Can’t You Wait Until I’m Dead? ~ Chapter 22: The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far
The August 21 blog post continued with my second reply to Jane:
“It means a lot to me to have your support. It is not easy to admit to having medical problems, especially one that carries such a stigma as sexual ID/gender. If I had said something when I was younger, I wouldn’t have had to go through the suicidal anguish I have for almost 20 years. I hid it away as best I could and took antidepressants for a while. They reduced the suicidal feelings but not the depression. I really didn’t know that what they call gender dysphoria was causing it and that there was something that doctors could do about it. Many people still kill themselves over it, from teenagers to older adults, and it is a shame that more isn’t being done about it. It is not something they told us about in school at any age. I even took a course in graduate school on the biology and psychology of gender, and it never came up.
When I first talked to my doctor about it, she tried to send me to a specialist in _____, but because I was over 25 years old and lived in _____, they wouldn’t see me. Eventually, I discovered which medications everyone was using and which doses, and convinced her to give it a try (they didn’t include gender dysphoria in medical school when she was there, and so they are now trying to educate all of the family physicians in the province). I put myself on a waiting list for a specialist while I was trying the medications prescribed by her. The effect on my mood was miraculous. The depression and anxiety lifted, and I felt like I could see the world with an amazing calm, peace, and happiness. I did eventually get in to see the specialist, and she kept me on the same doses of the same medications for the past year.
I couldn’t have done any of this without _____ [partner’s] support. She has kept me motivated, and her positive influence has gotten me past the days when I felt I couldn’t leave the house. She has gotten me to go out shopping, eating in restaurants again, and this summer she planned a camping trip. It is a lot harder to treat it past the age of 20, and there aren’t many who try to do anything about it past the age of 50. It wasn’t easy for her to learn to use my new name, but as time went by, it got easier for her too. It wasn’t easy for Mom and ____ [brother] either, but they have been very supportive, as have all of my students and colleagues at work. I do feel truly blessed to have so many good people like you around me. If you send a friend request through Facebook, you will see some recent pictures of me. I think I look the same, but people at work have told me that they wouldn’t recognize me if they hadn’t seen me so frequently over the past year.”
She followed with a secret that Dad would have taken to the grave:
“My dear brother, aka your dad, would have supported you one hundred percent. Your dad and I were very close for a brother and sister. In high school, I would sometimes have slumber parties, and he was always in the middle of them. On Saturday nights, we would go together to a dance hall there and split up and dance with other friends who were also there. We confided in each other on so many topics, and one topic was about how uncomfortable he was as a man. Neither one of us understood why he would feel that way. But for an example, our dad was heavy into sports. Dad played football in high school and thought he should too. Your dad hated it. What he did enjoy was singing and being in theatre productions. When he was a senior, he had the lead role in a production and sang several songs. He had a great singing voice. He was the one who got me into singing. Anyway, Dad didn’t attend any of his performances. He was so hurt, but he just didn’t fit into the role Dad wanted of him. He was a very tender-hearted person and really didn’t fit your typical masculine profile.
When he was in the service and I was living in _____, he would stop on his way home on leave and spend a day or two with me. We called each other every week. When I moved to _____, he moved to _____ too. When I moved to _____, he moved to _____—as close as he was able to get. The day he learned of his divorce, he showed up at my door that evening without advance notice. There again, we shared so much—the good and the bad.
I just wanted you to know why I think he would be so much in your corner. Now that I think of it, I feel you two were a lot alike. Tender-hearted, quiet-natured, very caring. Maybe that’s why I have always felt a special bond, if you will, with you. When I first received your news, I was angry, to be honest. I finally gave it a lot of thought, and I think my anger was because I didn’t want to give up the nephew I knew. Sounds crazy, I know. You are still the same lovable person. I plan to get to know you now as ____, and I know without a doubt that your dad would be so happy to know that.
