Emma's Coming Out Letter...

So, I'm on revision #4,732 or something but I wanted to share what I've got so far. I'm not ready to hit "send" yet as there are still quite a few people on the Must Talk to In-Person/On-Phone list, but it's getting closer and closer.

My initial inspiration came from someone else's letter they posted online (not here, I don't think) back in 2008. Hopefully, I've made it in my voice. I welcome your comments, critiques, and your own letters. My apologies in advance for its length.

(*hug*) - Emma

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Family & Friends,

First, thank you for being part of my life. Each of you, in some way big or small, impacted my progress in this journey and daily experiment we call life. This letter is the product of many days, weeks, and one could say almost four decades of work and I intend to take great care with it, because the intent from the outset is for it to preemptively explain the things you may wish to know, and to answer some of the questions you will want to ask. In true lawyer fashion, it wouldn't be a letter without some sort of disclaimer, right? Regardless of my wishes and best intentions, there will remain things that you do not know, and there will remain questions that need asking. The short of it all is I want to be upfront, candid, and real with you.

The reason I’m taking so much care, ensuring what I say is heard for exactly what it is, is because this is the beginning of a brand new chapter in my life. I want you to know, straight from me, I am a transgender woman.

If you're picking your jaw off the floor right now, please stick with me for the next few pages so that I can try and explain some things. After that, game on.

All my life, I have felt wrong. I mean all my life. Since before most of you knew me, since before I could even put a full definition to what gender even was... I always felt off in my own body, as though the world I expected and desired did not sync at all with what was happening around me, happening to me. I always felt that I had to put on a performance of-sorts to fit in, play-act male and I was afraid that someone would discover that I was faking. Part of me kept waiting for the moment in “Pinocchio” where I could exclaim “I'm a real boy!” but it never materialized despite my best efforts.

So, why/how am I transgender? Great question. Much like human sexuality, the science is still being figured out. In all likelihood, it is a biological variance caused during fetal formation by little more than a slightly “off” series of hormonal developments, a zig instead of a zag in the womb to put it in layman’s terms. To be clear, this isn't my parent’s fault, my fault, or anyone’s fault. It just is – like a leaky heart valve or kidney that doesn't quite work right, for example. My mind is a woman’s, but it’s in the body of a man, and it has been this way for the entirety of my existence, regardless of how I’ve been raised or how my worldly experiences have influenced me.

Imagine, just for a second or two, you're growing up transgender. Imagine your persona and essence, picked up and thrust in an opposite sex body, and you're unable to do anything about it. You see the world as a guy or girl, but have to live as the opposite, pushed along by societal currents, traditions, and survival instincts into positions and identities that are increasingly uncomfortable to you, unpalatable to you, and even damaging to your health. Everything about your existence is laced with lies, and it feels like there’s nothing that you can do about it.

This is how it is for me. This is how it’s always been for me. Between my childhood and now, I did what I felt I must to survive in this very heteronormative world. I desperately wanted to “fit in.” I wanted to think that this would just go away if I was just “man enough” or if I could just prove my masculinity to myself, poof, this unsettling gender mismatch would simply work itself out. This may help explain some of my very über-dude actions growing up and in adulthood – joining the Marine Corps, volunteering for the infantry, jumping out of planes, growing my beard once I got out of the Corps, and the list goes on. However, in my heart and in my mind, I could never shake that feeling that my real self, my real identify was still below the surface yearning to get out.

For decades, I felt that there was nothing I could do about what and how I felt, and so for years I didn’t intend to do anything about it. I rationalized that my thoughts, feelings, and dysphoria were linked to my bisexuality [you got that memo at least a few years ago, right? If not, surprise #2! ]. These rationalizations came in the form of “Maybe my bisexuality is why I feel like a girl… Need to be a girl…. Hate being a guy, sometimes more than others., etc.” Unsurprisingly, these series of rationalizations did not work long-term. Being transgender, I have not-so-shockingly found, is not a habit you can break, a mindset you can force your way out of, or something you can reverse with psychotherapy or drugs. It is a genetic construct that will never change.

