* Flashback to September 2018 *

Have you ever had surgery, and the PreOp Nurse brought you the blanket from the warmer before they took you off to never-never land? It is SO comfy, you just want to pull it up to your chin and nestle deep into the warm, soft embrace. That’s what the “closet” feels like. There’s just so much comfort and safety in that warmth.

So, why is it so important to come out? Because, like the newborn forced to leave the safety of its mother’s womb, the only other alternative is to die inside.

Coming out, for the LGBTQ individual, is easily one of the hardest and most terrifying things they’ll ever have to face. There is no stepping out, and then deciding, “Oh, I was just kidding”.

After I came out to my daughter, and started therapy, it was time to start planning my next steps. I did know, at least, that my family wouldn’t abandon me. They may not understand, and may struggle with the reality and confusion. But I would never be alone, like so many others I’ve read about online. My biggest hurdle, the one I feared the most, was my wife. As I’m fond of saying, I knew that would go over “like a fart in church.” I needed a practice dummy. Enter, my brother…lol. Love you, bro!

My older brother and I have had our complications, but we’ve never lost our love for each other. As many times as I could’ve turned my back on him, the love our parents raised us with has always prevailed, and neither one of us has ever done something so wrong that the other couldn’t carry on. As much as I love my brother, (also knowing he may read this someday), he is the redneck of the family. I knew he would try his best to still love and support me, but his views of the world can sometimes be…unconventional. I didn’t really plan to tell him the night that I did, but I had already planned for him to be my first test subject. We just happened to be doing some work in my workshop one night, and I blurted out that it had been a tough year for me so far. There it was…I knew he would bite. He didn’t really have a choice. So, I spilled it. I told him his brother is really his sister, that I was going to therapy, that I wanted to take hormones…and that I’d thought about ending it all. He started to cry. It had been a tough year for him, as well. He was a few months into chemotherapy for colon cancer, and the thought of me accelerating my own mortality, as he was possibly facing his own, was just too much. I knew he would struggle with the thought of having a sister, with all the trouble we’ve caused and survived together as brothers. But he pledged his support, and I knew he meant it.

Closet Status = Open (a little)

Daughter, check. Brother, check. Wife…*sigh*. I’ve never been so terrified in my entire life. I’ve fought structure fires that I wasn’t sure I’d make it out of. I was almost the unintended victim of a drive-by shooting when I was in college. They didn’t hold a candle to this. What would happen? Would she go straight to an attorney? Would I lose my boys? I still have a recurring nightmare of waking up alone in “my apartment”, checking my phone to see if this is the weekend I get the kids. I’m not sure if I can survive without the morning hug I get every day from my Autistic son. It took me a month to write the letter I would use to come out to her. I’m not even sure how many times it was revised, and a couple times totally rewritten. I just didn’t know a good way, if there was one, to tell my wife that her husband was actually her wife, and that I couldn’t go on without bringing the image in the mirror in line with how I felt. My plan was seemingly simple. Look down, read the words, and don’t look up until you reach the bottom of the page. Easy, right? Set the date, change the date, rinse, repeat. I think I finally just told myself, “It’s time”. I emailed Jennie and told her I was doing it that night, “Wish me luck.” After the kids were down for the night, I sat on the edge of our bed, held the letter in my shaking hands, and started reading. I didn’t stop or look up until after I had cried through the last half of it. I looked up at her, all I saw was anger, and I froze.

“I already told you this years ago, and you denied it. Why are you doing this now?”

“I feel like you just told me you want a divorce.”

“I love ‘<deadname>’, I don’t love Renee. I hate Renee.”

There were a lot more things said that night that I won’t repeat. But, let’s just say that where my wife lacks in physical prowess, she excels in verbal assault. She sometimes has a way of choosing her words based on just how hard and deep they cut. I knew this going in, but it still hurt. Knowing how much I had just hurt her is what actually hurt me the most; even more than her words did. This journey between us isn’t over, but at least the truth was out, and as much as the truth did hurt, at least it was the truth.

There’s so much more to add to the topic of Coming Out, but I’ll cover those stories in future posts. As I write this, though, it has been almost 10 months since that night. Neither of us has contacted an attorney, we still plan for the future with the belief that there still is one for us, and even though we’re not “there” yet, I still have faith in our survival. I have to.