The Year of Wendy

As another year draws to a close, I am inevitably called to look backward at what has been and forward to what may be.  2014 was certainly a year like no other in my life, and it certainly feels like a turning point or watershed or something equally portentous.

There are two main threads that are running through my life right now.  One thread is, for want of a better phrase, "the Transgender Experience".  I began the year in a rush of elation after a month of attending church services and other events as a woman (see The December of Wendy).  Yes, I felt very liberated by these experiences, but also confused.  Now that I had stepped farther out of the closet than ever before, what was I going to do next?  Was I going to go to church as a man or a woman, both, or neither?  At first I made it a point to reappear in my male guise for a few Sundays, just to show (to myself and others), that nothing had changed; I was still the same old me.  But I couldn't get back in the closet.  Now that I had gone to church as a woman several times, I wanted to do it again.  And again.  As the year went on, I made fewer appearances as a male, both at church services and other related activities,  When I did go as a male, it was generally due to some circumstances beyond my control, and I found that I felt frustrated in those instances.

There was one special fear that kept me at an impasse for a while: fear of performing music as a woman.  It's a situation where I can't hide--in front of everyone, the center of attention, an obviously trans person who looks more or less like a woman but sings more or less like a man.  Eventually I found the right way to negotiate this fear.  My first performance was in a group, where I could stay more in the background, singing backing vocals in a high register, performing two songs written by women.  My second performances was singing one of my own songs solo.  I eventually became pretty comfortable with performing as a woman, to the point that I sang two songs by myself and participated in a jam session only yesterday.

This year I also screened my rock opera, Transposition, for the first time in front of two small audiences.  Transposition has a transgender main character and is about the struggle of that character to come to terms with gender identity and spirituality.  It was received at both screenings with enthusiasm.

I spent more time as Wendy this year than ever before; I averaged about once a week.  That doesn't seem like much, but considering the previous years I averaged once every two or three months, it's a huge jump.  For the first time, I was able to explore social situations consistently as a woman.  I'm still trying to figure out what kind of woman I am or could be, but fortunately, I've got a lot of strong, intelligent, quirky, and all around fabulous women for role models.  Really, I've only just begun to integrate the long-compartmentalized sides of me into one whole person.

Finally, there was the dawning conscious realization of what I long knew in my heart of hearts: I want to be a woman.  I found (with trepidation) that I was already moving on a path that could lead to a full-time transition to social womanhood.

I mentioned two threads; the other thread is "The Caregiver Experience".  My wife's health has been deteriorating for some years now, and our relationship has gone from being equal partners and best friends to more like me being a parent and she being a child.  She is basically helpless and completely dependent on me now.  Much of the spring and summer of this year was spent in hospitals and inpatient rehab.  This fall she seemed to decline rapidly for a time; and while she has made some improvements in the past month, it's clear that the end is coming.  It could be tomorrow, or in a year or two, but it's coming.  I've prepared for it about as much as one can do, but I know I will be devastated when it comes.  Meanwhile, we exist in a limbo.  Our love is intact, but her capacity to understand what is going on around her is greatly diminished.  Consequently, I feel lonely much of the time.  My best friend is still there, yet she's not there.  My life is going on, hers is drawing to a close.

To be honest, I dread the coming year.  I don't see any path forward that doesn't lead through hell.  Maybe more than one hell.  It's clear that I want--no, need--to spend more time as a woman, perhaps even all the time, but I don't see any way of doing that that doesn't lead to great loss and pain.  Add to that the loss and pain of my soul mate's decline and eventual death, and it becomes something so big that I doubt my ability to get through it.  I'm a strong person, but this seems too much to bear.  I've been pretty depressed lately, brought to my knees by the enormity of it all.  All I can do is try to stand up and put one foot in front of the other, praying for unexpected grace, hoping for an unlooked-for path to open up.  Or barring that, the strength to keep breathing and pushing through to daylight again.