Lucy Grey: Gendernaut

I did it. I typed it all out, and my fingers pressed send. Of their own accord. I don’t know why now over all the other times I was compelled to—maybe this time, the compulsion was just too much. Sigh. A little context: my parents are attending retreats at their church, and part of the retreat is having the attendees’ loved ones write letters to those attending the retreat. Just a nice little note telling them you love them, and how important they are in your life. My first letter, the one to Dad, did all that, but was pretty sterile. This one…got out of hand as I began typing. I’ve apparently been thinking on this too much.

Mom, 

Somehow, this letter is harder to write than the one to Dad. Partially because I included you in that letter to him and I want to make this one distinct from that one. I mean, you already read that letter, I’m sure—why read the same stuff here? Most of what I said to Dad applies to you too. 

The other reason this letter is hard to write is because I have so much to tell you. I feel like since day one, I’ve been the problem child in our family. I mean, really, it’s not my fault I was breach. Still, no one said that we were all the causes of our own problems. I think a lot of the reason I’ve been difficult is because I’ve gone through life trying to be different—not really realizing that inherently, I am different. My differences (personal  distinctiveness?) caused a lot of problems for me, and consequently for you—I’m sorry I’ve only just now seen that. 

I know both you and Dad have worried about me, and to tell the truth, I’ve been worried too. I’ve been dealing with some pretty serious depression for the past few years, on and off—and for some reason, I could never quite put my finger on the cause of it. Part of it was probably linked to my classes and how I felt about computer science and where my life was going, part of it was probably connected to my experience with [raped girlfriend] my second semester at college, and there was another part—an odd feeling of being unwhole, of feeling different but not understanding why. Raised the way I was, by you and Dad, it bothered me that I couldn’t put my finger on what bothered me (talk about loops within loops). 

By now, I’ve learned (and I’m sure you have, too) that when I get depressed, I pull my emotional coat tighter, turn insular, and avoid contact with people, even my loved ones. I don’t understand why I do this, and I know it hurts others. I’m sorry I’ve done so much of that recently. You and Dad are the last people I want to shut out of my life.

Which brings me to the scariest part of my letter. I don’t mean to shut you out, especially when I have so much to say. I’m trying to rectify all of that, but still, I don’t know how to say this.

Several months ago, I came to a realization of my inherent difference that bowled me over. My epiphany made me so happy, and yet, simultaneously, so scared and vulnerable that I couldn’t tell anybody. On the one hand, it was like my first breath of fresh air in years, like seeing the sun in the sky for the first time; I felt glorious freedom in my new insight. But on the other hand, this is something so different and out of the norm, even for me, that I’m afraid of others’ reactions when they find out. 

Actually, Dulcinea knew from the very beginning; she was there the moment I realized this. She helped me work it out and understand it, and she accepts it. My experience with her, this journey in coming to understand this newly-discovered part of myself has surprised me with how much it’s strengthened my relationship with Dulcinea, and deepened our love for each other. Seeing this makes me want to share with you—but I’m so scared you won’t understand or accept it. I’m afraid you’ll try to “fix” me or deny this other side. But it’s there, and I don’t want to hide it from you, nor am I interested in being “fixed”—you can’t fix this.

The last weekend home was so difficult for me—every minute around you, I felt I was on the verge of spilling beans not meant to be spilled. The entire ride home, I cried, worrying what would happen if you found out about me. It was emotionally exhausting, just being on edge, on guard the whole weekend, trying not to divulge my secret. I’ve always been the different, difficult one, but I never imagined my differences could be so dangerous or worrisome.

I love you so much, Mom. I’ve prayed and thought about this constantly, wishing this would just go away—that this may just be some sort of phase. But it hasn’t gone away; these feelings have become more intense. I have compulsions about telling you and Dad and [my brother]. It takes everything in me to hold back, for fear of misunderstanding, of negative reactions. But I can’t hide this from you, and I don’t want to.

One of my most powerful memories of you, Mom, is when you sat me down, after I’d come home from school, upset about the merciless teasing in class, and you told me, “[My name], you can’t worry about the bullies at school. You have your friends, and they like you for who you are. Just be yourself.” I may have paraphrased a bit, but that’s the gist of it. I love you, Mom. I just want to be myself around you, and I don’t want to hide anything. 

Still, I worry that this isn’t the right time to tell you this—I’m about to start my own life, but I haven’t quite regained my feet yet, and I don’t want to be completely cut off from the rest of my family—you’re still supporting me financially in a number of ways, and I greatly appreciate that, but even more importantly, I need your love and emotional support now more than ever. I’m working to make myself more and more able to stand on my own, but it takes time to build that foundation. I’m afraid with this news, you’ll cut me off entirely. I’ve heard of families that do that, and while I don’t believe you’d ever do that, it’s still a real fear. That’s why I didn’t put any of this in my letter to Dad. I feel, though, with this other opportunity to write another letter, that maybe this is God’s way of telling me it’s time to come clean.

I love you and Dad so much, I’m so scared of losing you. You’ve helped shape me into the person that I am today, and when I see myself in the mirror, and look into my past, I see that despite my mistakes and pitfalls, I’ve come out a pretty good person (who is always in need of improvement). And I have you to thank for this. Thank you. I couldn’t ask for more loving, caring, or encouraging parents. Thank you for helping me to see that difference isn’t wrong, but something to love and celebrate.

In love and difference,

your son,

[Me]

http://gender.wikia.com/wiki/Androgyne
(Whoops, this got a lot longer than I thought it would. I know you’ll have questions. I wish I could have done this in person. Please don’t share this with anybody until I feel comfortable with you knowing. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.)

<edit> Dad responded with:

[My name], 

I meant what I said on the phone to you the other day.  There is NOTHING that you can do that would make me stop loving you, and that is true for your mom too.  This is something that I did not expect, but it does not change in the least my love for you.  In fact, I am happy that you understand how shutting us out hurts and that you will work to change that.  Sure, we have something to talk about to understand—when you are ready.  But let there be no misunderstanding this: you are my son and I am immensly proud of you and love you.  What else do you need?

 - - -Dad