Just before New Years 2017 my husband of 18 years told me he was questioning his gender. Actually he said he was “having gender issues.” But I knew. I knew instantly. It was like a puzzle piece fitting into place. I never suspected before that moment but when he said it I knew. My husband was really a girl.
I do really well in a crisis. I was bathed in crisis my entire life and I was always the only adult in the room, even when I was eleven and everyone else was a nominal adult. So I reacted to my husband’s revelation with the calm, cool, crisis management style I would handle a house fire or an empty bank account and a bunch of utility bills or a funeral. I’m great at funerals. I put on my bravest face and I started gathering information. How did he know? When did he know? Who else knew? If it sounds like an interrogation perhaps now is a good time to mention I’m a lawyer. But I tried to be calm and keep a low voice and stay reassuring.
I assured my dearest friend and companion for my entire adult life that I of course wasn’t leaving and hugged him (her?) and pretended to sleep. Once I was alone with my thoughts I started swirling. And crying. And eventually morning came. That was the beginning.