Holy hot dog on a bun.
We’ve had worldwide media attention since my blog post about
Zoe’s coworkers throwing her a coming out party went live. I gave at least one
media interview every single day for over a week – sometimes with Zoe, and
sometimes by myself.
And then I slept like a frat guy on a Sunday this past
weekend. I’m still recovering.
I had no idea this story was going to get as big as it has,
but I’m pleased the world seems ready for more positive news about the trans
community. I’ve heard from people on five different continents. (Fun fact: I’ve
only ever been on one continent – the one with Canada on it. And given how little
advocacy work pays, this might get as close to world travel as I’ll get. So,
thank you!)
My inbox is full of incredible messages that I am slowly
wading through and replying to. I feel bad I can’t answer as quickly as I’d
like. Maybe I need to create some shitty hold music playlist for people to
listen to while they wait.
A few years ago, a story like this would likely have filled
my inbox with ignorant, awful, shittier-than-the-hold-music-I-would-make-into-a-playlist
kind of hate mail. Today it’s getting nearly all love – providing I don’t read
the comment sections of any site we’re featured on, obviously. I’ve concluded
all trolls have bad hair, and they take out their rage about it in comments. It’s
the best working theory I have.
Anyway, one of the things people have said to me, over and
over, is how well I’m “handling things.”
How positive I am. How supportive I am of my wife and daughter. How the world
needs more people like me. And each time somebody says that, I want to be all, “Whoa,
Nelly (or whatever your name is). Hold your horses (or lattes, or whatever.) You have no idea how much it took for me to
get to this place.”
See, I don’t want to paint this rosy picture where Alexis
came out to us and I was all, “Oh, this is wonderful news! Let’s go buy some
matching mother-daughter lockets!” And then Zoe came out to me and I was all, “Hurray!
We’re lesbians now! Let’s go buy a Subaru and drive off into the sunset!”
When Alexis came out to us, I held her and her talked to her, told
her I loved and supported her, and then left her room and broke down out of
fear and shock. While I was supportive of whoever she was, I held on to the
hope that it was just a phase for some time. That she was simply “confused.”
That it would pass and I would get my son back. Having a trans child terrified
me.
And as I’ve said before, when Zoe came out to me 18 months
later, the first words out of my mouth were an eloquent, “Oh, you have got to fucking kidding me!” Lightning had just struck
twice, and I hadn’t even fully recovered from the first bolt yet. The wound
that had begun to heal ripped open anew, and I was flooded with the same fear,
disbelief, and terror.
The only difference was that I had a better understanding of
trans issues, and I knew that if she was telling me she was a woman, this wasn’t
going to change. I instantly recognized this was our new reality. But I didn’t instantly
like it.
Why am I telling you this? Because these imperfect reactions need to be part of the larger
narrative. I don’t want other parents or partners who are struggling with
their own feelings about a loved one coming out to read our story and think, “She’s
so supportive. I guess it’s just me who’s having a hard time. What’s wrong with
me?”
Nothing. It’s not just you. I did not get here overnight.
Just because I consider myself an ally does not mean I’m
doing a perfect job at supporting the trans people in my life. Just because I’m
supportive does not mean I don’t struggle with my own emotions.
When someone in a family unit comes out, everyone is affected. That one person’s transition becomes a family’s transition. This has become my journey, too. And this journey has involved me feeling all the feels in Feeltown.
My kids through they had a mom and a dad for their entire
lives; they found out they have two moms.
I thought I was a mother to all boys; I found out 11 years
later that I have a daughter.
I thought I was married to a man; I found out 22 years later
that I’m married to a woman.
Who wouldn’t need time to process that change? I had to deal
with a sense of grief because I was mourning the life I thought I had. I had to
work through a sense of betrayal because I felt my marriage had been based on a
lie. I had to work through helplessness because change was happening around me
that I couldn’t control. And I had to work through the depression that followed
when all these feelings and changes became too overwhelming.
All of that has been part of what it took to get me to the
positive place I’m at today. I worked on it quietly, drawing support from my
circle of close family and friends (and from one hell of a great therapist),
waiting until I was in a better place to begin sharing it all with the world.
I love my daughter. I love my wife. I love our whole family
and the life we share together. I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world. I love
them for who they are, admire their courage, and celebrate their authenticity.
Things are good today, but
only because I allowed myself the time and space to work through my own feelings.
And hats off to my wife. Because while I was supporting her
through those early days, she was also supporting me. She held me when I cried,
she let me get angry, she let me get sad, she loved me the whole way through,
wherever I was at.
We held each other
through the storm, and that’s how we came out the other side.
See, I am not the poster child for supportive family members.
I’m just a wife and mom, doing her best to love the people in her life.
And, thankfully, despite my imperfections and shitty taste in hold music, they love me back.
And, thankfully, despite my imperfections and shitty taste in hold music, they love me back.