You have been through so much. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing all of it. I honestly can’t imagine you being depressed and not wanting to go to restaurants or shopping or wherever. You always had this beautiful smile, like all is okay. Then I think back to your dad and I can understand. I am grateful to know that your students and fellow workers accept you. So grateful. And grateful too that your brother and mother support you too. And a special grateful for your ___ [partner].
Somewhere I have a picture of him in the theatre production and I’ll send it to you. Just writing about my dear brother brings a flood of tears, so I will close for now.”
The whole exchange made me realize a couple things: 1) when you go to say something as potentially earth-shattering to a family member as “I have transitioned,” think it through and don’t assume they will want to engage in a back-and-forth—include all of the essentials in the first message, and 2) staying in the closet all your life causes more grief around you than you can possibly imagine. You may think that it is the path of least resistance and that you are protecting those around you, but you are killing yourself slowly and keeping those around you from realizing their full potential. The negative energy from closing yourself off affects everyone you touch, no matter how much you smile through it.
***
The discovery that Dad struggled with gender took even more weight off me. From biology and neuroscience, I knew my genes set up my behaviour, which was in turn influenced by my environment. I could learn to suppress what the genetically shaped networks made me feel, but staying in the closet came at a heavy cost in anxiety, depression, and suicidal thoughts. It made sense that genes shaped something as fundamental as gender identity—there was no shortage of coming-out stories where a child transitioned and a parent followed.
Dad’s story, eventually told in Murder of an Uncommon Man, made me more determined to listen to myself and stop doing what others wanted me to do. It gave me the strength to say, No. I think I need to make that mistake. Wear that lipstick they think is a shade or two too dark and those yoga pants that give me cameltoe. If they make me happy, I need to do it and deal with any downsides later.
Would I rather be depressed and suicidal or slut-shamed? The little decisions were easier with my new perspective as I strove to wear what made me smile, like a teenager battling family and friends to express my individuality.
The other coming-out experience that didn’t go as planned involved a friend named Maggie, whom we’d met as fellow new immigrants to Canada. She and her husband moved to Canada in 2001 from Belfast, Northern Ireland, having had enough of the bombing and ongoing violence known as “The Troubles.” Coming as “Landed Immigrants,” they could stay indefinitely, but Sarah and I were still temporary foreign workers under the North American Free Trade Agreement.
On weekends, we explored restaurants and the city together and shared tips on living frugally. We were raised frugal, and they were frugal out of necessity—neither had permanent employment. Vancouver is a tough place to find a job without Canadian work experience, and they eventually returned to a family farm twenty miles north of Belfast. When I chose my middle name, I had two German grandmothers named Magdalene, who went by Maggie, and this friend named Maggie—so the name just clicked for me.
I reached out to her via Facebook Messenger, and we exchanged friend requests. Everything seemed fine until I noticed on her wall that she had been posting support for J.K. Rowling and the “gender critical” movement. In my research on transitioning, I read that the UK Government promised to update the process for changing gender on official documents, the Gender Recognition Act, but strong opposition from Rowling, the Catholic Church, and others was blocking it, claiming to protect women’s rights.
Many, Maggie included, believed they needed to shield their daughters from predatory men who might say they’re women and then sexually assault them in washrooms, locker rooms, and domestic abuse safe houses. Unlike Canada, Argentina, and Denmark, which had straightforward pathways to change gender, the UK was dealing with high-profile transphobia and was stuck in the dark ages.
I did my part to tell her my story of depression, dysphoria, and how hard it is to consider changing gender, and she conceded that there might be a place for trans women in the world, but only in a segregated space where we couldn’t do children and “real women” any harm. When she continued to post support for women like J.K. Rowling and Allison Bailey with the statement, “I am alarmed by the pushing of gender ideology that allows that being a woman is a feeling, and therefore any man who feels like a woman is one,” I had to say goodbye and unfriend her.
I realized she’d made up her mind, and I couldn’t do much from thousands of miles away to help her develop empathy. There was little to be done but to move on, despite my affection for her and her family.