It was a week or two to Christmas 2004. It was evening.
I stood in the kitchen in my mom's house, nervously sipping at a coffee mug full of hot tea with milk and sugar. My mouth and throat had gotten dry from the anxiety and heated air, and I was going to need my voice. Well, a voice. It never was my voice.
I was trying to work up enough courage to sit down with her and casually explain something I had been hiding to the death from even myself for quite some time. I was trying to tell her I was a girl.
This poor woman was about to find out that her firstborn "son" of four children, whom she'd given birth to 29 years ago, was seeing a gender therapist 150 miles away. "He" was going to start taking hormones in a few months, and eventually wear girly clothes in public, for the rest of her life. Her life.
Mom, I'm a girl. There's been a huge mistake, and that needs dealt with if I want to be happy. I've always felt this way. I'm changing roles. I start hormones in February.
But not in so many words. Finally, I choked down the lump in my throat and approached her, and carefully explained what was going on. I had (tearfully) practiced coming out to her sister a few evenings or so beforehand, because she tended to be a lot more levelheaded than Mom. I was the one who got upset then. On the other hand, Mom was already dealing with a lot, and she had always tended to react strongly to change and news like this.
Before I sat down, I braced for fireworks. This was a huge moment, and I was prepared for the worst: "Get out of my house and never come back." I didn't expect that from her, but it does happen, even unexpectedly.
Mom didn't react much at all, except to explain that she was going to need time, like always. (Choke.) I was, all things considered, pretty collected myself.
Coming out to family and friends is most often the toughest part of a transition for everyone involved, and possibly also the most important: If you fuck it up (or not), you might lose the person (or people) you're coming out to. Also you'll want to be pretty damned sure you're sticking with your transition before doing this, obviously. The cat does not go back in the bag.
Happily, coming out to everyone became much easier. It had even become sort of a rush after a while. I continued telling everyone I dealt with regularly until I'd even told everyone at work. I told them all, one by one.
While a few people at my musicians' store counter job tended to ignore me a bit more, the Baptist keyboard salesman actively avoided me when he could, despite how swimmingly well we'd gotten along previously. Ultimately, I lost no one except the first person I told. He had (as far as I knew) been one of my best friends. He started getting passive-aggressive with me the following August, after I'd moved away and gone full-time.
I'm really glad I came out so completely, so early. It was a tremendous relief that I didn't have to hide these things anymore, especially considering everything else going on at the time.
I've come back to reread this a few times now, inspired by your ability to summon what was such a difficult and pivotal moment.
It takes balls to do what you did (yeah, a bit ironic, but it's true). It's hardest to be honest and open, but therein lies the greatest reward. At least that's what I tell myself, too :)
The strange thing about coming out and the balls required to do it is this: When the time does come, you just know it, and there's no arguing with it. You *have* to let people know.
While I'm generally a pretty daring sort of person, I was a chicken when it came to my transition and coming out in the first few months. Even my therapist thought I was "going to take a while" at first.
It was only after going out in public a couple times as myself that I realized there really weren't any frat-boy boogeymen waiting around the corner to jump out and mock me. =) The old "they're more afraid of you..." adage definitely applies to MtF transition.
Um, Can We Talk? - 05/20/06 06:24 PM
It was a week or two to Christmas 2004. It was evening.
I stood in the kitchen in my mom's house, nervously sipping at a coffee mug full of hot tea with milk and sugar. My mouth and throat had gotten dry from the anxiety and heated air, and I was going to need my voice. Well, a voice. It never was my voice.
I was trying to work up enough courage to sit down with her and casually explain something I had been hiding to the death from even myself for quite some time. I was trying to tell her I was a girl.
This poor woman was about to find out that her firstborn "son" of four children, whom she'd given birth to 29 years ago, was seeing a gender therapist 150 miles away. "He" was going to start taking hormones in a few months, and eventually wear girly clothes in public, for the rest of her life. Her life.
Mom, I'm a girl. There's been a huge mistake, and that needs dealt with if I want to be happy. I've always felt this way. I'm changing roles. I start hormones in February.
But not in so many words. Finally, I choked down the lump in my throat and approached her, and carefully explained what was going on. I had (tearfully) practiced coming out to her sister a few evenings or so beforehand, because she tended to be a lot more levelheaded than Mom. I was the one who got upset then. On the other hand, Mom was already dealing with a lot, and she had always tended to react strongly to change and news like this.
Before I sat down, I braced for fireworks. This was a huge moment, and I was prepared for the worst: "Get out of my house and never come back." I didn't expect that from her, but it does happen, even unexpectedly.
Mom didn't react much at all, except to explain that she was going to need time, like always. (Choke.) I was, all things considered, pretty collected myself.
Coming out to family and friends is most often the toughest part of a transition for everyone involved, and possibly also the most important: If you fuck it up (or not), you might lose the person (or people) you're coming out to. Also you'll want to be pretty damned sure you're sticking with your transition before doing this, obviously. The cat does not go back in the bag.
Happily, coming out to everyone became much easier. It had even become sort of a rush after a while. I continued telling everyone I dealt with regularly until I'd even told everyone at work. I told them all, one by one.
While a few people at my musicians' store counter job tended to ignore me a bit more, the Baptist keyboard salesman actively avoided me when he could, despite how swimmingly well we'd gotten along previously. Ultimately, I lost no one except the first person I told. He had (as far as I knew) been one of my best friends. He started getting passive-aggressive with me the following August, after I'd moved away and gone full-time.
I'm really glad I came out so completely, so early. It was a tremendous relief that I didn't have to hide these things anymore, especially considering everything else going on at the time.
Openness and honesty really are freedom.
Posted in coming_out by Milla | Comments (3)
I've come back to reread this a few times now, inspired by your ability to summon what was such a difficult and pivotal moment.
It takes balls to do what you did (yeah, a bit ironic, but it's true). It's hardest to be honest and open, but therein lies the greatest reward. At least that's what I tell myself, too :)
Posted by patita at May 27, 2006 04:46 PM
The strange thing about coming out and the balls required to do it is this: When the time does come, you just know it, and there's no arguing with it. You *have* to let people know.
While I'm generally a pretty daring sort of person, I was a chicken when it came to my transition and coming out in the first few months. Even my therapist thought I was "going to take a while" at first.
It was only after going out in public a couple times as myself that I realized there really weren't any frat-boy boogeymen waiting around the corner to jump out and mock me. =) The old "they're more afraid of you..." adage definitely applies to MtF transition.
Posted by Milla at May 29, 2006 06:52 PM
Those "come here so I can eat you alive" eyes might have been scaring the frat boys away.... It's so good to finally see a smile in them.
Posted by Connie at March 23, 2008 08:03 PM