The Birthday
Many people reading this (If anyone is reading it) will not know that I recently had a birthday. I usually choose not to disclose when it is as I don’t like celebrating it. It’s not a fun day for me, and it typically is the height of dysphoria for me.
I’m gonna spending a good amount of time talking about that particular day as well as some of the following events so this could turn out to be a long one - as such, brace yourself. Grab some popcorn and a drink.
As always - here is a song to listen to as we go through this
And as a new treat, an inspiring image from my website.
This is built off the InspiroBot API, and I have my own working version via one of my websites built to be rather gimmicky. Give it a look if you feel inclined, It’s pretty fun. This was the first one that popped up as I loaded the page.
Info about my family and birthdays
So my family makes a rather big deal out of birthdays. I have three younger brothers, and as long I’ve remembered all of our birthdays have been grandiose. Big parties, lots of gifts, and a lot of people invited to celebrated. I don’t quite understand or even remember my mothers reasoning behind it.
My brothers would frequently choose extravagant trips to waterparks, theme parks, or the beach, to the mountains, things that would take up several days. My mother’s birthday in particular was one that always took special precedence, for some reason - she seemed rather self-centered in that regard; whereas my dad was happy with dinner at Waffle House and never wanted presents.
Birthdays and me
At a certain point I grew tired of this - I don’t remember what age, but I wanted to stop celebrating. I grew to hate my birthday, both the day itself and the process of celebrating it. It didn’t feel like it was genuinely for me. So from that point on I began just taking those days to go to lunch, and that was it. If I could work those days (if I had a job), I would.
Following that, It became a simple and quiet time. We would go to lunch, and see my grandparents - and that would be it. I would then spend time with my partner. Spending time with Mia was what truly made me feel special during that time.
I don’t think I truly started to grasp that this was the dysphoria starting to dig into me until around 2019 / 2020, and that is when I truly began loathing everything surrounding my birthday - it simply made me sick.
My 24th Birthday
Having officially come out to my partner and several people I knew personally, and attempted to come out to my mother - I was more stressed than I’d been years before when this birthday finally arrived.
A few weeks prior - my mom had given my brothers and I a talking to about how accepting she would be if one of us were to come out as gay. She was really aiming this conversation at one of my brothers, as she was suspecting him - but that’s neither here nor there. Following the conversation when they went upstairs, I decided that I would come out to her - based on that conversation I thought it would be okay. It was not.
To shorten that conversation up dramatically - I danced around it a little bit and essentially stated that I was possibly gender fluid. At the time, I’d only been out for a few weeks to people I trusted; and even that hadn’t gone over so well with certain individuals.
Her responses were… less than ideal. “So what? You want to wear make up and dresses now?”
“This is really sudden. There were no signs when you were a kid.”
“Is this why you came out as atheist? I can have you talk to my friend Helen. She’s gay. You can also start going to (this church that’s basically non-denom and whatever) that your friend who is (supposedly gay) goes to.”
“You know this makes you apart of the LGBT now, right?”
“Are you wanting to do any… surgeries or anything?”
…and after a while it was quiet. She then broke the silence by saying “(Full deadname, like first, middle, and lastname) - you will always be my son and I love you know matter what. You know that right?”
…and I’ve never felt so crushed in my entire life. I know that I didn’t explicitly come out as a transwoman but yet… it was foreboding. She went on to inform me that I should not tell my dad yet, and my brothers cannot know until they’re 18 - as it would alter their perceptions of me, which crushed me further.
-
That year left me broken emotionally. I stayed in my room as much as possible, and when I wasn’t I was sure to be with my partner in Charleston.
This year
On a phone call a few weeks ago, my mom asked if they could come down for the day on my birthday and celebrate. Being flashbanged with that request, and not having an excuse - I said yes. I regret that immensely. I’d been dreading the day ever sense, and when the 10th finally rolled around - I was stressed out of my mind. I hadn’t slept well, and quite honestly was afraid.
Every time I’ve seen my family I’ve had to do so under the guise of a different person, however I’ve swiftly reached the point where I cannot hide who I am. My body has had so many changes over the past year, simply hiding my breasts is a hard task.
But moreso, our home is decorated the way we want. Pride flags and the liking, alcohol on the occasion (though I don’t drink often and cannot handle much). We’ve just got our own thing going on throughout the place, our own flow. But unfortunately - neither one of us want to get “clocked” by our families, and as such we disrupt that flow to their liking.
So the flags are taken down, the alcohol hidden, things are generally moved around and such.
Unfortunately
Monday didn’t work out so great in that regard. I had expected, based on my mom’s conversation we’d had a few days prior, that we would simply be going to lunch and possibly do something else afterwards; but I should have known it would not be that simple - they did travel three hours after all.
