Lucky Lady

Its been two weeks since the momentous Coming Out, on Facebook and through emails to other pals. And I can say one thing for certain. I am a Lucky Girl.

So pardon me if I take a moment to talk about a trans woman who was not so lucky.



The very morning I planned to come out to everyone I knew, word reached me that a prominent person in our community had taken her own life. Though not a personal acquaintance, the more I read about her life, the more I saw myself in her.  And the timing was ... significant. But how? What was I to make of this horrible death, just before sharing my real self with the world?

Well, I went ahead with my announcement. Within hours of posting on Facebook, many of you responded with positive, even enthusiastic validation for me. I was overwhelmed by all your love and support. But I could not rejoice. Indeed, Krista's death hung very heavy on me until finally, by mid-afternoon, I was moved to write a short tribute to Krista Easter, and with it embed one of her last YouTube videos.

I've since moved these materials to a special page, where her memorial shall always be part of Brand New Day.  So, why did I need to include a tribute to a dead stranger here?  Well, not only because of the auspicious timing. You see, her fate deserves comparison with my own, being somewhat the opposite face of the same coin, and underscores why I'm so grateful for the support my family, local friends, and all of you have given these last weeks.

Krista's suicide was a vivid reminder that for many coming out as transgendered, what should be time of great excitement and anticipation instead becomes an exercise in rejection.  Un-acceptance. And worse.  To live in silence about who you are is terrible.  To share all this and then be shunned is ... beyond terrible.  This alienation contributes to the misery -- and sometimes, eventually, the death -- of so many transgendered persons.

No, I did not know Krista. But I know her story could easily have been mine. I am not yet ready to write of my horrible, dark times in any detail. But I can tell you that on several occasions, all that kept me here was the active love and support of a tiny handful of people, who knew about me, and who gave enough of themselves, their affection and professional skills and time, to ensure that I continued to see another day.

I knew from the start that transitioning would not be easy.  A very close transsexual friend here in Chicago was nearly 20 years post-transition when we met.  Let's call her G. She is post-op (Sexual Reassignment Surgery) and also underwent breast augmentation and a series of  cosmetic surgeries making her not just female in appearance, but exceptionally attractive too.  G. is bright, quick-witted, and interested in stage performance, which she eventually did and got some marvelous reviews for her work.

But G's family and peers have completely rejected her.  Both at first and to this very day, twenty years later, her father, brother, and other relations are never home whenever G. comes to visit.  They literally refuse to be under the same roof with her.  G's mother still sees her but on a limited basis, one-on-one, and even she refuses to challenge the rest of the family, after all this time, to finally accept G. as their own. In her very first theatrical performance G. spoke movingly of what this feels like. It never failed to move the audience greatly.

Privately, G. also shared stories of other transsexuals in the same boat. In G.'s world, few enjoyed a loving, supportive family.  Most were lucky to have a few acquaintances and friends.  Some were almost totally alone in the world, and a few had committed suicide.  One of them, a close friend, pulled the trigger right in front of G.

LIFE IN THE CLOSET

In the years since, in person and online, I've met hundreds of transgendered men and women. Again, the message is clear.  Coming out often means ... being turned away

Because of this, many transgendered people -- if not indeed most -- remain closeted.  That is, they do not reveal who they are publicly.  Many don't even share this with their spouse, for fear of losing their affection and possibly their entire family. Also, there is the likelihood of losing one's career:  national legislation protects Gay, Lesbian, and Bisexual but not Transgendered persons from job discrimination. We were the last minute "compromise", jettisoned from the bill to ensure its passage.

So there is a great deal at stake. Indeed, nearly all the big things keeping a person moored and supposedly happy in this life.  The pressure is so strong to just suffer in silence.  So many closeted transgendered people become extremely unhappy anyways, depressed, and some, yes, take their own lives.  True self-acceptance is the one thing nobody else can grant, and without that, the will to live can come very hard.

This is what I had finally started to learn.  And what finally drove me to do what I must do.

THE WAY OUT 

My physical changes became so prominent I could not perform my job, which involved being examined by medical students ... very closely examined.  So I found ways to be self-employed instead.

My wife and I separated.  Aside from very brief breaks, this was the first time I'd ever lived entirely on my own.  Yes, its true.  Fortunately my wife continued to be a powerful and positive force in my life. Not just lending the occasional "atta-girl" but giving hard, practical advice, and assistance, and eventually re-introducing me to many of you in Chicago for the first time as Dee.  Married people out there don't need to be told what a challenge this was, or what incredible beauty of spirit she demonstrates, every day, by being not just tolerant but proud of me.

And then, the time came to tell my family.  My sister was first.  Back in November, we went shopping for the day, then rested at an Indian restaurant.  After the meal, I told her my news. She thought a bit, then said "I was about 75 percent sure you were trangendered."  Really?  "Sure." She went on to ask many pertinent questions about where I was in my transition, the choices I was making, and so forth, which of course all greatly surprised me. She simply said "Well after all, Dave ... I do watch Oprah."

My sister not only became a staunch supporter, but conferred on how best to tell the folks. The last thing I wanted was for my father and stepmom to hear from other sources, in some awful, distorted, gossipy context.  As you might guess, this conversation was hard to initiate.  I knew their rejection would be very difficult for me to deal with.  I risked damaging our relationship terribly, perhaps beyond repair.  And I felt guilty, so selfish for inflicting this on my parents, being at an age when they're entitled to take it easy, not dealing with more crap from their kids.

So, I procrastinated. With only a weeks to go before my official name change, and my breasts nearly impossible to hide any longer, I returned to Michigan, and finally came forward.

Both my stepmother and father totally accepted me. Sure, they were confused, concerned, and had lots of questions. But they loved me anyways. I was so unbelievably happy that ... of course ... I had to cry.  A lot.

Ten days later, I altered my name and put a short post on Facebook, linking to this blog.  Many of you read my news, then left lovely comments back on my Wall, which for posterity I have enshrined here.

FORTUNATE

Please forgive me for taking this down some pretty bleak roads.  I have no other way to explain the full context and dark soil from which my sense of good fortune grows.  With your embrace, I've beaten some pretty significant odds.

And I need to have you understand why I accept your well wishes, and support, and love with such deep gratitude.

Because of you, I am one of the lucky ones.

So thank you. And peace be with you all.