Not What I Had Planned

After I shared earlier this week about my mixed emotions surrounding Thanksgiving, I set my mind to embracing the day with whatever it brought. The universe must have taken that as a challenge and decided to test me.

I had planned to spend the afternoon at a Thanksgiving dinner for the transgender community. Beforehand I yielded to my son’s invitation and stopped by my parent’s church to join them for a small bite before what I intended to be my main meal of the day. By this point, however, the headache I had awoken with had worsened to the point that my right eye felt like it wanted to pop out of my head, awakening memories of how I felt when I had shingles in my left eye a few years ago. I had tried all morning to ignore it, hoping that it was just a bad headache. But when I mentioned it to my parents at lunch, they insisted I needed to go to a clinic.

Hence I found myself sitting in Urgent Care on the afternoon of Thanksgiving day. Not exactly what I had planned. Although there was no rash nor other visible indicators of shingles, the NP on duty agreed that it was better to start treatment sooner rather than wait to see what might develop. Shingles in the eye can cause lasting damage. By late afternoon I was back home with a bottle of medication, comforted by the prospect of feeling better.

My Thanksgiving was far from wonderful. I certainly would have preferred to spend it doing something besides visiting Urgent Care and sitting alone of my sofa watching Netflix. Nonetheless, it gave me opportunity to reflect on many of the reasons I have to be thankful. I’m thankful for medical practitioners who agree to work on a holiday so others can have the care they need. I’m thankful for my parents and my son who encouraged me to seek treatment and supported me in doing so. I’m thankful for those who welcomed me at my parent’s church, and for my transgender siblings who responded with compassion when I informed them why I wouldn’t be able to join them for the afternoon. I’m thankful for friends who expressed their concern and support, and for Leigh, who generously brought by apple pie and other Thanksgiving leftovers on Friday so I wouldn’t go without some taste of the holiday.

It’s been a difficult year for many of us. I’ve shared some of my struggles and challenges in this blog. Each of you has faced your own trials and difficulties as well. Sometimes it feels overwhelming, and sometimes the tears need to flow freely (they do that often enough still!). But when I reflect on where I’m at in life, when I consider the friends who surround me and enrich my life in so many ways, when I think about how full my life is with meaning, purpose, joy and connection, I cannot help but be grateful. I’m not ignoring the challenges that exist in my life. I’m not oblivious to the problems in the world. But I find the energy to engage with them by making room for gratitude and joy, as well as pain, grief and sorrow. I find strength and encouragement from the community of wonderful people around me who believe and hope and work to make the world a better place. I receive comfort and support from caring friends who are there for me regardless of where I’m at emotionally. Things may not always work out the way I had hoped or planned, but I can always find reason to hope and reason to be grateful. I leave you with these words from Brené Brown in her latest book Braving the Wilderness:

“A wild heart is awake to the pain in the world, but does not diminish its own pain. A wild heart can beat with gratitude and lean in to pure joy without denying the struggle in the world. We hold that tension with the spirit of the wilderness. It’s not always easy or comfortable—sometimes we struggle with the weight of the pull—but what makes it possible is a front made of love and a back built of courage.”

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year?

I lay in bed this morning pondering why I don’t particularly care for Thanksgiving. I hate the societal expectations loaded on it; the images of happy families gathered together for a massive feast; the pressure to prepare a certain type of meal in overabundance; the expectation that we need to feel or behave a certain way because, after all, it’s Thanksgiving. I have also come to rebel against the cultural narrative accompanying the holiday – the one that portrays the pilgrims as harmoniously coexisting with the native population, which is a key part of our national myth that denies the exploitation and abuse the native peoples suffered and continue to suffer at the hands of the white colonizers. But no one likes to be reminded of that, especially at Thanksgiving.

