About Time

The day of my April meeting, I turned fifty. Fifty. Other milestones have largely passed barely noticed.  I remember twenty-nine being difficult. Fifty, though, has caused a lot of reflection, more than expected.

I truly feel mortal now.  I feel kinda old, too.  I'm not, but that's my perception.  People in my family typically live past ninety, so there's a good chance I'm just a bit past middle age. 

At fifty, I feel two things very strongly. One, that I am very fortunate to live in comfort and safety, with a wife that loves me, and children that are essentially good, caring people.  And two, that I regret the decisions that led me here, and would trade it all to be living a dramatically different life.  It's hard to integrate those two notions.  So much to be grateful for, and a flippant desire for something completely different.  Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention.

Of course, you know I will now mention them. You all know the principal regret. I had no business pulling someone into marriage with me without benefit of the knowledge that I was harboring a deep secret, a second self that caused me shame.  All the other regrets fall like dominoes from that mistake.  I should have spoken my truth when it could have spared her feelings and mine.  However, fear won the day, and the war, for that matter.

That's all the darkness I want to dig through for now.  I will try to balance it with a happier post soon, and there is upbeat stuff to report.

In Recovery

Turns out that I was included in Wednesday's counseling session.  We were both well-served by it, as well.

The communication boycott was over when I got out of bed at the crack of noon.  Just like a normal day.

In our session, we both aired our grievances. And we were both called to task by the therapist at different points.  The crux is that we have both been dealing with extraordinary stress, and the weak link was our bond.  All of our energy has gone to daughter and sister.  I promised to watch my tone, and to try harder to be supportive when she is venting.  She promised to take more of an active interest in my emotional state, and to try to respect my limits when I tell her I need a break from the listening.  A very good counselor, it turns out.

We are back on good terms.

Just like old times, three posts in four days.

Colder Indoors Than Out

I misspoke at the end of the last post.  We have gone from a cold war to a VERY cold war.

The silent treatment is a real rarity for my wife. It has happened in short spurts before, but always leading up to a big confrontation/accusation.  She quietly took herself to bed a moment ago, which surprised me.  We had set up a couples session for Wednesday, but I noticed earlier on our wall calendar that only her name is written for the appointment now.  I suppose this is a subtle message to me that she intends to go alone.  It would seem to be an excellent time for an impartial party to hear our grievances, but so be it.  Wish I still had my own counselor.  I could use a sounding board.

Divorce is the word that keeps running through my thoughts.  I don't really know how it could play out, but I would not oppose the idea.  I don't even feel all that threatened by the idea of having my secret life revealed malevolently.  Shame is not a big factor for me any longer.  Certainly not to the point that it would sway me.  Plus, I think she would remain intent on keeping that issue away from our son's view.

I sound really blase, don't I?  I don't mean to. 

I feel enormously stressed, preoccupied.  Being passive is second nature to me, and taking the reins here doesn't feel right.  Plus, you know that I am conflict-averse.  Why invite a fight when avoiding one is easier?  This feels like a winding down of our rocky journey.  We are both stubborn asses. 

Everything Old Is New Again

I think the primary theme of this (almost) six years of blog is deja vu.  History keeps repeating itself.  The names and situations shift a little, but the conflict follows predictable plot lines.

My previous entry was a breath of minty-fresh air.  If I had followed up quickly, I could've stretched it into a series of upbeat posts.  Couples counseling was uneventful after I did my reveal to my daughter, and I managed not to use the words "told you so" or "nanny-nanny-boo-boo" when describing my feelings about the success of the venture.

But all is not well.

My daughter has continued to have her college problems, combined with severe depression.  We finally got her to a psychiatrist last week.  We had been seeing a nurse practitioner for her meds previously, and were not satisfied with the results (or the difficulty getting an appointment, even when the meds weren't helping).  The shrink was terrific, took his time getting to know her and the problems, and let her decide the direction of treatment.  She is now on Zoloft, like her parents, and her mood is visibly better after just a few days.  She still won't do her school assignments, but one victory at a time, right?

