the Death and Rebirth of Transitioning

I had name change court Tuesday, the 15th.  I have officially changed my name.  My mum was going to drive me to the Social Security office so I can change it with them, but it’s been cold and we are lazy.  And also very sensitive to the cold.  We are planning on going Tuesday, as well as going to the DMV after and the library.

As I’m getting further and further into my transition as an AFAB non-binary person, or FtX, if you will, I’m feeling less out of sync with the world.  I don’t know how to describe it beyond feeling like I was a puzzle piece that was being hammered into the wrong spot; and now I’m being smoothed out and sliding easily into who and what I’m supposed to be.  Another way of putting it, as I’ve said to Sweet Pea in one of our talks, is that I’ve been wanting to feel less like I’m wearing someone else’s people suit.  I still don’t feel 100% there, but I’m still way more comfortable now that my name reflects me, rather than who my parents wish I was.

To be honest and fair, I understand that my mum is mourning the loss of the daughter she thought she had, the daughter she always dreamed of having.  It irritates me a bit, because the only thing that’s really changed is that I’m more me, that I’m more open and honest about who I am at the core of my being.  It also irritates me because she says she wants to be supportive, and yes, her going to court with me was very supportive, but she doesn’t put forth any real effort.  She constantly misgenders me and she twists reality to what she wants it to be, claiming she doesn’t understand even after I’ve explained for the umpteenth time.  Mind you, this is also the same woman who said I’m to blame for my endometriosis and infertility.  (I blame Mormonism on that, since it heavily teaches that anything wrong with you or your life is punishment for something you did).

I’ll admit, I’m torn with her right now.  I’m deeply appreciative of what she’s doing.  At the same time, she is still gaslighting me on several things, such as saying I never exhibited signs as a child (I did), that I never take time to be patient and explain (I do), and that I don’t treat her with understanding and patience (I try).  She’ll sit there and say all sorts of deeply hurtful things, and when I call her out gently on it, she’ll play victim.

It’s exhausting.  I’ve even compromised a lot on this.  I’ve told her she never has to call me by my new name, mostly because I don’t want to tell my family I’m trans.  I’ve stopped calling her out on misgendering me, mostly because I feel like it’s wasted energy on my part.  I’ve already decided that I’m going low contact when I move out.

I understand she’s mourning.  She’s sad because she always wanted a daughter, and, instead, she got whatever the fuck I am.  I was always a rambunctious person, daring and outgoing and always wanting to go on new adventures, despite being terrified half the time.  Quite honestly, my transition end-game is a subtle difference to what the start was.  There’s no huge visual or behavioural change.  It’s mostly putting labels on me that actually fit, and letting the world know who I truly am.

So yeah, it’s a bit irritating because she is refusing to even try.  But I’m still grateful that she hasn’t disowned me like my father did.  Although, he disowned me for being gay, not trans.  He doesn’t know that I’m trans.  Since I highly doubt that I’ll ever speak to him again, I doubt he’ll ever know.

To level with you, my dear reader, I’m in mourning, too.  I still mourn for the parents I wish I had.  I mourn for the person they wish I was.  I mourn for my old self, even as I kill her for this rebirth of myself.  I mourn for the woman I thought I was going to be, for the girl I thought I was.  I’m having my hysterectomy soon and I mourn for the mother I’ll never be and the children I’ll never bear.

My transition has killed, whether it be an abstract ideal of who I ‘should’ be or the actual conceptions of who I was and who I am.  There has been death in this creation of a new life.  And there has been relief from suffering and an renewed optimism for my future.

As cliche as it may be to say, I view my transition as a phoenix.  I’m sure there will be several cycles of death and rebirth as I continue my journey, as I continue discovering new things about my person.  As each preconceived notion dies, new realizations will rise, bringing deeper peace and understanding.

I’m not sure I’d say I’m proud of who I am, or that I’m happy or that I like myself.  I will say that I’m becoming more compassionate and willing to accept me as I am.  I just wish my parents did, too.

As always, thank you for your time,

The Sarcastic Autist

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