Happily Myself

The religious upbringing Ash experienced had been something he’d downplay. For a long time. For good reason. He was trying to deal with something that had already caused more than enough internal turmoil. It’d done more harm than anything else. It caused damage that took time to unravel. Time in processing why he was feeling the way he was. He’d done nothing but want to be okay with who he was. He struggled with what he’d been taught to believe and who he was. Two things that created a war within himself that he didn’t know how to navigate. A war where he chose to be himself instead of continuing to lie to himself. A war where I chose to be himself over the brainwashed beliefs that were once instilled within him.

My mothers passing when I was a teen, barely in middle school, left me unsure of how to live my life. She’d instilled beliefs within me that I clung to. Beliefs of knowing who I am despite the religion I was being raised in saying otherwise. She’d let me know she’d always been proud of me. That she was going to love me for who I am regardless of what path in life I chose. That I was always going to be her child. She’d made sure I knew how to use my voice. That being confrontational was bound to happen even though I didn’t always feel comfortable doing so. That speaking up, being confrontational, and being myself, was something I could do. 

She’d continued instilling beliefs long after her death. She continued being my mother after her death. She’d let me know she’d known how different I was. That it was okay that I hadn’t told her. That it wasn’t exactly the best timing of doing so. That she was proud of me for being myself despite the people around me telling me otherwise. To stick to what she’d taught me. To continue living my life as myself. She’d made a point in letting me know that living my life my way was something I could do. It wasn’t a bad thing to be happy in being who I am. 

I moved away from home in my early twenties after my dad remarried. I knew I’d experience a culture shock. I didn’t realize how much of a culture shock it’d be. I’d traveled down to South Florida all the time growing up. It was only to visit my grandmother for a few days twice a year. This time was different. I was moving into a situation where I was unfamiliar with my surroundings. Where I was going to have to find my way around. Entirely on my own pretty much. I’d chosen not to drive because of my Epilepsy. There were always other options for me. It meant I never really had to worry about getting places. 

I’d gotten kicked out by my “stepmother” days after moving in. Much to my dads behest. He’d tried bringing peace to the situation. To no avail. It was her house after all. I no longer cared. I was now homeless though. My grandmother, as well as the rest of my dads family, had cut all contact with her as a result. My grandmother was dead set on moving me in with her. For various reasons. Until my uncle said a friend of his needed a roommate. The only thing they asked of me was to basically keep the house clean. That it’d be my payment for staying there. She made more than enough to cover rent. 

She’d known I knew ASL. American Sign Language. So she’d told me about the program at the local community college. I’d enrolled for the social aspect of the program. I had no interest in the Interpreting program. Financial issues prevented me from continuing on. I was allowed to come as much as I wanted because of my passion for ASL. The fact that I wanted to be part of the Deaf community as much as I’d already been and far more. Life back at the house had grown complicated. I wasn’t “doing my part” of keeping up with everything. It was contradictory in many ways. In time, she no longer wanted me there. All because I’d chosen to have some sort of life. She didn’t need to say anything. So I did the bare minimum when I was there. The absolute bare minimum at that after a while. She’d made her stance known to me. So I did the same by keeping up with my duties then disappearing. 

I’d sometimes be gone for a few days. She never seemed to notice that. Or care if she did notice. She was too busy having her own life. Constantly contradicting herself when it came to her expectations of me. She eventually kicked me out as well for allegedly not keeping up with things despite the fact I did. She didn’t care. My uncle cut all contact with her after hearing my side. Things she’d said to him didn’t add up or make sense. I’d kept track of everything. For proof that I’d kept my end of the agreement. I’d wanted nothing more than to travel around more anyway. I’d stayed at a few friends places. Friends I’d made, both Deaf and Hearing, that wanted me to be okay. To be in a safe place. They’d helped me in trying to find jobs. I’d applied to at least seventy places. None of which hired me because of my lack of experience. I’d struggled with finding a job back home. I’d never been able to have one because of my Epilepsy along with no job experience. I was just starting out. I was sixteen and looking for a job. Time passed and that aspect stayed the same. 

