A Return Ticket To A Moment

"A photograph is the pause button of life."

Pictures are a return ticket to a moment that is otherwise gone. Those moments may still be tucked away in the deepest recesses of our minds. Some memories we try to forget, yet they remain a part of us. Being a transgender man pictures from my past can bring up a perplexity of emotions and thoughts.

This photo recently resurfaced in my Facebook memories. My beloved knew me when it was taken. She shared her thoughts about it and then asked for mine. Her question sent me into a period of introspection.

These are my thoughts.

The person in the picture above feels like a stranger. I lived that life. I remember the moment the photograph was taken. Yet it is a profoundly strange experience to look at yourself and at the same time not recognize yourself.

I see someone who was doing the best they could to be a person they were never meant to be. Someone existing in a state of not truly being. They survived, they smiled, they kept going—but they were disconnected from their authentic self.

Imagine looking at a photograph of someone and being told, "That's you," while every part of you insists it isn't. The memories belong to me, but the person in the picture no longer feels like me. It is a disorienting experience, one that is difficult to explain unless you've lived it.

Today, that image reminds me not only of who I was expected to be, but of the long journey toward becoming who I have always been.

This is me now with my Beloved. 

I feel more me than I ever have in my entire life.

I am Declan. I am a transgender man. I am loved. I am becoming.

I will leave you with this quote to ponder. 

“Which of my photographs is my favorite? 

The one I’m going to take tomorrow.”
― Imogen Cunningham

 

Shifting Sands

 "Life is a desert of shifting sand dunes. Unpredictable, erratic. Harmony changes into dissonance, the immediate outlives the profound, the esoteric becomes cliched." Ella Leya

People change. We shift.

While many of our core personality traits remain relatively consistent, we all change over time. Life moves us.

The how and why of that change are often found in the defining moments of our lives. By moveable events, I mean the experiences that move us in one way or another—parenthood, illness, relocation, success, joy, grief, and hardship. Each can become a catalyst for growth. A shift.

Coming out as transgender wasn't a rejection of who I am. It was a shift in how I present myself and how others see me. You don't see less of me now—you see more.

Some might describe what has happened to me as "shapeshifting," but I see it differently. It's more like shifting sand shaped by the wind. The sand never stops being sand. It simply takes on a new form. Sometimes shifting sand creates something beautiful. Sometimes it changes the landscape in ways that make people uncomfortable. I won't get into the ecological benefits of sand dunes or the problems of beach erosion—that's above my pay grade. Instead, I'd rather talk about the beauty of metaphorical flexibility.

Just as shifting sand needs the wind to move it, I needed something to move me. For me, that was the weight of gender dysphoria and a deep desire to live authentically.

When I look back, I can see the moment that finally blew me out of my deeply rooted discomfort. It began when I met my beloved wife and started reading her writing—especially her book, Transfigured. If God could love me and create me as transgender, then why couldn't I embrace who They made me to be and tell the world the truth?

I also made a conscious choice to value growth and reality over the comfort of staying hidden. And I intentionally surrounded myself with people who nurtured truth instead of fear.

That brings me to my youngest and oldest children. They are both adults now, and from the very beginning they accepted me openly and wholeheartedly. That gift is greater than they may ever fully realize.

Do they have questions or private struggles? Perhaps. I don't know their inner thoughts, and they don't owe me that. What I do know is this: they use my correct name and pronouns. They respect me. They love me unconditionally. They have loved me for who I have always been.

My beloved, along with two of my children, have been the wind beneath my wings. Their acceptance and affirmation have given me the courage to weather the storms that so many transgender people face. They have helped me become more fully myself.

Love shifted me into the reality of the man God made me to be.

Beloved, Tanya, and Britt—your love has been the very breath of God in my life.

Ambivalence & April Dawn

It's my middle child's birthday this week. Her name is April Dawn. She's in the pictures below with the chosen men in her life: her boyfriend and the man she calls Dad.

It's both a happy and sad day for me because we haven't talked since I came out as a transgender man four years ago. This is nothing new for trans folx. Painful family rejection is a bitter pill to swallow, but today I find myself choking on it, and longing for understanding and hope.

Let me start at labor, which was difficult. April was rushed to the intensive care nursery but proved from the beginning there was a Mighty Mouse fighter inside her being.

April is a beautiful month, and I recognized my baby's beauty right away, so it seemed to fit. The beauty and newness of dawn has always appealed to my sense of mystical possibilities and wonder.  I also liked the way it sounded.

The birth certificate was signed, and the nameless baby became April Dawn. Would she like her name? Did it fit? A parent never really knows, we just choose it and hope for the best. But sometimes there is more.

With strength and beauty she exemplified the name as the years passed. 

Recently I realized the connection between the word April and new beginnings, renewal, and the blossoming of nature. Dawn is the time that marks the brightening dimness before sunrise. Together they celebrate the idea of having a new beginning everyday.

Shouldn't we all sit in a state of wonder each morning? Each moment? What will the new day hold? What pain might it restore?

Today I choose to sit before dawn anticipating the sun rising into the sky. Waiting with love and as much patience as I can. Hoping for and dreaming of a new day, when my beloved child can enter without fear into a new beginning. Forgiving me for whatever needs forgiving. Accepting in me whatever needs to be accepted. Entering into a new day.

A better day.

A day when our relationship can blossom into fullness.

An April Dawn.