New here: my husband just came out to me as transgender

[Northern Star Girl ✅]

@Pugs4life
Dear Amy:
I much enjoyed reading your reply post... and I have some of the same thoughts
as you regarding, that like you, I am always learning... and I realize that it is
a "one step at a time" journey.

Yes, I do have times that I don't know what I am doing, but i consider that an opportunity
to learn how to handle specific situations, sometimes using the trial and error method.

The good news is that the Susan's Place Forum is chock-full of relevant information and
lots of real life stories from other members here that have already gone through what
you may be going through presently.

Amy, keep posting, keep sharing and keep learning.

Many HUGS,        ❤️❤️❤️
Danielle [Northern Star Girl]
    The Forum Administrator

[Susan ✅]

Dear Amy,

I want to stop on something you said, because I don't think you realize what just happened. "What I am afraid of losing forever could become the ground for something deeper and beautiful."

Amy, read that again. You wrote that. Those are your words.

A few weeks ago, you came here terrified that your marriage was slipping away. That the person you loved was disappearing into something unknown. That everything you built together was at risk because of something you didn't choose and couldn't control.

And now you're naming the possibility that the very place your fear lives could become the ground—the foundation—for something deeper than what you had before.

That is not a small shift. That is a change in the way your nervous system is holding this entire experience.

You moved from "I'm losing everything" to "the place I'm most afraid could become the soil for growth." That isn't denial. You're still scared. You're still grieving—you said so plainly: "I am grieving so much right now." But now you're holding both.

Grief and possibility. Loss and hope. The ache of what's changing and the recognition that change does not only take—it can also give.

That is what emotional growth looks like. Not the absence of fear, but fear widening enough to let something else stand beside it.

You also wrote: "It is such a relief to know that I can mourn what was and build what is coming at the same time."

Relief. That word matters.

It means your body is no longer treating this as another emergency to manage or another test to pass. You are starting to let the emotions move through instead of bracing against them.

Mourning and building are becoming companions instead of opponents.

And you wrote something else important: you forgot to use your grounding tools when your mind ran away into "what if"...

And then you remembered. Remembering is the path you are following. That pause, that moment where you take back the steering wheel from fear—that is how your nervous system learns safety.

You created a new truth card: "What if questions have no answers. What is questions do." That is your mind learning to interrupt its own spirals. You're not just using the tools—you're generating your own.

That's integration. That's how this becomes part of you instead of something you're trying to perform correctly.

And the question you've chosen to anchor yourself in—"What is true right now?"—is exactly the right one. It keeps you here, in this moment, instead of being dragged into imagined futures your fear invents.

And what is true right now? Cynthia is still here. She loves you. She is becoming more herself, not less. And when people become more themselves, they often become more present to the people they love—not less present.

I have seen that truth unfold again and again.

You said you don't want to overlook the ways Cynthia shows you she's still here. That you want to recognize her love, not just the places where fear tries to erase it.

That intention alone is transformative.

Fear narrows our vision until we can only see the threat.

Love widens it again. Asking yourself each night, "Where was love present today?" is a quiet practice of widening.

Let that evidence accumulate. It will keep you on the path.

And then you wrote something that holds both your strength and your exhaustion: "Giving up just isn't an option for me, even on the days I feel like I want to."

Both parts are true.

There will be days when grief wins the morning. There will be days when you want out of the weight of all of this. That doesn't make you weak, and it doesn't make you wrong. It makes you human.

And you keep showing up anyway. On the hard days. On the scared days. On the shaky, overwhelmed days.

That isn't nothing. That's everything.

You said you don't have this figured out. That you are learning as you go. That you need to keep doing and keep showing up.

Exactly. You are drawing the map as you walk. One truth card at a time. One grounded breath at a time. One bedtime reflection at a time.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that steady, quiet learning, you wrote a sentence that opens the whole landscape: "What I am afraid of losing forever could become the ground for something deeper and beautiful."

Hold onto that, Amy. It didn't come from me. It came from you.

With so much love,
— Susan 💜

[Pugs4life]

@Northern Star Girl

Dear Danielle,

We are always learning aren't we?  It sure is a one step at a time journey.  I can easily forget that sometimes. I need to remind myself to take things one step at a time. Small steps are the way through. 

