Two Weeks to Go: Anticipation and Anxiety

It’s Monday evening as I write this, February 19, 2018. Two weeks from this moment, I will be lying in a hospital bed, a new woman. I’m full of anticipation.

And I’m scared.

This is huge. Beyond words huge. My whole world at this point focuses on that day, on that surgery, on this event which will transform my life. I keep doing those daily things we call life, because I must, but mentally it often feels like there is nothing else happening in my world. I’m surprised that I’m actually still as engaged with life as I am, though I’d rather do that than stew alone in my emotions.

I woke up the other morning around 3:30 AM. As I lay there in bed, my mind pictured me on the hospital gurney, moments before being wheeled in to the operating room. The tears began to flow. I’m not sure how one can feel much more vulnerable, my life placed in the hands of others. Lying there imagining that moment, I felt so intensely alone. No one can fully go through this with me.

I wake up somewhat regularly now in the wee hours of the morning. It’s not so great for the sleep cycle, but obviously my mind has a lot to process. When those moments come, I try to sit – or lie – with them and not suppress them. They are valid emotions. They are understandable emotions in the face of something this significant. These moments don’t just come in the dark hours of the morning. They come all the time at this point. I’m taking a lot of moments for mindfulness, breathing deep and centering myself.

As always, I am grateful for the friends who are walking alongside me, listening to me pour out the mixture of emotions I’m experiencing, validating them and me. I see your faces before me as I write and a smile fills my face. I am such a fortunate woman to know so many amazing people.

Many people have asked how they can support me at this point. I’m going to lay out my basic timeline here below. I have primary supporters throughout my time in Phoenix/Scottsdale, with the exception of March 7. In principle, I welcome guests at any point after surgery, but if you want to come see me, please message or text me ahead of time to see how I’m doing and to find out where I’m staying. After I return to Tucson, I would love to have visitors. I’ll still need support in recovery at that point as well – things like meals and assistance with basic tasks would be greatly appreciated. It’s going to take some time to regain full health. I remind myself that to allow myself that time, and to accept offers of help. I don’t have to be strong and independent all the time.

Here then, is the timeline:

March 4 – travel to Scottsdale

March 5 – Surgery day

March 6-8 – recovery in hospital, discharge on March 8

March 9-15 – recovery and post-operative care in Phoenix

March 15 – return to Tucson

If you are in Tucson on March 3, I'm throwing a little transformation send off party. Message me for details, or check your Facebook events for an invitation.

This is Me

I watched The Greatest Showman in the theater the other night, and absolutely loved it. Yes, I had to put aside a number of issues to appreciate the movie, but the music and the choreography entranced me from the opening scene. I am thrilled to see Hollywood revive the musical as a form of cinema.

If you haven’t seen it, obviously I highly recommend it. Ostensibly it portrays the life of P.T. Barnum. Put that aside. If you are a historical purist, this is not the film for you. Enjoy it for the spectacle and the pageantry. Let the passion of the music and dancing sweep you away.

I also had to set aside the strictly heterosexual romance plots in the film. If you’re hetero yourself, they won’t bother you. If you’re not, like me, you’ll again be disappointed that a film fails to make any bold forays into portraying relationships that do not rotate around a standard male-female axis. Someday we’ll enjoy films in which the romantic plot elements are open to any and all forms of romantic expression. Sigh.

I wanted to see this film above all because of one of the songs from it that someone shared with me. This song expresses one of the central themes of the film: the celebration of diversity and difference, and the courage of embracing who one is. Admittedly, this represents a very positive take on what could also legitimately be interpreted as the exploitation of those whom society views as abnormal. That perspective should not be lost, but in this specific context I appreciate that the director of the movie chose to frame this as a celebration rather than a critique.

Entitled This is Me, the song brought me to tears the first time I listened to it. A week later, having listened to it more times than most people could tolerate, it still moves me powerfully. I hear my own journey reflected in the lyrics:

I am not a stranger to the dark
“Hide away,” they say
“Cause we don’t want your broken parts.”
I’ve learned to be ashamed of all my scars
“Run away,” they say
“No one’ll love you as you are.”

How often have I felt this way? How often have I believed this lie? How much time did I spend hiding away? But, like the members of Barnum’s circus, I will no longer live in the darkness. I will no longer be ashamed of who I am. I will take the risk to live openly and freely. I will celebrate my uniqueness, not hiding my scars, not living in shame any longer. I know who I am.

