Who's the freak?

I love to read.  It's probably what I love to do more than anything else.  Presently, I'm reading The Help.  The TV advertisements for the motion picture are a bit misleading.  They make it look like a hilarious comedy; I'm halfway through the book and jocularity is not the word that comes to mind while reading it.  Tension, however, is.

I won't give the details away, but it takes place during the 1960's during the Civil Rights movement, in Mississippi, particularly.  The "help" decide to share their story with a budding journalist who happens to live on the white, rich and bigoted side of the tracks.  But they must do it in secrecy because the stakes are so high that most of us who are not considered the margins of society would not even begin to understand. Their truth was that if they dared to question the norm, if they had the audacity to whisper thoughts of changing the status quo, they could lose their jobs, their homes, their freedom....literally, their lives.

The book explores, to a certain degree, the roles each member of high society plays in maintaining the status quo.  And it's frightening because it's familiar.  Our methodology is subtle but insidious.  It starts with gossip: simple but ugly talk that is spoken with a degree of authority.  The listener must either agree and be accepted, or disagree and risk shunning.  The speaker often acts as if what he/she is saying is a joke, but anyone within hearing distance can distinguish the underlying humorlessness in what is being said, regardless of how it is said.  And this is where most of us fail miserably.  Ask yourself, are you the spineless speaker or the listless listener?  Because the listener who does not speak up is just as guilty as the ignorant speaker.  When we listen to ignorance and make no attempt to rebuff it, we speak the same ignorance by omission.

Our area experienced a fairly significant earthquake this week.  Many of us were called in to work since we are considered essential personnel in emergency situations.  I listened as one of my coworkers joked that it would be a riot if the Washington Monument fell on the Martin Luther King, Jr. monument that is to be unveiled next week.  Seems harmless but we all know what sentiment was lying under the joke.  Yes, I spoke up, but in a half-hearted way.  Shame on me.  I should know better.

Why?  Because my previous life was filled with abuse.  I know first hand what it is to risk change and to literally put my safety in danger.  And why else?  Because our family has a beloved member who belongs to an extremely marginalized and misunderstood group-the transgender community.  

Misunderstanding about transgender people runs rampant.  Ignorance about and ridicule of these folks is society's "normal."  Think about movies or books that depict these individuals-transgender, or transsexuals, are portrayed as sick and twisted.  They're pathetic at best and psychopathic at worst.  But if, in fact, any of these folks are twisted, I am convinced they become that way because they are ignored, harassed, hunted down, mocked, ridiculed, humiliated, shunned or simply avoided.  Why?  Because we must preserve the pecking order.  We see it on the playground, and we partake of the same dynamic as adults.

As long as I can point my finger to someone who is more (seemingly) maladjusted than me, I am, for the time being, safe from ridicule.  When you're being pursued by an attacker and you're part of a herd, you don't need to run faster than your pursuer, just faster than some other member of the herd.  We don't want to see the truth because then it's as if our frontal lobes were a waste of our Creator's efforts; the reality is when we act like a pack of wolves, we are only marginally separated from, well, the actual wolves.

Many of us defend our ignorance by finding some obscure line in the Bible to support our allegation.  But more frequently, we believe someone else who says their rationale is in the Bible.  So, we not only accept someone else's interpretation, we often willingly follow the basest interpretation just so that we can be faster than the wildebeest who is stampeding right beside us,  in terror, from the pursuer.  And the best part of all this is that oftentimes these folks profess to be a follower of a Jewish born savior born over 2000 years ago who spent the majority of his time breaking bread with the freaks or the marginalized of his day:  the lepers, the tax collectors, the prostitutes, the possessed, the crazy, the sick, the women and the children.

I used to think I was a trail blazer in standing up for the underdog.  My daughter coming out has taught me I've got plenty of room to grow in that department.  In society's eyes, she's the freak but she's got more understanding, empathy and bravery in her big toe poking out of her peep-toe glitter stilettos than most of us have in our whole bodies.  Maybe we're the freaks.

Darling girl goes militant

Our youngest, DJ, has always been everyone's darling.  Before we knew DJ as our daughter, we knew JD, our son, as that universally lovable kid.  JD was the kid that cracked everybody up, made people feel special, and had a genuinely laid-back quality that made it nearly impossible to be angry with him.  Militant was not JD's style, and certainly not DJ's style since DJ is even softer, and more sweet tempered than her "fraternal twin" JD.

