Something a Little Different
My Story of Discovery and Celebration on my Transiversary
Yesterday, I flew back from Atlanta and went through TSA precheck for the first time. I knew it was convenient, but I had no clue how much stress it alleviated. Do trans folks know about this? I mean, there is a separate line: we don’t have to take off our shoes or anything out of our bags… it’s just so smooth. Anyway, if you’re trans and you dread TSA checkpoints, do yourself a favor and get TSA Precheck. It cost me $78 bucks and is valid for five years, and it is most definitely worth the cost if you can afford it. View it as your mental health alleviation packet.
Anyway - last week, besides my birthday, was my transiversary. While I had already come out to my wife and my immediate community, it was the first day of hormones. So today, I want to share about that journey instead of using the usual format. To explain why these moments are important and why they are worth celebrating.
Trans Time Lines
I ran out of lipliner and had a Sephora gift card, so I went on a small makeup shopping spree. Early in my transition journey, makeup played a big part in my daily life. It both functioned as a way to express my femininity and as a way to mask some dysphoric areas. While I still love the feeling of glamming up, I’ve slowly climbed out of a pretty deep depression, which kept me inside a lot and not caring about my face too much. Then, last week, Kim quickly took a photo to share with IG that it was my birthday and was pretty happy with the results. The most exciting thing is that I am not wearing any makeup in this photo.
Three years ago, on September 13th, I started Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT), which conveniently fell around my birthday. The first day of HRT is one of those special moments for trans folks. It’s a hopeful moment because this is the first time we listen to ourselves and take an actionable step.
If you would indulge me, I would like to share my trans life story. How did I know that I am a woman, what were the most pivotal moments, and ultimately, how can you celebrate trans folks around you as well? While my experiences are not universal, they will most certainly give you a little insight into the marvelous world of a trans woman.
Stirring Up the Past
If I had one word to describe my youth, it would be ambiguity: pentecostal communes, moving to Israel, mother becoming Jewish but claiming that she was already Jewish, brothers getting a bar mitzvah, but when it was my turn, we were all of a sudden Christians again.
Growing up with all this ‘additional’ ambiguity has prevented me from understanding that my gender ambiguity was not part of that. In other words, if I had a healthy household, I would have put my gender identity in the ambiguous category. I used to play dress up with my mother's clothes, her necklaces, and her earrings. I also hung out mostly with my girlfriends. One of my report cards in primary school even mentions that as a concern. But, you know, it's the 80s, right? So, of course, it was a concern.
I think the first time I linked my gender ambiguity to my actual gender was when I was 16. I was placed in foster care because there was a lot of physical and sexual abuse going on in my house - speaking of ambiguity, how can the people who are supposed to protect you hurt you this much? But I digress. The Dutch government tried to place me in families, but there was so much distrust towards families that I ended up staying in group homes instead. One day, some of the girls in our group home put makeup on me, and the group leaders wrote a report saying that I had an identity crisis. They were, of course, right, but because I had internalized transphobia, I responded in anger and yelled at the staff and their audacity.
Coming out, kinda…
I did try to come out a couple of times, though. I must’ve been in the wrong place at the wrong time every time because, for some reason, it just never seemed the right moment.
The first time I tried coming out, I asked if there was somebody who could point me in the right direction. I was in a band with my brother and was hanging out a lot with Christians who worked at the Shelter Youth Hostel Amsterdam. So I asked if they knew where I could talk about my feelings. Little did I know, they were pointing me to a conversion therapy center in Amsterdam. I remember this guy sitting in front of me with ginormous hands, and I felt so unsafe. He asked me right away if I liked boys. I messed around with a few boys when I was young and said yes. Without asking, he put his hand on my head and prayed for me. It took all my courage actually to go somewhere and seek help, so when my first experience turned out like this, I closeted myself again.
The second time I tried to come out was by sharing it with one of my queer friends. I was staying at an in-patient psych ward, and for some reason, I thought she would understand. Well, she obviously had no clue why I was actually asking it. Still, after I semi-jokingly told her that I’d probably want to transition, she told me that it was a bad idea and shared a story about her friend who transitioned and ended up looking super masculine.
The third time was when my ex-wife and I split up; I felt very bold and actually started transitioning together with my primary care physician and my psychologist. This was also a time when I really took a lot of my trauma seriously from when I was younger. After being in the process of transitioning for a couple of months, I realized that I wasn't in a healthy place, neither physically nor mentally. I decided to take an indefinite break from transitioning and find a way to be happy first, which I did. This part is always hard to explain, but, in short, I did not want to use my transition as a crutch for happiness. I know that can be very helpful for some people, but in my case, it was not.
During this time, I also met my wife, Kim. When we realized that we were madly in love with each other, I sat her down on her parents’ deck and started sharing all the baggage that I came with. Trauma, aggression, drugs, but also that I was on an indefinite break from transitioning. I remember so well that she grabbed my shoulders and said, “Michel (my name before transitioning), I hear you, and I appreciate you telling me all of this, but I love you, and I’m proud of how you’re dealing with what people have done to you.”
Soon after, I immigrated to America to marry Kim, and my transition moved to the backburner. Not because of Kim, but because I ended up in ministry very soon after, and, in case you’re not aware, the gender roles in Christian America are more strictly separated than they are in the Netherlands. I felt stuck in my body and started overcompensating by growing a big beard, joining men’s bible studies, and over-emphasizing my interest in “manly” things. There were still signals that my true self was in there. Like that time when Kim said, “That’s such a man thing to do,” and let’s say we had a huge fight after she said that.