I am brave
I am bruised
I am who I’m meant to be
This is me

Of course there are still those in society who want to hide us away, who want to tell us we’re not allowed to be who we are. I’ve had the word “abomination” thrown at me. I’ve read the comments that say all sorts of horrible things about people like me. I am not an abomination. My identity is not something shameful. I am, as the song boldly shouts, “glorious.” I reject the lie that no one will love me as I am, that I am unworthy of being loved. I know that is not true.

And I know that I deserve your love
Because there’s nothing I’m unworthy of

Some people see difference and diversity as threats. They fear that affirming my right to exist, to live, to enjoy full and equal rights in society, undermines the societal order. Embracing diversity does require change. It requires a recognition that there are multiple perspectives and multiple ways to be human. It requires affirming the beauty in the full range of expression of our humanity. Is it scary to change one’s thinking? Sure, it can be. But it’s not too much to ask in order that everyone can live full, open and meaningful lives. If someone is uncomfortable with who I am, that’s their problem, not mine, and their problem doesn’t entitle them to force me back into the darkness. That time is past.

So look out, cause here I come
I'm marching on to the beat I drum 
I’m not scared to be seenI make no apologiesThis is me.

One Month to Go

I look at the calendar on the wall beside my desk. It reminds me that I am now just one month away from my transformation. It seems so close, and yet still so far away. Was it only last summer that I began considering that it was time to take this step? Was it that long ago? Both thoughts conflict in my mind. A month can seem like an eternity when you are eager for what lies ahead. I mark off each day on the calendar, counting down.

The past two years have been a journey of coming to own myself and embrace my identity. A significant part of that has been connecting to my body. In the dance studio I first began to really experience my body, its physicality, its movement, its power, strength and beauty. Initially I found dancing quite awkward, in part because I had never done it before, but also because I was not used to engaging  actively with my body, feeling it move, using it as a means of expression. Disconnected best describes my relationship with my body and with the world. I lived in the physical world but was not fully present in it. I invested in my mind and in my understanding of spirituality. My body represented a source of shame, something to hide, to remain silent about. I feared sensuality and sexuality. They demanded that I engage with my body, and I wasn’t ready or willing to do that.

I’ve made a lot of progress in these two years. I love working with my body to express myself through movement. I love the moments in dance class when we are encouraged to improvise, allowing ourselves to move freely to the music as our bodies wish. I often improvise even when I’m not supposed to, such as in ballet class! I love being physically present in my life. I love the embrace of a friend. I love feeling the sun on my face and the air on my skin. I’d say I love the feel of rain falling on me, but I live in Arizona, so that’s pretty rare. I love the ache in my muscles after a good dance session or a long walk. It reminds me that I am alive. I am here. I am present.

With that in mind, it may seem odd that I feel the need to undergo this surgery. Surely I can just find contentment in the body I have. I thought initially, when I first began my transition, that I might be able to. But the more at home I have become in my body, the more I’ve realized that my body is not fully my own. It doesn’t align with who I am. This is not the case for all transgender people, but it certainly is for me. All the dance classes and all the positive thinking in the world will not eliminate this fundamental obstacle to being fully connected with my body. Taking this step will remove that.

I have no doubts or hesitations about this transformation. This doesn’t mean I have no anxieties or fears. This is huge. Even though I have read all the information from the doctor several times, and will read it several more times, and even though I have interacted with others who have undergone this procedure, in the end, I can only imagine what it will be like until I actually experience it. I don’t fear that I will regret it. I do fear that the process may prove more arduous than I have anticipated (and I’m anticipating a fairly difficult process!) I fear potential complications. I’m anxious because no matter how prepared I am, it’s still a giant step into the unknown. One thing I’ve been learning on this journey is to remember that I am much stronger and braver than I give myself credit for (thank you friends, for reminding me of this!) This is going to turn out fine – better than fine. This is going to be glorious.

I want to share once again the dance piece I created last summer, because it speaks to this journey of becoming connected with my body. Many thanks go to my dear friend Nicole Curry for choreographing, filming and producing this. And to BreakOut Studios, who provided not only the space for filming, but the space in which I’ve made so much of a connection with myself. Finally, thank you again to all who have supported me on this journey, especially over the past few months. You are all the wind beneath my wings.