Susan's Place Transgender Resources

Last Updated: 05/15/2026

This post is for spouses, partners, and significant others who have found their way here because someone they love has come out as transgender. You are welcome to reply, ask questions, or just read quietly. Your experience matters too, and this space includes you.

Your Feelings Matter

When your spouse comes out as transgender, a tremendous amount of attention — quite rightly — goes to the person who is transitioning. But it's very easy for your emotional world to get pushed into the background, as if your experience is somehow less important or less real.

It isn't.

You have lost your footing too. You are allowed to feel hurt, scared, angry, sad, confused, or numb — even while trying to be supportive. None of that makes you a bad partner. None of that makes you unsupportive. It makes you human.

Your spouse has likely had years, sometimes a lifetime, to wrestle with their feelings before speaking them aloud. You may have had days or weeks. You are not behind. You are exactly where anyone would be.

Two Journeys, Not One

What's happening in your household is not one transition — it's two parallel journeys. Your spouse is navigating their gender transition. You are navigating your own emotional transition: the recalibration of your understanding of your marriage, your future, and your sense of home.

These journeys are connected but not identical. You don't have to be in the same emotional place at the same time. You can love your spouse deeply and still be unsure about what this means for your marriage. You can want to stay and still struggle with the idea of a same-sex relationship. Those truths can sit side by side.

This isn't about choosing sides. It's about finding something sustainable and healthy for both of you.

The Finish Line That Isn't There

A lot of partners discover, often months into this, that they've been measuring themselves against an imaginary version of themselves. Composed. Finished. Unbothered. Handling everything gracefully. Arrived.

If you're doing this, please notice it. Because that picture in your head isn't a goal. It's a trap.

There is no finish line in this journey where you cross over composed and unbothered. There is no version of you waiting on the other side who handles all of this perfectly. The measure of how you're doing isn't whether you've stopped feeling hard things. It's whether you're still here, still honest, still in the marriage, still letting yourself feel what you feel without running from it.

By that measure, if you're reading this, you're doing it.

The proof that you're still in it is the fact that you still feel things about it. Numbness would be the worrying sign. Distress is the sign of an open heart doing hard work.

You are not supposed to be ready for all of this at once. Nobody is. Your spouse isn't either, even on the joy side of it. Readiness isn't something you arrive at before the changes. It's something that grows inside the changes, a little at a time, after you've survived another week of them.

You don't have to be ready. You have to be here. And you are here.

Grief Is Real and Allowed

You may be grieving, and that grief is legitimate. You might be mourning the loss of:

• The familiar form of your spouse
• The future you had pictured together
• The roles you thought you would always play
• The comfort of being seen as a "traditional" couple
• The visual cues that used to signal "home" to your nervous system

Naming this grief does not mean you don't love your spouse. It does not mean you're unsupportive. It means you're honest about what change costs, and honesty is what keeps relationships alive through difficult seasons. Every trans person goes through a grieving process as well, even when transition brings relief and joy.

Grief during a spouse's transition doesn't move in a straight line. You might feel several stages at once, or cycle through them as each new change arrives. That isn't failure. That's how grief works when the loss is not singular but unfolding.

When It Stops Being Grief and Starts Being Overload

There is a phase that many partners hit several months in, sometimes longer, where the early shock has metabolized and the sharpest grief has moved through, but something else has taken its place. It feels like being constantly behind. Like every time you find your footing, another change arrives. Like you can't catch your breath between waves.

This isn't grief anymore, exactly. It's overload.

The distinction matters because the tools are different.

Grief is processed by feeling it — by letting yourself sit with what you've lost and letting the sadness move through you. Overload is processed by reducing the load and slowing the pace of input. You can't feel your way out of overload. You have to set things down.

If you find yourself thinking things like "I should be further along than this," or "why is this still so hard," or "I handled the first wave but I can't handle this one" — you're probably not failing at grief. You're probably carrying overload, and your nervous system is asking you to put some of it down.

