[readolog_dropcap ]T[/readolog_dropcap]he waitress looks around at the mismatched bunch at the table. A man with an overgrown goatee and striking blue eyes. The woman with her long hair in a bun and soft skin. And me.
The woman with her long hair in a bun, my mother, looks into the distance uncomfortably.
I quickly fill in the silence with chatter.
See, that’s the thing. My mom wants to reclaim some piece of me she feels she lost when I began testosterone. Just as I try to reclaim some piece of her when I see the lines deepen in her face and the passage of time reminds me she won’t remain here forever. My mom wants me to remain “she” because that’s the person she knows. But more substantial, without the “she” I’m a lost soul. A sinner in her world.
Can I fault her? Argue with her? Accuse her of not respecting me? No. I can’t do any of these things because, you see, my mom taught me about convictions and truths. And these are her convictions and truths. Without my truth and my ability to live it I would’ve remained in a life not my own. Without these tools, I would’ve withered away. She taught me to believe in myself and to fight for those beliefs. She taught by example. She has held firm to her beliefs about God, the world and certain standards we should hold as humans. I find that admirable and bold.
The subject of my parents is a hard one to tackle in my writing because they are tender and loving to me. They just can’t align my identity with their convictions and beliefs. Just like I can’t align their identity with mine. While this makes holidays complicated, it does not damage our love or respect for one another.
Over Thanksgiving someone asked me, “How was it with your family?” I said, “Awkward and awesome.” They replied, “Yeah, while your parents have issues with your lifestyle, they know how to love.” They do.
So, they still call me “she” and it doesn’t feel damaging. It doesn’t sting. It reminds me of who I was. It reminds me to hold steady in my beliefs. It reminds of the lessons they taught me. It reminds me – I am loved – past and present.
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i fucking love this. it hit me really hard and in the right spot. i’ve been trying to write a poem along similar lines (basically about always being my parents’ daughter) and i’m just happy that not everyone feels this erasing-feeling towards their history as their assigned birth
Thank you so much! I’m happy to hear someone relate to this one…I haven’t had a lot of people understand it. Honestly, I avoid writing about my parents for that reason. Our relationship is too rich, complicated and precious for me to do it justice.
Thank you for keeping this on your site even if not Huffpo.
Thank you for reading! 🙂
This is great, I’m grappling with this issue now, as I reflect on dinner with my parents last night, both of my kids properly naming and gendering me after only a few weeks practice, and my parents not making any effort to do the same. My wife, who is not particularly happy with my transitioning, has been accommodating and fantastic about it in the short weeks since I asked. But I still haven’t asked my parents, and I may never, because I’m afraid that they won’t. Right now it doesn’t bother me, but I suspect it would if I asked them to and they refused. I figure if they are willing they’ll take the 5 year-old at the tables lead and realize it’s not as hard as they expect. Or they won’t, and I’ll have to decide how that makes me feel at the time.
Liz,
I get it. I haven’t asked either (as we discussed) and what if I did? What would happen? Yeah, it’s not hard but I also try to sympathize with my parents’ strong religious beliefs. We are all just bumping around this big old world trying to survive, I guess.
Thanks for reading my stuff!