Another major stressor here has been my wife's oldest sister.  You may recall her as the sister that knows my secret and is quite supportive.  Well, she has a lot of mental issues, primarily bipolar and ADHD, and she stopped paying her bills last March.  This includes a mortgage, extensive medical bills, and the taxman.  We finally learned of all this around September, and everyone has been scrambling since.  She tells me that she thinks constantly of suicide, but won't because of how traumatic it would be to her parents, nieces, and nephews.  Not a great reason to carry on, but it'll do.

My wife is deeply involved in this, and she tends to vent about it.  I have told her several times that I don't care to hear her critical remarks about her sister.  I've heard it repeatedly, and it is toxic.  I don't want to play anymore.  Last night, I barked at her on the phone.  A flurry of texts followed, calling me unsupportive and lacking in empathy.  No, I just disagree with the rudeness toward her sister, and I am allowed to disagree.  I will quote my favorite part of the convo:

She:  I am not trying to provoke you. I am telling you how it feels to have conditions & limitations put on me as to what I am permitted to talk about with my spouse.
Me:  Put those same words into my mouth please.  That is my life story. Get down off the cross.

We are barely speaking tonight, and I am fine with that.  She needs to understand that I have stress too, and I rarely get a chance to discuss or vent it.  I don't regret firing the first shot, though when it all blew up, my initial response was, "And the next day, he received the divorce papers."  No LOLs forthcoming.

So, the long Cold War is once again a hot war.

Great Leap Forward

So, my daughter attended my Transkentucky meeting with me last weekend.  Think there might be a story?  You betcha!

I've written in recent posts about my daughter's depression, and my (and my wife's!) readiness to share my special proclivities with her.  Just last week, though, the missus said that she wanted a counselor to be present when I did my reveal.  Not how I planned it in my head, and a major delaying factor.  That plan swiftly disappeared, though.

Our girl was in a royal funk last week.  Laying about all day, her laptop rarely away from her gaze.  Lots of sighing, and quiet crying.  Something had to be done.  My wife started out talking to her about procrastination.  A lot.  This was going nowhere, frankly.  I suggested that we change topic.

I began by saying how much we love her, and that her happiness is paramount.  That we see that she is suffering, and that it doesn't seem to be getting better. I said that it appeared that she had endured a trauma that she hadn't told us about.  We did some guessing, some quite serious, some just silly.  I could see the wheels turning, but she was unable to make herself say it.  I proposed that she write down what is bothering her.  Her first effort was "Pretty much everything."  I informed her that we are unable to change pretty much everything, and she needed to be more specific.

Her second effort was better.  She mentioned being in a spiral emotionally, and pressures about school and career. And, the big one, that she considers herself to be genderfluid, having girl feelings some days, boy feelings on others.  The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

My wife left the room after a short discussion, and soon I received a text from her asking if this was the right time to discuss my issues.  I responded that it seemed like the appropriate time.

Credit to Mrs. Leslie, who made a point of giving me the floor, and only offering the occasional comment while I explained the arc of my secret life.  I began by mentioning the alphabet soup of LGBTQAAwhatever, and that I am in there.  I am the T.  That I have envied females since I was six, that I started crossdressing at 12, that I hit bottom around Christmas of '07 and finally reached out for help.  I told her about my therapist and my support group.

Slowly, as I shared my story, her face visibly relaxed.  She had never suspected a thing about me, but it didn't disturb her at all.  She loves cosplay, frequently using wigs to emulate male anime characters, and this seemed very similar to her and not at all weird.  It really could not have gone better, and my instincts about her reaction proved correct.  We will be allies for one another.

She requested to attend my meeting, and I was fine with the idea.  I warned her that she would see things that she couldn't un-see.  She had no concerns about that.  I offered to show her my pics, so that she would not be surprised upon seeing Leslie the first time, and she happily looked at the collection.  She complimented my clothing choices, and we talked about wigs and shoes.  In fact, I combed out my wig as we spoke, as I had to prep for the next night.

She enjoyed the support group, and got a kick out of meeting my friends, and seeing her father in a very different light.  She especially liked my skirt.  I shared my regrets that she had not gotten to really know me until she was 18, but there was no other choice available. 