I’d gotten odd jobs in Miami Beach. Jobs that paid decent money. Enough money to be able to just travel around while looking for other jobs. I’d let my on the job experience in housekeeping speak for me. People wanted me as a result. It’d been the dishwashing jobs that helped. I worked at several places as a Dishwasher. Places that only needed one person for a few hours every day. An agreement had been made between the three places. I worked one ten hour shift at each place. A total of thirty hours a week between the three places. 

I’d no longer been welcome to stay at any of my friends' places, for a variety of reasons, to no fault of my own. It meant I was on the streets most of the time or in a hostel. I’d usually stay in a different hostel every week. I’d paid extra to have a private room at each one. For good reason. The severe trust issues being one of them. Not to mention you never knew if someone may steal something. I’d eventually begun staying in an extended stay hotel. For more stability. I’d traveled around on my days off. I no longer had the worries I had before of someone stealing something from the few belongings I had. I kept to the routine of going to the college and socializing with everyone. It led me to a conversation. One that led me to a place that could help me find myself as a person. 

I’d found myself in that time. I’d finally started finding myself as a person. I’d found myself going to an institute that specializes in LGBTQIA community. I’d found myself conversing with a Trans man. Someone who, like me, always knew who they were while society said they had to be someone else they’d never identified with. They shared their story. One eerily similar to my own. So I opened up and shared my own story. I found myself going there far more. To help myself find myself. I became a Speaker for them as time went on. The ability to share my story helped me far more than most realized. I’d spend my time in my hotel room reflecting. I’d walk around late at night when I couldn’t sleep. Even after everything closed for a few hours. 

I eventually came out as a Trans guy to my jobs. To everyone there. They’d shown me nothing but love. They helped me along far more than I thought they would. They gave me things, from clothing to other things, that helped my outward appearance match who I am. They’d begun addressing me by the name I’d chosen along with the pronouns I identified with. They loved me for who I am. They helped me move past the brainwashed beliefs that’d been so heavily ingrained within me. I knew I’d have to tell dad in time. I knew what would likely  happen when I did. I told him anyway. He seemed to have taken it better than I thought. Until he showed how transphobic he really was. So I distanced myself from him. He’d already made a habit of lying to me most of my life. This only further distanced me from him. 

The move back home came when he’d finally had enough with her. He’d put his foot down a year after an Aunt of mine died. Her sudden death came a year after my great grandmothers death. She’d told him to not come back if he went to the funeral back home. So it was just me that went instead. He’d called my uncle apologizing and told him what happened. My uncle, along with the rest of the family, understood. It didn’t change the fact he’d had enough by that point. So he’d planned to leave. The decision came a year later when a domino effect led him to finally making the decision to leave. The ducks were in a row by the time he told me. He wanted that to happen before he even considered telling me. We went home to look at places he’d found. We’d chosen the second place we looked at and called it a weekend. We moved home a month later. 

Nothing had changed in the little town I’d grown up in. Everyone still had their bigoted and hypocritical beliefs. Their conservatively Southern Baptist beliefs ran deep within them. They were letting their actions speak for them. So I let mine speak for me. I hadn’t wanted to move back. At first. The only hopes I’d had were that things may have changed in the time since I’d left. Only for the reality to set in after moving back home. I felt stuck after that. I’d realized the mistake I’d made was moving back home with dad. I’d struggled to find a job despite the fact I had some experience by this point. Dishwashing experience no less. I found a retail job after a few other jobs didn’t pan out. A job, despite the hours, I decided to stay at. 

I’d come out as Trans not long after moving back home. I’d generally been accepted as myself. It’d taken people some time to see that it wasn’t a phase in any aspect while others outright refused because of their bigoted religious beliefs. Regardless of what I’d said. So I let my actions speak for me while theirs spoke for them. I’d gone low contact with them for the most part as a result. My family included. I’d found a community within the town I’d grown up in. People who let it show how much they love me for who I am. Others that were also within the LGBTQIA community. Along with allies that let their actions speak for them as well. It didn’t change the fact I was an openly closeted Trans person. I was openly myself as a Trans person while also not being able to be. 

Challenge lines were drawn after I’d commented on something one of the Aunts had said while at a family gathering. They’d only further shown their bigotry and hypocrisy during this conversation after I’d spoken up. I’d only further distanced myself from them after that. I stood at those very challenge lines figuring out what to do. I began planning. I’d begun looking at leaving. Somehow. Despite the fact I’d been unable to save any money. I’d spent most of my checks on getting to work as well as from work at times. I’d started looking for a job that would have better hours knowing what that may not happen. 

