My Transition Journal

It's a boy! The ultrasound revealed it today. After two daughters and a belief that I'm better suited to raise girls, God in all His infinite wisdom has gifted us a little boy. My wife is over the moon; I'm happy while hesitant. Society has taught that boys need fathers. The church has put a great deal of importance on the male role, it being the head of the family and a God ordained position. My son needs me. He needs me to teach Him about Jesus and to guide him through the sharp turns life will inevitably include. He needs me to be there when he's scared or hurt or not sure how to handle a situation. He needs me to fill every role a father fills, but he doesn't need me to be a father in the traditional sense. Because in the traditional sense, I was miserable and mean and a rain cloud. And in the traditional sense, my life was quickly heading for the cliffside. And, quite honestly, in the traditional sense I probably wouldn't have made it far into my thirties. ...

Day 1 of act 2. My prescription is considerably higher and I finally feel like things might start falling into place. I've been building my lady warddrobe mostly with goodwill finds. And today, we found a number of cute clothes that (believe this or not) all fit perfectly without trying any of them on before buying. For the last couple of years, my wife has been my partner in crime--well... clothes buying. I'm slowly getting more comfortable shopping around the women's department but having her help me ease into it has been the definition of learning to ride this type of bike with the most reliable of training wheels. I know how fortunate I am to have a partner that celebrates me in this journey-- many on this journey don't. Sure there still are a lot of unknowns but I've learned to adapt a very biblical principle to this: take it one day at a time.

Hopefully tonight is the end of act 1. Tomorrow I go to the doctor to check my levels and hopefully get my dosage increased. I've taken a daily picture to see all the subtle changes. Apart from slightly longer hair, my changes have all been preparation based. Tonight's entry is the intermission moment from a play. The first act has been fun, in getting to dress daily and stretch my legs more and more as Vaela. Act two will bring more action, more results, more lasting changes. This leading lady is about to steal the show!

Families who experience trauma together don't seem to really stay a typical family. Though we share this deep similarity, it also seems it's the only similarity we have left, and it always keeps us stuck in that past. Once all the dust of trauma settles and you're left with the post-period, it now feels like you did nothing but survive together. You aren't really friends. You aren't really close in any vital way. When you visit each other, you mostly think about the pain you went through and the long loneliness you shared, not together exactly, but only in the same house. My decision to transition has been mostly met with support. I know my siblings are still reeling from trying to wrap their heads around the reality of it, but I also know it isn't the reason for the distance between us. The distance is there now and it's been there a long time. Unfortunately, it seems to be the product of sharing trauma and probably won't improve anytime soon.

I laughed tonight. It was the kind of light hearted, joyful laugh I rarely find myself able to reach. I was playing hide and seek with my girls, hiding very obviously behind my pregnant wife on the couch, a blanket barely draped over my head. And of course my daughters found me almost immediately, my white and black striped dress sticking out from the blanket, a dead giveaway. A short entry tonight but definitely a sign that my happiness is on the up and up.

Time to delve into the past a bit, to dig on ground that I'm tired of digging but probably won't ever truly stop. I think about when dad was sick and how every day I was learning what it meant to be prepared for the worst. When at school, every time the phone would ring in my classroom, I prepared for my name to be called and for a voice on the other end to tell me that dad had died. When with friends, I prepared to be given the news suddenly and to their shock. It didn't happen either way. He died on June 19th of 2004 on our old blue couch, weighing ninety pounds and barely a skeleton anymore. He died and I left to see a movie (still a regret I carry..for. it being Garfield live action doesn't help either). I couldn't be there to see his body be removed, to try and act strong or okay or like I knew how to navigate the dark new residence I had been dropped off at. I dig and dig at times, finding I've only moved more dirt. Rarely do I find new revelations. The on...

Three weeks today and all changes so far have been equivalent to me still packing for the trip. Yes, I'm technically walking this road already but not in any palpable way. And that's okay. It's simply good to know that my improved mental state isn't the hormones but instead my renewed sense of hope. It means that my transition isn't a drug that will wear off. It isn't being used as a quick fix and so isn't an unhealthy decision. There are times I play devil's advocate in my mind, imagining what coworkers and other people would say. And though I don't know for sure, I imagine they'd possibly be open but definitely confused. And as I tend to do, I provide answers for hypothetical scenarios that may never happen. Honestly I hate having to provide answers to people who really don't play important roles in my life. I get along fine with my coworkers but if I died tomorrow, none would attend my funeral. None are friends. None know me as anything ot...