This story is a work of fiction. Any similarities to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. (But if this sounds like it could be about you, I'd love to hear about it.)
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Twenty-eight February, two years ago, marks the day my mom came around to full acceptance of who I am and what was happening to me.
This is my story.
Ultimately it all goes back to my birth, but to make a long story . . . short . . . well, ok, shorter I will begin on thirty-one October, three years ago.
I was a fifteen years old male. It was Halloween night and I was in the process of dressing myself in some of my older sisters clothes.
I was getting ready to go out and walk up and down the streets of the neighborhood, hanging out with my friends and sneaking drinks of alcohol. Just like we had done every year since we had decided we were too old to actually trick or treat. Too old to knock on doors but not too old to still dress up, mind you.
I had been working on my costume for well over an hour and was just finishing up my look when Mom walked in.
The first thing she did was make a comment on how, every year, for the past 4 years I had dressed up as a girl for Halloween night.
She said, "it's rather odd to me how you don't just throw on a dress for Halloween like any other guy would do. No, you take as much time getting ready to go out as your sister getting ready for a date."
She continued by pointing out, "You fuss over your hair and makeup like a teen girl, and nothing like a guy just dressing like a girl for laughs. You make it look like you really wanna pass as a real girl. You know, as a matter of fact, this year, you look almost exactly like your sister did when she was your age. It's adorable but starting to concern me that you enjoy it so much."
"The truth is," I told her, "where's the fun in just looking like an uncomfortable dude in a dress. It's much more fun to fool people and then see the shocked or unbelieving reaction on their faces when they are told I'm a boy."
I have her a pink lipstick colored grin.
Yes, that is one of the reasons I do this every year, the shock factor. It fun to do, fooling people and getting the satisfaction of knowing I passed so well it never crossed their mind I wasn't really a girl, but not exactly what I really wanted to tell mom.
What I had been planning for a while, I found I was still too scared to say out loud, just yet.
Just a few days ago, I actually had a conversation with my older sister, about me finally talking to mom tonight and telling her about my feeling. I was supposed to finally tell her how my desire ran much deeper than just wearing a dress and swishing around for laughs every Halloween, but at this moment I just couldn't find the nerve to do it.
But then, as luck would have it, my sister who had heard everything that had or had not just been said, walked in. As she past me, she gave me a stern look through the mirror and then a coy smile.
F- My Life.
Ok, let me explain. Like I said, I had been talking to my sister about my intense desire to live as a girl, so she knew everything and knowing how serious I was, she had given me an ultimatum for tonight.
She had told me that if I didn't reveal the truth to mom tonight she would tell her how I had been stealing her underwear and taking photos of myself wearing them and posting the photos on Tumblr.
(No, dear reader, not my mom's underwear, ewww no, my sister's cute undies.)
She had told me she would show mom the photos and the naughty/ sometimes downright disgusting comments that "dirty old men" had been leaving about them. She also had told me she would cut off all my access to her clothes and makeup as well.
So, when she looked at me with that face, I knew it was all about to come out and that it would be so much better for me if I did it and not her.
I had to say something, so I replied, "Well, mom. . . as a. . .um, as. . .I. . .its just. . ." Unable to get a coherent thought out, I paused to take a breath, calm my nerves, and allow my heart to slide back out of my throat and down where it belonged behind the bra and breast forms I was currently wearing.
Sensing the sheer terrifying nervous discomfort I was experiencing, my sister stepped over next to me and placed her hand on the small of my back in a show of support towards me. Little did she know just how much I needed that right then.
Swallowing rather heavily, I tried again,"Mom, well, I'm . . ."
"What is it, son?" My mom asked, trying to get me to spit out what I was stumbling to say.
"Well mom, as a matter of fact, no, I don't like it 'too much,' as you put it. I, ah. . .I--"
My sister moved her hand higher up on my back and I could now feel her finger tracing the outline of the bra, her bra, that I was now wearing. That, was so not helping at all.
I twisted my shoulders, in an attempt to signal to her that I wanted her to stop but she kept doing it as I attempted to continue.
"Mom, what I'm trying to say is, um, I don't like it too much, I like it just right and whether you've suspected it or not there's more to it than I've ever said."
Mom stood there in awkward silence.
Finally she spoke,"So, what are you saying?"
"Well, mom, I actually do want to be a girl. For real, a real girl, mom. I have always felt like I was supposed to be a girl."
Once I started spilling my guts I became afraid of what she was going to say, so I kept talking. "
You yourself have pointed out in the past how I've always appeared to be awkward and uncomfortable in my own skin. How many times have you said to me or commented to one of your friends that I'm not a very masculine boy? I know you've told friends of yours before that I would have been better off if I'd been born a girl. Don't deny it, Cheryl has heard you say it. Is that what you wish? That you'd never had a son? Well, congratulations, you got your wish. When I'm dressed like this is the only time I feel right. Only when I'm presenting as a girl."
I took a deep breath and realized my sister had begun to brush my hair.
Mom took the opportunity to get a word in.