I have a theory about "babies" of the family. By "babies" I mean the youngest or last born child in a family, particularly if there are at least 2 kids in the family and at least a few years difference in age between the youngest and oldest born child.  My theory is this:  these kids are so used to having a minimum of four people doting on them and treating them as if they are the most beloved person on the face of the earth, on a daily basis, that they assume, naturally and without guile, that everyone they meet will treat them the same way.  It makes for a very refreshing, self-assured yet innocent kid.  My other theory is that raising DJ's brothers killed enough of my brain cells to render me a less anxious, and thereby better, mother to her than to her two brothers.

I can be militant about causes that I find important.  Bulldog, well, I call him Bulldog for a reason:  can you conceive of an actual bulldog that does not come across as militant?  Our older two children can be militant, like their mother, about causes that incite their passion.  They come by it honestly as a result of DNA and example.  DJ, however, has never been one I would describe as militant, until recently.

OK-perhaps I exaggerate because her style of "militant" would be like seeing Tinkerbell in motorcycle leathers.  She may look tough on the outside, but on the inside, she's still pure honey, and posies and butterflies.  So how does DJ's "militant"-ness manifest itself? Nothing drastic, just different from her "norm."

We've discussed her fashion sensibility, but it's worth mentioning again because it keeps changing and getting more edgy.  Just last week, she showed me a picture of shiny red and black zebra striped leggings that she thought were the bomb.  What?!  This time last year, you were smitten with a blush colored camisole top comprised of layers of ruffled fabric.  It was ethereal, it was darling;  it was what almost any mother would be delighted to see her daughter wear.

Less than 24 hours later, she showed me a picture of what she hopes to have tattooed ACROSS. HER. CHEST.  Then she goes to the mall with her friend and comes back with sparkly blue eyeshadow and sparkly green eyeliner, which she decided to sport today.  I hate it. Bulldog hates it.

"Oh for God's sake, she thinks she's Cyndi Lauper", I cry to Bulldog.  If you're less than 30 years old, Google her.  And just so you know, DJ and all other young folks, you didn't invent BAD ASS.  Loud animal prints in colors never seen in nature?  Pretty sure Madonna did that back in her younger years.  Hair teased into ridiculous shapes that defy geometric theorems and gravity?  Cyndi Lauper, Madonna, Lady Gaga, Dolly Parton, Tammy Wynette....please, it's been done for decades.  Horrid blue eyeshadow, with thick black eyeliner?  Does anyone else remember Tammy Faye?

Yes, it drives me to distraction.  To Bulldog's credit, it's only mildly annoying.  However, without even consulting each other, we've somehow managed to arrive at the same method of handling this newly militant approach to self expression-we're ignoring it.  It worked when the kids were trying out words like, "Bullshit" and "Damn it"....and, besides, I got nothin' else.  I mean, really, do I want to make our otherwise great kid become sneaky and resentful because I think she looks over-the-top?

The trick is to NOT complicate the issue with the fact that she's a trans girl.  Truthfully, underneath, I worry that her pushing the fashion limits will just draw attention to herself and that she may appear to be trying to make a statement that while she may be "different" she's still deserving of being treated as if she were the "same." And what's wrong with making a statement, truly?  Well, nothing, except that it can piss people off.

I don't want people mad at DJ because underneath, I'm worried that people will reject her.  I want her to just go with the flow, keep her head down, lie low.  Way to set the bar high for your kid, right?  I didn't have this approach for my kids who were born in  the "right" body. In fact, I applauded them when they marched to their own beat;  I can't change the rules just because I'm more afraid for this kid.  In my defense, this fear is not unfounded.  The statistics for trans kids is pretty disheartening.  Harassment, both verbal and physical, happens at a far more frequent rate with trans kids than it does to those kids whose bodies and minds match.  So, yes, I have reason to be afraid but that doesn't mean I should react.  DJ needs to find out who she is just like any other young adult.  I can't deny her that to spare myself worry.   It wouldn't be fair to her and she's already had enough unfairness as it is.

Will the world accept my kid?

In spite of DJ's seeming good fortune at thus far being accepted, I still wonder and worry.  Is she missing out in some way?  She's not dating anyone-is that because she's not interested, or are others not interested?  Does she feel like she's missing out on some social aspect of high school?  Will she be able to make up for it in college?

These are questions that may remain unanswered for both Bulldog and me.  And the possibility that she may have felt, or be experiencing emotional pain as a result of her condition leaving her on the margins of the high school social scene brings me down faster than, well, almost anything I've experienced as a parent.   But she's at an age where her privacy is paramount.  We can ask, but she may only give us minimal information.

