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

[Susan ✅]

Amy,

There's something important I want to build on from what you shared, because it connects directly to the work you're already doing.

One of the most helpful things you can begin to do right now is to think, slowly and honestly, about what a life with you and a Cynthia who is fully comfortable in her own skin might actually look like — not in sweeping, lifelong terms, and not as a decision you have to make all at once, but in ordinary, human detail. This isn't about having answers. You don't have them yet, and you're not supposed to.

Fear becomes most powerful when the future stays abstract. When everything lives in "what if," the imagination fills in the gaps with loss, collapse, or inevitability. That can leave you bracing for each new change as though it might be the one that confirms your worst fears.

Instead of asking yourself questions like "Can I do this forever?" or "What will this all become?" — questions that don't have answers yet — it can be grounding to ask, "What would our life look like day to day?" What does a normal morning feel like? A shared evening? Grocery shopping, quiet routines, moments of closeness, moments of tension and repair, with you and Cynthia giving each other the support you both need? Those details matter, because relationships are lived in days, not in hypotheticals.

This is also not something you have to carry alone. You don't need to privately solve the future in your head. Talking about these thoughts with Cynthia — openly, imperfectly, without needing to resolve them — can be part of building that picture together. A shared life isn't imagined by one person in isolation; it's shaped in conversation. You're allowed to say "I don't know yet" and still stay connected.

This isn't about forcing optimism or denying grief. It's about giving yourself something real and livable to hold onto, so that each change doesn't arrive into an empty space filled only with fear. When you can imagine yourself inhabiting a life with Cynthia grounded and at ease in herself in concrete, human ways, those changes have somewhere to land. They become adjustments within a life rather than ruptures that threaten to erase it.

This approach also makes room for complexity. You can grieve parts of what you thought your life would be and still stay connected. You can feel afraid and still love her. You can be unsure and still show up. None of that disqualifies you from being present or committed — it's what real engagement looks like when something meaningful is changing.

Most importantly, this keeps you inside the relationship rather than standing at its edge, bracing for loss in advance. You're not being asked to decide everything today. You're being invited to notice whether there is a real, honest, shared life you and Cynthia can begin to envision together — one day at a time — and to let that vision grow as you do.

You're not behind. You're not failing. You're doing the work of staying present without demanding certainty from yourself, and that work matters.

With warmth,
— Susan 💜

@Pugs4life @CynthiaR

[CynthiaR]

Hi Amy, you might think otherwise if you met me.

I have had comments from doctors and nurses recently who say I'm the nicest person they have ever met.

I'm not. I simply appreciate people who exude care and love.

I have encountered many rude, obnoxious, abusive people and I'm stupid enough to retaliate with the same.

I've only been at Susan's for a short while and the website has really reinforced my belief that humanity is supportive and beautiful, but then it only takes a few people in the world to F that up.

Peace be with you. You have a beautiful soul and there a lot of people here supporting you

Petunia,
    I'm going to echo the sentiments of others that have had interactions with you and believe you truly are a nice person. I will just add the caveat that you also have a low tolerance for BS, and are quick to stand up for yourself. I'm quite guilty of my mouth being several steps ahead of common sense and civility at times as well. I can personally vouch for Amy being an incredible person with a beautiful soul. I hope I never have to experience life without her.

[Pugs4life]

Hi Petunia.

You have been nothing but kind and supportive to me.  I truly believe you are a very nice person.  I am really glad we "met" on here. 

I am really sorry that you have had some unpleasant encounters with people. People can certainly be unkind and difficult to deal with at times. 

I am fairly new to Susan's too but, like you, have found this community to be so supportive and loving. I am sorry for the people in the world that mess that up for you. 

Peace be with you too. Thank you for your kind words and I honestly believe you are a beautiful person.   

With love,
Amy

[Pugs4life]

Dear Susan,

I want to do what you are suggesting I do and begin to think about what a life with Cynthia who is fully comfortable in her own skin and I might actually look like. But how do I do that Susan?  It honestly fills me with angst to think about Cynthia fully transitioned and living full time as a woman. Cynthia has presented fully as a female twice now so far.  The first time was shortly after she came out to me and I didn't handle it very well at all.  It was very difficult for me to see my spouse as a woman.  The second time was on Halloween.  It was a little easier to see her fully presenting as woman the second time but it was still uncomfortable for me. I really am trying to navigate this path as best as I can right now.  I want Cynthia to be able to do what she needs to do and feel comfortable in her own skin.  I want to be supportive and present for her.  I just have so many conflicting feelings right now. 

