How ‘out’ is ‘out’?

I have considered that turning up at the family home wearing a short skirt, fishnets and heels might be a way to commit the perfect murder. I have no doubt my father would have died of shock, or choked to death on his gin and tonic. Fortunately old age beat me to the punch.

The thought of showing up to my father’s funeral in tasteful funeral dress was something that I long considered a suitable epitaph to a strong man. A strong man who was never ready to hear that his son loved to wear a nice skirt and blouse.

To some degree this act would have been one of disrespect, or even, having the last word in a vindictive manner. Neither of these motivations are particularly noble. In fact, as someone who has accepted many of the formerly suppressed inclinations to be more sensitive to others, and adopt a generally more gentle feminine way of thinking, such an act has diminished in appeal as my own awareness of my feminine nature has grown. I don’t really feel inclined to commit murder, perfect or otherwise.

I not only lack the desire to have that last word, I have moved forward from there as a person. A more reasoned approach would be to show the appropriate respect earned by a difficult man, but one who probably did the best he could with the tools at his disposal.

In the end Covid rather derailed any such thoughts, making both travel and attending his funeral impossible. That said, I did participate in a Zoom funeral, dressing in a lovely dark androgyonous manner. I even delivered a eulogy which reflected the respect my father deserved.

And that brings me to my subject today. I feel fortunate to live in a very liberal section of a liberal city, and as a result I wear whatever I choose, and I conduct myself in a manner that is openly gender fluid. However, I am aware that some members of my family do not posses the kind of accepting mindset that would understand this type of lifestyle. As a result I manage my interactions with them in an androgynous manner, wherever possible, rather than leaning into that more comfortable feminine side of myself. As luck would have it I live on a separate continent to my elder relatives, so this is rarely problematic.

While we choose our friends, and likely choose people with a similar mindset to ourselves, we do not have that luxury with family. I have a particularly distasteful bullying uncle, for example, who when I was a child took a sadistic delight in teasing me. I feel no desire or compulsion to come out to him. Come to that I feel no compulsion to stop him stepping in front of a passing bus, either. I do not owe him any explanation for being myself. More than that, I don’t have any obligation to educate him about either myself or anything else. I have no illusions about the fact that he would make every effort to make my life miserable with such a juicy piece of gossip. So, I choose to have nothing to do with him.

“For God’s sake, boy! Be a man!” I can almost hear the words echoing in my mind today.

Had he ever thought that I might rather be “with a man”, than be ‘a man’, I have no doubt that he’d be turning in his grave like a wind turbine in a gale. Some people are simply never going to see it our way, and no amount of effort to convince them of our perspective will overcome the years, generations even, of conditioning that tells them ‘male is male, female is female, now find a nice girl and chain her down in marriage and have babies — preferably boys!’

So, in my own journey I have chosen to gently respect that some people are never going to get it, and that there’s no point fighting those battles. As one who s trans, I feel we should choose our battles carefully, and exercise patience.

With my friends, those people I invite into my life, I make no excuse for being myself. I have no need to. If they cannot accept me as I am, after all, they are not friends at all. For family, pretty clearly I exercise a slightly less ‘out’ version of my ‘outness’.

In chatting with members I often hear, “But I couldn’t do this to my family.” I totally understand this. My perspective is quite simple. Find an appropriate approach. Be yourself as much as you reasonably can be, but our role is not to be unnecessarily provocative, unless we are choosing to be an activist. We all have to find what works, and if that is constantly provoking confrontation it’s unlikely to be a comfortable place.

For those of you who have been following me for a while, you’ll know that I was outed to my ex wife, my children, and my employees years ago by a stalker. You can read about it here. In my journey I have learned that the worst that can possibly happen does not always deliver the horrors we imagine.

Being outed to my children (who were in their early twenties at the time) merely showed me how sensitive and wise they had become. And therein lies the positive. While my father would be doing the wind turbine impression if he knew I was trans, my children basically said, “Duh!” and blocked a sad individual full of internal turmoil, and thought nothing of it.

We live in a confusing world, but it is one that is becoming more accepting in ways we sometimes don’t even notice. In the words of the heroic Canadian icon, Gord Downey of The Tragically Hip, it really is a good life if you don’t weaken.

Fiona