Some signs you've moved from grief into overload:

• The intensity of your feelings is no longer about any one specific loss — it's diffuse, a general sense of "too much"
• You're not so much mourning the past as worrying about the next thing, and the next, and the next
• You feel like you're living three months ahead of where you actually are
• Small additional changes feel disproportionately heavy
• You catch yourself reading every new development as evidence about the whole future, instead of as the small thing it actually is

If any of that sounds familiar, here are some tools built specifically for this phase. They are not assignments. Take what helps and leave the rest.

The "Today" Tool. When the overwhelmed feeling rises, ask one question and only one: what actually changed today? Not this month. Not since your spouse came out. Today. Most days, the honest answer will be "not much — I just felt the weight of everything at once." That isn't a trick to dismiss your feelings. It's a way to put your feet on the ground you're actually standing on, instead of the ground three months from now. Your mind is living in the future; this tool brings it home.

Name the Stack. When it feels like too much, say out loud — to yourself, to your spouse, to your journal, to a friend — what's actually in the stack right now. The specific things, listed. There is something about naming the pieces that makes the weight feel less like a fog and more like a set of things. Heavy, but finite. Fog can't be carried. Things can.

The 24-Hour Rule for Big Feelings. When a wave hits and your mind starts making decisions or drawing conclusions — I can't do this, this is too much, something is wrong — make a quiet agreement with yourself: I won't decide anything for 24 hours. Not because the feeling is wrong, but because feelings that big are almost never accurate forecasters. They're weather, not climate. Wait a day. Usually by then you can see the shape of it more clearly.

One Thing for Them, One Thing for You, Each Day. Not grand gestures. Small ones. A cup of tea you make for your spouse. A walk you take alone. A song that's just yours. This keeps you from disappearing into the role of supportive partner — which is real, but it isn't all of who you are. You are still you, and you need tending too.

Distress as Information. When you feel yourself spiraling, instead of treating it as a problem to fix, treat it as a message. The message is usually one of three things: I'm tired. I'm scared about something specific I haven't named yet. Or I'm carrying more than one person should carry alone. Any of those three deserves a response — rest, naming the specific fear, or reaching out. None of them deserves shame.

Your Nervous System Is Trying to Protect You

If you find yourself having intense emotional reactions — anxiety spikes, moments that feel close to panic, sudden tears, a sense of dread — your body is not broken. Your nervous system is responding to change the only way it knows how: by sounding an alarm.

Even when your mind understands that your spouse's transition isn't a threat, your body may react as if the familiar has been pulled away. This is fight-or-flight, and it happens automatically.

When your nervous system is in emergency mode, it becomes very difficult to think clearly, feel connected, or access your usual coping skills. This is why grounding practices matter. They bring your body back into the present moment so your mind can settle.

Simple grounding techniques:

• Check your five senses: What do you see, hear, feel, smell, taste right now?
• Feel something physical: your feet on the floor, your breath moving, something textured in your hand
• Name what's true right now: "I'm sitting in my living room. I'm safe. My spouse is still my spouse."

Grounding doesn't solve your feelings. It creates enough space for you to breathe and choose how to respond rather than just react.

The Person Is Not Changing — The Packaging Is

This is one of the hardest things to grasp, especially when your eyes are telling you something different. But it's also one of the most important.

When someone transitions, who they are doesn't change. What changes is that they stop hiding. The heart, mind, and soul you fell in love with are still there. The humor, the kindness, the way they look at you, the way your hand fits in theirs — those things live beneath the surface. They remain steady while the packaging shifts.

Your spouse isn't becoming someone else. They're becoming more fully themselves. They're letting you see the person who was always there underneath the mask they felt pressured to wear.

Many partners eventually describe a moment when the "new" appearance stops feeling new. The face in front of them simply becomes the person they love — not despite the changes, but including them. That moment often comes quietly: "There you are. I know you."

