Letter, to parents

Mom and Dad,

I don’t really know where to start. There are so many things I need and want to tell you. I’ve kept a lot of my life over the past two years from both of you. I don’t want to do that anymore.

I’ve identified as gay for a long time. You were there for that entire process, and were probably aware of my struggles long before I was.  My life has been blessed in this respect; I’ve had a supportive family and an encouraging, embracing, and challenging community both at [undergrad] and here at [grad school]. I’ve now spent six years inhabiting that space, exploring myself and where I fit in the world and in the queer community under that label. These past two years, however, have taken a particular focus away from my sexuality and toward my gender.

I’ve struggled a lot with this. I’ve tried off and on for years to “fit in,” whether it be by dating a boy or by trying to be more feminine in my dress and presentation. I’ve tried to be what is expected of me as a woman. I’ve never felt as though I’ve succeeded at this. Even when “woman” is redefined and put into the context of progressive feminism, lesbianism, or queerness in general, I’ve never felt at home in that word, or as though it applies to me in anyway other than nominally.  I’ve never felt visible. These past two years have been coming to grips with the consequences of that life-long feeling of displacement.

I’ve looked a long time to find something – a word, a label, an idea – that fits me. One that doesn’t make me change myself to fit it. When I used the label “gay,” I had to change myself. I can’t do that anymore. The only word and idea I’ve found that doesn’t require me to change who I am is transgender.

I’ve not been happy as a woman. I know that I won’t be happy as a woman. I’ve realized there are changes I need to make in my life and to my body in order to be happier. That I was right when I chose my senior quote all those years ago, that “We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” I’m telling you all this because after long years of struggling and questioning, I have found a path that has already begun to make my life better, and I want my family to be a part of it. The gender I’ve been living most of my life – female – is not consistent with how I feel and how I perceive myself and how I want the world to understand me. I’ve tried being butch, being a masculine woman, but it’s not enough. I have to be honest with myself and with the rest of the world – and that starts at home, with my family. This is who I am. I’m transgender.

There are some things I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you that story you might have heard, about being a boy trapped in a girl’s body. I don’t feel that way, and I don’t think most of us do. I can’t tell you that I hate my body; I just don’t recognize it as my own.

But there are some things I can tell you.  I’ve never felt comfortable in femininity. In women’s clothes, in women’s (traditional) roles, in women’s tasks, I’ve never been at peace. I’ve tried for most of my life to conform in some way or another to feel more at peace in or more a part of womanhood, but I have never succeeded in this endeavor. I have looked in the mirror for as long as I can remember and not recognized what I’ve seen. I see a reflection, but it doesn’t correspond to the image of myself I carry in my heart from day to day. On the other hand, I’ve always felt more comfortable in masculinity. Whether it be in things traditionally given only to men, like sports and men’s clothing and short hair, or in things that challenge these limitations, like my involvement with the drag king group, I’ve always been more at home in these spaces. In spaces where I can express a masculinity and have it be openly recognized and embraced. In spaces where I am referred to as he or him or LC. These spaces and experiences make me feel at home in myself; they make me feel more visible than I’ve ever felt before. They make me feel more recognizable to myself. To the rest of the world.

This is not a rejection of my past or the things you both raised me to be. My childhood and my upbringing are still integral to my identity. Mom, you raised me to be a strong woman, just like you. This is in NO WAY a rejection of you, or of the lessons you’ve taught me all my life. This is just an acknowledgment of me. I still value all the things I did yesterday. You two have always been the strongest role models in my life, and continue to be. The way you raised me – to be strong, independent, compassionate, critical and fair-minded – all of these things have allowed me to grow into a thinking, living person who is able to confront fear and adversity and emerge a stronger and better version of myself.

I’m the same person I’ve been my whole life. You know me. You know this me. It seems (drastically, perhaps) different because we’re acknowledging it plainly, but I hope you will come to understand that I am still the same person you have always known. These future changes will not alter the core of who I am, the core of the person you love unfailingly as your child, but rather bring that core into line with an external presentation to the rest of the world.

I should tell you I’m not going through this alone. I’ve been seeing a certified and licensed counselor for many months now. I’ve gotten to know many transmen over the past year – including AC’s [my former partner] partner A. – and they’ve been an incredible support by helping me process the ways I feel about myself, my body, my place in the world. I’ve also found a great community here in [graduate school], both in the drag troupe and at school. My housemates are incredible, and the political science department (particularly my own cohort) is unfailing in its support. AC has been a constant and fierce friend long before the first moment I ever had words for this. I’ve talked to C., B., N., and the Rat Pack in general – they are all very understanding and open-minded.

I’m not listing all these people to say that you are the last to know, but rather so you understand that I’m not going through this by myself, and that I very much want you – my parents, my strongest support all my life – to be at the forefront of this support system. All these people and communities and experiences have created a safety net for me, one that I have relied on heavily as time has passed. This safety has given me the space and freedom to safely explore these thoughts of gender and transition; it has allowed me time to figure out whether this is something I truly am, rather than rushing into difficult decisions or incredibly consequential actions. Please don’t take this coming out letter as an expression of haste; it’s not that I have only just begun to question, but rather that I have just begun accepting the answers. This is who I am. I want you to know that part of my life, and then to be a part of it as well.

Of course, we will talk about this. There is more to say, and we all need to hear each other. I don’t expect you to understand right away – it took me quite a long time, and I’ve been living with it my whole life. I do, though, expect you to trust me, to believe me, when I say that this is who I am. I hope you will respect me as we begin this conversation about my identity and life path; I want to share this with you and I want you to be a part of it, but for that to happen, I need our conversations to be constructive and from a place of inquisitive love and support and respect.

I am still and will always be your (favorite) child. I know that telling you all of this risks our relationship – and this scares me immensely, which is why I’ve delayed so long in telling you. But part of being family is being honest with each other, coming to the table openly and willing to listen. This is the beginning of what I have to say to you, my parents who have stood by me time and again and who I am hoping will continue to do so.

I love you both very much.

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