Lucy Grey: Gendernaut

I got a phone call yesterday from Mom, after she’d read all my emails. It was the call I’ve been hoping for. It was the call I’ve been dreading. 

I wasn’t particularly prepared to talk on the phone, especially since I was driving home from work on busy roads. I’m worried that my driving-distracted ums, ahs, and expletives made it sound like I wasn’t sure about myself.  But the truth is, I’m not 100% sure about myself. I have days where I feel perfectly male. I have days where I feel more female, and days that can go in between. That’s what genderqueer means, but my parents are not gender-aware. How do you explain this variance to them? My unsureness, to them, is just proof of how my conclusions are not right.

The biggest thing Mom had to say on the phone was, “I don’t understand, [my name]. Why are you doing this? Why is this important? Everybody’s got male and female aspects. Why is this different? You are [my name], you’ve always been [my name]. We know you’re different, but why this, why now?” I said, “Good, that’s the reaction I want—I don’t want you to see me differently, just know that I’ve discovered new things about myself, and these discoveries have allowed me to be more open with myself about how I feel, how I react, and how I want to be viewed.” But she didn’t understand. I should have said, “I have some things I want to change about myself, and I don’t want you to misunderstand why I’m doing them. I want to change my external appearance and demeanor to better fit how I feel inside.” But I didn’t. Eloquence, apparently, is not a quality I can conjure up while driving home and talking on the phone at the same time.

It’s a really frustrating situation. On the one hand, we’re on the same page—we agree that I am me, always have been, always will be, and I want them to just see me as me. But there’s more to me than anybody ever guessed, and I don’t want to shock the balls off anyone when I let all of myself shine through. I didn’t say that to her (maybe I should have), though—how do you say, “Mom, I want to feel pretty.” The closest I got to that was, “Mom, I want to grow my hair out.” Argh.

Mom and Dad both picked up on the word depression in my letters. It was like a beacon, and maybe because it’s the one thing they understood in my letter, Mom hovered around and worried that topic like a moth dive bombing a lightbulb, always coming back to, “Are you depressed now? Depression’s very serious, honey. If you’re having problems, you should see a specialist.” Never mind that I can’t afford one, or am not even depressed. To them, depression is the more serious issue, and I can understand that, but it’s not what I wanted to get across in my letter. I want to prepare them for what will inevitably happen. And so far, this conversation is not a good indication that I’ve prepared them for anything but mental anguish and wondering where they screwed up in raising me. 

After going back and forth on my parent’s perceived depression, and whether or not they think I’m really androgyne, and more comments like “Why do you think you have to do this?” and more suggestions of seeing a professional, this time because I think I am an androgyne, we ended the conversation with Mom saying, “I love you the way you are. Because you’re you, and there’s nothing you can do to change my love for you. Nothing. Not even coming home with long hair, earrings and wearing a skirt. I don’t understand it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” She said it as a joke; she has no idea of my crossdressing. But when I do come home in a skirt, nail polish, makeup, heels, and long hair, it won’t be a joke.

Augh, the first note exchanges seemed so promising! I guess I have to count them as a partial success—I’ve managed to let them know something’s up, has been on my mind as a serious concern for the past few months, and they’ve been, at least initially, receptive to it. But they haven’t understood. They don’t understand how enormously important this is to me, and they’re not prepared for the bombshell in heels and makeup that they’ll eventually encounter.