It takes time to get there. Your nervous system needs to update its internal map of "home." Each time you reconnect with something that hasn't changed — a laugh, a gesture, a familiar kindness — you're teaching your system that different doesn't mean dangerous.

Being Part of Planning (Not Just Reacting)

One of the most common fears partners express is: "What if my spouse moves forward and leaves me behind? What if I can't keep up?"

If that fear is living in you, you aren't alone. And it makes sense. When changes arrive as surprises, it can feel like your life is shifting under your feet faster than your heart can follow.

But here is the key: the way you reduce that "left behind" feeling isn't by forcing yourself to keep up with a timeline you didn't help create. It's by being part of planning what comes next together.

Right now, you may be experiencing transition as things happening to you: your spouse makes a decision, something happens, and you're left scrambling to adjust emotionally afterward. That creates the feeling of panic, of being behind, of never catching your breath.

Planning changes that.

If you and your spouse can sit down and talk through what might be coming — even loosely — the ground becomes steadier. Not because you're suddenly fine, but because you're no longer living in a constant state of ambush.

It can help to talk through questions like these together:

• What changes is your spouse hoping to make in the next 3 months? 6 months? A year?
• Which of those feel most urgent to them, and why?
• Which parts feel most overwhelming to you, and what would help?
• What can you prepare for together before they happen?

When you're part of the planning process, several things shift:

1. You gain preparation time

Instead of being blindsided by "this is happening next week," you have time to sit with it. Time to practice using a new name privately. Time to work through your feelings with your therapist. Time to grieve what you're losing before you have to perform being okay in public. You can prepare emotionally instead of reacting in panic mode.

2. You have voice in the pacing (within reason)

This doesn't mean your spouse can't move forward — their dysphoria is real and matters deeply. But it does mean you can say things like, "I understand you want to go full-time at work. Can we talk about what support I need to handle that? Can I have two weeks to work with my therapist on this first?" Or, "Can we schedule that doctor's appointment after my work conference?" Partnership means both people's needs get considered.

3. The ground becomes steadier

Even if you're scared about what's coming, knowing what's coming reduces the constant state of bracing for the next surprise. You can't find your footing when you don't know what terrain is ahead. Planning doesn't eliminate fear — but it eliminates ambush.

4. You stop feeling like you're failing

Right now you may be measuring yourself against a timeline you didn't help create and weren't consulted about. Of course that feels like being behind. But if you're part of creating the plan together — within the framework of transition happening — then you aren't behind. You're participating. You're working together through something difficult.

What You Can Control (And What You Can't)

This matters, and so I want to say it with care. If this section makes you feel panicked, defensive, or flooded, that doesn't mean you're a bad partner. It means the stakes feel terrifying and your nervous system is bracing for loss. That fear deserves support too.

Being part of planning does not mean you get veto power over whether your spouse transitions. And it does not mean your spouse's needs are optional.

For many transgender people, transition isn't about aesthetics or "reinventing themselves." It's about relief from dysphoria — a distress that can be constant, exhausting, and hard to describe to someone who has never felt it. Gender dysphoria can create relentless background noise: anxiety, depression, emotional exhaustion, a sense of wrongness that never fully quiets. Many trans people survive for years carrying that weight, but surviving isn't the same as living.

Transition is often, quite literally, the difference between surviving and living. It is treatment for a serious condition.

Think of it this way: if your spouse needed surgery for a serious medical condition, you would want to know when it was scheduled, what the recovery would look like, and how to prepare — but you wouldn't try to stop them from getting treatment they need. And you'd also think about how to support them: what they need before the surgery, how to be there during recovery, what helps afterward.

This is similar. Gender dysphoria is a serious condition. Transition is the treatment. Sometimes that treatment is urgent.

So partnership here is usually not about "if this happens." It's about "how we handle it," "how we pace it within reason," and "how we protect the relationship while it unfolds."

What does fall within partnership is the "how" and "when" within reason. You'll likely be involved in doctor's visits. You'll have voice in scheduling decisions. You can request reasonable timeline adjustments for specific events.

