I can’t believe it’s been over a month already. So much happened, I honestly wouldn’t know where to start telling you all about it.
The most important thing for now is probably that I’m on speaking terms with my parents again. No, Mum did not apologise for the accusations she made. In fact, she denied having said anything of the sort, and she loves me and would never hurt me.
With Dad, things are different. I had a really good talk with Dad, in which he was very open and honest about his feelings, and I appreciate that. I knew he was hurting, so that didn’t come as a surprise, but he never blamed me. He did say that he felt I’d gone about it the wrong way. He’d have preferred to just find out over time what was happening, and although I do not agree with him, I respect his views.
I cannot – and would not even if I could – go back in time and do things differently, because I don’t think it would have worked that way. There’s too many practical difficulties with just transitioning and simply waiting for your loved ones to figure it all out for themselves. I do understand though. He might have hurt less if he’d have found out over a prolonged period of time. It might have been kinder on him.
But here’s the thing. Even if it weren’t for the practical difficulties, I still would not have done things his way. It would not have been good for my emotional wellbeing, and I’d been too hard on myself for far too long already. It was past time I started being true to my self, the real me. That was the advice given to me at the gender clinic back in August, and it was good advice. I’ve been feeling so much more at peace with myself since coming out and being able to really be me.
That’s the good. We’re not avoiding one another anymore. The bad is, it’s still awkward. So far Mum and Dad are still calling me by the name they gave me at birth. The name I’ve hated for as long as I can remember. And they’re not talking to me about it. They’ve chosen to talk to my daughter instead, which I don’t think is right.
My daughter tells me they hate my chosen name. Or at least, Mum says that Dad hates it because it’s the second name of one of my cousins. And, okay, he wasn’t exactly one of the nicest boys I ever knew, but he’s a grown man now, and the last time I saw him, he seemed like a perfectly normal man to me. If I have no problems with the name, then why should they? Is it they who have to answer to it?
So Mum won’t use my name because, according to her, Dad hates it and she wants to support him. Or wait! Maybe it was something else. Because she really doesn’t want to use my name because of my younger sister, who’s been crying so much since I came out to her. So she really wants to support my sister, who’s having such a hard time of it.
So it’s the same old song again? She wants to support my sisters first and I come last? Oh well. Nothing new there. I don’t even know why I’m offended.
Now, her using my daughter to preach to me. That’s a different story. If she has a problem with me, she can say it to my face. Or maybe she can’t because she knows she’s wrong in always putting my sisters’ needs before mine.
Why do I even bother?