Stitch: "This is my family. I found it, all on my own. Is little, and broken, but still good. Yeah, still good."
Lilo: "'Ohana means family, family means nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten."
(Disney's Lilo and Stitch, 2002)
I'm writing this as a follow up to the post I wrote last night called "He Cried for His Dad" because of there was one thing particularly missing that I intentionally left out: my own feelings about causing my child emotional pain. I'm going to write freely here. You were forewarned.
Transitioning with kids has its own challenges. Not a day went by where I agonized over the prospect of moving toward authenticity and away from the masks I put on for everyone around me. After all, we don't want to rock the family boat and potentially destroy our relationships and our sanity, right? But I, like so many I know, was being destroyed from the inside out, becoming increasingly unable to wear the heavy mask of dishonesty. Living a lie over a piece of me that was so central to my being was probably more intense than the gender dysphoria itself, and I knew something had to give.
Yet I was a father to my young children and a husband to my wife, and I never forgot that we were a family. My wife, having already known about this for several years, continued to hope that allowing partial "crossdressing" would be enough, that my appetite for femininity would be appeased in clothing and limited self-expression. But it was never only about the clothes - all along I desired...no... I needed... to match my outer self with my inner being.
When my wife saw my health and emotional well-being decay more rapidly, she knew it was time for me to get help. She encouraged me to seek counseling for depression and I soon was taking anti-depressants for general dysthymia. The meds worked to suppress the saddest of emotions but it did nothing to resolve the incongruity that grew deeper even after Zoloft sought to become my best friend. Instead I became a zombie to the anti-depressants, and I lost a desire to cry deeply... and laugh uncontrollably. My inhibited ability to express myself emotionally was soon worse than living in sadness. The recommendation by my primary care physician to see a therapist finally pressed me to admit to myself and to my family that I had to figure this out once and for all. Thirty years of trying to solve the mystery on my own or with those who didn't understand proved fruitless. It took me years to realize that God wouldn't forgive me because there was nothing to forgive concerning this. It wasn't an issue of sin.
And so began the path that led me to where I am today, and where I was yesterday with my son in my arms crying over losing his dad.
In pain.
Because his dad transitioned.
And he'd watched his mom suffer.
And the family suffered.
And he suffered.
God knows I never wanted to hurt my children or my wife. The endless guilt I endured pressed me to halt transitioning and do an about face. But at the end of every day, awake until the wee hours of every morning trying to find the answers to it all, I concluded that "faking it" every day for my family's sake was more destructive than facing the truth. I knew that any chance I had was inside the circle of authenticity, not outside its boundaries where lies and deceit spun me into an intoxicating dance of confusion and chaos.
And my faith in God pressed me to find that truth too. I called myself a Christian to so many and carried this secret because of a credible fear that I would be judged and treated as an outcast. It turned out many Christian friends stood by my side, but some proved I had reason to fear and used weaponized words like "mutilation" and "God doesn't make mistakes" in hopes that I would turn "from my wicked ways."
Through the pain, I never felt like God loved me any less.
And that's one big reason I allowed the pain to happen. I hoped that my children would forgive me. I prayed that my wife could one day finally understand. And when we faced divorce as the last option, we chose to just hold on for one more day, and then another. Eventually, the pain subsided a bit, then returned in full force, and then waned yet again. The waves of hurt slowly receded into a distant horizon as a new day produced resolution to answer after answer. The turning tide demonstrated that my children were surviving this and even finding a new peace as I found my own peace in who I was. Our relationship, the Maddie/Child relationship, was revealing itself like a seedling breaking through the soil reaching for its first glimpses of sunlight.
Lilo: "'Ohana" means "family." "Family" means "no one gets left behind." But if you want to leave, you can. I'll remember you though.
[looking at her picture of her dead parents]
Lilo: I remember everyone that leaves.
I could have walked out on my family. My kids could have remembered me only by pictures of who I used to be. I could have abandoned my children. I could have even continued to do my best to fake it as their masculine father, but I honestly don't know how healthy an environment my kids would have lived in. According to some, I should never have had children, or have married my wife for that matter. In their eyes, I should have spared her the pain and given her the opportunity to love someone who could be that Knight in Shining Armor and meet her every physical, emotional, and sexual need. There's no doubt I made a shitload of mistakes along the way. I fight back guilt every day because of my "choices." But my perception of the world has changed. My "life at the next level" is beyond anything I've ever experienced before. My desire to nurture and give my kids the best life possible is one of my top priorities.