Collaborative planning isn't about controlling whether your spouse transitions — it's about both of you having input into how it unfolds practically, while recognizing that the overall direction is medically necessary and not optional.

What you should do:

• Be involved in scheduling medical appointments when possible
• Know what changes are coming and approximately when
• Request reasonable timeline adjustments: "Can we wait until after Thanksgiving to tell my parents?"
• Say: "I understand you need to do this, and here's what I need to be able to handle it well"
• Ask for conversations before big public changes so you're not caught off guard
• Share what you're struggling with so your spouse can support you where possible

What you shouldn't:

• You shouldn't say "don't transition" or use your distress to try and stop necessary medical treatment
• You shouldn't ask your spouse to "wait indefinitely until I'm comfortable"
• You shouldn't hold transition hostage until you feel perfectly ready

The fear that your spouse will "move on without you" is real — but the solution isn't slowing them down indefinitely. The solution is you doing the work to move forward alongside them, being involved in the practical planning where appropriate, while recognizing that some things need to happen on your spouse's timeline because their mental health depends on it.

You have agency in how you prepare, in some of the scheduling logistics, in asking for what you need emotionally — but not in whether this happens or in delaying things indefinitely.

How to Support Your Spouse (And Yourself) Through Changes

Just as with any medical treatment, there are concrete ways to prepare yourself and support your spouse through transition — without denying your own feelings or pretending you're okay when you're not.

Before changes happen:

• Use your therapy time strategically. When you know a change is coming — say, your spouse going full-time at work in two months — bring that specific scenario to your therapist and work through the feelings before you're in the middle of it.
• Practice privately. If your spouse is changing their name, start using it when you're alone together. Let your brain and heart adjust gradually rather than all at once in public.
• Grieve proactively. You already know what you're losing. Give yourself permission to feel sad about it, to miss what was, before you have to be "supportive" in front of others.
• Ask your spouse what they need. "What would help you feel supported when this happens?" "What are you most nervous about?" "How can I help?" Sometimes the answer is simply "be there" — but asking matters.
• Plan for your own support. If your spouse is coming out at work on Tuesday, maybe you schedule coffee with a trusted friend for Wednesday. Know who you can talk to when you need to process.

During changes:

• Show up. Go to appointments if your spouse wants you there. Be physically present for the hard moments.
• Use your spouse's name and pronouns consistently, especially in public. This is one of the most powerful forms of support you can offer. It tells the world — and tells your spouse — that you're with them.
• Notice your own overwhelm and use your tools. You don't have to be perfectly calm. You just have to stay present and do your grounding work when you need it.
• Celebrate milestones with them. First time going out in public. First appointment. Legal name change. These moments matter to your spouse. And your genuine joy for their progress — even while you're grieving — is possible and powerful.
• Be honest about what you can handle. If something is too much in the moment, it's okay to say, "I need a minute," or, "Can we talk about this tonight?" You don't have to perform perfect comfort.

After changes:

• Keep doing your grief work. Just because something has happened doesn't mean you're done processing it. The feelings don't have an off switch.
• Check in with your spouse. "How are you feeling about how that went?" "What's been hard?" "What's been better than you expected?" Transition isn't just about the changes themselves — it's about how your spouse experiences them.
• Notice what gets easier. Over time, some things that felt impossible become routine. A name that felt foreign becomes natural. An appearance that startled you becomes just... your spouse. Pay attention to your own adaptation — it happens, even when you can't see it coming.
• Adjust your expectations as you go. What you thought would be devastating might be manageable. What you thought would be easy might be harder than expected. Give yourself permission to be surprised by your own reactions.

And crucially: you don't have to do any of this perfectly.

Supporting your spouse through transition while doing your own grief work means you'll have moments where you mess up. Where you use the wrong name. Where you cry when you didn't mean to. Where you need space when your spouse needs connection.

