I have a great fear of rejection I suppose. That might be enough to write a separate post all on its own, why that developed over the years. It might be a symptom of PTSD, or being queer, or my relationship with my father. Who knows what really. Maybe the fear of rejection comes from moving every year in grade school, and having to try to blend in and make friends.
I noticed it occurring this week again, as demonstrated by my inability to look at a post I made on Facebook. Just like the email sent to my kids 2 years ago, living in fear of what they would say.
I have told a few friends, two to be exact, that I don’t reach out to anyone even though I am dying of loneliness. Why don’t I reach out? Because when anyone asks “what’s new?” I don’t have anything good to share.
“What’s new?” Not much, besides losing my eyesight and my cancer numbers going up. Besides spending 3 months lying in bed so deathly ill I couldn’t even take care of my dogs? Besides living with constant pain and depression? Right, not much.
I did manage to land a dream, once in a lifetime, personal best rainbow trout. A monster of a fish just over 10 pounds, that fought hard but was still revived and put back in the water alive and kicking. Well since fish don’t have legs, guess that should read ‘alive and swimming’.
My highlight of the year is catching a fish. That’s sad.
One of my friends challenged me to at least reach out to my family. “They love you, they care, they can help” was her advice. So I posted a short email on our family group site on Facebook, where only descendants of my grandparents post and reply and share. Cousins and their kids and their kids. Family news and events, memories of dead fathers, mothers and grandparents.
It was easy enough to write, especially since the holidays and Christmas were coming up the following week. I wrote that we were both doing okay, but added some of my “distractions” that have occurred this year. My struggles with life. Trying to be upbeat, I included my highlight of catching a big fish.
That was a week ago, and I have yet to build up enough courage to go back on the Facebook post and see if anyone replied, gave a thumbs up, a like, or a comment. Silly isn’t it? Maybe no one responded at all, like it fell on deaf ears. My big attempt at reaching out is another failure. That’s the fear I face.
I’m reminded of the time I came out to my two kids, came out of the closet to them both, that their old man was queer. Their old man was actually an old woman at heart. The second longest day of my life.
December 1st, 2023 was the exact date. I will always remember it, especially since I will always remember that September 1 of 2023 was the day of my sexual reassignment surgery, or SRS for short. I have already mentioned my disdain for the term gender affirming surgery, that whitewashes the actual truth.
As an aside, two years later and I have no regrets, zero, about making the decision. Another post another day, right?
That day in September can be read about here.
Maybe a quick definition is in order of the phrase “coming out”. It’s pretty simple really, coming out (of the closet) means telling people or demonstrating through dress, that you consider yourself to be Queer, with a capital Q. It could be that your Gay or Lesbian or Transgender, take your pick. You can come out to an individual or a group or the whole world if you like.
Or be like myself, and stay in the closet altogether, or just stick out a toe to test the water. Or get caught in full makeup, a dress and some killer high heels.
That brings to mind the series Transparent, where the lead is caught in full drag by an adult child. I was told about this series by a friend, and watched up to a scene where the lead actor(ess) was told by another transwoman “don’t worry about coming out…everyone you love now will be out of your life in five years.”
That’s paraphrased slightly, but at the end of that scene I was sobbing and never watched another episode. The fear of rejection is so very real, so very impossible to face. I thought about losing my wife, my kids, and the rest of my family. My career. My friends.
So I play it very cautiously and only come out to those I know have an open mind, that I share a deep love and trust with. And of course Mrs. Kyd, whose love for me is beyond anything I deserve.
Coming out can be either very easy or very intense, very demanding. What holds people back from coming out is the fear of rejection, disdain or even hatred on the part of the individual you are coming out to. Poor grammar, I know I know.
I had come out of the closet before, starting with my first wife. Of course when I told my first wife I had no idea what I was coming out as, because the concepts of transgender or transexuality were totally foreign to me in 1978. What a difference 45 years makes. I regret the world wasn’t as knowledgeable or accepting than it is today. My life would have been entirely different.
