I started writing the following in @Alaskan Danielle 's new thread about positive thinking, but realized that it was more appropriate to put it here. It's more a letter to myself than a message to you all. I think I just wanted to get it out. You may or may not find any value in it. Some have told me that I should be writing about all of my experiences, good and bad, so readers can get a full understanding of it all. So, for better or worse...
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I've always been a skeptical, cynical pessimist. In my later years I tended to hide it with wry, self-deprecating humor. My joke was that some people say the glass is half full, others say the glass is half empty, but I say, "who's been drinking my beer?"
Fifty years of negativity fed by living the wrong role, among other personal shortcomings, is a hard thing to rise above. In the early months of transition the relief allowed for moments of irrational exuberance punctuated by occasional, almost cyclic crashes. After a while things seemed to stabilize, lit regularly by moments of wonder and joy. Then the pace slowed down, things that had been surprising and wonderful started becoming commonplace and normal, and there were fewer milestones to be seen on the road ahead - and they were so far away.
My social life was somewhat limited, with a very small circle of family, friends, and neighbors, a few of whom were absolutely perfect, but many of whom still struggle with names and pronouns and are constant reminders of the old pain. All are accepting and supportive, for which I'm thankful, but some try harder than others, and a few aren't putting much effort into it at all, despite being good to me in all other aspects. I have trans friends who wonder what the fuss is about, but after putting all this huge effort into remaking myself - or should I say, unmaking my old facade - hearing that old name or "he" still cuts like a knife.
There have been bright spots. The brightest is I've discovered a dear friend who has the ability to tease happiness out of my gloom, and through helping them in return has allowed me to discover some sense of self-worth; my wife and family still have my back, and though the older members still misgender me, they do know how it hurts and are really trying to get it right. I've been accepted into the trivia team I've mentioned before. They know of my past, but never met the old me, so are good with the name and pronouns. And I've rediscovered old friends and relatives who are also uplifting in their acceptance. And despite what some here say about the value of passing, with a little care, in day to day life I do seem to be getting by with strangers, and that remains important to me.
Yet I still trip and fall face-first occasionally. And I'm wondering whether, for me at least, these low spots are inevitable and necessary to future growth. Some of you who've been with me here for a while may remember my compilation of quotes from when I came out on Facebook last October. I just ran across one of them that seems appropriate:
Sometimes a breakdown can be the beginning of a kind of breakthrough, a way of living in advance through a trauma that prepares you for a future of radical transformation.
- Cherrie Moraga
My latest crash was among the worst I've experienced. The negative thoughts snowballed and there seemed to be no stopping the freefall. I was terrified of some of the thoughts that were boiling in my head, and I wondered if there would be anything worth picking up after I hit the ground. I worried my family and my friend through some shameful actions. But they, and I include all of you here on Susan's as family - came to my rescue and caught me before that sudden stop.
While things aren't all rainbows and lollipops, I have started moving forward again. The irrational exuberance is gone, but the sun does peek out more often now. I'll write about some nice experiences separately, and keep putting one foot in front of the other, while watching for the next deadfall.
Stephanie