That's not failure. That's being human while doing something genuinely difficult.

The goal isn't flawless support — it's sustained support. Showing up imperfectly, consistently, while taking care of yourself enough that you don't burn out or become resentful.

The Silence Trap

This is one of the most common patterns that quietly hurts couples during transition, and it's almost entirely preventable once you can see it.

Here is how it works. Something is changing — the way your spouse looks, the way you feel around them, the way intimacy happens, the way other people respond to you in public. Both of you notice. Both of you have feelings about it. And both of you assume the other one doesn't want to talk about it, or that bringing it up would make it worse, or that the other person is doing fine and you don't want to disturb that.

So nobody brings it up.

The thing itself sits between you, getting heavier the longer it sits there. The quiet around it starts to feel like distance. The distance starts to feel like something is wrong with the marriage. And then you both start worrying about that — except now there are two things you can't talk about, and the silence gets deeper.

Nothing is actually wrong with the marriage. There's just a thing you both need to talk about, and neither of you knows how to start.

You can start. Not with a plan, not with a solution. Just with something like: "This is changing for me too, and I don't know what to do with it yet." Or: "Can we talk about how things have been feeling lately? I don't have it figured out, I just want to not be alone in it."

Your spouse almost certainly already knows something is shifting. They're living in the change. What they don't know is whether you'll talk about it with them or whether you'll go quiet. If you talk about it — even badly, even with no answers — you turn it from something happening to the marriage into something the marriage is handling together. That's the whole shift. It doesn't require getting the words right.

The opposite of intimacy isn't conflict. The opposite of intimacy is unspoken things.

When Intimacy Itself Is Changing

The previous section talked about silence as a general pattern. This is the specific place where the silence tends to be heaviest — and where almost every couple in this situation eventually finds themselves, even though hardly anyone writes about it.

You can bring it here. You aren't the first.

When someone starts hormone therapy, bodies change in ways that go beyond the visible. Arousal works differently. Desire shows up differently — sometimes less often, sometimes in waves, sometimes more intensely than before. Things that used to be reliable stop being reliable. Things that didn't used to feel like much start feeling like more. Sensitivity shifts. The way two people fit together physically — something a long relationship builds carefully over time — has new terrain on it.

None of this is a failure of love. None of it means something is wrong with your spouse, or with you, or with the two of you. It's the medication doing what it's supposed to do. Two people whose bodies learned each other over many years are now meeting each other in slightly different bodies. That's real. It's also navigable.

Some honest things about that navigation.

The couples who come through this part well are usually the ones who stop trying to recreate what intimacy used to look like and start being curious about what it could look like now. That doesn't mean giving up what you had. It means widening the definition. Closeness. Touch. Holding. The small physical language of a long partnership. None of that requires the old script. Some of it, freed from the pressure to perform a particular act, actually gets more vivid. For many couples, what's left when the script falls away turns out to be more, not less.

It can help to think back to the early days of your relationship, before either of you knew the other's body. The first time you were intimate with each other, you didn't have a checklist of what it was supposed to feel like. You weren't measuring it against some other relationship. You were just there, paying attention, learning each other for the first time. It was probably awkward in places. Probably surprising. Probably a little funny. And it was wonderful, because everything was new and you were discovering it together.

That's the energy this stretch of the journey is actually inviting you back into. Not a downgrade from what you had — a return to the part where you got to learn each other. Beginners are curious instead of disappointed. They notice things. They laugh more. When something is funny, they let it be funny together — because shared laughter about an awkward moment is one of the oldest forms of intimacy there is, and one of the fastest ways to make a hard thing feel less heavy. They don't expect a body to do what it did yesterday, because they're paying attention to what it's doing right now.

About the embarrassment. A lot of partners feel a deep reluctance to talk about this part of things, even with a therapist, even with each other. The shame isn't yours — it's inherited from a culture that treats sex as something that either "works" or doesn't, with no room for the messy, changing, deeply human reality that intimacy actually is for everyone, transition or no transition. You didn't invent this awkwardness. You just got handed it. You can put it down.