There will be pain to come. I have to give every member of my family that place to vent, to weep, to mourn, and to evolve. Yes, it's my fault, if you want to put it like that. I accept that responsibility and wish to God I could have minimized the pain. I'm going to have to face the barrage of heteronormative ideals shoved into my kids faces as they attempt to figure out that the relationship with and between their Maddie and Mommie is just as special, if not more special, than any other. I have a responsibility to impress upon my children that they are valuable, precious, and special to me, despite the pain my transition caused them.
The last thing I want is for them to "remember everyone that leaves." I'm different and that's painful, but Maddie, Dad, or whatever they need to call me to cope, is still here...for them.
10 comments:
This post touches me so close to home. I grew up on O'ahu. I love your heart -- have I said this already?
"In their eyes, I should have spared her the pain ..."
It makes me mad when people judge others as if they always had the knowledge and insight in the past that they now have in the present. Maybe if you really knew how this would have played out, you would have spared her this hard road, but at the time you were just doing the best you could with the information and experience you had.
Besides, do they really expect you to completely wish those years and those decisions away, when it would mean you wouldn't have had the kids you did, or enjoyed the loving relationship you AND your wife experienced for all that time? Maybe you would make the same choices anyway. Maybe so would she.
Maybe I should cut you and I some slack on all this but my conscience won't let me. I know all the excuses for transitioning with family and used them countless times. I'm not here to chastise you for something I did too.
We do everything we can to try and hold it all together.
We don't do this for our families sake. We don't go into this thinking this is going to make me a better parent. This is strictly a selfish need to be ourselves. Our bid to keep our families is also a selfish need.
Authenticity? You mean like an authentic father or husband? Oh yes we're the real deal. Not.
We lay our families on the sacrificial alter. Is it better them than us? We try to be authentic husband and fathers and fail miserably. No I can't cut any of us any slack.
If we and our families come out of this for the better than we are extremely fortunate. Blessed beyond measure you might say, for something we really don't deserve.
We do this for self preservation and if we're extremely lucky the pain subsides for all involved.
You know I have been struggling with this issue for ages. I have argued to myself for and against.
Used the reasons you mention above to transition and also the reasons that Teri has mentioned, not to.
Still cant decide.
But one thing I have seen in several relationships that have involved unhappy parents staying together, "for the sake of the children", is everyone trying to cope with an unhealthy environment.
In fact a friend of mine tells me he wished his parents had split and moved on, as he could never get past there issues. They were in front of him, on show every day.
If the home environment becomes difficult or stressed because of a major issue that cant be resolved, then is it right to stay?
Or should people change to give everyone a chance to move on?
Teri, I canna see anything positive for my children if at the heart of who I am is a lie. For that reason I really fear for my children. I lived that lie 'till the graduated from college. The poison form the lie seeped out of all my many cracks and corroded and stained my kids where it touched them. It was not clean pain. Our soldiers who've been shot heal better than the ones who have been burned. Much of what you say is true, but there is truth in transitioning for our family's benefit as well as ours.
Teri,
I'd hate for you to ever "cut me some slack" in an effort to not speak your opinion on this delicate issue. I know how excruciatingly painful your transition has been to you, especially concerning your family. I see your responses to my writing come from having looked at transition through the lens of your own glasses.
While I'm tempted to be defensive based on your comments, I simply have to see that our lives are similar and yet vastly different when it comes to our views on family. Yes, transitioning is a selfish thing, but don't we transition so that we will ultimately be happier and find an inner peace that would indirectly affect those around us? I know I wrestled with the thoughts that if I could just be me then I'd have more opportunity to invest my energy on all those other things in life that mattered to me, namely my family. And having made some pretty damn good choices through transition, as well as some really fucked up ones, I consider myself very blessed to have all that remains in my life.
Bottom line is there's no guarantee that you'll keep your family if you transition. There is no guarantee that you'll be a happier, well-adjusted person either. There is no guarantee that your dreams will come true. There is no guarantee that your family will ultimately be better off with or without your new you.
The only certainty to life is that into every life a little (or a lot) of rain must fall.
The pain is subsiding for many of us in my family. And we're seeing that the rain clouds are breaking to azure skies. I just hope they stay that way.
Thank you again, Teri, for sharing your heart. I hope you can find peace in the storms that come your way. I appreciate you very much.
Dear sister, you have been so much more fortunate than I in the family category.
I do not think that the decision to transition is what breaks families apart. IN my case it came long before I made that decision, with the reason being, ostensibly, that I was a cross dressing pervert, but the real reason was that I got kicked out of the Army and my ex lost her playground.
She gave up on the marriage because she was not committed to it.
When it came to the point in the vows where it says, "For better or worse, blah blah yada yada, till death do us part." she chucked the worse part and then considered the death part--mine, and headed straight for the divorce attorney.