Truth be told, everyone's happiness depends, to a certain degree, on the acceptance of those with whom we interact on a regular basis.  And tolerance isn't enough.  Haven't we all been in the position where we can tell someone who dislikes us is merely tolerating our presence? Isn't it excruciating?  Most of have to contend with this at some point in our lives, but those of us who are markedly "different" from the commonplace will face this on a far more frequent basis.

My daughter's solution is to be as "real" as possible, which I can appreciate.  She is ready to blaze a trail to foster acceptance not just for herself, but for all people who are marginalized.   I applaud her courage while I secretly worry her search to find her soulmate will be prolonged, as a result.  She will likely be honest with anyone with whom she is intimate about her past, even after she has the gender confirmation surgery and honesty is always the best policy.  But sometimes, I just wish she would just present herself as a girl, not a trans girl, just so that she can have a real chance for once of just being seen for who she is:  a real sweetheart of a young woman.  But who am I to say?

Really, I just want her to be happy and I worry the world will try to stand in her way.  There are so many people who want to deprive others of rights and privileges that the rest of us take for granted.  And why?  Because some of us interpret the bible a certain way.  Just let her live her life.  She has enough stacked against her being born in the wrong body.  But what can I do about it?  While I'm opinionated as can be, that doesn't mean I want to or am able to take on the political arena in any way.  I make my own small steps toward informing others about the reality of this condition, but I can't change everyone's minds.  What can I do? Just keep loving my kid.  Keep supporting her and teaching her.  Keep preparing her for the worst while hoping for the best.  But, man, do I worry that that won't be nearly enough.

Teen angst

We all face it-the angst of the teenager.  We either experienced it ourselves, or are re-experiencing it with our teenagers.  Whether your teen is straight, gay, the model student, president of her graduating class, captain of the football team, transgender, emo, or a nun in training, she has probably experienced it,  is experiencing it currently, or, in the future, will experience the phenomena.

The challenge as parents is how NOT to stomp out your child's spirit while teaching your child restraint.  And of course, how NOT to ground your child, take away all that is enjoyable to your child, and to make their lives miserable simply to satisfy your frustration.

Case in point:  Facebook and YouTube submissions.  Our child is creative and has chosen to air her musical abilities on both-without our consent.  She was not trying to be secretive because she came right out and asked if we had viewed her creation on either or both online platforms.  Plus, she knows we are "friends" on FB, and I can see what she posts ( one of our prerequisites).

As a teen, she feels repressed by our rules, school rules, society's rules.  As a trans teen, I imagine she feels doubly repressed.  Her frustration over repression is quite evident because she chooses to drop the f- bomb a number of times in her online submissions.  We are now requiring her to remove the submission from Facebook and YouTube and will allow her to replace the R-rated submissions with
PG-13 submissions, once she seeks editorial approval from her parents, of course.

She is majorly ticked off.  We're stifling her, it's "just words" (well if they're "just words", why can't they be replaced with other words?) are her arguments along with her concerns that her subscribers will be disappointed.  Yeah-they're really a part of our decision making process..... Now, DJ manages to be majorly ticked off in the most ladylike way, which cracks me up.  However, the only way to reach her is to show her that a precedent has already been established.

"Even PINK has to censor herself for the public airways," made some sense to her.  Bulldog is content to go with, "Because I said so," but none of us likes to hear that.  Granted, we don't care what she likes at this juncture, but if our goal is to have our message heard then let's use language that will truly make sense to her.

Guess what young lady-we all have to share the world, including the seemingly anonymous and endless space known as the web.  And as long as we have to share, rules are required, unless we want to try out "The Lord of the Flies" method.  Sometimes we have to subvert our desires so as not to tramp on the desires of others.  That's what teenage angst is all about-learning to reconcile the, "But I want" with the, "Yeah but how will that affect others."  Now don't you feel better that your trans kid is just like every other teen?  No?  I hear you.

Fashion sense

If you are the mom of a FTM (i.e., female to male-that's a genetic female who identifies as a male) then fashion sense, or the lack thereof, isn't that big a deal.  After all, once you and your new son are all ok with his moving forward with starting his transition, it's a matter of basically t-shirts and jeans for the average teenage son.  You may have to add a few collared shirts, a tie maybe, some khaki pants...not that huge an endeavor.  Now, I'm arriving at this conclusion because my two sons were happy in the aforementioned attire.

