“Transition” describes everything about my past twelve months. In late December 2014 I had decided that I had to try the Real Life Test—living full time as a female—to finally know what that would mean for me. I began that transition on New Year’s Day. The first weeks went well but, in February, my brain resumed its old struggle and I returned to living as a male.
By the end of April, after the therapist session I had in which I spent the entire hour in tears, angry at every last thing in life because all was in turmoil, I took note that it was the two year anniversary of my being in therapy and it seemed as though I had made ZERO progress. I finally was moved to go public with my gender dysphoria.
Being public created its own transition: I would never be viewed the same. Many were generous with their kindness and concern. Some could not take this disturbing revelation and left me without a word. Many folks came into my life, some to whom I grew very close over the year.
I came to say that if I had given people a sheet on which were written all of the possible things that I had been keeping secret—perhaps I was dying from cancer, or I had won a huge sum in the lottery, or I was addicted to heroine, or even that I had killed someone—people would have found everything a possibility until they had only two items left on the list, two items they found unfathomable to be my secret: being a pedophile or being transgender.
That’s how much of a shock this was to so many. That’s how low a view scads of folks have of transgender. That’s the main reason I took to the Internet with my story: To educate. Besides, as much as I never wanted to be this way, I am not ashamed. As with cancer, gender dysphoria can happen to anyone.
Over the past two years, Julie and I transitioned from parsonage dwellers, to renters, to home owners. Both of us had at one time owned homes, but neither of us had purchased a house the typical way. What a job! We drove all over Indy, checking out neighborhoods. When we finally toured a few houses, we easily knew we found our place. Learning that Mary Moss had been the previous owner, I dubbed our new home “Merrymoss.” Seven months into living here, we could not be happier with the house, the neighborhood, and the area of town.
We moved in June 3. I was again at war with myself. I so wanted to remain male but was falling apart. In my mind, I would be the hero if I could “beat this thing” as I am prone to saying. Soon, my article on gender dysphoria would be published in a magazine for Missouri Synod Lutheran young people. I wanted that article to both educate my church body and to be a building block on which to stand in my fight to remain male.
I also wanted to remain a minister in the Missouri Synod. Sure, I was retired, but I could fill in for pastors. I longed to preach the Word. I thought that I might catch on with a congregation in a part-time capacity.
When I resumed the Real Life Test in July and it was going so well, I knew that I would not be able to keep it a secret. I had to be honest with everyone and, even though I had no idea whether it would stick this time, I could not in good conscience change my public identity to female and remain on the clergy roster of the LCMS. At the time I changed my online name to Gina, I resigned from the ministry. Where I never thought I would call myself a transgender woman, neither did I ever see myself transitioning from clergy to lay person.
By autumn, I transitioned into a trans advocate. The foundation was laid in January as Julie and I attended our first trans support group meeting. New friendships took root. Getting to know people opened the doors to the places I am now active, being a panelist on Q & A sessions at Indiana University, an opportunity to speak at the Transgender Day of Remembrance, working for trans civil rights, and soon to have my first article published in a magazine for public consumption.
I feel like I am building the new career of which I assured everyone I was confident the Lord had in store for me. Retiring at the young age of 57, healthy and full of life, so many failed at understanding how I could retire. Now, everyone knows why.
Things are coming together. As in 1992 I had to give up my first good career—a job where I was an up-and-comer and my income had finally reached respectability—to go back to school and start over, once again I had to give up another good career—work that I loved, in which I had job security, a good income, and a community I adored—to, in a very real sense, go back to school to prepare for a new line of work.
So here I am, 58 years old and an adolescent trans woman. How crazy is that?
Everyone’s life is a constant series of crazy: Ups and downs, changes and transitions. Thankfully, my Creator and Savior, Jesus Christ, is constant and reliable, come what may. Psalm 27:1: “The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?” Hebrews 13:8: “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.”
Adolescent woman, huh. Oh no. Here come the tube tops, vodka, and referring to anyone over the age of 35 as gramps. And you thought 2015 was a wild year. You crazy kids. ;P
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You paint a mental picture that no one wants to see, not even me! Silly me, I was only thinking of the changes going on in my body, and that I am at this point living as a female. But, hey, since you mentioned tube tops, I think I’ll go clothes shopping . . . gramps!
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While you are not addicted to heroin, you are addicted to your heroine: Julie. There can hardly be a better addiction for you!
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And I will NEVER enter a treatment center to be cured!
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