Author's note: This paper was written to be presented to the Unitarian Universalist fellowship to which I belong, as part of a series of Welcoming Congregation services to help open up the fellowship to gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered individuals. I am doing this public coming-out because I care enough about this fellowship that I want to continue to be a part of it after my transition. My friends and this community are too important to leave behind as I begin my new life.

The following text includes readings from the service, as well as the introduction given for me by my dear friend, Jan Dute'.

Opening words

O Spinner, Weaver, of our lives,
Your loom is love.
May we who are gathered here
be empowered by that love
to weave new patterns of Truth
and Justice into a web of life that
is strong,
beautiful and everlasting.

--Barbara Wells 

Chalice Lighting

Life is a gift for which we are grateful.
We gather in community to celebrate the glories and the mysteries of this great gift.

--Marjorie Montgomery 

Hymn: "The Star of Truth"

The star of truth but dimly shines
behind the veiling clouds of night,
but ev'ry searching eye divines
some partial glimmer of its light.

The certainty for which we crave
no mortal ones can ever know;
uncharted waters we must brave,
and face whatever winds may blow.

Though for safe harbor we may long,
we must not let our courage fail,
and, though the winds of doubt blow strong,
upon the trackless ocean sail.

From honest doubt we shall not flee,
nor fetter the inquiring mind,
for where the hearts of all are free,
a truer faith we there shall find.

Reading and Meditation

Forgive us that often we forgive ourselves
so easily and others so hardly;
Forgive us that we expect perfrection
from those to whom we show none;
Forgive us for repelling people by the
way we set a good example;
Forgive us the folly of trying to
improve a friend;
Forbid that we should use our little
idea of goodness as a spear to
wound those who are different;
Forbid that we should feel superior
to others when we are only more shielded;
And may we encourage the secret
struggle of every person.

--Vivian Pomeroy 

Introduction

We gather in this room today for so many reasons. For you, perhaps, to be with old, dear friends; for you, to seek strength for the coming week; for you, to be comforted in a time of pain; for you, to nourish your mind with great words; for you, to share the joy of this new spring.

And as different as our reasons are for gathering here today, so we are different one from another. Some of our differences are obvious. You are young, I am not. You are Black and she is Asian. But most of our differences are far more subtle. As Unitarian Universalists, we profess that none of our differences keep us from our gathering together and we encourage the celebration of our differences even as we find common ground in our worship. Even as we recite the Unitarian Universalist principle that we respect the worth and dignity of every human personality. But this gathering together rarely gives to us the gift that we will be given today. Today we will have the privilege of sharing a very personal, very private journey. We will be entrusted with the privilege of sharing this journey over the coming months and years. We have been chosen. How fortunate we are. May our journey together be one of love and understanding.

I have come to know Diane Wilson through the monthly meetings of our Interweave chapter. She is a woman of great intelligence and thoughtfulness. She is a woman of uncommon strength and courage. And she is a woman who walks gently on this earth. I am grateful to know her.

Please listen to her story.

--Jan Dute' 

Sermon: "Transitions"

Standing here today is not the easiest thing I have ever done; baring one's soul in public is never easy. Yet it is not the hardest thing, either. Many people here already know these things that I am about to say, and their warmth and acceptance and support have helped to make this possible.

I am a transsexual. The body you see standing here is male, yet the person inside this body--that's me--is female. Because of this, my gender is neither male nor female; it is "other." I was born this way; no one in their right mind (or otherwise) would ever choose to be a transsexual. No amount of denial has ever made it go away, either. Nothing can change this aspect of who I am--neither being born with a male body, nor being raised as a male, nor living as a male can change the woman inside. But there is no gender role for "other," so I must choose, male or female. When I decided to become a woman, there was one small sticking point: I didn't look much like a woman.

That is the core of the dilemma for a transsexual. Each person is born with a brain that is prepared to look at the world from a male or female point of view, to interact with the world as a man or a woman. This is not stored away as words, or concepts, or symbols; it isn't based on any sort of knowledge or assumptions. Simply put, a human brain is either female or male. For most people, the gender of the brain matches the gender of the body, and this provides the most basic foundation of the truth of who we are as individuals.

I have no idea what that must be like. I don't remember when I first realized that I was different, or even how I was different. I remember that I was more comfortable playing with girls. I remember a few, early experiments with crossdressing, experiments which quickly stopped because there was no opportunity to continue. I remember spending weeks at a time in fantasy worlds in which I grew up to be a woman. The strongest emotion I can remember from those early years was the jealousy I felt when I saw a picture of my brother wearing one of my sister's dresses. I never had a chance to do that. (Until I could talk to my brother, this was a disturbing memory, because I did not know whether the picture, or the event it portrays, were real. My memory was not precise in detail, but the essence of it was true.)

