I "came out" FtM to my parents about
four years ago, and it wasn't until the last
year and a half that they have come full circle,
finding pride in my being their son. 'Son' has
become more than "what they are supposed to
say," but what they truly feel. This did not
happen overnight, but was well worth what it
took to get here.
The first couple of years they were adamant
that I was losing my mind, ruining my life, must
be into drugs, killing their daughter, etc. It
was a nightmare of feeling guilt and anger, then
becoming angry for not being allowed to be
angry, an emotional vicious circle. For years I
was positive my parents were going to reject and
despise me, I would lose my job and friends, and
my siblings would never accept me for who I am.
I constantly worried about being cut out of my
family and not being taken seriously as a
man.
I have to say that eventually my transition
turned out a smashing success. Regardless of the
years of therapy and fighting and dread for the
day Mom and Dad would say "you're not our
child," that never happened. I still work the
same job in the same family business, living in
the same house and enjoying the love and respect
of my family.
I took a very long term approach to dealing
with my family during transition. I kept them
posted every step of the way as to what I was
researching and what I had in mind for the
future, even when they told me (and sometimes
screamed) they didn't WANT to know. According to
them, I was acting insane.
Eventually I convinced my parents to come to
therapy with me a few times to verify my sanity
in this. I agreed to see any therapist of their
choice as long as the psychologist or
psychiatrist was certified and state
accredited.
I took a full score of psychological tests
from MMPI to Inkblot in the hopes of showing
them I was sane, rational and prepared to deal
with transition. Even the therapists (and there
were several) who didn't agree with SRS as a
general practice, had to admit I knew what I
wanted, and was a rational, intelligent, able
adult who knew the repercussions of what I
sought. And while my parents blew each therapist
off as "liberal" or "willing to say anything to
keep a patient," I knew that the procession of
"your child is just fine, but gender confused"
eventually had to get through to them somehow.
Something would have to.
When I was twenty-three I proposed an
agreement with my parents in an attempt to
salvage our relationship and help them trust my
decision. Even with all the differences of
opinion my parents and I had, I knew it would be
difficult to go through life without their
support and perspective. I begrudgingly agreed
to attend more regular therapy and wait another
year before starting physical transition. This
agreement was made with the contingency that
they would try to respect my feelings and really
listen to what I was telling them. It was VERY
difficult and I didn't have to do it, but it
definitely paid off.
Again in this I took a long term approach.
The agreement told them that I was willing to
take the time and put out the effort to
transition methodically and with forethought. I
was not going away and neither was the issue,
and I was an adult making an adult decision, not
seeking their permission or doing this in spite
of them.
I know my following through with our
agreement did wonders for our general
relationship. The time was good for me in other
ways. In that year I lost tons of weight, began
weight training, got an iron work ethic and
cleaned up my credit, concentrating on cleaning
out my preverbial closet. I researched surgeons
and surgical options, talked to many FtM's about
their experiences and planned the course of my
physical transition. I began attending family
functions with some enthusiasm even though it
was uncomfortable and often traumatic for me at
that stage. The bottom line was they needed time
to get used to the idea that I was male. As I
had taken twenty-three years to come to terms
with this, I could afford them a single
year.
I eased in the use of my new name and
pronouns, understanding it would take my folks
some time to get used to the change. They were
aware now that it would be changed legally and
while I corrected them from time to time, I made
sure not to point out each and every mistake.
Again, I was interested in the long term and
therefore was painfully tolerant; progress was
being made, albeit slowly. I always tried to
look at our interactions as my helping them
adjust their perspective rather than my proving
anything to them or badgering them into using
the correct superficial terminology. While
getting my parents to use the proper pronouns
felt imperative, sincerity of use was far more
important.
As not to paint a rosy picture of this time
in my life, my parents and I were very often in
the depths of emotional and verbal warfare. I
drove home almost road-blind with tears,
depressed and totally exhausted from visiting
their house on a regular basis. It was a
tumultuous road, and often I thought it was
hopeless. I even hated them at times. Their
support was very inconsistent and I was often
bombarded with questions like "Why are you
trying to be something you're not? You're
female! People will never accept you as male. Do
you want to live out your life as an isolated
freak?"
