushing the envelope all the same.
There are other ways that I am not-entirely-consciously preparing the way for a full-time existence. For quite some time I have been reluctant to spend any money on men's clothing. I need to replace several articles of clothing that are becoming old and worn-out, but am uninterested in doing so. I just can't bring myself to buy a new pair of men's shoes or shirts or underwear. I am forever planning more hair removal on pretty much my entire body, and other cosmetic changes like a more feminine hairstyle and pierced ears (and forever procrastinating).
Beyond mere appearance, I have become more reluctant to identify myself as a man. When my wife refers to me as her husband or as a man, I feel little gnat bites of pain in my heart. I am beginning to identify more with my women friends and less with my men friends. I have long counted myself a feminist, but take it more personally than I used to. Generally, my gender dysphoria is on the increase.
So is it inevitable that I will transition to full-time womanhood? I don't know. There are so many rational reasons not to, reasons I have spelled out in other blog entries. Who would choose to do something that could cost them family, friends, and employment? Who would give up male privilege for the misogyny, inequality and downright belittlement women have to deal with all the time? Even more, who in the world would want to be a visibly transgender woman and risk ridicule, harassment, violence and death at the hands of transphobic rednecks? Who would transition in northeast Tennessee, for Pete's sake?!?
Can my rational and well-founded fears stop my heart's yearning? Once I thought I knew.
Afraid of knowing where I belong...
Friday, October 24, 2014
Saturday, October 11, 2014
Coming Out Stories
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| A Night at the Opera |
The first person I ever came out to was my best friend. We were both in our early twenties, I was deeply closeted and had never heard the word "transgender". I was also a teetotaler. After I heard him talking--with some amusement, but not unkindly--about some Penthouse letter he read in which the letter-writer, a man, confessed he liked to crossdress, my deep dark secret began to burn a hole in my soul. I needed desperately to confide in someone. So I arranged to hang out with my friend one evening when his roommate was gone. I told him I wanted to try drinking some alcohol; I thought I could only overcome my fear of telling someone if I got drunk. In truth, I don't think he gave me a great deal of alcohol, but in the early hours of the night, I finally, haltingly, told him that I liked wearing women's clothing. He was very kind, even tender, as he assured me it was OK.
The next day, things were a little awkward. He didn't seem to want to talk about or reference the night before, though he did call me later on to make sure I was all right. In the years to come, he ran hot and cold about the subject. Sometimes he didn't want to hear about it, other times he did and seemed fascinated. He did eventually see me as Wendy, once, but I think it unnerved him a bit. In recent years, we have lost touch.
In 1998, I began attending a transgender support group in Knoxville called Swans. In the course of just four months, I went from being totally in the closet to hanging out with other trans people and even going out in public a couple of times. I was riding high in what is sometimes called the Pink Fog: a state of euphoria brought on by the sudden release of my transgender feelings. In this state, I determined that the time was right to come out to my parents. After all, they were fairly liberal, relatively speaking. I wasn't sure I could verbally tell them, though, so I wrote them a long letter (we don't communicate very well). I told them that I was a crossdresser, but not to worry, I was not crazy and had no intention of transitioning to female. I mailed the letter and waited in an agony of anticipation. In a few days, I got a phone call; my mother assured me that everything was all right, that they loved me just the same. Relief flooded through me and I felt on top of the world.
Then the other shoe dropped. I got a letter in the mail in which my mother expressed all her fears (and my father's). She was not surprised by my revelation, but my father was devastated. They felt that I was deluded and perhaps under the pernicious influence of the people in the support group. Their counsel was to get back into the closet and tell no one. I was stunned; my euphoria was drowned under a tidal wave of depression. My next visit with them was very strained. I tried to bring the subject up with my mother, but it was clear that she was very uncomfortable talking about it. When I showed up one weekend wearing shorts with my legs shaved, I was asked to wear long pants in future visits because I was upsetting my father. Later, when I started growing my hair longer, my father unleashed a contemptuous verbal assault upon me. He later apologized (after a fashion) in an email. As it stands today, our relationship is cordial, but strained; we have established a don't-ask-don't-tell detente.
The third and final story I want to share today is a happier one. After attending a Unitarian Universalist church for a few months I had become friends with a lady who, like me, sang in the choir. She played violin and wanted a guitar accompanist; she and I began playing music together, and in that way we gradually got to know each other better. In fact, despite a significant difference in ages (she was older than me), we became good friends.
One Sunday a member of our church, who happened to be gay, delivered a moving sermon about a transgender friend of his; I think his purpose was to raise awareness of trans people and issues. I was very affected by this, and again, I had a burning desire to tell someone. By this time I had been going to the support group for years (though it was ending) and was much more self-assured, but still this part of my life was very compartmentalized. Anyway, I decided to tell my new friend. I sat down with her and told her my little spiel and showed her a few pictures. Her reaction was astonishing. She was very interested in knowing more, was smiling broadly. In a few minutes, she was going through her jewelry for clip-on earrings I could borrow and had me trying on high heels she no longer wore. I had never felt such total and instant acceptance from a cisgender person before. My head was spinning.
In the ensuing months, our relationship deepened. She wanted to meet me as Wendy, face-to-face. When I stood before her, feeling vulnerable, she embraced me and whispered, "It's nice to meet, you, Wendy". She continually supported and even egged me own. Our first night out together was as two women, watching an opera in Knoxville. Our first vacation together was as two women, also; a trip to Charleston, SC, and nearby beaches. Though I had difficulty dealing with the difference in our ages at first, we fell in love and eventually married. She has always been my staunchest supporter and has never wavered in her total acceptance of all of me.
I have more stories to share, but that's enough for now. Happy Coming Out Day!
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