Self-respect is something you may not realise you never had until you manage to get it.
This year I finally achieved for myself a vision of a future, a happier future than the one I had previously. A life I could continue, and that I wouldn’t want to end prematurely. I have felt excited about things, I have wanted to start new projects and learn new skills. And I can’t understate the benefits that imagining a future has had on my relationship with my partner.
But there are a lot of anxieties that come with freedom. And in a previous life I had almost resigned myself to something predictable, safe and agonisingly painful. There was nothing to be gained in such an environment. But in coming out, and also being a purposefully visible member of the trans community, I have opened so many future pathways, so many possibilities for extreme joy and extreme hardships, and the other day all that, along with other things, culminated in a breakdown of tears and a release of feelings I hadn’t realised I was bottling up for the past couple of months.
I unloaded on the person in closest proximity to me, who happened to be my boss (crying at work is a huge 2019 mood, though.) I listened to the words that came out of my mouth, listened to how I was really feeling, and I said that I just wanted to feel secure. I said I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it through my thirties the way I was going prior to my transition, and I realised I felt that I had barely managed to save my own life before it became too unbearable. My life had gained meaning and a preciousness I hadn’t previously felt it had. In the always on-point words of Sean Bonnette of AJJ fame, “there was a time when getting murdered would feel like a joke.” I had managed to avoid the worst result of that lack of worth, but it has left its mark on me.
After the initial distress of my little moment passed, and I began to calm down, something completely foreign to me started to happen. I felt a strange warmth inside that I hadn’t felt before. In the past when I have had a breakdown, the feeling I have typically directed at myself has been disgust, anger or frustration. Stop crying, nothing is wrong, your life is fine, you’re not interesting enough to cry like this. Stop pretending to be upset. Pretty terrible things to say to yourself when you’re in pain. But this time something different happened, instead I saw myself as someone I care about who was upset which further manifested as a sort of desire to give myself a hug and comfort myself as I would with anyone else I loved.
Anyone else I loved. Just writing that felt very out of character for me. Anyone else I loved. Implying that perhaps I love myself. I may have even scoffed at such a notion a few years ago. Love me? Why? I’m trash! I am shit and I hurt people, including the people I love. How could I possibly love me? But the proof is in the very act of transitioning, it’s undeniable. Gender transition is an act of love, often a desperate act, but an act you undertake because, even though you may not necessarily feel it, you have decided that your life is worth preserving. Your life is worth saving. That’s some powerful shit.
And so I calmed myself down gently. I didn’t force it down, I just told myself that whatever it was, it will pass and later I can write about it. I reminded myself of what I’ve actually been through and how massive it is, and how if I can do that, I can work through these feelings. Later, after a breezy shift, I came home, ate some dinner and went to bed. I did some reading and I went to sleep telling myself that I love me. I cried because I think it may have been the first time I’ve ever meant it.
Lauren Butcher
(Read more of Lauren’s work here)
Image:- Danica Zuks
Do you need some support?
If you are struggling with anxiety or depression, support and counselling are available from:
Lifeline: 13 11 14 or lifeline.org.au
Beyondblue: 1300 22 4636 and www.beyondblue.org.au
QLife: 1800 184 527 and www.qlife.org.au
QLife are a counselling and referral service for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Intersex (LGBTI) people.
