So… I guess that even though I still have some doubts and even if not mandatory for transitioning, a visit to a therapist would still be in order, I have more or less found my identity. The question is, “now what?”.
I can try to ignore the new-found name for the way I have been feeling all my life – for thirty seven years. I can go on as I have until now, I am not doing bad after all. No one ever needs to find out the truth behind my little quirks, I can pass as “normal” and cope as best I can. And as said, take a life load worth of what if’s to my grave.
The other option is obviously to act upon it. Seek out support groups, discuss options, listen to other people’s experiences, seek a therapist, seek hormone treatment and go through surgeries. So what is stopping me?
If I do come out, I would want the hormone replacement therapy and I would want top surgery for sure – as mentioned, my breasts are my main pain point and I have already considered it before realizing where the issue comes from. I would probably also get bottom surgery to prevent further issues – though it would mean dependency on hormone treatment for life. I always balk and panic at such commitments. What if there’s an alien invasion or a zombie apocalypse and hormone treatment is not available anymore? What if, closer to reality, the far right eventually wins over Europe and that would just paint a big target on my back? What if I cannot physically take it? It used to be the thought of surgery that would scare me off, but now that I have had one in my life already, I am guessing I could take more.
First of all, all these actions – support group, therapist, HRT, surgery, searching for doctors – require a massive amount of energy. I still haven’t managed to motivate myself to get a driver’s license and I still have teeth to fix and am finding it hard to kick my ass into gear. I am mentally exhausted and all I can think about when work is over, is going home. So somehow, I would have to get started on that… and overcome my social anxiety in meeting new people and my even bigger fear of opening up.
And after all that, there is the whole issue of coming out. I do not think my parents would be very surprised. They would probably blame themselves for my unhappiness, then start researching, and eventually admit. If they had any misgivings, they would be about my health and safety and the potential negative impact on my life that such a decision could have. I am also certain about my close friends. It might take some adjusting, but I do not think our friendships would break over this. I am lucky to work in an environment where I would not face any serious issues. People around me at the office would live with it. I am however working with a lot of people, and am known by a lot of people in the organization. A change in appearance, voice or name would take some explaining.
And then there’s… the looks… the eyebrows… the whispers… the rumours… I do not know if and how I could take the curiosity (which would be perfectly justified and I would not hold it against anyone) and the conscious or unconscious prying and scrutinizing.
Also, there are all the more or less meaningless interactions. The neighbors. The people on the bus. The cashiers at the supermarket. The dentist and the guy at the bank. Everyone would eventually notice that something is “wrong”. Everyone would have to be notified about a name change eventually. It seems very taxing. I have always hated the spotlight and am not taking it well when someone’s attention is being focused on me. I hate feeling scrutinized – and I would put myself in that situation over and over and over again, every day, until I could pass. Then strangers would not notice anymore. Those who know me would have known me before however, I do not know how they would cope and implicitly how that would affect me.
Once again, I find myself wishing for a magical solution, like I imagined surgery would be, as a kid. That I could go away for a week and come back a new me. I have even given thought to a new name. Family and friends have always shortened my first name (which I never particularly liked) to “Deni” (to which I have grown very accustomed). So I decided my new name would will be Daniel – it could still be shortened to Danny, which is pronounced the same way. I would not have to get used to something else and neither would my friends, at least in that respect.
Now all that is left for me to do, is walk into the lion’s den, like the Biblical Daniel, and come out the other side unscathed. The only faith I could have that could carry me through is faith in myself and my resilience – and that is currently lacking.