But as it turns out, there is something that can be done about it. I’ve always known it was a possibility, but until now I’ve been too terrified to make it a reality. It took time - lots of time - for me to build up the courage to admit to myself that it would be a mistake to continue living as a male, and to understand that any apprehensions that I had about doing anything to solve my problems were very much outweighed by the problems themselves, and the implications that they would have on my well-being for the rest of my life.

So I’m finally doing something about it. I’m transitioning from male to female. It’s the only “cure” for my condition, and I am happy to take it on. Of course, it will be a challenge at times, but it is the only way that I can be authentic.

Here’s what transitioning means. Soon, I will no longer be living as or identifying as a male. It means that I will be undergoing hormone replacement therapy (HRT) to cancel out my body’s male hormones with female ones. It means that I will be physically developing as a female. There are other medical procedures that I may or may not elect to perform, but ultimately, it means that I will be a female.

It means that I will stop following male fashion trends, and will begin to dress as a female. It means that I will no longer be speaking with the deep male voice of mine. It means that I’m going to hire a professional to shoot my facial hair to death with an electric needle.

It means that I will be undergoing a long and tedious process to shift every bit of my identification to reflect my female identity, which will of course include a change of name. Soon enough, my name will be legally changed to Emma Rowan [last name]. Despite it not being my legal name quite yet, please begin calling me Emma now, along with feminine pronouns.

But above all of the rest, this is the part I want people to understand the most. This is the part where I’m going to be emphatic, where I’m going to be insistent, and where I’m might cry a little. This is the part where I want to make clear that **this is not a choice.** I am not deciding to become a woman. This is me allowing myself to be who I am, and it is the only route that I can take, because I am done lying about who I am. In transitioning from male to female, I am going to become a second-class citizen in the eyes of many people and even some states (I'm glaring at you, North Carolina). I am going to be opening myself up to discrimination and hate. I am going to jeopardize my job security. I am opening myself up to abandonment and rejection by family and friends. I am diving headfirst into what is really a whole world of social trouble, and it is not something that I would choose to do if I had a choice. Seriously, who would?! This is the next step of my life, of my existence, and of my development as a human being, and this was always going to happen or I was going to die from it. Harkening back to the heart valve analogy, I don't think anyone would say that replacing a life-threatening heart valve is a choice in a macro sense. Not transitioning is just as life-threatening for me.

Coming to grips with this has been an absurdly hard process, and it has constantly sent me into the depths of depression and even the brink of suicide. Nearly every personal problem that I’ve faced over the course of almost 40 years, I can trace back almost certainly to repressed questions of gender identity. Making myself realize and embrace it took many years, and even after that — the fear and uncertainty of what to do about it made me miserable.

Until approximately six months ago, I hadn’t told a soul. I lied about what made me sad, didn't tell the whole truth, or I just didn’t say. Coming out and actually telling someone “I’m transgender” was a prospect far, far too scary to even consider, even in the face of the pretty scary things I had already seen in combat. Instead, I sank inside myself, jealous of people more brave than me, and full of self-pity. Ultimately, it’s all because I was too scared to just tell anyone that there was something wrong with me. It took being completely low, down, and beaten for me to finally tell anyone. It was just under six months after that until I told anyone else. After that person, a couple of weeks to tell another. Despite how scary it was all those times, and despite how scary it still is, it gets easier, and that’s why now I’m able to close my eyes, take a big deep breath, and send this to all of you.

So before this letter, I told only very few people about me being trans* — a select less-than-handful of the people who had either (a) come out as before themselves, (b) were professional therapists, and/or (c) people who I felt cared about me enough for me to feel comfortable using them as test subjects in my little revelation. My conversations with them have guided me through the writing of this letter, and have helped me to find what I need to say with it. I want to thank them for letting me cry with them, for holding me, for propping me up and helping me through my very first steps. My talks with them gave me the courage and the confidence to go forward. To them, thank you so much for helping me, and accepting me, and making me believe that others would accept me too.

