Day 23: Not a Good Day
New York City. Tuesday.
I am once again giggly excited as I arrive in town and hop the subway to work. First off, since everyone there knows I’m transgendered, there’s no more hiding. I have sugarplum visions of conversations I’ve never been able to have before, happening today. No more shame.
Second off, new boots. New women’s boots. That said, they don’t actually look like women’s boots. No heel, a few straps, a few buckles. But they are women’s boots — from Bakers Shoes. Much like my black high-tops, this is a step in a new direction. Women’s attire that looks like men’s attire. Only cooler. 20% cooler.
I get to work and everyone is, well, working. No big hellos. No comments about my boots. No nothing. Everyone is focused on a PowerPoint presentation.
I know I set my expectations way too high, but I am crushed. I try not show it, and I guess I’m successful since everyone remains focused on their own thing.
A little chitchat here, a little fantasy football there intersperse the day. It’s no different than it was a few weeks earlier before I came out. It’s as if I never shared a part of my soul with the team.
The day finally wraps. A good work day, but not such a good transgendering day.
I want to shout, hey, unburdened person standing right here. With awesome new boots!
I leave the office for my weekly therapy session, but I am down. I am depressed.
At the session, I recount my escapades from the previous week. I guess I’m too much of a storyteller as my therapist wants to know immediately if my oldest came around. Sorry. No can do. You’ll have to wait for my tale to conclude. It’s like reading the last page of a mystery. Your patience will be rewarded. Okay, maybe that’s not how therapy is supposed to work, but the writer in me refuses to cooperate.
By the end of the session, I finally address my depression, my frustration. This was supposed to be an awesome day. Not a normal day.
Did they ignore you? Did they shun you? No? Then give them time. That they treat you like they did before is a good thing. It means they still accept you. But give them time to digest the new you. Give it time, and they’ll come around.
As I walk back to my hotel, I mull these words of advice and slowly, it starts to sink in. Give it time. It’s all good.
By evening’s end, there is a renewed bounce in my step. And I have a hunch it’s not just the boots.