I’d found a job with better hours. Another Dishwashing job I’d felt comfortable working. Despite the fact that I had issues with a coworker. I began working long hours on their days off to compensate for the lack of hours that would happen otherwise. I’d been open about being Trans. None of them cared as long as I did my job and did it well. Both of which happened every shift. I didn’t mind the long hours. I knew it’d help me get out. A comment by a transphobic coworker led me to leaving. I’d spoken to management before giving them an ultimatum. One where the coworker was dealt with or I’d leave. They’d let me go on the spot as a result. 

I’d found a better job where I worked in a local sandwich shop. The hours were the same as the one I’d just left. The pay was better by a few dollars. I’d kept to myself for good reason. I wanted to just do my job and leave. So I did just that. I went above and beyond each shift in some way. Until, as usual, things happened and I no longer went above and beyond. I simply did my job and left after my shift. I’d managed to save some money from the dishwashing job. Along with getting my taxes back. I was content with leaving with whatever money I had if it came down to it. My “family” kept letting their actions speak for them. So I kept letting mine speak for me. 

Speaking up had been something I’d done more of in the last year. I had the confidence, not to mention the support from others, to have help whenever I spoke up. I had the confidence to speak up more. To my dad and family especially. I knew what would likely happen if I crossed the challenge lines. I no longer cared. I was going to be myself regardless of what anyone, family or not, said to or about me. I’d stopped going to the church I’d been going to. They’d proved to be LGBTQIA phobic in every way. A result of their religious bigotry. I’d seen how my dad reacted when I spoke up. I didn’t care. I was going to speak up anyway. The hypocrisy ran rampant as well. I’d begun living my life as an openly Trans person. 

Being myself had been something I sunk into. I presented masculine entirely as time went on. I’d no longer cared what others thought about me. I was happily myself for once in my life. I was living my life my way. I’d challenged beliefs. I’d mirrored things people don’t want me to mirror. I’d kept to myself. I’d either distanced myself or gone entirely no contact with people. I’d let my actions speak for me. I’d made it known I was going to be myself regardless of what anyone else said or thought. I was going to be happy either way. I still hovered over the challenge lines figuring a way out of the town that never once loved me. People further proved that on a daily basis. I’d known my time there was coming to an end. I had no intention of ever coming back after leaving again. I had no intention of ever looking back either. 

Bigotry showed itself everyday. People that let their religious beliefs get in the way of being in my life. I’d challenged their beliefs. I challenged the things they’d been taught to believe. I shared my story. I’d let it be known that I was going to live my life as myself, happily, regardless of what they’d said to me. I’d made it known how happy I’d become in living my life as myself. That it wasn’t a phase in any aspect. I’d made it known their obvious bigotry wasn’t allowed in my life. Even if it meant that they were no longer welcome in my life. A statement I’d follow through with. 

Hypocritical statements were prevalent amongst many I’d once let in my life. People that let their hypocrisy, along with their bigotry, run rampant within their life. I’d continued hovering over the challenge lines. I was unsure of what to do. I wasn’t sure how to continue living in a house, much less a community, that was going to keep bashing me for who I am. Many of whom had known me my entire life. People who saw me present predominantly masculine most of my life. They’d shown where their thoughts of me doing so were. I showed that I didn’t care. That I never would. They were going to continue being hypocritical bigots with conservatively religious views while I continued living my life happily. As myself. 

Contradictions ran rampant amongst my family. Along with nearly everyone else I’d known growing up. I’d not gone to family gatherings anymore because of how hypocritically bigoted they’d shown themselves to be. They’d continued letting their actions speak for them while I let mine speak for me. I’d go to any family gatherings as myself. Much to their dismay. They’d continued using my deadname along with pronouns I didn’t identify with. My dad continued referring to me as his daughter as anyone he was speaking to looked at him differently. He’d point to me with them seeing that I appear Male. They’d ask him why I looked male. He’d not give them a good enough answer. He’d often lie and say I’m Lesbian. I let him, his lies, and others' reactions, make him think twice. I knew his lies would catch up to them. 

