Someone reached out to me. Someone questioning their gender. Someone like you perhaps. Their problem was devastating in its familiarity: family and financial responsibilities had trapped them in a life and they couldn’t tell if they wanted it.
Let’s call this person Wendy. Let’s give them female pronouns. Wendy had kids. Wendy had a job. Wendy had a mortgage. Wendy had a wife. And Wendy didn’t know if anything in her life was “real” because all those milestones of adulthood and pillars of identity had been achieved and acquired under false pretences. She had lied to herself about her gender identity her whole life.
Being as Wendy, living as Walter
Let’s call the male side Walter. Walter was probably stronger. But Wendy existed behind Walter. Wendy was not happy to live in prison for the crime of existing. Walter knew this and was pained by it too. The self-repression was not fair. But was sacrificing Wendy warranted, if the sacrifice meant that Walter could claim enough of the world’s resources to provide for a family? I don’t know. As you will read, that is a question for Wendy/Walter and one I cannot answer for them.
And yet, all of the touchstones of Wendy’s existence – everything Walter worked for and protected – depended on Wendy being repressed. This person had traded honesty for security. Traded authenticity for convention.
The conversation I had with Wendy opened with her telling me she admired my “boldness”. I didn’t quite know what she meant. I was curious. Why? I explained that what looks like boldness to Wendy, has been decades in the making. As the unglamorous photo accompanying this blog post attests, I am not Gen Z.
I am not bold
Anyway, in response to Wendy’s comment on my boldness, I wrote: “It has been a long process of self-acceptance and finding comfort in my own skin. Of finding peace and self-validation. If you want it, if you prioritise it, you can have it too.”
Wendy replied that this was impossible for her, both because of where she lived (apparently a conservative part of the US) and how she lived. Her identity, her family and her work were all based on her presenting a conventional masculine identity to the world. The feminine aspects of her nature were a threat to the stability and security of people for whom Wendy was responsible.
I told Wendy I respected the difficulties she faced, but there was a point I needed to get across. After more chit chat about the dissatisfaction she had with her life, I wrote to her, almost haranguing:
That’s just the point: this is YOUR life.
You are not getting another one.
You are not trapped any more than anyone else.
Everyone is responsible for their priorities and lives within those priorities.
We may wish things were otherwise, but that’s because we have not truly committed to and accepted our priorities.
If maintaining the veneer for your family and in your work is the priority, then accept that as the burden you’re choosing for your brief existence on Earth. It is okay to choose this.
No one has a life free of conflicts like this. All choices have trade-offs.
These trade-offs are easier to bear when the choices are made intentionally and/or you make the choice to willingly accept the cards dealt to you.
However … you CAN change.
You can change everything if you want it more than you want to continue inhabiting the semi-false persona that underpins your relationships with your wife, family and work.
Changing or not changing is okay, so long as you actively make the choice and actively make peace with the trade-off.
And remember: the stakes are total: you are dying. You are not going to get another chance at life. When you die everything counts for zero.
You are, ultimately, free from all consequences and cares. It is a bleak philosophy, unless you realise it means you are also totally free.
Both barrels
Okay, I came out with both barrels. But Wendy’s conundrum had helped me crystallise a lot of what I have been thinking about and working through. So, in a way, Wendy had been drawn into a socratic dialogue without her (or me) really being aware of it. Her reply to that screed was powerful:
It’s a big choice.
Damn right, and it got me going again:
Yes, Wendy, very big. But I really meant it when I said the stakes are always total. You are going to die. There are no do-overs. I am NOT telling you to throw it all in and transition immediately. I am saying that you cannot put off taking full control of your life and willingly accepting whatever compromises your control carries.
If you put it off, you pay for it in lost time that you’ll never ever get back.
If you stay as you are, accept what you gain and lose.
If you change everything, accept what you gain and lose.
The key is the acceptance.
Amor fati.
Wendy read that, thought for a few days, and replied that this did not decrease the fear. Also a valid point. My reply.
Your fear is proof that this is important for you to address. I want you to escape living in fear. This is done through making a choice and taking action. The choice to stay as you are is just as valid as the choice to change everything. The point is to MAKE the choice, rather than suffer in fearful indecision.
For the greatest tragedy is to die having lived as a pawn of a fear you could have confronted.
Your time is desperately short
I am not sure that the conversation really helped Wendy. What I am sure of is that it was NOT the conversation she expected to have when complimenting my modelling photos. But, even if I scared Wendy off, this conversation helped me figure out myself so much for myself.
And that is the thing with a dialogue, real or imagined. When you have to explain your ideas in a concrete context, when you have to apply them to the real world, that’s when you finally figure out if they work. How they work. How they interact. Whether they are useful.
Yes, my talk with Wendy was a real dialogue, even though Wendy was not her real name (nor Walter). I hope it helped her though. I know it helped me.