Recently--in the past few months--I have posted a string of entries with a pretty depressing title, with even more depressing content. I feel now that maybe they deserve an explanation, and perhaps even a few trigger warnings. I don't know.
There was originally only going to be one post, which was just supposed to be an ironic take on how I felt consumed, and even inhuman, in my depression. And the first part I originally didn't even post, if anyone had noticed that it kinda sprung up out of nowhere when I republished my entire blog last week.
A few weeks after I wrote the first part of this titled series--without posting it--I wrote another. And where the first entry had been about the struggles of communication in a long distance relationship, and how incredibly bad I had felt for letting someone down, the second one was about me. And it just was me basically typing onto a keyboard every thought that popped into my head. Because I felt like my recent hormonal changes were completely driving me mad. And I just felt like I wanted someone--anyone, really, but for sure at the time I meant it for someone in particular--to understand in some way how I was feeling and how nuts I had felt. I just felt consumed with loneliness and anxiety and depression, and felt no way out. And I felt the title, again, was apropos.
I've never been shy about saying how much of a horrible and confused person I was before transitioning, before leaving the Jehovah's Witnesses. I have a whole video on YouTube about how much of a homophobic person I was. For me that may have stemmed from internalized transphobia and fear of myself, but on the outside it displayed as nothing more than misogyny--because that's all homophobia and transphobia is in actuality.
Anyways, since I began transitioning... Something I think many trans people, including myself, have done is try to demonize what we attempt to view as our prior self. You have sayings like, "Well, I've died to that life" or "I am a new person". Where before you begin transitioning, to friends and family and co-workers, you might say things like, "I'll always be your..." or "I'll still be the same person."
The truth is transitioning brings about a whole lot of change, and it can be easy to feel like you're a totally different person in the end. And it's really easy to just start saying to yourself--especially when you'd internalized feelings of worthlessness before transition, and especially when most of the people that loved you before decided not to stick around to see you become happy--it's easy to begin to think "that person" before was no good, that nobody actually had loved you before. And you can really distort "that person" to rationalize "the person" you are now.
But if you can't look back and say, "You know what? Yeah, I had some issues back then, but I was the best woman/man/transgender I could be at the time--all cares and responsibilities and beliefs considered--I was loved by those people, even if they eventually became misguided about me and had to take a different path. And yeah, I could be a jerk from time to time, but I was appreciated. I wanted what was best." If you can't look back and say that, then what has transitioning done for you? To me, it sounds pretty bad if you've let it erase and/or rewrite decades of your history, thinking you were an utterly unlovable person. Because you probably weren't.
"Only a Sith deals in absolutes."
You can kill me for quoting that Star Wars movie later.
But seriously. I posted my last post because allowing myself to continue to consume the prior 25 years of my life was confusing and hurting other people, as well as myself. And one person decided to force me to confront it. Or more appropriately she just began pulling at loose threads. The end result was an unraveling of trust like I hadn't experienced since I first told my ex-wife I intended to transition. And pulling at those threads left me naked and bare to myself, in a way that I had not felt in some time. It required no amount of pulling punches or sympathy to get there. And unfortunately, when someone bulldozes you, it's hard to not decide afterwards that you each need to go your own way, in case there is a train coming next--even if, in the end, the bulldozer might have been what you needed.
In that case, it just depends on how long it took the person to look back at your bloody mess, and make sure your still alive.
Without any more disturbing imagery, because this really is something positive, I guess the point I'm trying to make is this: I for a long time have viewed the last phase of transitioning as accepting. I still think that. But that is really about more than simply your body, or any type of body positivity.
The last part of transitioning is reconciling with who you were before. Not throwing your past away, or putting it behind you and never looking back. Or using the above cliches as either a shield or a band-aid. The last part is something somewhat spiritual. It's facing that person you weren't happy being, and realizing that just because you weren't happy being that way, doesn't mean that wasn't you--because it was--you need to learn to reconcile with that.
Younger trans people that transition don't seem to use these "I am a new person" cliches or have these issues as much, from what I've seen. Something about living any part of an adult life in such an unhappy and disconnected way seems to create these mental barriers.
Transitioning isn't just a way to live a happy authentic life from point M, or point P, or R, or wherever you're starting from, to point Z. It can allow you to smash through those mental barriers and help you harmonize your existence from point A all the way to that final point Z.
Only if you let it.
Or if you're lucky enough to have a friend that won't let you not.
Then you have something called a life, and then you are truly living.
And yes. I had posted an abridged form of that last part someplace else, but it bore repeating.
Now I move forward. And be the best woman, mom, accountant, person I can be, while I never forget where I come from, and never feel ashamed for it again.Sidenote: Transitioning after the age of 20, I really recommend a good therapist--"good" in this department is easier said than done, I know--but it'll make all this a lot easier from the get-go, instead of having to backtrack, like I have. I had a therapist for a while, but I felt I couldn't afford to keep her at the time. Looking back on the issues I've had with HRT, I wish I had kept going with my therapist and worried less about HRT. Obviously this is another insurance/medical coverage issue.
Let me make this perfectly clear: It is not being transgender, or even transitioning that I feel underlines the need for a therapist--it is having felt forced to live a fake life for years before that.
There's nothing romantic or inspiring here, I know. Transitioning is different for everyone, but I haven't met a person who it hasn't effected in ways they never thought or intended, especially when they transition after already trying to live an adult life in a gender they are uncomfortable with. The non-Hollywood trans story, is never so simple.
Finally, you all should know this may be my last post. I'm not sure. I love writing. I feel like it helps me in a personal way. And many people have told me that what I write has helped them, or they at least enjoy reading it. Still, I'm not quite sure if it is helping me, personally, anymore. For as many times as it's served as catharsis, it's caused me a lot of pain at times, especially lately.
I bought a new DSLR camera and a few older prime lenses--50mm and 24mm--because I really want to be able to take beautiful, memorable pictures of my kids, and also I've always felt calmed taking pictures of nature in times when I am on my own. So that may be what I do for a while. I'm not sure yet whether I just need a break from all this or for it to end completely. The blog is up in the air. However, once my contract with Outspeak is up, I will probably be shutting down my YouTube account. We'll see. Until then, love ya'll.