Thoughts on Change and Choices – and Much, Much More

Yesterday, my friend Callie wrote about the need for change in her life and came to the conclusion that only the “atomic option,” i.e. exploding the status quo that those around her seek to impose, is likely to work for her. I had a pretty powerful reaction to that idea, and wrote her a long comment, which is pasted below, in response. I know that much of what I wrote is about me, not her, and, in fact, directly relates to our discussions about the delusion of the necessity for sacrifice to get what we need during my Course in Miracles study group yesterday morning. (If you want to see what prompted those discussions, read the section called “The Time of Rebirth” in Chapter 15 of the Text of A Course in Miracles, which appears on p. 324 of the second edition, or, in ACIM speak, you can find it at T:15:X (or Text, Ch. 15, Sec. X).) But I also had a lot of other things going on yesterday, all of which led to one of the most emotional days I’ve had in a long time.

I started the morning by preparing for a funeral I wanted to attend at 10, which meant wearing my black suit (the only thing I own that felt appropriate for a funeral) and putting on makeup beyond the eye shadow, mascara and lipstick that is my normal routine. Then, contrary to my normal practice of showing up a few minutes late, I made sure to arrive at my ACIM study group early, so I could talk to Charmaine, who leads the group and has become a true friend. I came early to tell her, first, that I would have to leave early to go to the funeral; second, that I’ll be out of town next week, which, combined with the fact that the group isn’t meeting for the two weeks after that, means that I won’t see my friends in the group for 3 weeks, a seeming eternity; and, last, that I’ve decided that I want to share my story about being trans with the group.

I’ve only told Charmaine and one other friend from the group about my history, and I’ve never talked about it in our group discussions, always being careful to avoid words or experiences that might “out” me (never talking about my experiences as a boy and talking about my “spouse” or “partner,” never my (ex-) wife, and rarely about having three daughters). As I wrote in “Trans and Proud,” at first that was about fear – fear of what they might think and how they might react. That group, almost all women, has become a very important part of my life, and the thought of no longer being welcome or feeling safe there pains me greatly. Having attended that group every week for almost a year, I know now that many, maybe even most, of the others who attend that group value my insights and are happy that I am part of it, so I know I will always be welcome there. Nonetheless, I continue to avoid inserting the fact that I am trans into our discussions, because it will be disruptive to the normal flow of the group. Finally, I’ve decided that I want to share my story with that group because I want these people, who I count among my closest friends, to know who I am; in other words, I want to be authentic and to no longer feel the need to censor myself. I also believe that being trans is an important part of my spiritual journey, including my study of A Course in Miracles, and that sharing my story may help others to see how they can implement the principles it teaches (primarily, that love is always the answer, no matter what the question) in their own lives. So, yesterday, I asked Charmaine for some time in one of our future meetings to share my story. She was very happy and very supportive of my decision and wanted to schedule it right away. I deferred, however, until after I come back from my trip to Trinidad with Mari.

After the others arrived and I told them about my need to leave early and my absence next week, we began to read. As I said, the topic was sacrifice and we did much more talking about how the pain of the concept has played itself out in each of our lives, and much less reading, than we normally do. The discussion was lively and moving and exactly what I needed. When I left, I felt centered and connected to my emotions.

The funeral was for a fellow attorney and friend. I didn’t know Jim well, but enough to know that he was a very loving man who truly cared about his clients. Jim worked in the public defender’s office, representing people charged with crimes who don’t have the resources to hire their own attorney. As the attorney who does most of the criminal appeals from Yavapai County for those same people, I look over the shoulder of every other criminal defense attorney in the area, hearing the complaints of their clients, looking for the mistakes my fellow attorneys made that harmed their clients and doing my best to correct them. I’ve been doing that work for 11 years now. Over that time, my admiration for Jim grew. Eventually, I learned that he carried the highest caseload of any attorney in the public defender’s office, and, thus, of any other attorney in the county. Yet, I can recall only a small handful of my cases that came from his clients and only one client who complained about Jim. This record is truly remarkable, given that there are some attorneys who generate numerous appeals and whose clients constantly complain about being mistreated, mostly, about not being heard by their attorneys. Jim’s clients didn’t complain about that because Jim cared enough to spend the time required to explain what was going on in their cases and because he had the admirable skill of being able to talk to them in language they understood and without projecting that attitude of superiority that many attorneys, much to my regret, project. Also, in all those years, I only found one mistake that Jim made. When I called Jim and explained my research that revealed that he had missed an opportunity to object that would have helped his client immensely (when I got it corrected, the client was released from prison and placed on probation, where he continues to do well), Jim’s only response was to ask how he could help to correct it. I view my relationship with other defense attorneys as being on the same side, both working to ensure that our mutual clients get the fairness and justice that our constitution guarantees them. Some attorneys don’t see it that way, but Jim always did.

