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Day 7: Ex-Wife

2014 September 29
by Jen DiGiacomo

My next big step is to come out to friends, co-workers and family about being transgendered.

I decide to do a test run with my ex-wife since a) she knows I’m transgendered, b) knows how our mutual friend might react and, you know, c) might have some insight on how my TWO SONS WILL TAKE THE NEWS!!!

Not that I have much anxiety about THAT… <ahem>

After a series of postponements and delays, she finally makes it over late Sunday night.

I change from “girl” mode before she arrives, but let me first go off on a tangent and say how much I LOVE geeky girl t-shirts. I found the most awesome Bloo juniors T (from Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends) and I gotta say I looked pretty cute in it with my fabulous yoga pants and clogs. I think this might become my go-to girl look at home.

Okay, tangent over.

My ex arrives and one would think this would be easy, but it’s not.

You see, I first told her 20 some years ago, the same night we got engaged. Right before we got engaged, in fact, in case it was a deal breaker for her.

She was very supportive back then, at least at first. Then not so much. I mean, she wanted to be supportive, but life doesn’t always play out the way you want it to. And I get that. The person you fall in love with, the MAN you fall in love with, probably shouldn’t have better legs than you. So I stopped dressing. At least in body. I’m not sure I stopped in my mind.

Anyway, life happened and our marriage eventually fell apart. Not over being transgendered, but that certainly didn’t help.

So we got separated. Got divorced. Amicable for the most part. Very amicable when compared to other divorces we witnessed from afar.

Moving back to present, I give her my rehearsed preamble. Oldest son in college. Youngest son a senior in high school and looking at art schools. Come summer 2015, there’s not much to keep me in Maryland other than the cat. So I’ve decided to move to New York City next year.

And I’m stalling. Look at me stall. It’s amazing how well I stall.

I’ve been going through some self-examination, yada yada yada. I’ve started therapy, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

Deep breath.

I’ve finally accepted that I’m transgendered and I don’t want to hide it anymore. I don’t know where this journey is going to take me, but I’m excited to see where it’s going to end up. And scared. Definitely scared out of my freakin’ mind.

She smiles warmly and tells me she’s thrilled for me — and asks if I want a hug.

Oh god, yes.

We embrace and so much pent up shame/relief/fear/stress/you-name-it from the past 40 years comes pouring out.

We spend another hour together, me sharing my heart with her and her being more supportive than I had hoped.

Maybe our marriage wasn’t destined to last, but to quote the wonderful Paul Williams from “Here’s Another Fine Mess”…

We loved for a while, you can’t call that losing
If I knew our love was gonna end this way
I’d live it over and I wouldn’t change a day…

I just hope she isn’t still jealous of my legs.

Note: When I began transitioning in 2014, I was known by my nickname DiG, which sufficed until I learned my mom had chosen Jennifer had my birth gone differently. So for historical sake, I leave my posts and podcasts as originally conceived, but know that my name is and apparently always was Jen.
Day 6: Montgomery Mall
Day 8: Hormones
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