I came out to Mrs. Kyd at the very start of our relationship, actually before we had a relationship. I came out in the wee hours of the morning, as we sat at the little table in my home, after a night of hanging out at the local hang-out . One of those 5 hour talks about life and who we both were.
It was one of the first times she had traveled to the States to spend the weekend, and for some reason I decided I had to tell her upfront about being Queer, or in this case transgender. I had failed to do so in previous relationships, which I ended simply over fear of rejection. They weren’t easy or happy endings.
The coming out experience is as different as the number of individuals to do so. Every story is unique in itself. For the past 4-5 years I have come out to a few very close friends, nearly all women, and of course those in the medical field. I didn’t have any qualms about telling these few friends, simply because we loved each other as people should. We were there through thick and thin so to speak.
It was a month or two after the surgery that I invited a couple of these close friends, including the one doctor who had seen me through my very lowest, out for a celebratory dinner. Each of them had helped me so very much in this journey, accepting me for who I was, listening to me rant and ramble and cry. A lot of crying. They gave me the courage I needed to move ahead, to give myself some grace.
It wasn’t long after that evening I began to feel guilty over the fact that I had these people in my life who knew more about me than my own children. For some reason this ate at me, it bothered me to no end. I had come out to one cousin also, one female cousin who I knew would be accepting. She’s a beautiful soul, and has been through much herself, only to emerge that much stronger.
So I had this internal debate for a month, that ”do I or don’t I” thought playing in my head all day long.
I should, I kept telling myself. Then the question of how to come out when they lived across the border in the States. I chose the most cowardly route, and began composing an email to send to them both.
Once I understood what I wanted to say, the email was easy enough to write. There were three things they needed to know about their father in order to fully appreciate where I came from and where I was going as a person. This life-long quest for self, self acceptance and peace of mind.
I framed the letter under those issues in life that made me who I was as a person. The first being the sexual assault as a child and subsequent battles with PTSD. The second was my battle with chronic depression, relying on nightly bouts of drinking to stave off the demons.
Lastly was the fact that I was transgendered, a transwoman, and had been through sexual reassignment three months ago. That part was the hardest to write about, mainly because I had just started the journey really and wasn’t anywhere near the end point.
The email was there in my draft folder by mid-November, I opened it every day and made edits. I tweaked this word or that, corrected some spelling, or rephrased a point. All in all I thought it was well written.
It sat there in the draft folder for two weeks, until on the morning of December 1st. I read it again for the hundredth time and thought to myself “yeah, it tells my story” and then hit the send button.
So it was done. No turning back now. The desire for truth and openness to my children overcame or overrode the massive fear of rejection. I didn’t have to do it, come out to my kids that is, but it had to be done. Just for my own peace of mind that I was truthful and open and upfront with those I love the very most.
That fear of rejection kept me from looking at my emails for the rest of the day and the overwhelming dread of a negative response filled my head. I just couldn’t do it, so I avoided the computer and cell phone completely.
Would they understand, would they be accepting? Would it help them to know the demons that I’ve dealt with, or would it harm them or our relationship?
Maybe the only reason I finally hit the send button was somewhere deep in my heart I knew my children would be the caring and loving people they were raised up to be.
There was a ping on the cellphone at 4:00 that afternoon, no different than the other pings throughout the day, but for some reason I decided to look at the sender at least.
It was from my son, with a brief text message that said “Dad, would you check your damn emails already.”
How well they know me. They both knew I would be facing this day in utter turmoil, and they were correct. I had. The worst would happen I thought, the worse being I had no reply or response from either one of them.
So I finally opened my emails, and sure enough there was one from each of them, but both saying the same thing basically.
They loved me very much, and although they had a lot of questions, appreciated the fact I was honest and truthful with them. They were so terribly saddened by what had happened to me as a child, but now they knew the demons I had to fight.
So the second longest day of my life came to a close. Questions could be answered as they came.
I was so relieved, and so proud. That’s what I took away from that day, I was so very proud. Not of myself mind you, but proud of the two children I had a small part in seeing grow up to be decent and loving adults.
There is nothing more profound and rewarding than the love between a parent and child.
One day I’ll look at that Facebook post to see who replied, just not today.