She has been much more upbeat since the meeting, participating at home and seeing some friends out and about.  I do hope that she has turned a corner on the depression, but changing her mindset and habits will take some practice.

The important thing for me is that we have truly common ground on which to bond at last, and that my wife will see that what proved earth-shattering to her may indeed be a lifeline for our daughter.

Preparing to Revelate

I am getting closer to sharing my sartorial quirkiness with my daughter. Not visually (yet), but telling her.  She came to me last weekend as I was watching Doctor Who on Netflix.  She had her laptop in hand, wanting to show me something.

She was sharing a page about demisexuality.  After much gnashing of teeth, she has decided that this is the label that fits her sexual orientation.  A demisexual is someone that only feels a sexual attraction after an emotional connection has been established.  As a result, these are often relationships with the same gender, like her current relationship.

She had shared this page with her mother a few days earlier, and her memory of the reaction was that Mom said it sounded like BS.  I, naturally, was completely supportive, as I am superior in all ways.  Well, in reality, it would be pretty awful for someone like me, longing for the world to accept my deviations from gender norms, to belittle my daughter's tentative steps into the LGBT alphabet soup.  I asked her several questions, and assured her that I would stand by her as an ally.  As her mother should have done.

I nearly told my girl about myself right there. I quashed the notion, though, as I thought it would take the spotlight off her, and this conversation should be about her.

Telling my wife about the talk, she said again that she thinks the time to tell her of my TG status is rapidly approaching.  I want to wait until finals are over next week before I delve into it, but I think it will happen soon after.  She needs to know that I am more than an ally, that I know a great deal about how she feels.

Knowing that this is coming is making me want to dress.  I had a great meeting a week ago, highlighted by a new skirt, and I'm sure that feeling is contributing as well.  And we are going to a Christmas party Saturday, and I cannot escape the fantasy of attending fully dolled up, and being comfortable in my skin for a change at this event.  Fantasy will have to suffice for now.

Good News, Bad News

First, the good news:  I feel like writing again, a return to the deep-seated need that used to rip at me till I could sit down at the keyboard, and sometimes made me pull out a legal pad to tide me over until I could get home.

The bad news: I am feeling that old dysphoria as I haven't in several years.

I haven't felt "right" for several months, and I chalked it up to a lack of opportunities to be Leslie (the beginning of August through the beginning of November, to be precise).  That would be enough, really, but the struggles of my daughter have been tearing at the missus and me as well.  All that stress requires an outlet, and I had none, at least not the kind I desired. 

We were in couples counseling this week, for the first time since June (money, you know), and my daughter was the primary subject.  My wife and I disagree about the way to handle her issues, she tending toward hovering and intervention and raised voice, me preferring the occasional nudge or suggestion, but trying to treat her as the proto-adult that she is at 18.  Let her fail and feel the consequences.

The therapist noted that each time my wife described a confrontation with our girl, I was making pained faces (quite unconsciously).  She wondered if it was related to my reasons for defending my daughter.  I said that I feel a deep sympathy for her struggles with anxiety and the paralysis caused by it.  That I want to help her, but I feel completely unconnected to her.  I said that I want to talk to her about my own history of anxiety, as well the underlying reason for it, which I have been forbidden to discuss with her.  My wife then said that she has been reconsidering that rule recently, wondering if it the potential positives might now outweigh her fears. Didn't see that coming.

I also realized that my own discomfort with my wife's methods with my daughter are close to home. Her tone, her language, take me back to the awful conflicts we had when my gender issues started spinning out of control.  She would talk at me, and made me feel the size of a garden gnome, and just as communicative.  I would get lost in my own head, considering a hundred things to say and rejecting all of them, settling for a pained silence in a sad attempt at damage control.  Don't say anything that might make it worse.

My wife's heart is in the right place, honestly, with my daughter.  She is worried that flunking out of college now will stop her education for good, and doom her to lesser jobs forever.  Could be right, but she is truly not ready for the rigors of higher education at the moment.  The transition has been too much for her.  I think we need to back off and let the chips fall.  She will learn much more through failing than she will by our not allowing her to fail. 

The main point of all this, though, is that I am contemplating a long, odd talk with my daughter.