Quote from: REM.1126 on January 14, 2024, 01:04:40 AMI really don't have anyone that could possibly let me down that way Sara. There is absolutely no one in my life that I don't fully expect to reject me if I come out. That included my wife, who surprised me with ...not total rejection. My dad is dead. He wouldn't have accepted it. My mom is essentially gone (dementia). She had told me that anyone who was trans should kill themself. So, I think I know where she would stand. My sisters already don't talk to me, and have already forbid their children to associate with me. So, not them. And, my friendly acquaintances? I don't have friends because I fully expect all of them would reject me if they really knew me.
No one can let me down, because I don't expect anyone to do anything other than reject me. So, all I really have to worry about is loving myself enough to not care if people who don't mean anything to me are mean. The rest is already fully taken into consideration.
I kept schtum to my parents as a courtesy to them as much as conflict and rejection avoidance strategy. I'm sure they knew somewhat, yet they never directly brought the subject to conversation.
Considering that it's a bit of a given situation with both my ears pierced with femme style earrings and hair style, expectations were someone would mention it, no? On an occasion only a very few years ago Mom noticed my diamond stud earrings, complimenting them and admiring the 1.0mm 14kt gold neck chain I wore. She then went to her jewelry box and presented me with an antique diamond and platinum heart pendant for my chain! Very, very surprised I thanked her with gentle words and a hug. They never asked gender determination related questions and I certainly wasn't obligated to volunteer a story by the way of justification. So in their own way they accepted and continued loving the child.
Here is a bit of entertainment from personal experience. Maybe you have more like it to share? As a general rule I tend to pack light, washing as needed, avoiding packing soiled garments whenever possible. On a slightly extended visit with my parents at their home, two or three years ago. I carefully hand washed my panties, surreptitiously hanging them to dry on the line where Mom would put her handwashing. Hanging them on the far end where I hoped they'd not be really noticed, but secretly wishing perhaps to generate a bit of curiosity as to why I was washing women's undies when my darling wife wasn't with me that trip. My scheming including that since my older stepsister was visiting as well, there was the chance Mom would think the garment was hers and my sister would think perhaps they were Mom's, thus I was covered. Or so went my thought process. I wasn't so sneaky, later that afternoon Mom reminded me to not forget them when I packed to go home. On another visit just a month or so later I had washed a days' worth of a load in the washing machine. Including bra and panties in a lingerie bag on handwash cycle. Mom got to the machine when the cycle finished before I did and processed the batch into the dryer or on the line as needed. She took the time to somewhat privately, away from Dad's ears anyway, to remind me not to put my bras in the dryer as it would reduce their shape, structure, support and usable life. She also complimented my style sense in choice of garments, noting I preferred matched sets in my intimates. That was an intimate, private conversation, simple in nature, yet very, very affirming and comforting to me. You see, she was a depression era child raised in Virginia at an orphanage and then taken in by her grandparents as a tween. If anyone was to reject me I figured on it being her with her strict Edwardian upbringing. But then again, they know me from childhood and really are observant. As Californians and avid local channel television viewers, they are very exposed to the national dialog. My Dad probably would be tolerant since that was his nature, but I'll never know since he passed away at 85 years old last year, I've come out as much as I likely to for the rest of my days.
