I Am Breathing Again

Do you know how when someone has a phobia to something, like heights or flying or spiders? That person will avoid climbing up somewhere high or ever flying on an airplane or screaming and running every time they see a spider.  I have a fear of heights and so I avoid high places.  I use to have a fear of flying, but I still make myself get on to a plane because others are doing it without fear and also because it makes my life easier to fly instead of drive far distances.  I still scream and squirm away from large spiders.

It is sort of like that - experiencing a phobia - being the mother to a transgender child.  You constantly find yourself screaming and squirming away from the situation.  You still know that the situation exists across the room, but your fear pushes you away from it.  This happens, of course, after you have spent a period of time trying to squash the spider without success - after you have tried to negotiate with the spider without success.  This happens when you realize the spider is your biggest fear and you realize you can not confront it, nor can you dispose of it easily.

I was in New York recently helping my twins pack and prepare to move from New York to Austin, Texas.  I spent a week in their apartment and with them in the city.  It was on this trip that I was put into the position of living with Chris more than I had in a long time and more than I had since he had begun transitioning in March.  During the course of that week, I never cried about him being trans, even though I have cried many tears over the past months.  I seldom thought about it, honestly.  He looks a little different because of the testosterone he is taking - his voice is way deeper - his body is changing tremendously - his demeanor is shifting.  He is becoming more man than girl - the thing I have resisted and feared the most - losing the girl to the man.  He is becoming a different person, but not a person that scares me or someone I dislike.  In so many ways he is not changing at all, other than his appearance.  I don't think I really ever believed or understood that I could still see or relate to Chris if he was a different person.  I'm finding that I can and do.  I think my fears have convinced me that the monster of this situation is so much larger than it really is.  I'm not saying that transitioning isn't frightening to watch, and I continue to worry and wonder if it will bring Chris the complete happiness he deserves and longs for, but I am seeing how much more at ease Chris is with himself in his new, changing body and appearance.  I am seeing how it really does not change how I feel about him.  I am becoming more comfortable being near the situation and not running from it.

This is a big thing, as it is easy to run or avoid this thing that scares me so much.  It is easy to allow your head to be filled with the sadness and fears and anger.  It's easier, sometimes, to stand on the other side of the room and hope the spider crawls away, hope the thing causing you fear and pain goes away.  Chris now lives in Austin, only an hour away from me and not 1800 miles away.  I will be around him more now.  I will be more involved in his experience.  Maybe if he had lived here close all along, things would have been different for me - maybe I would have not gone through so many days of mourning - maybe I would have been forced to see beyond myself quicker.  Maybe it would have made things worse for me and Chris.  Maybe I would have fought harder and made things more difficult for everyone.  Maybe it was good we were not so close - not in the same room - maybe the distance gave me time to be alone with the madness that tried to control me.  I don't know. All I know is I am more at ease today than I was 7 or 8 months ago.  I still can't pick the spider up - the thing that frightens me so much - but I can respect it's existence and no longer feel the need to squash it.  I am no longer holding my breath.  I am breathing again ...