On the day of our birth at Anchorage Presbyterian Hospital in 1970, a single data point ensured we’d “never” face the debilitating impacts of gender dysphoria. I was the one in charge of the boy’s body we’d found on arrival. If Jessie had been driving instead, I suspect we would have faced a life filled with danger, darkness and despair. I was a cute, straight, cis white male in America with all the power and privilege inherent to that identity should I have the audacity and ability to claim it. Not that all those horrible things still didn’t happen, but I never felt like the body I wore wasn’t right. I didn’t wake up every morning and look at the mirror in disgust, wondering what kind of sadistic God would doom me to this fate.
I didn’t face a constant reinforcement of a gender identity I simply couldn’t face. Maybe I did, though? My dysphoria turned out a bit more subtle. I’d be bullied for being too gentle. Too intelligent. Too pretty. Too sensitive. Too Other. I was so diminutive and feminine in aspect that most people thought my little sister and I were twins as toddlers. She was way more aggressive and masculine than I ever laid claim despite my overcompensation. Born 11-months apart, we’d end up separated by years of divergent memories that never quite clicked. Did we really face all those trials together? I thought so but maybe not. Her memories are quite different from my own. That’s the tricky part of memory. It smooths out the bumps to protect us from our many inconsistencies as humans.
What memory can’t do is change the facts of what happened. I spent most of my life not fitting inside my own skin, my own mind, despite my biology, gender identity and sexuality being a perfect match. That is the simple truth I never really faced because it never occurred to me that my discomfort was Jessie’s dysphoria and dismay screaming from the backseat. She didn’t have a voice. She didn’t have agency. All she could really do was step in from time to time to make sure my demons didn’t kill us before we had a chance to figure shit out. I’m convinced my “guardian angel” all these years was Jessie. She didn’t want to die either. When I drank myself into the pavement, it created a space where she could emerge from the shadows and take control when I had lost it.
I wonder what Jessie thinks of my married years. We haven’t peered too deeply into that dark pool despite all the shit we couldn’t avoid examining at first glance. I didn’t get married until the “ripe old age” of 35 after a lifetime spent alone. Nine years later, we’d get a divorce as a matter of course but part the closest of friends. If you don’t get the allusion, check out Billy Joel’s Italian Restaurant. I was a dad at the positively ancient age of 44 which initiated all these words that we’re super grateful you’re taking the time to read. This is really all about us now. Getting it out. Writing it down, so I can stop remembering it all, ad nauseum, and we can look forward to tomorrow instead. Yesterday is exhausting. Monday is amazing. Transformative. Easy to embrace given all that came before.
Jessica is officially here and out in the world. We leaned in hard on unveiling that truth. We couldn’t be more thankful that our immediate circles have leaned in as hard as we did. However “brave” it may appear from the outside, assimilation has been a bit more complex and recursive. There are contradictions to unpack and rearrange into a more sustainable whole. I keep catching glimpses of Jessie in my past while incorporating her existence into my now. The schedule makes things easier, but I’d be lying if I said any of it was easy. Especially for my girl. It’s been occasionally brutal and too much to take. Nothing simpler than letting me grab the wheel and retreating to the backseat for a day or two. Fluidity has become a primary survival instinct. Even for me. I’m loving the downtime.
Dysphoria is a journey as varied and intense as the humans who have overcome it. We aren’t one-size fits all. The combinations are literally endless. Ours has been something to see. Jessie spent a lifetime in the shadows and took this opportunity to shine like a boss with everything she’d been waiting to offer. I spent the five years before her arrival detoxifying my ego to the point it could benefit my future self and my kid. They are mostly responsible for this current reality, as they consistently point out, so embracing and expanding this new paradigm is really about them and any future children we may be blessed to welcome into this world. We’re not done with that family life even at this advanced age which becomes another symptom of our identity management.
The corporal shell we inhabit doesn’t match the twin souls burning inside, finally reunited after 54-years of circumstantial separation and survival. After billions of years completing the same tasks in various forms and configurations given the mission at hand. It’s all so new yet all so very comfortable and predictable. Highly recommend getting in touch with the truth you’re avoiding. There’s nothing better than the light to make all the darkness worth the effort and faith.
