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About
a year into the journey, this romance, my Butch left a land mine on our
path when he told me he wanted to transition from female to male. The
resulting blast of his words left me dazed, the large crater now blocking
our path rendered me lost, the words stung and the fear left me paralyzed.
It was then that my feet betrayed me and I was left to sit on the side of
the path and wonder. Wonder why the Butch I loved didn't want to be a
Butch anymore. Ponder what my family and friends would think and say. And
the big one that loomed overhead like a threatening storm cloud: would my
partners status affect my own identity?
And
question I did.
Why
was this happening? Where would I fit? Who would understand me? Would I
just disappear? What would I call myself? Was I now a straight girl in
femme clothing?
When
I finally stood up to wipe the dirt and grass from my skirt, all I could
see was red, I was so angry. I did not agree to this. I wanted the
intelligent and playful Butch who took my hand, who made me feel safe for
miles before I realized we had even embarked on any kind of journey
together. I wanted to feel at home again. And I saw black. Knowing we
would be masked in shadows, knowing I would be even more invisible to the
world racing around me and to a community of sisterhood who related to me,
felt me, and now would no longer.
I
did not want my Butch to change, to transition, even knowing not doing so
would cause the person I was in love with to not be completely happy. When
I stopped denying transition was going to happen, I felt betrayed, cheated
and afraid. I heard myself ask "why do you want to become something I
don't want" before I realized he had no choice but to become on the
outside what he already was on the inside. And wasn't that who I loved? In
reality, the person we both wanted existed in the same heart and mind, it
was the outside we each wanted to fight for, me for my own selfish reasons
admittedly. And fight we did, each in our respective corners, boxing
gloves circling in front of our faces, jabbing high, striking low. I found
myself exhausted, drained emotionally, spent physically and ready to throw
the entire match. I did not want to pretend to be someone I wasn't, even
if only by the appearance of my relationship.
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He
raised the white flag before me though. The night before he was scheduled
for his first T shot he said "I love you too much to lose you."
Contact. I felt guilty, ashamed of myself and shocked that he would give
it all up for me. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. In that instant I
had the answer to the question that had plagued me since he first shared
with me his intentions to transition: can you leave the Dance you so love
with your Butch and begin the next song with the Transman who will tap on
your Butches shoulder? After all the turmoil and fear and relucantance, I
realized the answer was a resounding yes.
I
have done a lot of soul searching over the last year and have come to
realize that no one gave me my femme identity. It has always been within
me and therefore wasn't something that would change just because my
partners identity did. I accept that not all the world will know who I am,
who we were then or who we are now, and that is okay. Just as long as I
know.
We're
still not around the crater, which is lined with rocks and weeds, the
scenery ever changing. However today I'm at peace with the journey.
Yesterday I lingered alone beneath the trees, so full of nesting birds, to
concentrate on something other than The Transition. Tomorrow I may drift
back over the path we already traversed, reflecting on the thoughts and
feelings forming around me when my footprints there first took shape.
When we start the walk forward again, our steps synchronized, I look
inside myself in search of pain, fear, confusion. Unlike yesterday, there
is none. And unlike the day the land mine first exploded, I don't question
the queer femme girl dancing with the transman in the middle of a long
dusty road.
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