Your difference is that when you faced the choice of divorce, you BOTH staked your ground and held on to the vows you had made to each other, and to God. And you held on for dear life.
And succeeded. Storms ALWAYS blow over. Weeping lasts through the night, but joy comes with the morning.
For me, the joy came but there was no one with whom I could share it. You ARE indeed blessed. Especially since you have someone with whom you can share the joy.
@ Eireanne (and basically everyone),
I really wish we could stop conflating divorce with "broken family". A broken family is a dysfunctional family...not all families of divorce are dysfunctional. In fact, most of the ones I'm acquainted with are exactly the opposite. It becomes a more functional and healthier environment for everyone because divorce is what was needed.
And FWIW, transition does lead to divorce and/or broken (but not necessarily divorced) families. Perhaps in some families there are other issues and the transition may just be a contributing factor. In other instances, it's the sole stressor in the relationship. But something as huge as one partner switching genders is a life-altering event for everyone it touches, and discounting its importance dismisses the voices of the many, many women (and a few men) who have struggled through their partners' transition and found themselves needing to be separate from it. I know, personally, that would have to be my option as well.
Lori, I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating: I can't begin to imagine the profound emotions/thoughts that must come along with transitioning with a spouse and children--or even transitioning when dating. The tenacity you and others like you must demonstrate in these "impossible" situations astounds me every time I read your narratives.
Selfishly, I think to myself how thankful I am that I transitioned before becoming romantically involved--before having children (not that I want children) and before getting married (not that I necessarily want that, either). I've noticed others touch on the ethics of transitioning with spouse and kids, and part of me says, "Yes, it's unethical to enter into such a situation (i.e. marriage and children) if you are aware of your transsexuality and/or intend to transition." Coming from a utilitarian perspective, it's unfair to your spouse to marry without sharing this hugely significant part of yourself--a part that will fundamentally challenge their sexual and social identity. You have to balance the benefit of transition with the potential deleterious effects to family, balance vs. issues of not transitioning. And maybe the more forward thinking question focuses on the ethics of putting yourself in the position that requires you to ask these questions in the first place--and I honestly don't know if such a calculus can be generalized or if this is necessarily a valuable question for some.
Another part of me recognizes that you and many others have made this decision to come out and transition after getting married and after having kids--and often those relationships are irreparably damaged by these decisions. While I would not have made the same choices, I also have to recognize that I am privileged to have transitioned so young, and I further know that there are more factors at play in these decisions than initially meet the eye. Do these confounding variables make the ethics of these decisions to marry and have kids somehow more permissible? Again, perhaps this isn't a valuable question.
Ultimately, you made your decisions and you are now faced with what many others would deem an impossible situation. However, from reading your blog it sounds more and more like your family is coping and staying afloat, and one day you may find that surviving this struggle has made you all stronger. I don't know. Only time can tell.
Ultimately, I admire you (and your family's) tenacity. My heart goes out to you, Lori. You and your family are amazing, rare people and I'm lucky to count you as a friend.
You said:
According to some, I should never have had children, or have married my wife for that matter.
I do agree that I probably should never have married and had children. I did have a pretty darn good idea, prior to marriage, what I was all about but I had not yet connected all of the dots. I selfishly felt that marriage would make it all go away. With no Internet at the time and no support groups, my ability to connect the dots was non-existent. But, then again, I was reading everything I could get my hands on regarding sex and gender change...prior to marriage. Nevertheless, I married and had a family and I love them all to death.
We (me, you, and those of us who read these blogs) are in some ways very much the same yet in other ways, very much different.
We are the same in that we are transsexuals. You chose to transition. I have so far chosen not to.
I do totally support my friends who are in transition or have transitioned and I will never, never criticize them for doing so.
I know the emotional desires and the feeling of being a totally different person on the inside from what I am on the outside. I have said in my own blog, more than once, like you, that it is not about the clothes. It is about what I am inside.
In that way, we are alike.
We are not alike in that we all have our breaking points...the point where we can no longer fight it, and there is nothing we can do about that. At that point life starts to crumble whether it be via pills (legal or illegal), booze, or even suicide. And, if your own life starts to crumble, then your marriage and family will too. At that point, doesn't transition actually make some sense? A second chance for you you and your family?
I continue to resist...no I continue to fight. The desire to start HRT is almost unbearable yet I do feel that losing the T will cause me to lose my will to fight. Who knows? I'm not going to chance it at this point and I have not reached my breaking point.
Lori, I support you. I understand you. I have cried for you and I have been overjoyed for you.
I wish you, your wife, and your family the best. You KNOW that I will always have all of you in my thoughts and prayers....because I so strongly believe in marriage and family.
Calie xxx
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