However,  if your new son wants to be more GQ, we are on opposite ends of the same boat.  No matter what end of the boat you're in, this is an adjustment period.  Now, if you happen to be sitting on this family's end of the boat, and your child is ready to initiate her transition, fashion sense may or may not come easily.  We have a number of warring factors here:  first of all, she missed out on all the little girl years of wearing dresses and the like.  AND, she may want to make up for that, subconsciously, by choosing RIDICULOUS confections. The frillier, the better.  Sparkles?  Well of course.  Animal prints? Hell to the yes!!!

Make up-in many cases an absolute must so that the person will "pass".  At all costs, we want to avoid the "double take" look because that means our appearance has just missed its mark, which is anathema figuratively, and in tragic cases, literally.  But we want to avoid the drag queen look because that is reserved specifically for....well....drag queens.  They are SUPPOSED to be an exaggeration of the female look.  They are SUPPOSED to appear quite theatrical and dramatic.  They are SUPPOSED to stand out.  Trans folks do not want to stand out, they want to blend in, as a rule.  (BTW-drag queens are not by definition transgender.  Some may be, but in most cases, this is a career move for them, NOT who they are. And transvestites are folks who dress in the opposite gender for satisfaction of some sort, again, this is not who they are, but who they think it's fun to pretend to be, usually for gratification reasons.)

Hair-we've already talked about that in previous blogs.  Suffice it to say, DJ is like many girls, she wants to experiment with her look.

But let's get back to clothes.  DJ just doesn't get, or doesn't want to get that cocktail party attire is NOT what one wears to, say, Wal-mart unless of course she wants to be on peopleofwalmart.com, an excellent source for Halloween costume inspiration.  So, when she appeared from her room this morning to accompany me to the aforementioned place of business, this is what she was wearing:  a bustier styled top with purple velvet ruffles at the waist, a knee length black skirt with a hint of black tulle peaking out from the bottom. She couldn't find her strapless bra so she wore a black leopard print bra which was peaking out of her bustier top.  The piece de resistance, however, were the glitter peep-toe stilettos.    The look on Bulldog's face was priceless when she....I want to say "sashayed" out of her room, but that's not even close to being right.  The girl has not mastered the art of walking in ridiculous heels that her mother actually purchased for her.

She thinks it's stylish.  In no uncertain terms, I told her she was wrong.  I think my words were, "You look trampy as s - - -."  In my defense, I was good natured in my verbal abuse and she knew I had no malicious intent because she just gave me a "don't be silly" look.  However, once we arrived at Wal-mart, she had misgivings, I think.  First of all, once does not make such a shoe choice if one intends to do very much walking.  But the girl has to learn the hard way, just like I did at her age.  Second, in the glaring sunlit parking lot, she realized how much she stood out, which was not her intent.  She just wanted to enjoy sparkly, glittery, soft, ruffly, girly, fun clothes ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

After nearly slipping multiple times, hiking up her dress to cover her bra even more frequently, I think she realized that she might be willing to be inconvenienced with one bothersome article of clothing at a time, and that's it.  Welcome to the fashion world young lady.

Hope: the elixer of life

Can we talk about what "family " means today? I am inspired by my family and people who have been acting as if they are my family.  For those of you who know us, maybe you'll see yourself mentioned below.

Some of us are born into our families, some of us adopt them, or are adopted by them.  Some family members "choose" each other having no DNA in common, nor any legally sanctioned anything to say it is so.  Some family members started as neighbors, others as babysitters, or are sisters of another family member's significant other; some started as co-workers, or even supervisors.  We acquire family members through marriage or simply long term commitment.  And the natural attribute of a good family member is often that they are so often "there" for you, that their importance can be taken for granted, simply because we become so accustomed to their steadfast support.

So, if you're holding a glass of OJ, or water, a moody little Merlot or a kicky Pinot Grigio, (oops, can't forget my sis) or even simply a Bud light-please raise your glass, or can, and toast these fine folks:

The elderly, conservative but unbelievably loving and accepting Grandpa, the brothers who were ready to face down their parents if we didn't accept their new sister, the aunts (and there are MANY) who welcomed DJ to the female clan with open arms and acted as scaffolding when JD broke the news, the uncles (geez, lots of those too) who tenderly accepted their new niece, the cousins who have circled the wagons around her from the beginning,  to Mimi who, frankly, just plain loves the stuffing out of DJ, always has, always will.  To the Godfather of all godfathers-you are irreplacable. 

