Coming out Letter

So, I'm planning on coming out to family within the next few months. Though still wondering when would be the best time, I've been working on writing and revising my coming out letter. Some feedback would be much appreciated- I'm worried my tone's come across as a bit too desperate and pleading.

Thanks.

Dear Mom, Dad,

I wasn't sure how else to tell you. Certainly not the kind of thing I could ever imagine looking you in the eyes and blurting out and not the sort of thing I ever imagined I'd have to say. So while this may be a coward's way out, a letter seemed the only way I could do this with some semblance of a clear mind. After all, if anything, I'm a writer. Doubt that will ever change.

I never wanted to hurt you and the last thing I'd ever want is for what I'm about to say to come across as a betrayal. I've debated whether I should tell you or not for these past few months. Imagined every worst case scenario. Wondered if by telling the truth, I'd lose your support and respect.

But I've lied to you, and myself, for long enough. Eighteen years and it's high time I begin my new life as the real me. I can't keep forcing myself into a role I was never meant to play or wake up in a body that isn't my own.

Mom. Dad.

I'm transgender. I'm a man.

I had no words to conceptualize how I've been feeling for these past few years. Wanting to be a man, feeling wrong as a woman. Detaching myself from my body, a body I felt, no, knew, shouldn't have been mine. Years of wedging myself into the role of a woman. I had a million excuses, a million reasons to justify these feelings. “I must just be a lesbian. All lesbians want to be men.” “Must just be Asperger's Syndrome.” “If I lose weight, if I wear more make-up, I'll be more attractive, I'll be a real woman and I'll finally be happy.” “Low self esteem. That must be why.”

Never mind that the words “she”, “her”, “sister”, and “daughter” felt like a slap in the face each time I heard them. That every time there was talk of having a boy, I'd sit and wonder why that couldn't be me. Or how alien the concept seemed of growing up to be a woman, when the idea of being a man came more naturally and authentic.

But I was your Beth, your eldest daughter. Assigned female at birth. Who in their right mind ever wakes up one morning and chooses to be transgender? Chooses a lifetime of surgeries, hormone therapy, dealing with people who often, at best, treat you as a Q&A session as opposed to a real person? Who chooses to be born in the wrong body?

I tried to fight it, change it. But you can't change something as innate as gender identity. I learned that the hard way and I've got the scars, mental and physical, to prove it.

The best you can do is to embrace it. And so, that's what I've chosen to do. I am a man, a transgender man, and I can only hope you will choose to accept me as I've accepted myself.

I will be medically and socially transitioning. On campus, I have already arranged to seek out counseling and hope within the next few months to find a suitable gender therapist so I may eventually begin hormone replacement therapy.

My body will change. You'll one day, I can hope, know me under a new name. But I will never change. I may be your son, but I'll never stop being as awkward, eccentric, and occasionally blond as you remember me.

I'm not expecting you to male pronouns and my new name overnight. Nor do I expect the girls to understand at the drop of a hat. I understand that this is a huge bomb to be dropping, especially at short notice, and one that, naturally, comes with questions, concerns. I ask for your patience, for your understanding, and for acceptance. And I will do my best to show the same respect.

I don't want to lose you in the process of transitioning and this, I want, to be the beginning of a better life and a better relationship. I'm done hiding behind a mask, behind a wall. I believe it's only fair that you got to know the real me and to be a part of my new life.

Because, after all, you've been wanting a son for years. Perhaps this isn't how you imagined it happening, but you've had one all along. He was just a perpetual drag queen.

I love you both. Just want you to know that, no matter what happens.

Your son,
Byron

 

Alright. So taking everyone's feedback in mind, I've revised the letter. Tried to address the tone, pacing, and try to add more of a personal spin to it, among other things. And, yes, I actually do plan on having cake there when I leave the letter.

Dear Mom, Dad

I wasn't sure how else to tell you. While this may be a coward's way out, a letter seemed the only way I could go through with telling you should I hope to do it with a clear mind. If anything, I'm a writer. You can bet that won't change.

I never wanted to hurt you. The last thing I want is for this to be seen as a betrayal. I've debated when, how, and even if I should tell you. Imagined every last worst case scenario and wondered if by telling you the truth I'd be losing your support and respect.

But after eighteen years, it's time I begin my life as the real me. I can't wake up each day playing a role I was never meant to play or deal with a body that never should have been mine. You deserve to know what I've been keeping from you this long. It's only fair.
Mom, Dad.

I'm transgender. I'm a man.

For years, I didn't have the words to conceptualize what I felt. Wanting to be a man, feeling wrong as a woman. Feeling detached from my female body and wondering why I couldn't be happy with I'd been born into. Spent years wedging myself into the role of a woman. Figured if I learned the secret of womanhood, whether that was bust size, weight, beauty, I'd finally be happy as one. Had a million excuses to justify my feelings. “I must just be a lesbian. All lesbians want to be men.” “Must just be Asperger's Syndrome.” “If I lose more weight, wear more make-up, I'll be pretty and maybe if I'm pretty, I'll be happy as a woman.” “Low self esteem.”

Didn't matter what I told myself. The desire was always there. Watching other men, wondering why I couldn't just be them. Wondering why “she”, “her,” and “daughter” were words that never fit. You'd talk about having a son. I wondered why that couldn't be me, why no one else saw what I felt and came to bury. Growing up to be a woman was an alien concept. Being a man, however possible, was the natural conclusion.

But I was your Beth, the eldest daughter. Assigned female at birth without a second choice. Wasn't anything I could do about it. Tried to fight it, change it. But nothing I did made the thoughts, the desires go away. As I found, nothing could change something as innate as gender identity. I have the scars, mental and physical, to prove it.

I confronted my gender. And the best I could do was embrace what I was, a transgender man. No one chooses to be transgender. Who would? A life of surgeries, hormones, dealing with a society that hardly begins to understand who or what you are. But I'm done running from what I am.

My body will change, along with my voice and name. But I'll never stop being me. I'll be as hopeless, awkward, and occasionally blond as I've always been. The difference is you'll now have a son to shake your head at, as opposed to a daughter.

I'm not expecting you to use my new name or male pronouns overnight. Nor do I understand anyone, least of all the girls, to understand what's going on at the drop of the hat. It's a huge bomb to be dropping. Hence the cake. I believe when bombs are dropped, the least one can do is provide cake alongside it. It's a lot to take in and if you'll let me, I'll be willing to help you understand. All I ask in return is your patience, your understanding, and for your acceptance. And I will do my best to show you the same respect.

I don't want to lose you, that's the last thing I want. This I want to be the beginning of a better life and relationship. I'm done hiding behind a mask and a wall. I believe now it's only fair you got to know the real me.

I love you both. No matter what happens.

Your son,

Byron

 

Good point. I dunno. May omit the reference for that reason. Last thing I want is for this to not be taken seriously. :\