As we celebrate Brexit 1776, I look back at how transition has forced me to begin re-finding my own independence that I once had and gave away.
For a vast majority of my life, I have been very independent (for better or worse). As an only child raised by a working single mom, I was thrown into adult situations early in life, and I trusted to be on my own for hours each day. By second grade, I was a latchkey kid. I wore a key on a cord around my neck. The school bus would drop me off a block-and-a-half away from my house. I would walk home and let myself in. At some point, my mom would call (with a coded ring in the landline days) to ensure I made it home safely while she continued to work. At that age, independence was short-lived. When mom came home, she took control.
My mom gave me latitude to make my own choices under her watchful eye. I did not really test those limits to great extent. Like any teen, I was challenged when I did something stupid. I believe there were a few things I got away with that she may have known about but never questioned because I was allowed to make mistakes and learn from them. Still, she kept careful tabs on me, and “no” was a frequent answer, so while I thought I might have been free to do what I wanted, I really was never as free as I would have liked. I asked permission for almost everything. I was a dutiful, non-wild child.
Going off to college was the first time I really had total independence over my actions and choices. My academics suffered, as did my life. I made several negative choices that affected me for a long time. At one point, I effectively put my life on hold for a year. The better part of my 20s was spent trying to right the ship I had self-sabotaged. However, while I was struggling to advance my life, I had complete control. I planned well; it was the execution of those plans that lacked a bit. Still, I was independent and free. By the end of my 20s, I was finally making better choices and overcoming the obstacles I had put in my own way. During that time, I met the woman who become my wife.
Married life brought changes—and co-dependency. The two of us were very independent people before we met each other, but we intertwined out lives so much that we became to heavily rely on each other. She is clinically depressed, and when I became depressed myself a few years ago, that co-dependency caused many problems, even though I denied such a situation existed at the time. I eventually became so depressed that I began to evaluate how I got to that point. That self-evaluation is when the idea that I might be transgender began to make a lot of sense.
I have been transitioning three years now, and with that, I have found out a few things. By finding the authentic me, I have gained back much of the control over my body that I had denied myself for a lifetime. I am so much more comfortable in my body as it changes into what it always should have been, and when I complete facial feminization surgery next month, I will be that much closer. GRS, which is likely several years away, will hopefully finalize that piece of the puzzle. As independent as I thought I had always been, I was not really free of myself until I began transition. It was like being released from a prison I never really knew I was in.
However, the co-dependency of my marriage remains. I love my wife with all of my heart. I do not want to lose her. The circumstances of our situation, though, do not benefit either of us (or our children) in the long-run. Ultimately, we cannot sustain this relationship, and the longer we remain together, the less independent either of us will end up. To be the best versions of ourselves, we must separate. I cry about that inevitability. It is what stops me from seriously dating others. Separation would allow more freedom for the both of us. I envy those who have transitioned with partners that remained by their sides and were able to maintain that love for each other. My story will not end that way, and that is understandable. I cannot make her stay if she is not attracted to me. Still, the logistics of separating are daunting. We are both scared. Transition has scarred us both, and those wounds may not heal for quite sometime. At least I get the benefit of freeing my body and my personality, but we both end up in an unfulfilling relationship.
Transition has brought me new independence. My body and my mind are free. I am able to be the authentic me, and that is truly liberating. On the flip side, transition unofficially put the nail in the coffin of my marriage, which was once a bedrock of my life. I dreamed of being married, starting a family, and living the rest of my life in love. Had I not felt the need to transition, maybe I could have had all of those things on the surface. The problem is that I would not have loved myself, and that, in and of itself, is a wasted life. Transition has taught me to love and appreciate myself as much as I love and appreciate others. That is a huge win. It comes with a the huge loss of shattering the rest of my dreams (and hers).
My 20s were largely wasted because of newfound independence. My 30s were about building a loving family while voluntarily ceding that freedom. My 40s will be about regaining that independence, learning to love myself, and attempting to redefine the family dynamics as my transition winds down. I found myself. Now, I need to re-learn how to live by myself (and my children).