"Son, if you feel like this is what you be to do to please me, nothing could be farther from the truth. Yes, I've made observations about how you aren't very manly acting and don't have any interest in real manly things, but that doesn't mean I never wanted a son. You were born a boy and that's what you are."
Feeling my nerves start to calm a little, thanks to me sister. I gained a little confidence and decided I might as well lay it all out there, so I continued.
"No, it's not your fault, you were just seeing the truth. I have wanted to be a girl for as long as I can remember... No, no, wait. . . That's not right. What I should say is, I don't 'want' to become a girl, mom, I 'am' a girl. I think like a girl, I feel like a girl. I hate having to live as a boy. I totally despise having this thing between my legs, especially in the mornings waking up with 'morning wood'. I've always felt like I was born a girl with a hideous birth defect. I've always wanted so desperately, to wake up one morning and find breast on my chest, this growth gone, and myself being treated like the beautiful girl I really am inside. I always have. . . I always have."
As tears began to form in the corners of my eyes, mom just stood there for an awkwardly long amount of time before responding with a question, "Are you trying to tell me you are like those confused boys that were on the TV a few weeks ago?"
"You of all people. Mom, you actually watched that?"
"Well, I saw part of it. I didn't much know what to make of those poor boys though. A boy is a boy and a girl is a girl. Boys aren't girls, or, that's how I've always seen it. A couple of the boys looked like real girls, a lot like you are trying to look right now, but at the end of the day, they each still had a penis and XY chromosomes. No amount of makeup and cute clothes changed who they were underneath it all; sad, confused little boys. I think that ultimately, their moms were to blame for their confusion."
"Yeah, mom? Well, yeah, I . . . I . . .am just like those . . . courageous, beautiful, confident girls that were on that show."
I responded, emphasizing the word girls to let mom know she was wrong by calling them boys.
Her response to me was, "I still think it's just a phase, son. You're confused. You'll get over it. You will always be my little boy, even if you do go out every Halloween looking like a teen magazine fashion model cover girl. Now, you go and have your fun tonight and don't be out too late, son."
Well, that was the extent of our conversation. She was in bed when I got back, so nothing else was said that night. The next morning, she didn't say anything else about it either and in fact, acted like the conversation had never happened.
Fall ended and winter came and before you knew it, Christmas was here. I had been waiting ever since that Halloween conversation, but still, mom made no mention of what I had said and no acknowledgment of that conversation at all.
My sister tried to talk to her a couple of times but she didn't want to talk about it. She always managed to find a way to change the subject after insisting that I would eventually get over it.
During Christmas break my sister got the bright idea to start "accidentally" leaving web pages open on the computer.
She left pages about gender dysphoria, transgendered youth, and videos from transitioning male-to-female teens, open for mom to discover. Her hope was that mom would actually read some of the information, watch some of the videos and then eventually try to initiate a conversation with me.
For the first couple of weeks, nothing happened. It didn't appear that she even saw the pages. But then, one Saturday, something happened.
Mom was out with some friends and I was sitting in front of my sister's dresser mirror, practicing some makeup techniques when my sister excitedly burst into the room. She swung the door open so hard it slammed against the wall, causing me to jump. I almost coated my right eyeball with blue liquid mascara.
"What the heck do you think you are doing coming in here like a tornado," I yelled at her with my glittery, sparkling, pale pink coated lips.
I placed the mascara applicator securely back into its tube while trying to not mess up my still wet, freshly painted silver and black nails, as she breathlessly she responded, "You are not going to believe this, but I checked the browser history and mom has taken the bait. She looked at the sites that I left for her last night. Not only that, she did some further research her--Wait! That's not my brand new pair of black pantyhose, the ones I just bought for my dinner date tomorrow night, that you've got on, is it?"
"Um, maybe?" I responded as I quickly spun around in the chair.
With a pair of four inch long, dangly gold clip-on earrings swinging wildly from my earlobes, I responded to the other thing she had just said, "You're joking right? . . . Quit kidding . . . Seriously? This is mom your talking about."
"I'm not joking sis, seriously. Come look!"
Yes, you heard that right, she called me sis. That's all she has called me since the night of our conversation, the one where I had opened up to her. And besides, if she called me anything even halfway masculine I would probably have to show her that there is actually one thing that I don't do like a girl and that's my punch.
"Did she watch Glittermatti's 'My Life Story' video, too?" I asked as I jumped up to go see if my sister was lying or if mom really making progress.
Now this development, this was an amazing step in the right direction, or so I had wanted to believe, but over the next few days, still no acknowledgment from mom about anything. She continued to act like she hadn't seen or done anything.
Ok, now don't get me wrong, not all hope was lost. My sister was able to report that, even though mom wasn't saying anything, she was doing something. She was continuing her own research. Sis had even found where, over the last couple nights, mom had looked up gender specialist and family support groups in our area.
Was something finally about to happen? Was my world about to be turned upside down? Was mom really coming around?
Why has she still not tried to talk to me?
The next week and a half was more of the same, mom doing internet research and still not trying to initiate conversation with me about any of it.
This continued, until twenty-eight February of that year, or as you should remember from the beginning, it's what I like to call "The Day."
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A/N: So what are your thought's so far? Leave comments and don't forget to vote!
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