My own malaise with the holiday lies most of all at a personal level. Rather than leaving me with feelings of warmth and connection, it leaves me feeling cold and isolated. Growing up, we always celebrated Thanksgiving, but I don’t recall it being a big family gathering. We may have joined with extended family occasionally, but if so, I have no distinct memories of it. My parents would often include a couple or individual they knew who did not have a place to celebrate, and I admire that. Our meal was adequate, but not elaborate. Cooking was never really my mom’s thing.

My former spouse’s first Thanksgiving with my family was a cultural shock for her. She was used to a very large affair with extended family and a wide assortment of tasty dishes. After we started living near my parents, she quickly assumed responsibility for the meal and significantly improved it, though at the cost of a fair amount of stress to herself as she tried to meet her own expectations. Then we moved overseas, where we did our best to celebrate the holiday, trying valiantly to obtain the traditional ingredients and improvising when necessary, which was often. Finding a turkey was always the most difficult aspect. It turns out that not every culture routinely eats turkey. In Tajikistan we often obtained turkey from Turkey (poetically appropriate), except they would be the frozen, unsold units from the previous Christmas and New Year’s period in Turkey. Not the most tender birds ever, and brutally expensive – but we had to have a turkey, right?

For the last couple years Thanksgiving has been a particularly difficult time for me. In 2015 I had just come out to my former spouse and the tension between us as a result made for an emotionally intense and difficulty day, even as we were helping serve the meal at the church we attended at the time. My coming out was not yet public, even to my parents, and she wanted to maintain as “normal” a holiday as possible, which was damn near impossible given that our lives were crumbling around us.  

I have limited memories of Thanksgiving last year. I’m sure I had dinner with my parents and my son, and probably with my sister and her family, but the day is shrouded in a gray mist. I remember that I really wanted to disappear for the day, to go away somewhere and forget the hurt and pain of no longer celebrating the day with the one I had shared the day with for so long. As much as I adore my parents and enjoy being with them, on that day I felt very isolated and alone. Which is the feeling I associate with the holiday at this point. I wrestle with the internal tension, as I do have parents who love me and welcome me at any time, but when I see people sharing about their robust holiday gatherings and all the great memories they share and will renew, I feel empty and disconnected. I feel the loneliness of being a single adult in this world.

Part of me says I shouldn’t feel these emotions, but emotions don’t really respond to should and shouldn’t, nor do I think that we can compel them to do so. Telling me that I shouldn’t feel a certain way certainly doesn’t help me feel better or shake off those feelings. I envy those for whom Thanksgiving is a special day. I wish it could be for me.

It’s not that I am ungrateful for all the positive aspects of my life. My life is rich with relationships and purpose. I strive to cultivate and express gratitude for these on a daily basis. But I struggle to focus on those things on the day we set aside particularly to express thanks. On that day I sense the absence, the voids in my life, more than on most days.

I hesitate to share my thoughts on this. I feel that there is little space for people who don’t fully embrace the holiday spirit that begins with Thanksgiving and is supposed to carry us through the end of the year. I don’t sense that people want their festive spirits disrupted by those of us who, for whatever reason, are not experiencing that joy. So we go through the season doing our best to play along, trying not to detract from the enjoyment of those around us. We slip quietly into the background and, when asked about our holiday plans, offer some evasive response. 

I am hopeful that this holiday season will be better than the last. But if I had my preferences, I’d just jump ahead to the New Year, or at least to the 29^th, when my daughter arrives for a visit. That’s something I can get excited about. Until that time, I will try to carry my melancholy as unobtrusively as possible and seek to embrace joy as much as I can. I’m not without hope. I’m not alone.

She Persisted

As I waited for the show to begin, I felt the familiar nervousness, this time accentuated by the fact that I would host the show, a new role for me. I was excited, but anxious. I had even prepared notes for myself as host, so that I wouldn’t forget anything important. Not that long ago I would have laughed had anyone suggested I would host a show of storytellers, much less get on stage and share some of my most vulnerable stories. I was too afraid to be open, bold, and fearless. I didn’t acknowledge my own strength. I didn’t recognize my own gifts of storytelling and empowering others in telling their stories.