I do find that I am bracing for each new change as though it may be the one that confirms my worst fears.  I will try asking myself the grounding question of "what would our life look like day to day?".  It is hard for me to imagine what our life would look like day to day if she were fully transitioned. 

I will try to remember that I don't need to carry this alone or solve the future in my head.  I can talk about these thoughts with Cynthia.  It is a relief to know that I can still say "I don't know yet" and still stay connected. 

I am finding that it is hard for me right now to imagine myself inhabiting a life with Cynthia as a fully transitioned woman.  How do I do that?  I really want the changes to have somewhere to land instead of being ruptures that threaten to erase life. 

I really needed to know that I can still grieve parts of what I thought my life would be and still stay connected; I can still feel afraid and still love her; I can be unsure and still show up.  I am really glad that none of this disqualifies me from being present or committed. 

I honestly want to try and envision a shared life with Cynthia.  I am just not sure how to do that right now. 

I am trying really hard to stay present and do the work that I need to do.  I just feel unsteady right now.  But I will keep trying and keep moving forward. 

With love,
Amy   

[Lori Dee ✅]

You are doing the work and trying very hard to remain supportive. The doubts are coming in from your memory of a person you love. Play a game for a moment. Pretend you are blind and cannot see any difference in her physical appearance. Do you still love that person? I bet you do.

Your love for Cynthia has nothing to do with her appearance. You didn't fall in love with her body. You fell in love with someone who truly understands you. You love their sense of humor, the way they think, and your deep conversations when you talk about important issues. That person is still there!

What you fear is not who she is. It is the grieving process of what your memory recalls she looked like before. Ignore what your brain says she looked like before, and really see her for who she is.

It is normal to have doubts and start second-guessing decisions we have made. Just stay strong, and you will see that it wasn't nearly as bad as you thought, and in many ways, it is better.

Hugs!

[Susan ✅]

Dear Amy,

You ask "how do I do that?" and I want to offer you something that might help: you don't have to imagine the whole picture at once. That's not how anyone actually builds a life together—not even couples who never face anything like this.

When you try to picture "Cynthia fully transitioned," you're asking your imagination to render something complete and final, and of course that feels overwhelming. It's like trying to imagine your entire marriage from your wedding day. Nobody can do that.

The difficulty you're having doesn't mean you're unwilling—it means your nervous system is still catching up. Your mind is trying to leap to a finished picture when what you actually have access to are fragments, moments, and feelings. That's okay.

Instead of asking yourself "can I inhabit a life with Cynthia as a woman?"—which is too abstract to answer—try questions that stay grounded in ordinary reality. What does a normal morning look like? Maybe coffee in the kitchen, your son asking for help with homework, Cynthia humming while she folds laundry.

What parts of Cynthia feel familiar, even now? What moments still feel like "us," regardless of presentation? Could love still live here? Could you still laugh, argue about chores, watch bad TV together?

Often, the answer is yes—even if the packaging looks different than you once imagined. Your marriage was never built on gender alone. It was built on shared history, trust, inside jokes, and the way you show up for each other. Those things don't vanish.

You've already given yourself evidence, even if it doesn't feel that way yet. You said the second time was easier than the first. That's not nothing—that's your nervous system doing exactly what nervous systems do when given time and repeated exposure. Your heart didn't shut down. You stayed open enough to notice a shift.

Keep tracking those tiny moments of softening. They matter. They're signposts that your capacity to adapt is growing, even when it doesn't feel like it.

You described bracing for each change as though it might confirm your worst fears. That tells me your body is in a state of vigilance, not rejection. When fear is loud, imagination tends to collapse into either catastrophe or blankness. That doesn't mean there's no future—it means your system is protecting you from overload.

Here's something else worth considering as you look ahead: think about how Cynthia being fully comfortable in her own skin might actually change the energy of your home. A partner who isn't carrying the weight of a secret or dysphoria often has more emotional space to be present, relaxed, and loving. The person you're afraid of losing might actually become more fully available to you.

The landing place you're looking for isn't something you construct in advance through imagination. It gets built gradually—through lived moments, through conversation, through the accumulation of ordinary days in which you discover that this life is still your life, even as things shift.

Talk with Cynthia—not just about logistics, but about dreams. Ask her what a good day looks like for her. Share your own hopes and fears. You don't have to have answers yet. Just sharing the questions together builds a bridge forward.

And Amy—give yourself permission to grieve and grow. You can mourn a version of the future you thought you'd have while still building something new. Please know that your sadness doesn't sit in opposition to your love; they can occupy the same space. You can hold both truths at once: This is hard for me... and I still choose us. That tension isn't a sign that you're failing or being unsupportive. It's the sound of a heart stretching to hold something new. It isn't weakness of any kind.

