Why I Chose to Be Ugly

My dad's statement still flashes through my mind sometimes. "I just don't understand why you would choose to be ugly." He said.

I sat down at the long oak dining table, which felt too empty without the other six members of my family occupying the chairs. The amber light shining through the glass back door would have been welcoming and inviting under different circumstances. To me, though, it felt like I was sitting down at an angry fire, and my face was burning.

I told him the puzzle pieces. To me, there is evidence in my childhood experiences. I had often been the Ken doll in my sisters' games as children. I reminded him of the period of my life that I only wore an inside-out white graphic t-shirt and one of his smallest Sunday neckties. I surrounded myself with the anime costume-wearers at my high school and specifically 'called dibs' on the manliest, most macho characters.

He told me I had specifically gone looking for confirmation bias; it was easy to exaggerate the significance those events had for me.

Like so many other young people, my parents didn't outwardly reject me when I first transitioned, but they didn't take me seriously. I can hardly blame them myself, swinging as wildly as I did and changing my labels every few months my last few years of high school. Plus, everything I tried seemed to spit directly in the face of the teachings of my parents' religion. It doesn't surprise me they believed I was lashing out.

Still, my father's statement was insulting. His cold dismissal of the emotional foundation of this decision was patronizing. I remember biting my tongue instead of hurling out the responses I wanted to say. I wanted to say that he had no right to call me ugly. I wanted to say that I liked myself more this way. I didn't say anything, though. Because in that split second, I didn't feel self-assured or handsome or proud of myself for finally completing the puzzle.

I felt Ugly.

It got a little better when my mom took me shopping. She didn't buy into it but expressed she didn't care what I wore as long as I attend church. She went with me to buy a few nice dress shirts, some slacks, and a tie and dress shoes of my own. That Sunday, I wore them. I went with my father to his meetings. I felt handsome and confident and even faithful and hopeful with this outreach of acceptance. Then the Bishop asked me to go back to 'my meetings' with the other women and asked that I not wear a tie. The roller coaster of my confidence took another downhill slide.

It's now been 8-ish years since that initial conversation in my parents' dining room. I have a 5-year-old daughter who excitedly calls me 'daddy' when I get home from work or first wake up in the morning. My wife tells me I'm handsome and sexy; my fourth-grade best friend tells me that she thinks I'm more attractive now than I was when I was presenting female. I feel good when I'm dressed in a collared shirt and a woolen vest or in a tank top that shows off my shoulders and biceps. I feel a surge of satisfaction at the rumble in the bottom of my throat when I sing those bass notes that I couldn't hit in 9th grade. I try to hold these moments up as evidence whenever my father's question burns through my mind like a brushfire.

I know now that self-image is one of my father's driving demons. The rational part of myself feels like the statement he tossed onto the grassland of my psyche nonchalantly had more to do with him than me. I know that my mother, and grandmother, and some of my siblings feel uncomfortable around me. How could they not? The unquestionable faith tells me that I am giving up eternity with them for what I'm sure they believe is a show of stubbornness from me.

Part of me knows that this is emotional blackmail, asking me to sacrifice what I continue to believe is my truth to keep another party from feeling uncomfortable. My family doesn't realize they ask this of me, I think.

But another part of me wonders if he was right. It is easier for me to look back and cherry-pick supporting experiences. My parents can think back through my past and find 'evidence' that I was always female. They feel this is more an expression of my 'traumas' than an expression of self. Because of this, the emotions around my family are muddy. I'm sure I'm not the only person who feels distantly cordial with their parents, but it is nonetheless lonely. My siblings are now out on their own more and more, and my status as a 'shining example' is less necessary, which means they leave me alone about it, more or less.

I know that my experience is also similar to many attempting to reconcile a cognitive dissonance created by religious dogma. To those who hurt the way I hurt, I'd like to offer a response to my father's original statement:

I chose to be a dad.

I chose to be a husband.

I chose to sing baritone instead of soprano, and I sacrificed for that choice. I wouldn't take it back. I chose to continue to associate with my family because I feel that the only way I can change their mind is to continue to love them. I am still an example to those younger members of my siblings and cousins who are at confusing points in their battles with our families' beliefs.

I never chose to be Ugly. Someone I trusted chose that label for me, and I carried it because of that trust.

I choose not to carry that label anymore.

I choose to trust myself.