Coming out, this time for real
Fast forward to the Spring of 2021. I stepped down as a worship pastor in a church in the Pacific Northwest, and Kim, the kids, and I moved to Richmond, Virginia. There was something magical about Richmond. Sure, it was the capital of the Confederacy, but you wouldn’t know it by walking around. The city seemed so… ahead of the rest of America. Queerness was all around me, and it felt liberating. Then, in a moment as casual as brewing a cup of tea, I asked Kim, "Would you still stay with me if I cut off my penis?" 😅 Of course, Kim said, “Hold on - let’s move 20 steps back, please.”
This wasn’t an easy time. As you can see above, I have been able to process this for almost 40 years, and I essentially asked Kim to process it much more quickly. In the months between April and June 2021, we (slowly for me and quickly for Kim) started exploring what our lives would look like together. We talked about hormones, surgery, and what my wife and kids would call me from that moment on. Honestly, I wasn’t quite sure where I wanted to go with this, so this pace actually worked really well for me. I told some of my friends I felt non-binary, and my friends in Richmond didn’t blink once and accepted me immediately. At first, I still went by he/him, but soon after, it became they/them. Around June, I also started experimenting with different clothing styles, and that big beard (a mustache at that time) had to go.
Kim and I scheduled an appointment with Planned Parenthood to talk about the risks of hormones, and with Kim’s biggest worries being answered, we decided to move forward with a hormone consultation, which would happen later in August, and from there, things actually moved pretty quickly. I started hormone therapy in September 2021, and the results were transformative. It was like my brain had been a noisy kitchen, and suddenly, everything was quiet and peaceful. I could finally enjoy the simple beauty of life, like watching leaves move in the breeze.
Serving Up the Truth
When it came time to tell the world, I was nervous - especially about telling Kim's parents. I remember it vividly because Kim took a walk in the neighborhood to talk to her mom about me, and during that walk, I was so nauseous that I was gagging in anticipation. But their response was as warm and comforting as freshly baked bread: "We love Miche, whether Miche is a man or a woman, because we’re Miche’s parents."
People close to me, of course, were seeing some subtle differences. Besides my beard being gone, I always rocked an immaculate mani/pedi, my wardrobe included more and more feminine clothes, my collection of bags increased, and I was wearing makeup regularly. But then something changed internally; I started to forget that I used to be a man. As in, presenting more feminine felt so natural. When I shared with Kim that I was ready to move towards embracing femininity through surgery, her reasoning wasn’t “I’m losing my husband.” Still, it rapidly shifted into “I’m gaining a happy spouse.” It took all of us some time to get used to me being Kim’s wife and my children’s mother, but we got there, and during Trans Day of Visibility, I came out to the world on IG and FB. While I received equal amounts of hate as love, I knew there was no turning back anymore.
Inviting You In
I prefer to say "inviting you in" instead of "coming out" because it feels more like sharing a meal with friends. "Coming out" can feel like you're revealing a secret, but "inviting in" is about welcoming others to understand and share in your joy (thanks, Karamo, for that insight).
Transitioning hasn't always been a piece of cake. There have been challenges - navigating healthcare, finishing my theology degree at a non-affirming university, and dealing with occasional negativity. But overall, it's been a beautiful experience, filled with more positive conversations than I ever expected.
I'd like to invite you in on something else as well. Throughout my transition, faith spaces continued to be challenging. I was bullied out of one church, while in another, I had to explain to a congregant why I was carrying a handbag. But shouldn't faith spaces be the primary place anyone feels free to explore their identity? Are we forgetting that Jesus incarnated into a mortal body? Isn't that, in a way, a very trans thing to do?
In my last Spill the Tea, I wrote about how we can't just force racial reconciliation policies on our churches without first making sincere confessions. The same applies here - you can't simply slap an affirming label on your church.
Let me rephrase that: wearing pronoun name tags and having all-gender bathrooms doesn't automatically make us feel safe at your church.
Here's an analogy to illustrate this point:
Imagine a world where most people are 7 feet tall, and a minority is 3 feet tall. After centuries of neglect, many 7-foot people decide that 3-foot people have been marginalized enough. They add "all are welcome" to their signage, preach about inclusion, and attend events celebrating 3-foot people. Yet, few 3-foot people show up. When asked why, a 3-foot person explains:
"In your church, the doorknobs are too high for us to reach without assistance. The chairs are too tall. Your marriage liturgy mentions '7-foot man and 7-foot woman.' During hymns, we can't see over the crowd. All depictions of your God are 7 feet tall. Can't you see why we might not feel truly welcome?"
We all have mental models - efficient ways our brains make sense of the world. But sometimes, these models need a good spring cleaning. My journey has taught me that challenging our assumptions can lead to surprising and beautiful outcomes, and I’d like to invite you to do the same.
Thank you for reading my story next week, I will be back to all the regular segments, but here is a little of the familiar to leave you with:
Pie to Go
🕍 It is the Jewish month of Elul. It is believed that this is a time to reflect on our year before we head into the High Holidays. In my case, I always go through the list of people I may have wronged to follow up with them and, if needed, apologize.
🍲 Our family heavily observes Soup Season- with varying degrees of enthusiasm from our kids. What are some of your favorite family-friendly recipes?
🕯️ Now that the summer is essentially over, my group of Jewish moms will be hosting Shabbat or Havdallah again every month. I’m happy to get back in the rhythm.