His lies were already catching up to him anyway. They’d come to me for clarification after talking to him. I’d share my story and that anything he’d say about me was to be taken with a grain of salt. That I was living my life happily, as myself, regardless of what he or my “family” said or thought. That I was going to continue doing so for the same reasons. That his lies were going to catch up to them. That I’d likely be gone by the time that happened. 

Hateful comments were something I’d heard on a daily basis. Comments I confronted head on. Comments I did something about. I wasn’t often well liked as a result. I didn’t care. The hateful comments came from hypocrisy, bigotry, and hatred toward my community. I spent my days off around people that loved me for who I am. People within the LGBTQIA community or an ally. People that helped me become more confident as I began speaking out more. People that gave me advice when I was struggling with how to speak to my now increasingly distant relatives. People I no longer considered family. They’d shared how right I was to essentially cut all contact with them. That confronting the hateful comments the way I was had been something they were proud of me doing. 

Confrontations happened more often. The last one being at the last family gathering I’d gone to. I’d become confrontational after they’d, as usual, referred to me with Female pronouns. A cousin's friend hadn’t seen me at any of the family gatherings they’d come to. Their only response being that I was usually working. While using Female pronouns. I chimed in by saying HE, not she. While reminding them that I am Trans and use Male pronouns. A confrontational conversation ensued. One where I shared my story, in full, before going off on a tangent. One where I’d called them Hypocrites and Bigots for not loving me for who I am while loving my Gay cousin and his partner, both of whom were present, for who they are whilst not loving me for who I am. To no longer expect me to come to anymore get togethers. That I’d no longer wanted to be around people that weren’t going to love me for who I am. 

“Are you seriously doing this right now?”
“Yeah, I am. You’re a bunch of Bigots and Hypocrites letting your actions speak for you”
“Michele! That-“
“Is something you guys need to hear. I don’t care what you say or think. I’m going to live my life my way. Happily, as myself” 
“It’s just a phase. You dressed girly-“
“NOT A PHASE! I’m done talking to you people. You clearly didn’t hear a thing I said and I’m done trying to talk to ignorant people. I don’t owe you an explanation.  I’m leaving. My mother would be ashamed of you guys” 

I’d shamed them for their actions. For their bigotry and hypocrisy. That my mother would be ashamed of them for doing so. That she’d come to me within my dreams letting me know she loved me for who I am. As her son. That she’s proud of me for being who I am. Openly. That she’s proud of me for sharing my story as often as I have. That she would rather me be happy, as her son, than miserable as her daughter. I shamed them for their lack of true representation of being an Ally. That they only did so for appearances. They weren’t true Allies because of their lack of love toward me. I’d let them know I no longer considered them family. That I no longer wanted anything to do with them because of their actions. 

Crossing the challenge line had just happened. I’d hovered over it long enough. I’d thought about crossing it for far too long. I’d just crossed all the challenge lines knowing I couldn’t go back. I knew there’d come a time where the confrontational conversation with the people that shared the same blood as me would happen. A group of people that never loved me. People who’d let their actions speak for me. I walked out after shaming them. The same cousin who used Female pronouns was the one who’d interrupted me. She tried “calming me down” and saying it was just a phase I was going through. I shamed her in a way she realized I was calm and was going to live my life my way regardless. I’d let her know it wasn’t a phase. I’d reiterated the part of my story where I’d ALWAYS known who I was. That I knew who I was at four years old. I then shared I was done talking. That it was clear they’d never love me for who I am so why keep talking. 

I’d left for good two days later. I’d packed the few things I wanted to bring with me and left. Dad tried getting me to stay. He’d tried shaming me. He’d tried “talking” to me. I shamed him before walking out. I’d told him how ashamed my mother would be of him for his actions. That she would have divorced him without a second thought because of his actions. That she’d be ashamed of him for not loving me as his second son. That his continual view of being his only daughter negated anything he’d tell me. That his actions spoke louder than anything he’d ever tell me. That I stopped trusting him because of his actions. That his nasty habit of lying to me was something he didn’t need to do but had done anyway. I’d told him I’d stopped trusting him after he lied to me recently. That I’d known he’d lied to me. I walked out after he interrupted me in an attempt to lie again. I’d told him I no longer considered him my dad. That he was no longer welcome in my life. 

