A story about love through transition.

I think many people who know my spouse and I as a couple have questions. They are mostly questions for her and tend to center on, “So, are you still gay or what? How can you stay together? I could never stay with my spouse if they ‘changed genders.'” Notably that last one isn’t a question. These are her questions to answer if she so chooses. I would like to note however that, I didn’t really change genders. I have always been me.

The only questions people really have for me are, “How did you tell her?” and “Why are you such a lucky bastard?” To the second, I have zero insight into how I am fortunate enough to have a partner who is so wise and supportive, reflective and genuine. As to the first, the weird thing is, I didn’t ever have to tell her.

Is that because we are so ooey gooey in love that we share a telepathic connection that allows us to always be completely in tune with what the other is thinking? Maybe. But, and I’m not a scientist so this is just my opinion here, I think it might be more related to our commitment to stay curious about one another. And so, the evolution of my identity was a long and transparent process.

That transparency did not make the process absent of fear. One of the barriers to me telling myself the truth was fear over everything that I might lose. But every time I peaked through this door of possibility and returned to my home base with my next topic of consideration, she remained curious, engaged and supportive.

Well, almost every time. There was one moment when things got terrifying.

We drove to the gym together. I had decided I would be changing my name. I was pretty sure I wanted to change my pronouns. I was increasingly certain that I wanted top surgery. She said, “I totally support you changing your name, pronouns and having top surgery. But…if you wanted to start hormone therapy…that would be different.” The car came to a stop in the parking spot. We were quiet. We went into the gym and worked out separately.

I could barely let myself digest what she had said. I knew that I needed to take that information in slowly. That it had the power to make me unable to know if I wanted to pursue hormone therapy out of paralyzing fear. I just kept hearing, “that would be different.”

I wanted things to be different, but not between us. What kind of different did she mean? It sounded like it would be bad different. Something told me that it couldn’t possibly mean “separate” different. Not because this wouldn’t be a valid reason for our relationship to end, but just because I couldn’t really conceive of it. Something told me to stay curious.

The following day she said, “You know when I said ‘it would be different.’ I have thought about that more. And it wouldn’t be. Not really.” So then I loved her forever and ever. The end.