Saturday, May 4, 2019

Editorial note: published retroactively July 6, 2020, unedited.

I read a post today from someone who was concerned about coming out trans to their family, because of the possibility of losing that family in the process.

It made me think. I've observed before that I feel like I've had a fairly easy time confronting being trans, because it's just not the first major upheaval I've ever lived through. Fuck, at this point, shredding my world and doing something entirely new from scratch is practically a fucking routine. Sure, this is larger in magnitude than anything I've done, but the process of starting over is... home.

So in some senses at least, I think I'm confident in the whole idea that I can face a dramatic reconfiguration of my reality and come out ahead. I have experience. I know the sensations. Once more until the breach, dear friend. Once more.

 

But the family post fucked with me a little. Frankly I didn't even really think about my relatives much during my initial processing phase, because I was already basically at the point where I didn't even want to acknowledge their existence ever again. I didn't worry about losing anyone because I'd already chosen to get rid of them... for unrelated reasons, sure, but I was done.

The tiny shred of contact I have with relatives at this point is entirely due to my own concerns for one of them - I didn't want to leave anyone behind if there was a chance I could help with their own discovery. Even if I had to do it behind everyone else's backs. That was all a surprise, and a bonus really.