Transition and Lost Relationships

Not all losses are equal

I am certain that there is not one trans person on earth that did not realize transition was going to cost them. We are painfully aware that the cost of transition can be dear. Marriages dissolve, parents disown their children, jobs can be lost, and homelessness is a very real possibility for many. Some may face violence and death. A five-minute visit to a trans chatroom will prove my assertions.

For some, the cost is too high.

The closet is miserable and dark and safe. The expression coming out is so powerful that I cannot think of a context where it would not be applied to the LGBTQIA+ community. Everyone that doesn’t transition as a toddler must come out. Sometimes it is obvious to everyone that the person coming out is queer. Sometimes, it is not evident.

This piece is about those that fooled everyone. I have heard about eggs cracking and that sort of stuff, but for me, I reject the contention that I was somehow blissfully unaware that I was different, and suddenly, the angels sang and the heavens opened up and I was revealed. I feel most of us knew we were different, and we kept that to ourselves. For us older transfolk, we grew up in a time that was not good for the LGBTQIA+ community. We had daily reminders that non-conformity was unacceptable. For some of us, the need to be free was too strong to be ignored. We have all seen what happened to those people. So, in the closet we stayed, miserable and safe. You can get used to anything, until you can’t.

Now, you have likely spent a year or ten knowing who you are, and dreading the inevitable. You come out, consequences be darned. The losses mount. You tell yourself and others that if they can’t accept you for who you are, then they were never close to you anyway. That works for some relationships.

Not every loss is equal; some losses are more nuanced, more subtle. A distance forms between you and another. You are civil with each other, but something is missing. It's hard to describe, you are left out of conversations and text chains don’t include you. You know there is love there; it is just strained.

I am in this sort of situation. My wife and I have agreed to stay married. Staying married is an admirable goal, but it is not a simple event. There will be times when one spouse or the other lashes out, and if you have other people in your house, they are going to hear the discussions, and form opinions. My daughter and grandson live in the same house as me and my wife. There is a villain, the liar. The nuances of being transgender are hard enough for the transperson to understand, so expecting children to understand what is going on is unrealistic.

I have been a very involved grandparent from day 8 or so. I love babies. I always have. I was an involved parent, and I was more so as a grandparent. My daughter was in an abusive relationship, so there was a great deal of tension in her and her son’s life. I was the calm in the storm. I would push him around in that plastic car on that hardwood floor for countless hours. I probably got some butt bone disorder from the hard floor.

I taught him how to swim, I taught him how to throw a ball. I taught him how to body surf, and boogie board. I taught him how to fish. We would go to the beach every other weekend, every year, for years. My daughter describes our relationship as more like two brothers. We would have disagreements that bordered on getting physical like brothers.

We were tight.

I worked nights when my grandson was a baby, and toddler. I would get home at 8:30 am, and he would come over at 10:00 am. I would spend the day with him. I would take him to the water park, and the park, and the like. I had to buy grandparent clothing because people would tell me that my wife and son were beautiful. That is just creepy. That is my daughter and grandson. One winter, I bought a water slide and hooked the hose up to the hot water and we water slid as the neighbors shook their heads in disbelief. Life was perfect, or so it seemed to everyone on the outside; that was my job. I always do my job.

Then I dropped the bomb. It wasn’t really a bomb in my case, I had told my wife what I knew when I knew it. I was a cross-dressing freak that dreamed of being a woman. When I told her that, some twenty-five years ago or so, she was semi-supportive, and she treated it as a fetish. Keep in in the bedroom, and from the kids. Kids are not stupid. My children knew something was up. My second oldest daughter busted me wearing mascara once and asked Mommy about it. Mommy said, “I hope he isn’t using mascara,” but she was. There was no bomb. I just couldn’t fight it anymore. I began transition.

I immediately became a second-class citizen. My word was no longer law as it had been for 35 years or so. I welcomed the relief. Making every single decision all by yourself, when you are fighting depression, is daunting. Not every decision I made was a winner. Currently, I am making decisions for me. It is liberating. I still do the taxes and insurance and stuff. I just don’t tell anyone what to do.

But there is an obvious chill in the marriage that is palpable. Sides must be taken. I lost, and the innocent Grams is now the lead grandparent. Truthfully, this one is the hardest loss that I have had since I started my transition. My grandson and I have gone to the beach since I transitioned. He is the only member of my family to go anywhere with me since I have transitioned. We went to Home Depot to get some lumber for a project. Granted, COVID has messed things up, but he is accepting. Until Grams gets home. Then I am persona non grata. I am on the outside looking in. I am really happy that my grandson has someone in his life that is stable, loving, and caring. But I would be lying if I said that I didn’t feel abandoned. I picked him up from school more times than anyone else.

I was there and I continue to be here. How confusing it must be for my grandson. The person that taught him how to box, now is this soft feminine person. It must seem random and wrong. As my relationship with my wife improves, I can see my grandson coming back to me. A game of battleship here, a bit of catch there. I will never ever give up, and I pray one day we are as close as ever before.

I am a patient woman; I will not give up and, I am making amends for some of the stuff I did before transition. The bill has come due, and I must pay it. Many of us closeted folks were phoning it in for decades. Just barely enough to keep the status quo. Sprinkle in bouts of crippling dysphoria that seem to have the worst timing for good measure. Finals week in college comes to mind. The stress seemed to intensify the dysphoria.

I am not telling anyone who has come out anything they don’t know. We know there will be losses, but sometimes the collateral damage is very painful. For some, this fear is enough for them to stay in the closet and suffer. Knowing you are trans and staying in the closet must be excruciating. I couldn’t do it.

Love, Kitty