QUEER | tayley

cleaning out my closet

I sit on the couch within my therapist's office, used tissues scattered along my lap and tears staining my rose colored cheeks. My therapist is confused as to why exactly I'm crying. All I said was that I needed to tell her something, but I quickly discovered that I wasn't strong enough to immediately tell her what that something was.

So my therapist sits there, her legs crossed and glasses on. Her hand props her chin up as she listens closely, ready for whatever I have to say. I think it's safe to say that she does not expect something good to be said.

This secret has been killing me for almost a year now. Nobody knows except for my very best friend. I dab my cheek with a tissue once more before I finally admit, "I'm trans."

My therapist is clearly speechless. She informs me that she has never dealt with a transgender patient before, so this is very new to her and she doesn't want to say the wrong thing. She doesn't seem to think it's bad, which is what I had been fearful of.

"How long have you known...that?" my therapist asks. Although she appears to be fine with it, it also seems as though she's not comfortable with directly saying what I am.

I sniffle before saying, "Almost a year. I realized last March." By this point, it is late January. Ten months of hiding who I am.

My family doesn't know. My peers, aside from Zac, don't know. Everyone is oblivious. Even when I asked my mom if I could get a haircut, she thought nothing of it. Maybe she thought I was a tomboy, which I too always assumed was the reality. But there's more to it than that. When I showed up to school with short hair, everyone just thought I wanted something new.

For the last six months, I've been wearing a binder that I purchased without my mom's knowledge. Whenever she does my laundry, I toss a few bras in there so she's not confused over the lack of that type of clothing.

When the appointment is over and my mom joins my therapist and I in the room, it stings even more than usual every time they refer to me by the incorrect pronouns. Not that my mom knows or that my therapist could call me by my preferred pronouns in front of her, but it's still painful to hear. It always is.

For the next two months, every single one of my appointments with my therapist is focused on my dysphoria and my growing urge to come out to my mom, and then to even more people after I tell her. Eventually, I tell her. My therapist calls her into the office in the middle of one of our sessions, and I tell my mom. She cries. I cry. It's a weight lifted off of my shoulders, but I know that there's so many more people to tell.

With tears in her eyes, she says to me, "I love you, but I need time to process this." The entire car ride home is incredibly awkward. Just before we head inside our house, she stops me and hugs me.

"Can you tell dad for me?" I ask as she and I hug. "Whenever you're ready to," I add.

"I want you to do it. I can be there for you when you tell him," she responds. "I just think it's very important for you to tell him." We then enter the house as if nothing is wrong.

—

Three weeks later, I'm sitting down at dinner with my entire family, all of us eating in silence. There's usually not much conversation during our meals, just some small talk and a few exchanges of "Pass the salt/ketchup/butter/etc."

My mom notices how I'm not eating my meal, and she automatically knows why. We had already discussed that it was time for me to tell my dad and my brothers.

As we sit there, I ponder how exactly I'm going to break the news to everyone. My dad begins to ask us about our days at school, and I inform him that I received an A+ on a math test.

"That's my girl!" he says, pointing his fork at me with a smile upon his face.

"Yeah..I'm...I'm actually not a girl, dad," I respond hesitantly with a forced laugh. I instantly regret saying that, knowing it was a very awkward way to break the news. He looks up at me with a puzzled look.

"What?" he asks. Now, everyone is staring at me.

"Well, I'm...a boy. I'm-I'm transgender." I can feel the tears forming in my eyes. I blink rapidly, wanting to appear strong and certain in this moment. Although I am certain that this is who I really am, I'm not feeling so strong.

My dad drops his fork and gets up from the dinner table.

"I think I'm gonna have to go for a drive. I'll be back later," he says before walking out of the house, not even bothering to clean up his plate.

"So...I have another brother now?" Justin asks. I slowly nod in response. I'm sure this is weird for him but I appreciate his support and enthusiasm. "Cool," he says with a smile before he continues eating.