“Michele, come on”
“I’m done talking to you. I have nothing more to say to you. You’re just as bad as the rest of the people I just left behind.”
“It’s just-”
“NEVER going to be a phase. It never was a phase. You’re just as pathetic as they are”
“You’re overreacting. You don’t have-”
“No, I’m not overreacting. You’re just an ignorant, hypocritical bigot that will never love me for who I am. My mother would be ashamed of you. I’m leaving. There’s nothing you can do about it. I have nothing left that’s keeping me here”

I’d gone no contact with my entire family along with my dad. I’d let people know what happened. That I was likely going to move away within the next week if not in the next few days. I’d made it known dad was likely going to lie through his teeth. That things he was going to say weren’t going to make sense. That I no longer wished to have contact of any kind with him or the people that proved they weren’t my family. I made it known I was going to leave for good. That I’d go no contact with anyone that refused to love me for who I am. That my mother would be ashamed of anyone who didn’t love me as myself. I’d let my actions speak for me. That I was going to live my life as myself regardless of what anyone said. 

I’d quit my job the day after the confrontation. I’d packed everything by that point and gotten a hotel room for the remaining time in town. I’d booked the next possible train ticket out. For what would be two days after the confrontation. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my last full day in town. I didn’t plan on doing much of anything though. I’d said my goodbyes to various people that’d stopped by to see me at the hotel. They’d taken me to a friends for what ended up being a send off party. They’d let me know they’d shared my side of the story. That many others had done the same as well. That they loved the fact I’d done what they, along with me, knew what would eventually happen toward the people who proved to never be my family. 

My side of the story was shared several times. The intention being to make others aware of what my dad would eventually say. That the line in the sand had been drawn. Many took my side. They’d let their actions speak for them. They made it known they were going to love me for who I am. That they’d rather see me happy, as myself, instead of seeing me be someone I hadn’t lived as for the last six years. That they’d rather be part of my life and be a support system to me than anything else. It was their actions speaking for them that led to conversations. Some of which were heated. They’d shared how long they’d known me and how masculine I’d always been. That they were an Ally to me. That anyone who would bash me in any kind of way weren’t allowed in their life or mine. 

I’d moved back to Miami Beach in the days after the confrontation. A send off party for me was organized the day after the confrontation. To remind me of how much I’m loved. That there will always be people I can come visit if I so chose to come back and visit them. That they’d come visit me wherever I moved to. They knew I was going back to Miami Beach. That my heart belonged to the beach. So it was the beach I traveled to. With five thousand dollars to my name and no plan. I’d reconnected with my past employers. People that had become friends I’d somewhat kept in touch with. 

They’d hired me on the spot as their Dishwasher. They knew I didn’t mind working long hours. All I told them was that I had enough money to start my new life without any kind of help. I’d checked into the nearest hotel for the next two months while I began looking around for an apartment. I didn’t even want a big apartment. I was perfectly content with having a studio apartment. It wasn’t like I was going to be there often anyway. It was just a place to keep my things, to shower, and sleep whenever I needed to. I’d worked close to eighty hours those first two weeks after moving back down to Miami Beach. I’d walk around thinking during my days off. I wandered around seeing what was new. Adam, Max, and Reggie let me know I’d always have decent hours. At least thirty hours each week. That I’d basically have my old schedule. They shared how happy they were that I was back. They shared how proud of me they were of doing what I’d done. 

A happier life was something that was happening. For once. Finally. I was living the life I wanted to have. A place by the beach while  doing something I enjoyed. I’d begun speaking for the Institute again. I’d become one of their lead Speakers. I’d become someone who connected with people in a different way. On a different level than most were used to. I shared in a way people saw my perspective. They saw life a little differently after I shared my experiences. I let people know there’s always going to be hate coming my way. That it was going to be part of my life as unfortunate as it was. That I was going to live happily as myself either way. 

Happily me was something I’d become proud of. I was finally happy as myself. I was finally living entirely on my own. As myself. As someone going about their life as happily as they could be. Someone that loved themselves for who they are. As someone who was going to speak out against the hate and bigotry that often bombarded the LGBTQIA community. From the perspective of a Trans person. I’d taken my experiences and learned from them. I no longer had any issue confronting the hate. I no longer had any issues having the difficult conversations. I was doing so from a far different perspective than most would ever think to share from. I showed how happy I was going to live regardless of what came my way.