To our neighbors-you were ready to kick anybody and everybody's @$$ who even looked cross-eyed at anyone in our family.  To our friends,both old and new, you help make us all feel safer because of your support.  To my newfound old friend, your ability to love is inspiring.  To the handful of coworkers with whom I shared private information and true to your word, spoke not a word AND were able to use the correct pronouns so quickly-you blow me away.  To folks who were childhood friends of my baby sister, for goodness sake, your words of encouragement are like the homemade strawbery jam in the most awesome PB&J sandwich...EVER.  To the Riverbottom gang:  while some of you may resemble rednecks, all of you have hearts of 24K gold.  To the school counselor who is a true professional, walks softly but carries a big @$$ stick when it comes to DJ, a special shout out, as well. Even our sons' friends and a special girlfriend have reached out in ways I could never have anticipated, so you are included in this toast, too.  And sister/daughter chromatid, you know who you are-you define what a true friend is.  You may be tiny in stature, but you have the heart of a lion;  you and your family are a blessing.

Here's the thing-when you put yourself out there for our daughter and our family, you became our family, I'm just not sure who adopted whom;  and it doesn't even matter. There have been moments where any one of you has done or said SOMETHING that has blown both Bulldog and me away.  DJ thinks everybody is naturally nice, because in her world there are only fairies, butterflies and fairness to all, but that's because all of you have made her feel that safe.  And that alone is more than enough.

But here's the other thing:  you've renewed my faith and my hope in people.  And hopefully, when I share your shining examples on this blog, maybe some other person in our shoes, or DJ's shoes will know what is possible.  What an incredible, unexpected gift.  For that, and for everything, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Chaos theory in human form

Have you ever felt like your life and the universe are in cahoots to prepare you for some big event?  Has there been an experience in your life that seems so ridiculously random and out of the blue, until you ponder, and then realize, that small events have transpired over the days, months, years....(hell, my age is showing, decades)  that have shaped you so that you can actually deal when the proverbial $hit hits the fan?

And THAT is what makes me know there is a Creator and ultimate order in the universe.  Now granted, I am NOT of the belief that we are all pawns on God's chessboard.  Rather, I think God's unlimited love can lead us to righting something that can go terribly wrong.  I don't think for one second that God would create a circumstance just to challenge us, or make us stronger, or teach us a lesson.  Hell, we create our own blessed challenges every. single. moment. of. every. single. day.  But because of God's perfect order, we can piece together the oddball instances of our life and create a mosaic.  So what seems random, actually becomes purposeful.

Thirty five years ago, as a teenager in her last years of high school, I went through a terrible period of anxiety attacks.  I think I was inclined that way anyway between genetics and the programming that can occur in dysfunctional families.  Nonetheless, I remember the day, nay, the moment, I had my first anxiety attack....and guess what led to it?  The issue of transsexualism.  I am not kidding.

There was a program quite popular in its day:  Hill Street Blues. It centered around an urban police department.  I remember nothing of the story line except in one episode: a man who had been married for 25 years suddenly suffered the ending of his marriage when he revealed that he was a woman trapped in a man's body.  This frightened me because it seemed like a plague that could suddenly descend on a person and turn one's life upside down and lead to rejection.  This in due course led me to be fearful of having other "syndromes", "disorders", etc., all of which would have led to the same end result:  being shunned by all who loved me.  I was certain that I would end up:  locked up for being nuts, having a personality disorder, being schizophrenic, being lesbian, being transgender, being a pedophile.

Do not mistake me:  I do not equate being a transgendered person, or a homosexual,  as being sick like a pedophile.  What all these conditions have in common is that back in 1980, one could count on being rejected fairly, or unfairly, by family and society at large were one to fall into any of the aforementioned categories.

OK-so I got over my panic attacks the old fashioned way....I outgrew them.  No meds-this was 1980, after all.  Maybe I'm lucky or maybe this is part of God's plan, but I learned to cognitively maneuver my way through these fears.  It took time, maturity, life experience, but it eventually happened.  And while I was already a sensitive person, I became even more so.  I identified with people who are marginalized even though I was, overall, pretty middle of the road in every other way.

My sister came out as a lesbian when we were teenagers,  my parents divorced (not because of my sister), I married, became a (very anxious, initially) mother, my first husband battled depression and suicidal thoughts for years, I experienced domestic violence throughout my marriage, as well as economic depression that led me to pick up groceries from the church on more than one occasion, my marriage imploded, a protective order hearing ensued, followed by the suicide of first husband.  All REALLY BAD JUJU overall, I'm sure most anyone would agree.

