What, Me, Optimist?

Tonight I had the chance to talk over the phone with a friend I've not connected with in quite some time.  We were discussing some a few questions she had over a little project I've started.  During the course of our conversation, the issue of self-worth came up, and I again admitted something that few people know about me:

I struggle with feeling defeated in many things in life.  And my sense of self-worth isn't nearly where it should be.

Talking through it with her brought up some possible reasons for it, one being the way I was taught by the churches I attended that people like me are hell-bound, and I could never be a woman because...well, "God doesn't make mistakes." (Never mind the fact that I didn't believe I "could be," but always knew I was a woman.)

Over time I know I've been able to plow through those unintelligible justifications for condemning me and people like me.  Many of you know my struggles with my faith and how I overcame the condemnation with my own soul (and Scripture) searching, and eventually arriving at the conclusion that God loves me, just as I am.

But now I find myself beginning a new thing, and my fears and lack of self-confidence are once again knocking at my door, and all it takes is a shred of the toxic bullshit out there in this blogosphere battlezone to close me up.

During the phone conversation, I was surprised to hear my friend tell me how she always loved to read my blog; that through all the mess that was my life, I somehow always managed to shine a light of resilient optimism into each story and confession.   So for the rest of the evening I thought back to some of my own writings from those troubling times, and I discovered that I always managed to hold on to some thing, one thing, or anything that would give me hope.  I held on, as the song goes, for one more day.  And surprisingly, it worked.

I guess I'm surprised to be seen as an optimist.  My own continued struggles with self-confidence and fear of failure often attempts to repress my timid spirit.  But in looking back at where I've come from, I don't think I would have been able to make it had it not been for finding some reason during the day to be optimistic, and I'm grateful optimism came in many shapes and colors.

Optimism = Hope.

And hope is what I'm trying to impart from my life to those I care about.  Perhaps I'll never stop struggling with those little voices mocking me and calling me a failure.  But I'll prove them wrong in the end.  Just you wait.



Thanks for lifting my spirit today, Tegan.  

When Is the Right Time to Transition?

Self portrait late 2007

I sometimes have difficulty understanding the way trans people identify with the period of time they transitioned.  I've heard words like "late transitioners" most often used to describe those in their 50's and up along with the term "early transitioners" used to describe children and teenagers who were allowed to transition at a young age with the help of their parents or once they moved out on their own.  But I don't identify with either of those.  I guess I'm a "middle transitioner," and quite frankly for me, I couldn't wait any longer.

When I was in college in the early 1990's, I finally discovered that transsexualism was becoming better understood, and I sought after every book at the massive university library I could to learn more.  Seeing graphic illustrations of SRS (or GCS, or whatever we're calling it nowadays) looked excruciatingly painful, but that didn't stop me from smiling, knowing that change was possible, and wishing I could somehow make that happen in my own life.  I'd spend years afterward wrestling with my faith over this, all the while working towards building a career and family.  But years of sweeping under the carpet the longing to be whole eventually took its toll on me, and depression along with the dysphoria became more unbearable than ever.  I just wanted to be treated for this, I just wanted to get better.

Necklace given to me by a dear friend who shared its meaning in THIS post:  

While in my early to mid 30's, I felt the ability to reach the goal of authenticity slipping through my fingers.  Looking at myself in the mirror, testosterone continued to alter my body in ways I loathed.  My mind and body were heading in opposite directions.  Eventually, with the help of the one I love, I sought help because I couldn't bear the idea of living the rest of my life in this incongruent body and mind.  For me, being a "late transitioner" was out of the question.  For me, it was then or never.  So I transitioned in my 30's, and though I have few regrets in some of the wrong choices I made, I don't regret getting the help I needed and moving forward...falling forward.  Most of my close friends believe that it was the right choice for me.  I'd have to agree with that.  It got better.  I got better.

So back to the question I posed in the title of this post: when is the right time to transition?  The bottom line is that no one can ever tell you to transition.  For many, financial issues are almost always at the forefront of any decision to transition.  Most health insurance companies do not cover any procedures related to "sex transformations," at least that's what my provider calls it.  Yet the American Medical Association along with other organizations believe that transsexuality is a medical condition that should be covered.  Trans people in England and Canada have access to medical treatment, but we've got a long way to go before we see that available in the states.

Self portrait - late 2007

And as for those who can afford transition, it's certainly not inexpensive.  And if you are able to finance your way through transition, when is the right time to do so?  Should you not transition because you're married?  Should you stay in the relationship that you got into before you transitioned (and does he or she even know)?  What about the kids?  And what about the fear of being discriminated against and terminated at work?  These are some really tough questions that only you can answer.  One of the best things that was helpful to me was finding a really understanding therapist who specialized in gender and sex issues.  Some of my friends who transitioned felt very little value in counseling and were able to transition successfully without any outside help.

There's clearly no right way to transition just because everyone has unique hurdles to overcome.  I transitioned in my 30's because, at that point in my life, I had to.  Regretting that I didn't transition sooner only erases the value in the experiences I received through those years, in the people I met, and in the family I have have and love today.  I used to wish that I'd just been born in the right body of a girl.  But in doing so I was denying the beauty of the process of becoming me, the woman I am today.  As in the words of a song from the Broadway musical RENT, "There's only now, there's only this, forget regret, or life is yours to miss."

Have you transitioned?  If so, when was the right time for you?

Are you thinking of transitioning?  When is the right time for you?

Do you wish and feel like you HAVE to transition but are paralyzed in fear that you won't make it?  What are those fears keeping you from getting help?

If you're none of the above but you have insight on this, what are you thoughts on the matter?

The Hurt We Feel When We Cause Others Pain

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.