How scary was it to come out five years ago? Read on and find out, but be warned it gets a bit icky.
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Three years ago today, I came out as a transgender woman. The past year has been the hardest of the three.
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The fresh start of each morning is a different feeling — like turning “Groundhog Day” sideways, but with me being the one hitting the reset button each night before closing my eyes.
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Whether I am speaking only for myself or also for others, here is long-overdue thanks to my therapist.
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A pause on my Monday morning to post a foreword of sorts to what I plan to be a series of blog posts celebrating and processing the first anniversary of my coming out as transgender.
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Photo by Sergieiev
Published May 7, 2015
There are several formidable challenges in my writing and editing life right now. One that’s surely on display here, despite my best efforts, is the difficulty I am having editing my thoughts as I work to put them into words.
When I decided to start blogging again, which led to the creation of this site (which will eventually feature much more than a blog), I promised myself the blog would not be a place where I felt the need to make sure the writing was always “tight.” But even given the relaxed editing standards I’ve allowed myself here in the early stages, I see how bloated my first drafts have been. That’s one of the dangers of not having written regularly in a few years, and of not having an editor. My writing has lost muscle tone, and I always had the tendency to be a bit wordy anyway. It’s clear to me this will be one of the biggest challenges as I continue writing different types of pieces.
But one aspect of it I’m starting to love is what I realized not long ago: It’s a byproduct of the way my mind is exploding lately, how by questioning much of what I’ve taken for granted, I’ve started seeing the world in many different ways. If the worst thing that happens because of that is my writing loses some of its sinew for now, I can live with the trade-off. The upside is too encouraging for me to worry about that too much at this part of the process.
It’s a work in progress, as is this website. As am I.
Photo by QueSeraSera
Published May 1, 2015
This blog post, and others on that site, played a significant role in convincing me it was probably time to get back to blogging and what I sometimes call therapeutic writing.
Past time, probably.
There’s more to the story, including why I chose a photo with a snail on hydrangeas, and perhaps that story is destined to be told here later, but I wanted to be sure to say this: The simple, yet powerful, courage and grace of that slow bloomer gave me comfort regarding my own fight with growth in fits and starts. I wanted to share it with you.
And I just did. Hope you are well, or moving closer to it.
Image by Fine Art
Published April 28, 2015
They say the young question everything, and there’s enough anecdotal evidence to support that contention, but I find the longer I live the more questions I ask — of myself, and of the world.
Just now I was thinking about baseball. A friend of mine is a serious fan who knows the new statistics and the old. He loves good stories. He delves deeply into the game’s metrics and seems to understand the math and the poetry behind it.
Another friend just loves the game, and he doesn’t want to have to think about it too much. So I found myself pondering whether the world of baseball fans has more of the former or the latter. I felt the need to quickly answer that for myself, as if I could not leave it hanging like a curveball waiting to be hit out of the park.
Then, I heard myself think, “I don’t know.”
And I felt how liberating an admission it was, and is. It’s okay to not have the answer to everything. It really is.