This probably isn’t the best way to start a blog

This morning Wife & I attended our 2nd Family Therapy appointment at CAHMS. The session began with the affirmation that she married a man & had the perfect family life until I dropped the Trans bombshell. It continued with lots of tears, accounts of sneering strangers, how unhappy I have been since coming out to her as I seemed so happy before, and culminated in her telling me that ultimately she couldn’t live with me as a woman. She also shared how unhappy our youngest Daughter is with the whole thing, how equally unhappy my parents are, how cruel people can be and that she is dreading anybody finding out because, well, what will they think?

For the record, the ‘trans bombshell’ includes that in our twenty years of being together, for 19 of those she has been aware of my feminine side as it’s been explored in various ways & pushed back into the closet many times over.

Also for the record, I was sat alongside her wearing plain leggings & a ladies t-shirt, a unisex puffer jacket & trainers, face lasered & moisturized to the best condition it’s been in for the last two decades, and long hair partially crowned with a ladies bobble hat,. Apparently non of this counts because I wasn’t wearing a skirt, a dress, tights or high heels, and because after transition I will apparently resemble a bad take on Marilyn Monroe…because you know…Woman. I’d love to occasionally wear some of those items but she rarely does. It’ll likely be rare for me to wear them too, being somewhat on the non-binary end of the spectrum, having a fairly physical occupation & being an outdoorsy type of person.

Her take on things isn’t because she’s a transphobe or a terf because trust me she’s neither. In fact she is absolutely bloody lovely and that I am so obviously causing her hurt that she bottles up makes me feel shit. So too does that I am hurting members of my family. having to constantly battle with her about my appearance. About having to run upstairs to change when people call around unannounced. That I’m on a loooong waiting list to see a GIC. That ever since stopping going for monthly haircuts over two years ago, people have asked repeated questions about my hair. About the shame of our whole situation, and what narrow-minded people who aren’t worth giving a flying shit about think about us. How daily life keeps flipping from the self loathed to the hated by others and back again.

Since accepting my self & opening up, life has mostly been a barrage of incoming fire. Much of it was expected. However, that it’s all been heard now several times over and is relentless just wears me down. Prior to coming out…you know…when I was exuding happiness from every pore…my GP prescribed anti-depressants. I’m thankful he did because they have probably helped me to cope somewhat with what you have read in the previous paragraph. If appearing unhappy to her at times, is it any wonder? It’s because when it piles up, I am unhappy.

My hope for the future is that we can still be a family. We are great together as a unit, if a little dysfunctional in a few good ways. That we could at least coexist as parents who remain close friends would be a second best. At the end of todays appointment though there was a cloud over both outcomes. The therapy is the only time she opens up & my hope for the outcome of the therapy is that her doing so will help her work through things to get to a place of acceptance.

I’m writing this blog to put thoughts on a page. It’s my first attempt at keeping a personal journal and thus far has taken an hour to write. Is 42 years old a good age to begin?