But what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, or at least we hope.  Eventually, my life turned around, I got myself and my kids some help through the tough times, married a stable man (high five for Bulldog) and realized as I got older, that I continued to identify with the underdog.  To feel for the disenfranchised and the marginalized-especially those who ended up being that way through no fault of their own.  I never believed for one second that a person would choose homosexuality,  or being born in the wrong body.  Why would someone choose a life of potential rejection like that?

I swore when I was pregnant with DJ that I was having a girl.  My symptoms were markedly different, and my gut TOLD me it was a girl, just like my gut told me, correctly, that my first two pregnancies would yield boys.  My disappointment was keen when the ultrasound proved my gut wrong, but you move on right?  You love your kids no matter what their genitals, or chromosomes, or DNA says.

Over the years, the topic of transsexuality popped up rarely UNTIL six months before JD came out that he was actually DJ, a she.  (What I thought of as) my three sons and I were watching one of those informational channels that covers all kinds of interesting topics-strange disease processes, interesting and unusual cultural phenomena and the like, when a documentary came on discussing a marginalized part of India's culture-the transgendered folks.  These folks are pretty widely recognized, but still marginalized.  As we viewed this, I remarked about how difficult it must be to feel like you're in the wrong body.  I mean, think about it-you wake up tomorrow and crap, you've got freaking testicles!! Or breasts!!  WTF-you "feel" like the people who have the opposite genitals as you, so how can you possibly be part of the wrong team, physically?  What a grotesque joke-right?!!!

Fast forward six months, and I'm at work reading a mainstream women's magazine that has a feature story of, you guessed it, transgenderism.  But the picture of the young woman reveals a young woman who looks, well, quite feminine, not at all having the "drag queen" look that most of us associate with being a transgendered MTF (that's male to female for those of you unfamiliar with the lingo.   The opposite being the FTM: a "genetic" female who identifies as -feels like-a male.)  And wow, a pretty positive piece because this young woman has friends who know her condition and love her unconditionally.  How freakin' hopeful is that?  How encouraging, and I don't even need the encouragement because none of my kids is transgendered.

Except, literally, a week later, I find out that one of my kids is.  You can imagine, or you know, how out of control and disordered you feel at first.  But in my case, all my previous history of fear, anxiety, acceptance, education through various media suddenly clicked together and order was restored.  Not immediately, mind you, but fairly quickly.  God or the universe had prepared me for this, somehow.  God didn't make my daughter a transgendered girl so that she could learn something, or I could learn something; rather we could internalize and learn as a result of our experiences so that when something comes along that might knock one on one's @$$, we can get up, dust off, hearken to our collective experiences and DEAL for God's sake, or more likely, for our kid's sake.

So dig deep.  If this process is hard-and it is- look for experiences in your own life that will help you empathize and sympathize.  If that doesn't work, use your cognitive abilities-what do you know about your kid?  Systematically run through your kid's life-hindsight being 20/20, you may actually realize there were some subtle signs all along.  And sometimes, if you can detect even the slightest pattern or consistency, then it begins to "make sense" and becomes less difficult to accept or understand.  And if that doesn't work, use your imagination.  Imagine having to wake up every day and put on a bra when you feel like you shouldn't even HAVE breasts for goodness sake.  Imagine that your natural inclination is to be bubbly and sweet, tenderhearted and effusive,  but the world says because you have testicles you should come across as less emotional, more reserved, more "manly", whatever the heck that means.

I work in a male dominated field.  I'm a firefighter/paramedic.  I wear what looks like "men's" clothes over 50 hours a week to work.  It's a uniform that I can, and do, shed as soon as I get off work. THEN I wear the clothes that make me feel like "me" and assume my non-work persona.  Can you imagine (and this is a poor analogy) always having to "wear" what is not comfortable, or doesn't feel like you?  All day, every F-ing day of your life?  This is THEIR reality until they can come out.  And yes, some people come out with a vengeance but damn it, they want their REAL freaking lives, finally.  We all get a little angry when we are basically told "no" over and over.  On the other hand, some folks are just so relieved that they are finally being told "yes" that they'll just be freaking mary sunshine.

Either response is ok-we can be patient, we might even be able to be supportive.  It's possible that we are actually be more prepared for this than we knew; we just need to give ourselves, and them, a chance.