About couples counseling. This is exactly the kind of thing it's good for. A third person in the room takes the pressure off having to find the perfect words on your own. A counselor who has experience with trans-inclusive couples work can help you both name things you've been circling. You don't have to be in crisis to seek that kind of help. Going earlier is easier than going later.

And one more thing. If physical intimacy is in a hard place right now, that is information about right now. Not about the marriage, not about the future, not about whether this is going to work. Bodies on hormones go through phases. Nervous systems carrying a lot go through phases. The honest read on what intimacy is going to look like in this new chapter comes later, when there's room for it. Not today. Today, you're just being asked to keep showing up, keep being honest, and keep being curious instead of conclusive.

You Don't Have to Figure Out Attraction Right Now

Many partners quietly wonder: Will I still be attracted to my spouse? Can I be attracted to someone of the same gender? What if I can't?

These fears are normal, and they deserve space without shame.

But it's far too early to know the answer.

When your nervous system is still treating change as a potential threat, attraction gets complicated. Your body is prioritizing safety, not desire. You can't assess genuine attraction while your system is in emergency mode. It would be like trying to taste a fine meal while running from a fire.

Some partners find attraction returns as fear eases. Others find it shifts in form. Some reconnect once the changes feel familiar rather than alarming. Your body will take the time it needs.

What you should avoid is making declarations or predictions right now. "I will never be attracted to my spouse" and "I will definitely be fine with this" are both premature conclusions. Neither one has to be decided today.

You aren't being asked to figure out how to be attracted to "a man" or "a woman" in the abstract. You're learning how to love and be with your specific spouse — the soul you already know. Many partners discover their attraction was always to this particular person, and that person is still right there.

Give yourself the gift of time. Notice what's true in the present without judgment. Let your feelings evolve as your nervous system recalibrates. Don't close doors yet.

On Same-Sex Marriage and What Others Will Think

For some partners — especially those with religious backgrounds or conservative communities — the prospect of being in what others might call a "same-sex marriage" brings significant fear. Often that fear is less about the marriage itself and more about belonging: losing your place in your community, being judged, becoming visible in a way you never chose.

If you carry wounds from religious judgment — if you've been told your worth depends on following certain rules, if you've been shamed for being human — those old hurts may get activated now. The fear of judgment isn't irrational when you've been judged harshly before.

But here's something worth sitting with: other people's opinions only carry the weight you give them. The people who would judge you for loving your spouse are telling you everything you need to know about their own limitations and nothing true about your worth.

Your relationship belongs to you and your spouse. From the inside, it's still your life, your marriage, your love. Labels are what other people use. They don't change what's actually happening in your home.

If it helps, consider this reframe: it isn't a same-sex marriage so much as a same-soul marriage. The soul you married hasn't changed. You're simply being invited to know them more fully.

What Your Spouse Needs From You

Your spouse probably needs less than you think you have to provide.

They don't need you to have all the answers. They don't need you to be perfectly calm. They don't need you to pretend you're fine when you're not.

What most transitioning spouses need is:

• Your honesty
• Your presence
• Your willingness to keep talking even when you're unsure

You might say something like: "When I'm struggling, it's not because I don't want this for you or think you're wrong. It's because I'm grieving the picture of our future I used to have and learning how to trust a future I can't see yet. My fear is about my process, not about you."

That helps your spouse understand that your pain isn't a rejection of them.

You can also ask for something concrete: "When I'm spiraling, can you gently remind me that the changes are slow, that you're not disappearing, and that we have time?" This gives them a way to support you without having to "fix" your feelings.

Changes Are Slow

Hormones don't work overnight. Changes unfold over months and years, not days or weeks. You'll have time to grow alongside each change rather than being buried under them all at once.

When medications arrive or appointments happen and your anxiety spikes, it can feel like the future is crashing into now. But in reality, a package arrived. A pill was taken. That's all that happened today.

