In Pursuit of Joy: Saying Yes to Change

So I know I said in part one that that part 2 would be about ice skating but I was mistaken. I'm grateful to those of you that have messaged me or replied to me telling me about how it resonated with them and some of the things that they've found joy in. It's so lovely to hear what makes you all smile.

I realised over the last couple of days that I didn't really talk about the biggest 'say yes' moment in my pursuit of joy and I can't in good conscience move past on without talking about deciding to transition.

If you read part one you know I talked a lot about Transactional Analysis. I spoke about how I have a highly developed adaptive child response that knows exactly what I need to do and how I need to behave to be as invisible and unnoticed in the world as possible.

Having spent a lot of time thinking about the reasons why this is so developed for me I've realised there is no one single answer, it's a complex response to childhood, the world around me I grew up in and the choices I made as I grew older to submerse myself in a church community that had strong expectations of how I was meant to be be and act. Whilst all of these things played a role, everything I did and experience was coloured by gender dysphoria.

I've said before that I knew from a very young age I was different, I VERY quickly learned that to express feelings of uncertainty about who you are and who you are supposed to be was not something that was looked upon favourably in 1980s East Riding of Yorkshire. It was a world of Margaret Thatcher and Section 28 (which banned education around LGBTQ+ issues in school) It was conservative

with both a big and a little C. I didn't know what the feelings I was having were but I knew they weren't considered normal and they needed to never be talked about or mentioned. So I played a dutiful role of growing up into a 'fine young man'. I painfully deferential to authority, followed every rule. You would never find me in anything other than slacks and a golf shirt, except for formal occasions, because that's how respectable men dressed.

I really wasn't ok, I'd cry myself to sleep at night wondering why I wasn't a girl and hope that if I just wished hard enough I would wake up as one. No one knew that though because I became an absolute expert at masking, that is presenting a different version of yourself to the world than you are in your natural resting state.

I met Beth and she knew I was different to 'other boys' but didn't know why. In her teenage journal she questioned if I was gay and she utterly accepted the slightly quirky and unusual 'boy' that I was. As an aside I always like to think that she saw me before I saw myself. It was a powerful and wonderful thing to be 'seen' beyond the face we present to the world and my love for her is so much deeper because of that fact.

As I grew older into my 20s I began to understand who I was and that I was transgender, I'd internalised so much shame and disgust at myself that to think about that was unspeakable. The idea of ever transitioning seemed impossible and frankly I was resigned to existing in a numb and miserable state. I didn't care about what I looked like because it was easier to blame my discomfort on being 'fat' or 'ugly' and I was lost in a pretty horrid cycle of self shame and criticism. It was compounded by my choice to become a doctor, in incredibly traditional and conservative profession. There is little room for deviation from the expected norms. I'd chosen it because it was 'noble' and my sense of duty led me to it along side a deep desire to care for and look after others in need.

I started trying to find the words to talk a little about things with Beth through my 20s and it was challenging and hard at times but it was also good to not be totally alone in the world with my thoughts. I still couldn't imagine transitioning because the idea of ever being accepted in a world was impossible.

Ultimately as I aged through my 30s I was numb. I've spoken about this before and I won't cover it again but I needed to and wanted the hope of happiness. I was paralysed at the idea of telling anyone else let alone being fully out because I still had a strong voice inside me that told me I was wrong and disgusting and useless and no one must ever know the real me. I started trying to express my gender at home but all I saw was an abomination in my eyes and if anything made dysphoria worse. It felt hopeless.

These feelings weren't going away though and I needed to find a way to talk about them. I still couldn't imagine transitioning but I did decide I wanted to try and trust a few close people so that at least Beth didn't have to constantly deal with my thoughts streams all on her own. So one night I took a change and told my friend Ash, who I knew I would be safe with. She gave me a different kind of support and I'm so grateful to her for that. I now needed to tell my friend Nic. I didn't know how she felt about trans people at the time but I needed to take a risk. I will still always love her for her response.

'I don't really understand what you just told me but I love you'

I'll always love her for that response. They gave me the hope that things might not

be completely awful and slowly but surely I came out to more and more people until I was at a point where it wasn't really my secret anymore and I let go of it. It gave me the power to 'Say Yes' to transition in the hope of finding joy and I can honestly say that whilst at times I'm scared of the world around me and society's response to me in general I am, without doubt, the happiest I've ever been in my life. I ultimately celebrated coming out in 2022 at my trans shower. It was a wonderful moment to be surrounded by such love and care.

I suppose my main reflection on my pursuit of joy is that it's not always as simple as just 'saying yes'. Depending on what it is it might require trust and uncertainty and that inherently involves risk. Not a total abandonment of your safety but a calculated chance in the hope of something better.

My joy in this respect needed a combination of self healing, trust of other people, and the hope that things might get better.

That's hard isn't it? and not everyone can or wants to put themselves out there and that's ok. Going through the process of trusting and hoping and worrying is exhausting both physically and emotionally but if you can you might just find something more joyful on the other side.

I promise Part 3 will be about skating but I hope you'll forgive me this middle post. I think it was needed.

Let me know what you think.

Ellie