I recently wrote about Female Storytellers (FST!), a wonderful monthly show in which women share personal stories related to a selected theme. If you have not had a chance to attend and live in Tucson, you’re missing out. This month’s theme was “She Persisted,” appropriate one year after the black day on which a sizable portion of this country’s citizens voted for a misogynistic, abusive, manipulative man who has demonstrated repeatedly since then that he is uniquely unqualified to represent or lead this diverse country.

Perhaps surprisingly, none of the stories in the show were explicitly about politics. But they were intense, each in its own way. I wish I could share them all with you, but they are not mine to share. I can say that they combined to make one of the most powerful shows that I have seen in my time attending and participating in FST!. I felt such honor to host the five other women with whom I shared the stage that evening. We have a bond that I cherish, and I look forward to seeing them all again. (I hope to hear all of them tell more stories as well!)

My own story was the most intensely personal of all that I have shared to date, even, in its own way, more so than my first story about coming into my true identity. Rather than talk about it in writing, I offer you, thanks to the fantastic FST! team, the opportunity to hear it for yourself. I hope you find it stirring and motivating, though it will speak to each one in a different way. I hope that, listening to it, you will be empowered to share your own stories, whether on stage in a public storytelling show like FST!, or simply to your friends, families and communities. We all have stories to share. Our stories have value, especially those of us whose voices have been silence for too long. I am so glad that I found the strength and courage to use my voice. I hope you will as well.

Namaste

Grateful for Community

I took the step at the beginning of last month of writing about my need to undergo gender confirmation surgery, a step which took me outside of my comfort zone, as I shared at the time. It’s not easy to make oneself that vulnerable. Informing you of that decision made me uncomfortable. Asking you to help make it possible made me even more so. I don’t find it easy to ask for help. I want to be a strong, independent, self-sufficient woman. I want to give to others, not need them to give to me. My family upbringing inculcated this in me, as did my background in American cultural with the value it places on rugged individualism. We’re not supposed to need help. We’re supposed to do it all ourselves. I even had a woman in the local transgender community call me out for asking for help, saying that this was a private matter I should take care of myself.

I passionately disagree.

This past month showed me (again!) the amazing strength of community. As I have opened up about my need, you have all amazed me by your words and actions of support. You have given money toward my surgery, and I am profoundly grateful for every contribution. I still have a long way to go, but believe I will reach my goal. But it’s not just about the money. It’s about the powerful reminder that I am part of a community that cares for me, that loves me, that is there for me when I need help. Last Saturday I enjoyed an evening of dance with many of you. With others, it’s lunch together, a phone call, or even just a text message or a note on Facebook. These connections sustain me, more than you may realize.

We need connection. Even the most introverted of us (which does not describe me) needs connection with other people. We are not meant to live in isolation. Without diminishing the importance of taking ownership of our individual lives, I am convinced that we are meant to live interconnected with others. We are meant to need one another, to help one another, to be there for each other. We suffer when we don’t have that community. When we need help and don’t ask for it, we rob our friends of the opportunity to express their love for us. It’s not selfish to ask for help. It’s human.

I could not take this journey I am on without my friends. I could not. I would not have the strength to see it through. One of my fears, as I have confided to a couple friends, is facing the actual surgery and recovery time alone. They have assured me that this will not happen. How can I adequately express my gratitude for friends who promise to be by my side through such a life-changing transformation?

I can do this: I can pay it forward. I can be there for others, even as they are here for me. I’m not just in this to receive. I’m here to give, whatever I am able at any particular time. I trust that my friends know I will be there for them, just as they are there for me when I need them. What that looks like will vary depending on the situation. But I’m connected in community, and being in community means supporting one another. I am SO grateful for everyone who is supporting me, not just on this particular step of my journey, but in my life. I am a very, very blessed woman.