But just as transition puts us through a
monster maze of perspective changes and
emotional loops, so it does for our parents who
have to somehow learn to accept and even
appreciate the seemingly impossible, horrible
and insane notion that their little girl is
going to cut off body parts and not be her
anymore. Not to mention the constant nagging and
terrifying questions for them: "what if 'she'
regrets doing it", "what will my family think",
and "will my child ever find love, be accepted,
feel safe?"
When I was composed, I tried to keep this in
mind when they said what I felt to be hurtful
and insulting things. When I was not composed, I
tried not to say angry and hurtful things back.
Through it all I remained as calm as possible,
and repeated the facts to both them and myself:
I am a man. I am transitioning. I am
transitioning because I AM a man, not to become
one.
One year later I began hormones, with enough
therapy and referrals to complete transition,
with enough preparation to be confident and
ready to deal with the changes, and enough
information passed on to my parents that they
gradually changed from "please don't do it!" to
"how are we going to deal with this!" In reality
this wasn't any easier on me, but rather a tiny
step closer to acceptance.
Around this stage was when things felt the
most hopeless and emotionally terrible. Mom went
from "psuedo-acceptance/we understand and love
you, it will be ok" to comments like "you never
even TRIED being a woman! Why don't you at least
TRY IT before you ruin your life" and implying
theirs. This stage of erratic behavior went on
for what seemed to be forever, especially in
regard to guilt. If they had a punch card for
guilt trips, I'd be on a lifetime Hawaiian
vacation by now. Dad didn't say much, but tended
to follow mom's lead.
I have to admit that the real turning point
was my chest surgery. Mom flipped out at the
last minute and literally begged me "not to ruin
my body." While they had agreed to loan me the
funds for surgery, they changed their minds
shortly before I left for Canada. They felt they
couldn't live with being responsible for helping
me make a decision they believed I would regret.
And while this added nearly unbearable stress to
an already traumatic experience, I could not
fault them for being true to themselves. I
resolved the issue by getting a fast personal
loan - good thing I dealt with my
finances/credit before hand.
In what appeared to be Mom's last ditch
effort to dissuade me, I received a phone call
the night before I left. My parents informed me
in hysterics that they were considering divorce
due to the stress my transitioning had put them
under. Mom claimed medical problems and sleep
deprivation due to "what I was doing to them."
Dad informed me in tears that he might need a
place to stay for a while. This was the first
time in my life I had heard them speak of
leaving their 30+ year marriage.
After several hours on the phone with them,
and with my plane leaving in less than twelve
hours, I had one of the worst and longest
allergy attacks of my life. If not for the
support of my two best friends, I don't know how
I would have dealt with it all.
Early the next morning Mom dropped me off at
the airport. I don't remember the conversation
we had on the way, but I do know that she seemed
resigned to the inevitable. A half hour later I
was on the plane and off to the first and most
significant surgery of my life. When I returned
home to recover at their house, the proposed
divorce had evaporated; they were never
unsupportive of me again.
Gradually, as my parents watched their
awkward, odd-looking, defensive "daughter" relax
and grow into a self-confident, attractive and
happy son, existing wasn't so hard anymore.
Eventually they even apologized to me, and told
me that they were sorry for the hell it must
have been dealing with this.
Life is so much better now that I can't even
explain it in print. Every "We're so proud that
you're our Son" birthday or Christmas card means
more to me than any million such cards in a
usual man's life. I don't regret remaining in
the family business through it all either,
though it put me in the challenging position of
dealing with transitioning and everyone's
awareness of it at once.
I strongly feel it was worth staying involved
in my parents lives even when their involvement
made things harder at the time. We all now enjoy
a relationship bond that only comes from trust
and respect earned over time. I still catch
myself grinning sometimes when Dad casually says
"my youngest son".