The funeral was in the local Catholic Church, a modern and beautiful cathedral that I’ve only been to a few times before. I didn’t shed many tears during the Mass but felt grateful that I had the opportunity to take that time to honor a man that I admired through the use of ritual developed over thousands of years. After the service, I stood in the receiving line to tell Jim’s children and his wife how much I admired him and what a great lawyer I knew he was based on my unique perspective. When I left, my heart felt wide open and I felt more connected to my inner self than I have in a long time.

Fortunately, right after the service, I had an appointment with my friend and advisor, and former therapist, Byron, who I have been seeing on a regular basis for nearly 13 years. Byron has helped me through many hard times and, needless to say, we know each other very well. I told Byron about the funeral and about how I had been afraid to approach the people I saw there who haven’t seen me since my transition, some of whom may not even know about it. Then, I began to tell him about my decision to tell my Course in Miracles group about being trans. I explained that I was thinking that I would tell it as a story, beginning with “Once upon a time, there was a little boy,” and going on from there to describe the pain and confusion that that little boy, and the man he became, lived in for far, far too long. I began to cry (I feel the tears again as I write this) as I talked about living with severe depression since I was seven and being terrified by the nearly uncontrollable desire, which seemingly came from nowhere, to cut off my penis. Those thoughts scared me to death, and still do to this day, because, for many, many years it took the last ounce of my strength not to give in to that urge. So, I cried, sobbed really, like I haven’t in a long time, in recognition of my past. Eventually, the tears ended and we talked about other things – the struggle I’ve had with feeling motivated to do my work; the feeling I have that something – my work, where I live, something – needs to change; and the thoughts and emotions that are coming up for me as I contemplate traveling to Trinidad with Mari to support and love her through her SRS, and after.

All the emotion I felt yesterday and am still feeling today is exactly what I needed to break through the logjam I’ve felt with my work, and I was able to begin to work on some things that I’ve avoided literally for months. And I’m confident that will continue through the weekend, as I do my best to arrange my work life to avoid any crises while I’m gone to Colorado. For that, and for the connection to self that I feel this morning, I’m truly grateful.

All of that is merely a prologue to explain the emotional place I’m in today that led to this response to Callie’s post:

Change does require, well, change, but I never thought of it as requiring explosions. Sure, that’s one way to do it, but there are other ways, as well.

There are two kinds of change, of course. There are the changes in other people, institutions or society in general, which affect us. Then, there are the changes we ourselves go through. With respect to the first group, we can only control how we react; we cannot stop or control the change, no matter how much pain and energy we are willing to invest in efforts to do just that. With respect to the second group, however, we can choose how to initiate and sustain that change. Yes, we can be the “Dick” (sorry, I couldn’t resist) who shows up at Thanksgiving dinner in a dress for the first time (at least, *I* waited until the day after Thanksgiving and merely read a letter to my family and left the dress for much later). But we can also ease that explosiveness by preparing those around us for what is to come. Eventually, of course, we have to grab that bull by the horns and change to embody the persons we know ourselves to be, but we can do so with dignity and fair warning. If we do that, and other people still experience the change as explosive, which some, perhaps many, will, that is their reaction that only they are responsible for and only they can control.

I was saddened, too, to see you refer to your changes as moving from “caretaker to sapper.” Life isn’t so black and white. Yes, you are a caretaker and that is one of your most honored and valued roles, but I also sense that you ignore yourself when it comes to caretaking. From decades of painful experience, I finally learned that, if I spend all my energy caring for others and ignoring myself, I start to build up expectations that those others should appreciate and reward me with love and acceptance, which only leads to resentment when the others don’t understand, or simply refuse to play, their roles the same way I’ve scripted them. When those resentments do finally emerge, which they *always* do, they truly can be explosive and, in my case, the resulting “explosion” was often very ugly for everyone involved.

It may sound trite, but it is nonetheless true that we cannot care for others if we don’t care for ourselves first. You need to care for yourself in order to be truly caring to your parents. That will require you to change, which means your parents will have whatever reaction they choose to have, but that doesn’t make you the “sapper” or require that you abandon your role of caretaker. The world isn’t so black and white. Whenever I see the world as forcing me to choose between two seeming opposites, one of which feels selfish, while the other seems to require that I give myself away and ignore my own needs, my own identity, I know without doubt that there *is* a third way, a way between, that doesn’t require me to ignore either my own needs or the needs of others. It is always my ego that tells me that I have to choose one or the other, that it’s impossible to be simultaneously loving to myself, as well as others, because it is a favorite technique of, at least, my ego to trap me perpetually in either guilt or resentment, never seeing that love is possible.

I know that much of what I have just written is my own projection from my own experience and may not relate to your experience at all, but I hope that somehow what I have said will help you to find your own way to be the change that you are with love, not explosives.

Blessings,
Abby

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