I realize this makes me insane, but let me try to explain. We are both trapped in bodies we don’t want. I’m not fool enough to argue that I’m more misfortunate than her. She has been trapped in the wrong body for thirty-two years. She has yet to have the opportunity to experience a body that she is comfortable with, and to be seen and accepted by others for her true gender. I lived a good twenty-seven years before my body was ruined by illness. One could argue that most women aren’t comfortable with their bodies thanks to our media driven culture, but being dissatisfied with ones image when you look into the mirror, compared to looking in the mirror and always seeing the wrong body seem quite different to me, but I can’t even pretend to comprehend this.
Ignoring the fact that she will have a better body than me when all is said and done, which doesn’t bother me as much as it could because I’m the one she will be coming home to and sharing a bed with. My loss of sanity comes from the process it takes to get there. Thanks to modern medicine she has an opportunity that many before her have not had. She can actually modify her body and get to experience many of the things she has always wanted to. She can make the changes she wants to to herself, and have positive results, but I’m stuck with the body I broke, possibly indefinitely until death.
Major transitions like this can of course be very difficult, and very scary. She is worried about not being accepted, and she is worried about being ridiculed by ignorant people. She has been extremely lucky being accepted by her friends and family, but I also know that she can’t be protected from all the stupid people out there forever. Naturally she is afraid of being hurt both emotionally, and or physically. These are valid fears, and I worry for her too. Because of the complexity of this, it can be very frustrating to be with a partner as they are making a transition. I have seen how much more comfortable and confident she becomes when she allows herself to be herself. I’ve never seen her happier than in those moments, but they are only moments because most of the time she is too afraid to be who she is. Seeing how happy it makes her, I want to push her into the river and tell her to enjoy the ride, but I know that this is not my choice to make. She must do things in her own time, and do what’s comfortable for her. I do admit to occasionally giving her some pretty strong nudges because I want her to get on with being the beautiful and brilliant person I see her as. That however doesn’t mean I don’t still scream inside every day knowing she could be taking more steps to have what she wants, while as far as I can tell I’m trapped with the model I damaged four years ago with the hope for changing it dying a little more each day.