Liam

I hope I look back on this time someday and see how it linked me to better things. I mean, I can already see that my friendships have deepened, and new people have come into my life who validate my experience and show me the gentleness I’ve been needing. But it’s been incredibly painful to let my family drift from me. They’d say it’s my fault, or the “fad” of transness is to blame. They miss “her.” The old version of me was self medicating with alcohol most evenings and deeply disconnected from knowing what’s best for me. I relied on other people to tell me which way to go. I couldn’t trust my gut because I was trained not to. This benefitted the people who needed me to be small and compliant. I’m still crawling out of a hole at this point in my life. Being financially strained for three years directly after being left by my spouse who apparently bragged about the power she had over my business - having given me pep talks for years about how bad I am with money and giving the cold shou...

Last Friday, my parents wanted me to meet them in Bennington for lunch. I had a rough time mentally preparing in the days leading up. I don’t see or hear from them much. They wanted to know how business is going. It’s not going well. My mom particularly latched on to the idea of hiring me for some painting at their house. I went over there two days this week to take down and paint shutters. The conversations I had with my mom while she helped me organize and label the shutters showed me that she has an interest in learning what my life has been like since I started distancing myself from family. Some of the unsurprising and gut-punch things she said: “Your siblings don’t know where they stand with you. They say they miss their sister, Lydia. They blame the distance on your new identity. They just want to know you care.” I explained that I called them each individually to tell them my new name just months before my surgery, which only one of them took any part in (which was muddy and qu...

Part of being trans is welcoming grief. I have to let myself grieve what I lost, what I never had, and being elbowed out of spaces I thought were for me. I want to tell the people who kept me small and ridiculed me as a child and didn’t allow me to develop the way I needed to that what I need to hear from them now isn’t “we were raised that way, it’s not my fault” but rather, “the impact that had on you isn’t fair.” I don’t need to be told that I’m selfish and my behavior needs to change. They can’t tell me specifically what behavior I’ve *developed* that needs changing, they just say “it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re trans.” All I hear is them making the correlation on their own and back pedaling so they don’t sound transphobic. Working hard on not hearing their voices as I make my next steps in my transition. Working hard on only hearing the supportive voices of people who see me and know that my boundaries are for protecting my relationships and that my choices are for...

Lately, I’ve been experiencing a version of isolation that I haven’t had before. The way major life changes can distinctly separate a before and after, creating a stark line between chapters, I see my separation with my wife as one of the biggest turn of events of my life, one that I’m still recovering from on so many levels. During the first two years after separating, the pull to become a hermit and look inward resulted in me not socializing very much, and even had me side-eyeing just about every friendship. I’d learned from my sister that my ex was sharing personal and inflated stories about me. A lot of our shared friends seemed to empathize with her over me. The few people who reached out to offer support, I admittedly wasn’t very quick to take it. I was depressed. I didn’t know how to tell people I am trans. My ex outed me to people before I was ready to talk about it. I felt wildly misunderstood, however I was just beginning to learn how to let people misunderstand me and keep o...

 

Walking out to my van to pick up a Stewart’s coffee this morning, frosty leaves crunched under my feet and I thought about how three and a half months ago, the summer heat would be mostly unfelt while I was to be stuck indoors healing from surgery. In all that time of rest, I didn’t have much energy or head space to type out what it was like. Now I have a day off from work and I am ready to reflect. July 26. Caiius, Katelyn, and my sister Sarah gathered at my apartment before noon to accompany me on my drive to Northway Surgery and Pain Center. As I left my building, two of my neighbors were sitting on the shared porch, mother and daughter. Kathy asked, “Is it your birthday? We saw your sister carrying a gift bag.” “Yes. Well, sort of a birthday. I am having surgery today.” I felt nervous about sharing the details (and didn’t), because Kathy’s daughter had surgery to remove breast cancer earlier in the year. Their faces changed to concern and I heard one of them say “I’m sorry.” I smil...

Hiding was easy. I hid it so well from myself, but it peeked out in small ways throughout my life. A “sir” or “buddy” or “dude” from strangers who addressed me from behind or afar in various scenarios often gave me a happy feeling. The little kid in me who insisted to my closest people that I was a boy felt seen. It didn’t take long to bury it deep under the name-calling, the invalidating, the physical punishment from family members, being told God made me a girl and if I say I am a boy, I’m calling God a liar and that’s unforgivable (aka, eternal damnation). It was so easy to bury it. Sitting on a train with my boyfriend in high school and seeing someone with a feminine physique and a short haircut, I pointed her out and said, “I want a haircut like that.” His response was, “I don’t want people to think I’m dating a boy.” I wore dresses at church and fancy events, trying to fit in. It wasn’t hard. Where I could get away with it, I wore boyish clothes and straightened my long hair and ...