As they pulled up I heard doors begin opening and closing, and I knew things were about to get hectic. So I tried to get out the door as fast as possible and meet them but of course - they were letting themselves in, with food and presents in tow. I had to immediately start closing doors as they were in the kitchen - in hopes that they wouldn’t see anything, or worse - explore.
That particular day I felt I did a pretty decent job of boymoding - a black hoodie, a hat with my hair tied up in it, blue-jeans and my old nikes. But the hoodie barely conceals my tits now, and my face is visibly feminine. However one of the glaring issues was that I was still wearing my engagement ring - my dad immediately saw it and stared dead at it, but said nothing. For me - this ring is like an extension of my body. I’ve worn it for so long that it feels wrong to take off.
The final massive issue was the fridge. We have two sets of alphabet magnets on our fridge that we fuck around with occasionally, I do so the most. I had last wrote this message:
My brothers and dad noticed this very quickly and immediately commented on it.
The thing about this fridge is that I rarely think about the messages I write, I just write them and forget about them. I’ve written messages about my boyfriend Jesús, I’ve written messages about Jesus fucking Christ, I’ve written the most obscure shit possible - but forget about it unless attention is drawn to it.
And they immediately thought Mia was responsible for it. I’ve never been so mortified and embarrassed by something in my entire life. I WROTE IT. It was targeting both my partner and my boyfriend. And I forgot about it.
(Currently the fridge says “Hail Satan”, as they left a bunch of messages that said something about “Praise Jesus” or something like that)
Following that mortifying experience
We went to lunch at a nice barbecue place. Mia was invited to come along (Originally I thought they weren’t going to be home during lunch - but I’m so glad they were, I needed my shield of support) and we got some nice brisket and such. Lunch honestly wasn’t terrible.
But it led into questions about my situation with medical insurance and a job, and things such as that. Questions I’m so tired of answering. I obviously became visibly upset and stressed about it.
I’ve been in college level schooling for 6 years. If I continue spending time and money to pursue it further, simply to continue getting medical insurance, I’ll only be wasting my time and life away when I can better spend that on getting a job - a task I’ve been trying to do for so long and have come close to several times.
We finished eating and went back to our home, and let cocoa run wild to distract them; and eventually I opened presents. I think the worst part about the whole situation was the cards I received, and the thick underlining of “son” & “man” - the emphasis as though to convince me I’m something I’m not. My mom discussed a few weeks ago that she never knows what to give me, clothes or what; which I’ve said I don’t need clothes. Simply put - if I’m given any clothes, they go to Mia.
I was given a decent t-shirt that was unisex - and I actually quite like it, but It was paired with a very masculine button up; as per usual of course. I frequently receive flannels and button ups from both my family and Mia’s.
However, the silver lining was the money that accompanied it - $160 to spend however like. Money that went straight to things that make me feel me.
Eventually my parents decided to leave
They had another 3 hour drive, and had plans that night. So it was time to go. They said their goodbyes - and they were gone. I want to say I was relieved but… I wasn’t.
I spent the entire day being misgendered and deadnamed on a day that I’m told is a celebratory and happy day. My parents have claimed they don’t see the merit in using people’s preferred pronouns or name, they poke fun at the idea of it “Offending someone.”
It’s not that it’s offensive (which make no mistake, that is a part of it) - it’s that harmful to me mentally. Having a support base from family and friends does wonders to one’s mental health, without it - we degrade and grow ever close to a situation that is impossible to come back from.
Using the wrong pronouns or name when talking to or referring to someone can unintentionally (or in some cases, intentionally) communicate that their identity is not respected, that who they are is not valid.
It is a ==privilege== to not have to worry about which pronoun someone is going to use for you based on how they perceive your gender. If you have this privilege and fail to respect another person’s gender identity, ==it is not only disrespectful but harmful as well. It can make them feel incredibly alienated==.
Ultimately - this is about affirming someone’s identity and thus improving their mental health and reducing stressors, especially in youth.
So - I spent the entirety of my day dealing with that. After they left I wanted to feel relieved that I could be me again, but I was still stressed. I was hurting. I still hurt - deeply.
Mostly I believe the issue stems from the emphasis on my dead name the usage of son. In particular my mother tends to use my birth first and middle name quite frequently, moreso than ever before. I may be overreacting to it - reading to much into the situation, but it’s likely that she has found one of my social media accounts and is aware that I go by Charlotte Jane.
If this is the case, based on her staunch reaction - It is likely that I will not ever be accepted in this family; and as such will need to change my last name yet again. But that’s okay - I’ll come up with something cool, and probably drop the middle name altogether. As long as I have my small circle of people who love me for who I am, I think I’ll be okay.