I’m writing this letter to everyone in my life so that you all can know what I’m going through, because I feel like it would be unfair for you not to know. I know you didn’t ask for me to spill my heart out like this, and it may be upsetting to read it. I don’t expect you to write me back with encouragement, give me a parade, or to be my support group. My motivation is simple: I don’t want to give people the wrong impression of me anymore, and this letter is my first step in showing you who I really am. If this means you don’t want to be friends with me, that’s your decision and I won't begrudge you for it. I am approaching this revelation from a position of love and acceptance so, I understand. If you don’t want to speak to me anymore at all, that’s your call too. Some of you are more on the fringes of my life and probably wouldn’t be saying much to me anyway, and will probably just brush this off as a strange occurrence involving a now-strange person you met however many years ago. And that too is okay. I can’t ask for acceptance from everyone.

For the near future, know that my transition is underway right now. You now know someone who is an example of the “T” in LGBT (and the B while we’re at it). I'm still the same person you know – same values, same sense of humor, same love of Corps & Country, and same love of family… But things will be changing about my clothes, my mannerisms, my voice, my looks – but keep in mind that beneath it all I’m still the same person. No, I'm not going to suddenly start hanging out with Caitlyn Jenner or Chelsea Manning – they don't represent all transwomen, just as l don't. Please don't lump me into a stereotype.

I know it’s going to be a little weird, I know it’s going to be different, and I know most of you have never had to go through this before. It’s okay, I haven’t either. I know there will be awkward situations. I know I’ll be accidentally called Russ/Russell and referred to as a male, and I know it will feel strange having to correct yourself when it comes to these things. I expect it, and I’m ok with the accidental slip-ups. I also expect questions, lots and lots of questions, and I want them to be asked without fear. I’m an understanding person, and I understand how different this might be for some of you, and I want to minimize that as much as I can — for everyone’s sake. I will answer your questions as fully and as honestly as I can. If there's something that I think crosses a line or is inappropriate, I'll let you know.

I’m writing this to my family, friends, and acquaintances – both new and old, but it is the people that I’ve known the deepest that this will probably affect the most. People who I’ve known in the Marine Corps, served in combat together, deployed together, fought in bars together, defended cases together – people who have called me “brother” – along with my family, who have seen me grow as a person and seen me change many times in many different ways, but perhaps never this much. I feel like I should say sorry to you for keeping this a secret for so long, for building up a wall between us that you didn't even know existed. I’m not sorry for who I am, but I am sorry for not being real with you.

Again, all I can do is ask for your understanding — but if I don’t receive it, I’ll probably live. Since coming to terms with all of this, I’m already a happier person. I am taking my life into my own hands, and I’m going to live it the way that I deserve to live it. I refuse to go on acting as I’ve felt the world would like me to.

{draft paragraph on wife and the kids... damn, I'm hopeful that this is what I'll write

Code:

}. My wonderful wife, ------, stood by my side since 2000, through thick and thin, feast and famine, literally war and peace. This was, of course, a shock and not quite what she signed up for back on [anniversary] but we’re working through it. I love her and our kids deeply. The kiddos, of course, have questions but they are processing the news and we are working on getting to a “new normal.” I'd ask that you respect their privacy regarding this sensitive time.

Going forward, this is my story, and I’m going to write myself the way I want to be. I wish for you to be brave, be bold, be happy, and always be “the true you.”

Love and cheers to all of you.

Emma Rowan [last name], formerly known as Russ



PostScript: here are a few helpful links that may further your understanding.
• WPATH’s Standards of Care
• Susan’s Trans101 - https://www.susans.org/wiki/Trans_101
• Susan’s Transwoman page - https://www.susans.org/wiki/Trans_woman
• Susan’s Place wiki (you got questions, she’s got answers) - https://www.susans.org/wiki/Main_Page
• Transfamily forums - TransFamily
• “Becoming Nicole: The Transformation of an American Family”by Amy Ellis Nutt available on Amazon

 

Awww, thanks Ania! Sending big hugs to you! (*hug*)