Then in back to back comments, she did the one thing I’ve specifically told her makes me feel so guilty I avoid interacting with her.
[I am not responsible for another’s guilt. Not my style. I responded with a comment to another comment that was in error, wishing Ilde a happy birthday. I commented that, “My birthday is in 2 days. My birthday wish would be to be with my d and I missed her very much.” THAT is what made her feel guilty! I never meant that Ilde HAD to be responsible for visiting!]
My gender journey is hard enough managing my own emotions, going through most of it with a partner, and then a spouse, who told me she wouldn’t love me if I was a woman
I haven’t been to Florida since . It’s for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that going back is emotionally draining. I’ve lost a lot of friends down there in the last few years. The first time I went back after I “came out” – that is, decided not to filter my posts – I was cornered, asked why I didn’t talk to my family about it, and asked if I could be misgendered by them still. Here’s the answer I wanted to give at the time.
[I would love to know who said this. And I didn’t know it was so emotionally draining. I would have been just as happy to go see her in Wisconsin!]
That you were so avoidant of the topic of sex that both times I was assaulted, I dissociated the memories rather than come to you for help
I didn’t tell you I was queer for the same reason you asked me why I didn’t tell you I was queer. I didn’t tell you for the same reason you asked if I could still be your son, your nephew, or any number of other masc-identified terms. My queerness is about me. Who cheated on me. Who told me the day I got the courage to say hey, I spent the last 6 months putting myself in a place where I can help you address the cracks in our relationship, that she didn’t want to, and left that very night. Having 3 different people in the following year show me they didn’t see me as queer, or nonbinary, in different, intimate, and hurtful ways. So no, I didn’t talk to you about it. I listened to how you talked about the trans woman you wouldn’t date, how you reassured me that you never felt like “anything” other than “what” you were. I heard you when you talked about Tootsie, and Eddie Izzard, and Mrs Doubtfire in my youth. I internalized the words “learned helplessness” to the point that I’ve pushed myself to burnout over and over and over again. I built a mask of masculinity because as a *child* you told Brighton free hookup apps a doctor I didn’t measure up to the ideal of maleness you thought I should, and wanted him to give me medicine to “fix” me. I heard you tell me and anyone who would listen how s with pride because obviously I didn’t have ADD like those other kids, that throwaway diagnosis. All the while you sat in those IEP conferences, with the same problems every year about focus, homework, staying on task. You fought for me so hard to make sure my letter grade measured up, but didn’t pay attention to the fact that I was desperately lonely, didn’t socialize with kids my age outside of school, and was chronically traumatized by the bullying I suffered at the hands of my peers.