The following day
I received a text from my mom that honestly sent me through a whirlwind of emotions. Sadness? Dismay? Anger at the lack of understanding, or perhaps a secret other thing? Anyway - I have the text on hand so I’m just going to embed the screenshot.
So here we see my mom - having clocked that there was obviously something wrong with me on Monday, now asking about it. Given last year’s events… my only choice is to lie and say I was simply tired. And it quickly transitioned into “Anyway! Thanksgiving!”
In reality, I am tired. I’m tired of lying about who I am to my family - and I’m tired of being forced to be someone I’m not. They obviously knew something was wrong. They whispered amongst themselves the whole time they were here Monday, and gave side glances to me. Perhaps I’m over-analyzing it; but to me it’s extremely clear.
(Right at this moment, at 2672 words, I opened a White Claw.)
But they are aware and outright denying me this, and attempting to gaslight me - or they’re painfully unaware and are simply incapable of being extrospective.
The Food Incident
Of the things my left us was a shepherds pie. Now this particular dish is one of my all time faves, and as such my mom would frequently make it on my birthday or when I came home for a visit. However - there was something disastrously wrong with the meal this time around. It was precooked, all we had to do was reheat it in the oven. As it was pulled out - I immediately smelled something off about it.
I want to mention that about ~a year ago, my sense of smell was terrible. I don’t believe I’ve had COVID - I’ve been pretty safe in that regard, but I did get a pretty shit sense of smell after a bad infection. That was completely fixed by HRT/Estrogen - and it’s never been more acute. I can smell the most horrid of things a mile away.
So this was killing me, the food smelt like a wet dog - It absolutely should not have smelt that way. My partner and I had one plate each, and when we couldn’t eat what was left on our plates we fed it to our Chihuahua. I made the terrible mistake of giving the poor dog another small helping in her bowl, but I had to cover the food after that and light a food. I could not take the smell. It made me sick.
And make us sick it did. The next day we had food poisoning, Cocoa (the Chihuahua) included. The food was immediately tossed out. I have no idea what the issue was, if the meat was bad, if it went bad on the 3hr trip, or if it was all of the above - but dear god.
It was not a good time.
My takeaways
(WC x2 opened here) I simply hate my birthday. There’s no way around it. There was a very short period where I enjoyed them. But I’ve always hated them. When I was younger it was a source of pain as my birth father would always try to place himself in my life again, and gaslight me in some way. I would become physically ill during these periods when I knew he’d be likely to call.
When that stopped happening, I had a brief time of happiness. My head was empty - I was naïve, and I could enjoy what I had. But as time went on, that would fade. And the same sickness I felt when I was very little has returned, but in a much different and far more painful way.
Jesús & Mia managed to lighten my mood later Monday night, in fact I nearly burst into tears because of them. Being as stressed as I was, it was hard to fully relax. Eventually it got better, but I know that I’ll be seeing them again soon - and seeing Mia’s family even sooner. My mental state has improved significantly since fully beginning my transition, especially because I’m finally on the right track with hormones - but these family issues cause so much mental harm; it’s like it outweighs the good.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be accepted by my family, and especially my partner(s) families. But we’re happy. I should hope that would be enough.
I know that I am more than willing to sacrifice relationships for my happiness. If someone tells me they love me but refuses to refer to me as who I am, then they do not truly love me. They love the idea of who I am based on their perceptions. Nothing more.
Whenever that time comes, whenever that choice has to be made; I hope I’ll be ready. I’ve overcome a lot in 25 years. I think I can overcome this.
Final words of this post
I know this has been a long one. I’ve already passed 3,200 words and have started my second White Claw. Writing about these kinds of things takes a toll mentally but is also therapeutic in some way. I don’t have a mental health counselor, so having a way to write these things down and get my internalized feelings out is… helpful I suppose. Not necessarily refreshing, but it helps me compartmentalize these feelings.
Originally I setup this blog so I could write about some tech related things, and my various programming projects. I put a lot of work into modifying various aspects of it, I wanted it flow perfectly - and it needed to be professional and exude me. It still does these things, in a sense, but I don’t write about tech.
Whether someone reads it or not, this is my blog for me to write about whatever the fuck is going on in my life. It’s intermittent, yes. I may take some time between posts, or I may post every day. But this is me - and this is what is happening in my life. This is the diary that will never expire. When GitHub does another round of archives, this will forever be memorialized.
I am Charlotte. I am an epileptic transgirl living in the Southern United States. I have not had an easy life, nor has it been the happiest. But I’m doing the best I can with the tools available to me. Whatever challenges, discrimination, and bigotry decide to face me; whether that be a seizure that impedes my everyday life - or some transphobic asshole who decides to deny me a job based on my identity, or another person who decides to rape me based on their perceived notion of my identity; I will fall. But I will fall upwards.