You're already doing this. You're showing up. You're asking questions. You're sitting with discomfort instead of running from it. That is the work. Feeling unsteady doesn't mean you're failing.

Amy, the steps you are taking now will help you and Cynthia walk arm in arm into the future that awaits you both. You're not just standing still waiting for the future to come and overwhelm you.

As you begin to envision your future together, remember that you don't have to know yet what your life will look like. Simply be willing to find out—together.

With warmth,
— Susan 💜

[Pugs4life]

Hi Lori Dee,

I am really trying hard to do the work I need to do and trying so hard to remain supportive.  It was a great suggestion to try playing a game where I pretend I am blind and can't see any differences in her physical appearance.  You are right-I do still love that person. 

I did fall in love with someone who truly understands me. You are right that the person I fell in love with is still there.  That is hard for me to comprehend sometimes so thank you for that reminder. 

I will really try to see Cynthia for who she is and not what she looked like before this transition started. 

I am glad to know that the doubts that I have are normal.  I will stay strong and keep doing the work. Thank you so much for your support and encouragement.  I really appreciate it. 

With love,
Amy

[Pugs4life]

Dear Susan,

It does help to know that I don't have to imagine the whole picture at once.  I will try asking myself what a normal morning looks like for us.  I will think about the parts of Cynthia that feel familiar.  I have to think about the moments that still feel like "us" regardless of presentation.  I am certain that love could still live here. 

The packaging is going to look so different than I once imagined. It is going to take me some time to get used to it for sure.  I will have to remember that our marriage was never built on gender alone.  It was built on our shared history, trust, and the way we show up for each other. I am really glad to know that these things don't just vanish.

Yes, the second time wasn't near as hard as the first time. I was able to notice that shift.  I will try to keep track of those moments of softening.  It doesn't feel like my capacity to adapt is growing yet. 

I didn't think about how Cynthia being comfortable in her own skin might change the energy of our home.  I will try to remember that she may have more emotional space to be present, relaxed, and loving.  She may actually become more fully available to me.

I will talk with Cynthia and ask what a good day looks like for her.  I will share my own hopes and fears too.  It is good to know that I don't have to have answers yet. 

It is really good to know that I can grieve and grow at the same time.  I needed to know that.  It is okay to mourn a version of the future I thought I would have and build something new at the same time.  I will remember that sadness does not sit in opposition to love.  They can occupy the same space.  I also needed to  know that it is okay to say that this is hard for me and I still choose us. 

I am trying really hard to do this work and keep showing up.  Thank you for letting me know that feeling unsteady is not failing. 

I will try really hard to start envisioning our future together. I am willing to find out what our lives will look together. 

With much love,
Amy

[Susan ✅]

Amy,

Thank you for writing back with such care and honesty. What you shared here is deeply moving.

The way you're holding both truth and tenderness at the same time really matters. Noticing what still feels like "us," recognizing familiar parts of Cynthia, and grounding yourself in ordinary moments — mornings, shared space, emotional tone — that's not avoidance. That's wisdom. You're allowing the future to become human-sized instead of overwhelming.

What you said about the "packaging" changing, while the foundation remains, is especially important. You're right: marriages aren't built on gender alone. They're built on shared history, trust, repair, and the countless ways two people choose each other over time. Those things don't disappear just because the outer form changes.

Every marriage, even the strongest ones, reaches moments where change arrives whether it was invited or not. Health shifts, careers change, identities deepen, and life forces couples to adapt. Marriages that endure are not the ones that avoid change, but the ones where love remains anchored to the person, not the situation or a future that was once imagined.

When adaptation doesn't happen, stability isn't preserved — what happens instead is that the connection between the two partners quietly erodes. That erosion affects both people, even when neither intends harm. What you're facing isn't a failure of marriage; it's one of the ways commitment is tested and, sometimes, strengthened.

I'm also glad you noticed the difference the second time — that softening. You don't have to feel like your capacity is growing yet for it to *be* growing. Awareness itself is movement. Tracking those moments gently, without judging yourself for where you are, is exactly the right pace.

You touched on something vital when you wondered how Cynthia being more comfortable in her own skin might change the energy of your home. That openness — the possibility that there may be more emotional space, more presence, more availability — isn't a promise, but it *is* a real possibility. It's okay to hold that alongside fear.

What you wrote about grieving and growing at the same time is one of the truest things in this entire thread. Mourning a future you once imagined does not negate love for Cynthia or the life you two are building together. Sadness and commitment are not opposites. Saying "this is hard for me and I still choose us" is not weakness — it's courage.

You are showing up. Feeling unsteady is not failing. It's what real work looks like when something matters.

With care and respect,
— Susan 💜