It is comforting to know that you also have times that you don't know what you are doing.  Sometimes I feel like I am alone in that.  You are right-it is an opportunity to learn how to handle certain situations. 

Susan's Place is surely full of relevant information and real life stories from other people on here that have already walked this path that I am on. I have been reading through the Significant Others Forum hoping to gain more insight. 

Thank you so much for reaching out to me. It was so good to hear from you. 

Hugs and love,
Amy

[Pugs4life]

Dear Susan,

I did not realize what had happened when I said that what I afraid of losing forever could become the ground for something deeper and beautiful.  I didn't realize the significance in naming that possibility.  I am still scared Susan and grieving. But I recognize that I can hold all of these things together; grief and possibilities and loss and hope. I still have that ache of what is changing and I am still working on the recognition that change doesn't only take but can also give.

I didn't see either that I am starting to let the emotions move through me instead of bracing against them.  Thank you for pointing that out to me.  I like that mourning and building can exist at the same time and that they are becoming companions rather than opponents. 

I find that I forget alot to notice when my mind has spiraled into the "what if" or "what was".  I am learning how to catch myself doing that as it is happening instead of after it has already happened. 

I knew that my truth cards had been helping but I didn't realize why.  Thank you for explaining that it is my mind learning to interrupt it's own spirals.  I am trying to use all the tools you have given me.  They all help me tremendously.  I guess I didn't see that I am also learning to generate my own tools.  That is pretty cool. 

That question of "what is true right now?" that I use to anchor myself is so important.  It pulls me back into the "now" instead of being dragged into some imagined future my fear is taking me to.  It helps me to see the difference between what I am afraid might happen and what is actually in front of me today. 

Thank you for that truth that "when people become more themselves, they often become more present to the people they love".

I will make sure I am asking myself each night, "where was love present today?".  I want love to widen my vision and not let fear narrow it. 

It is helpful to know that I am going to have days where the grief wins parts of the day; days when I want out of the weight of all of this.  And that it doesn't make me weak or wrong for having these days.  I needed to hear that.  I want to keep showing up on the hard days; on the scared days;on the overwhelmed days.  I have to keep on keeping on. 

I will try to remember that I am drawing the map as I walk; one step at a time. 

I will hold onto the statement that "what I am afraid of losing forever could become the ground for something deeper and beautiful".  That will help so much when that "what if" question of the loss and if I will be able to work through that loss pops up in my head. 

With much love,
Amy 💗

[Susan ✅]

Amy,

When you first learned that Cynthia was transgender, it felt like stepping into a room where everything you thought you knew had suddenly gone quiet. You were staring at a blank canvas and trying to make sense of something that felt enormous, unpredictable, and frightening. Your mind did what all minds do under pressure — it braced, it spiraled, it imagined everything that could go wrong.

And in those early days, the fear felt like a battle you had to win. If you could hold everything together tightly enough, maybe nothing would be lost. But fear always demands too much. Holding yourself rigid only made the weight heavier. Bracing so hard made every step feel like stumbling.

As you've walked through this with Cynthia, you've begun to see that this isn't a battle with winners and losers. It isn't you versus the change, or you versus your grief. It's something more like a pendulum — moments of fear, moments of relief, moments of sadness, moments of connection — all of it swinging back and forth as you learn to adapt to something new.

And the truth is, the brighter the hope becomes, the louder the shadow of fear can feel for a while. The more you love, the more you worry about losing. That doesn't make you weak — it makes you human.

This journey was never something to "win." It isn't a test you pass or fail. It is a dance you learn as you go, step by uncertain step. And like any dance, the more rigid you are, the harder it feels. The more you soften — the more you let your emotions move instead of bracing against them — the steadier your steps become.

You've already begun to relax into the rhythm. You've started letting grief and hope move together instead of fighting each other. You're learning that fear doesn't need to be conquered; it needs to be understood. You've discovered that love widens your vision when you let it, and that acceptance comes not all at once, but one breath at a time.

This is what makes you human, Amy — not perfect, not unshakeable, not untouched by fear — but capable of growing through it. Capable of learning. Capable of turning toward love even when your knees shake.

And you don't have to forget that you are human in this. You *get* to be human. That's where all the beauty comes from.