There's no need to solve the whole future in this moment. You only need to take the next step that feels honest and possible.

And when you and your spouse have talked about the timeline together — even loosely — the scary changes often feel less overwhelming because you're no longer being ambushed by them.

Journaling and Processing

Many partners find journaling helpful — not polished writing, but honest writing. A place where your feelings can land safely.

If you don't know where to start, try:

• "I love..." and "I hate..." — let it come out messy
• "Today when I looked at my spouse, I felt..."
• One sentence on a hard day counts as much as two pages on an easier one

Processing happens through the words, not before them. You don't need to sort out your thoughts first. Writing is how the sorting happens.

If writing feels stuck, try recording a short voice note to yourself. Sometimes speaking is easier than writing, and one clear thought captured can quiet the rest.

Finding Professional Support

A therapist with experience in gender issues can help you tremendously — not to convince you of anything, but to give you space to process your own experience. Many partners find that therapy helps them separate past wounds from present circumstances and gives them tools to manage the intensity of this season.

When you look for a therapist, you can ask whether they have experience working with partners of transgender individuals. A good therapist will validate your feelings while helping you find your way forward.

You Are Not Alone

The road you're walking can feel lonely, but you aren't walking it alone. Many partners have traveled this path before you. Some stayed. Some didn't. All of them had to find their own way through, just as you are doing now.

You don't have to have every answer today. You don't have to know where this is heading. You only need to take the next step that feels honest and possible.

Messy and slow isn't failing. It's human.

And courage rarely feels like bravery from the inside. Most of the time it feels like: "I'm scared, and I'm still here."

If that's where you are — scared and still here — that is enough.

Join Us

If you haven't already, we invite you to create an account (https://www.susans.org/index.php?action=register) and become part of our community. Here you will find supportive transgender people who understand what your spouse is going through — and you will likely find other significant others walking the same road you are. You can support each other, share what's working, ask the questions you're afraid to ask anywhere else, and know that someone understands.

You don't have to do this alone. We've been here for 30 years, and we're not going anywhere.

You are welcome at Susan's Place. Feel free to ask questions, share your story, or simply read. We are here for you.

— Susan 💜

With appreciation to @Pugs4life and to the significant others who share their stories here — your honesty helps others feel less alone.

@Susan
Dear Susan:
Thank you for composing and posting your treatise regarding Significant Others with
one or both partners starting or continuing in their transition journey.

You touched upon key topics and discussions that will help to guide any 'couple' that
is just starting this time of change and relationship growth.
You convey a sense of inspiration and reflection on the challenges, experiences, and
transformation that is to come or have occurred.

This is a "must read" not only for our new and existing Significant Other members but
helps us all to understand and be better informed about the process.

THANK YOU for sharing your instructive comments and thoughts.

Danielle [Northern Star Girl]
  The Forum Admin

Susan,

    So well thought out, and yet concise enough one can easily reference it if they're having a rough go that day. Thank you for this roadmap for others to follow when they feel lost in the wilderness.

                            Cynthia

♥️

Susan, as I savored the wisdom in your post, I often marvelled at how perfectly I was created to support and encourage my wife through her self-actualization. Compared with other Significant Others here, I had a walk in the park.

It wasn't all easy. The hardest part was wondering what other secrets she would reveal that would be actually hard to deal with. There weren't any.

I had the good fortune of having a roommate who became a drag king and then transitioned. I had an inate attraction to Abraham Maslow's writings about self actualization and its value, which lives in me as I advocate for my wife. I had begun raising my kids in accordance with the 1970s feminist standards of androgyny to facilitate their innate gender expression. I had close friends who were L, G, B, and A. I was glad to stand up to bigots and claim the right to be me. I brought this open-minded history to our relationship. I realize that many don't. They encounter phantoms that I was born immune to.

Thank you for offering your heart and soul to everyone here. May my stories only support your efforts.