I've received lots of private messages on this post from a few weeks ago. When I wrote it, I'd had a flood of emotion that day about my ex-husband's transition. It was an emotionally exhausting post for me to write, and I was scared to share it on Facebook. I didn't know how people would respond. Part of me expected some hatred, I think. And most of that day I was in a semi-panicked stated.
It's been interesting to see what kind of messages were done openly on my social media, and which were sent privately. The open comments were things such as "you are amazing" and "I had no idea you'd gone through this." All empathic and loving messages from supportive friends. Mostly, people were respectful of my experience.
I did receive a *little* unsolicited advice (personal pet peeve) on how I could "see things differently" which wasn't of great interest to me. Sorry, folks, I've been at this a loooooooong time, and I've read a thooooousand books and helped other families through all sides of this issue. It's not that I don't have anything to learn, because obviously, I have LOTS of unanswered questions. But nobody can help me when they come at the issue with thin analysis and parroting the popular slogans that are on fire right now. This is a deep, complex, troubling issue not easily solved simply by compromise, love, love, love, and more love. (And don't even get me started on the definition of love, and the different kinds of love, and the ethics of doing what only appears to be loving action now and may impede long-term growth!)
Anyway, back to the messages. The public ones were supportive or thinly considered while the private messages were much more personal. One woman shared that she had a friend going through the transition of a child and that it was extremely hard on that mother who was grieving deeply at a time when she felt she was "supposed" to feel excited for her child who was "using their voice and living their truth." It was all very confusing for this mother, and my friend felt deeply for her.
Another friend reached out to say she was scared for me. She said I was brave, but she personally could never talk about such things openly because there would certainly be social backlash. She warned me that I would be hated and misunderstood, but she nonetheless appreciated my post and the perspective it brought.
And yet another woman messaged me, saying that my story was her own, except she was still with her husband and wondering every day how she was able to maintain the insanity of their lives together. My heart went out to her, but she has chosen a path I couldn't have taken.
Another message came in from someone I didn't know, through this blog, stating that she was in my situation too, and although her children were managing her husband's transition well enough for the time being, she felt so very alone and wanted to talk to someone who understood. I referred her to the transwidows website, but didn't feel capable of talking with her. I'd love to have that kind of time or emotional energy, but I don't.
I understand the aloneness she feels, though.
It was a little different kind of loneliness back when I was a young wife. I remember when I'd never heard the word Transgender - when nobody talked about it, and I didn't know it was part of my marriage - when the only thing I knew was my husband had an issue with masturbation and wearing my prom dresses and heels, and I didn't know what to do except be a "good wife" and make compromises for the sake of peace.
....back when I was so much younger...
Sometimes I've felt it is an awful cross to bear, to know this life from the inside. To know the confusion, abandonment, and broken hearts that have fallen in the wake of the choices made inside my once perfect family.
Maybe it wasn't ever really perfect, but for a while, at least, that option felt open. Knowing what I know now, though, it seems like I have a responsibility to share what I know, to share what I've seen and heard and felt on the inside of a family falling apart from a transgender claim.
But it makes my heart feel so heavy and my body wants to give in to exhaustion just to think of saying what I've seen. Oh, the weight, the weight of it all. To say what I know, to say what I've seen, to say what I've felt, would be to step in front of the firing squad. At least that's how it feels some days.
My friend who was afraid for my safety was not alone in her fears. There have been times when my imagination goes out of control where I wonder if I'll ever have acts of violence against me for believing what I believe about marriage and gender: that marriage is sacred, that gender is to be respected, and that God doesn't write a free multi-use hall pass for those students who think they don't want to live under the same restrictions as others. If you throw out one set of Divine laws and expectations, where do you stop before you've thrown them all out? The camel's nose is in the tent, and soon after that comes his whole body.
I only pray that God someday shows me what to do with what I know, and how I can share my story in ways that will actually help -- not harm. The ethical quandary exists, though, that to help one person sometimes does come at the expense of another. It's something I'm still not prepared to navigate.
For now, what I have said in the last post stands. And may God mercifully direct us all in our families, in our marriages, in our parenting, and ultimately in our stumbling efforts to cope with the earthly while attempting to look heavenward.