What I don't remember is when those fantasies stopped. I know that it must have hurt, for as a teenager I was seriously depressed. Because I grew up in a difficult family, I had other reasons for being depressed; by the age of 13, I knew that the only true family that I had were my sister and my brother. But I also know that I had lost hope of ever becoming the person that I wanted to be, a woman. Thirteen is a terrible age to lose hope.

I didn't start crossdressing again until I was out on my own, when I was 20. I knew that it was something to hide; even though it made me feel good about myself, in ways that I couldn't begin to define, I was certain that no one else would understand. I married twice, and each time I stopped dressing for a while; like many crossdressers and transsexuals, I thought that I could "kick the habit." I couldn't, of course; it was only denial, and denial never lasts. I tried to talk to each of my wives about my dressing, but I hadn't really accepted it myself, and they weren't ready to accept either. For many transsexuals, coming out has ruined marriages--and, looking back, I realize that my inability to accept myself must have contributed to the end of those marriages.

After my second marriage, and after a short rebound relationship that failed to outlive another period of denial, two things happened which changed my life.

I had let my hair grow longer, and I had begun buying dresses for myself. One day I put on a dress and earrings and heels and hose, brushed my hair, and looked at myself in the mirror. There was a woman looking back at me. At the age of 40, I saw my true self in the mirror for the first time.

I have no words that are sufficient to describe this experience. I was thrilled. I was stunned. But it was more than that; I felt lost. If a person can find one anchor and lose another at the same time, that was how I felt. The only certainty was that something very important had happened to me.

The meetings in the mirror continued to happen. On two other occasions I felt the same shock. One of those was the next time I dressed; I chose a simple skirt and turtleneck, but it was the same woman looking back at me. Again, it was an overwhelming experience; it was a confirmation that the unreal was reality.

The other shock occurred after the first time I went out in public in a dress. It wasn't extremely brave; I went to a support group for transsexuals and crossdressers, and I went in male clothes and changed at the meeting. But it was late when I came back, and I drove home still wearing that dress. When I looked in the mirror that night, the woman in the mirror told me that we would do this again. She was right, of course. The scary part was that it was her choice, far more than mine. That was still five months before I truly understood that the woman in the mirror was me, far more than the man in a dress who stood outside the mirror.

The other change, which happened at about the same time as that first meeting in the mirror, was that I met other crossdressers and transsexuals through computer networks. It was such a great relief to learn that I was not alone. But that first time, my relief was overwhelmed by fear; I was about to reveal my darkest secret, and to someone I didn't even know! My hands were shaking so badly that I could barely type, which I guess was the network equivalent of losing my voice. The fear quickly went away as I learned that these other people accepted me for who I am, and cared about me. It was almost as if I'd awakened from a long nightmare to find out that I was normal--whatever "normal" means.

The changes didn't stop there. After several months of learning to accept myself as a crossdresser, I had to come to terms with yet another revelation. Simply wearing a dress and makeup was not enough; I wanted to be a woman. I wanted to live as a woman, to let my life as a man fade into my past. It wasn't that simple, of course. If I wanted to live as a woman, and not just dress as a woman, then far more would have to change than my appearance.

I had to break through a lot of denial before accepting this about myself. Changing gender is a scary thing to consider. Would I ever pass as a woman? Was I really a transsexual? After all, transsexuals are rare; perhaps one person in ten thousand is a transsexual. By comparison, crossdressers may be as common as one percent of the population. But crossdressers are comfortable being the gender of their birth, even though they like to dress and even go out in public as a person of the other gender. Crossdressers don't want to change their bodies or their lives. And that change was exactly what I knew that I had to do. I'd run out of places to hide from the truth about myself.

The process of changing gender is a long one, typically lasting two or three years. The first step is to locate a psychotherapist who specializes in transsexualism, and I was very fortunate in that I already knew one through my local support group. I have since found that I am even more fortunate, because this therapist is a very good one--compassionate, tough when she needs to be, and so easy to talk to.

Another early step is to start electrolysis, to get rid of facial and body hair. For those who have never had the experience, electrolysis involves slipping an electrode into a hair follicle and burning the root to kill the hair. Yes, it hurts, and yes, it takes a long time--typically 100 to 150 hours to get rid of a male beard. It's like a trial by fire, to see if I'm man enough to become a woman.

The next major step is to start taking hormones. I have been taking estrogen and progesterone now for a year. For a male-to-female transsexual, the effects of hormones are mostly subtle, with the exception that I am growing breasts. Other than that, there is a slow redistribution of body fat into a female pattern, and after a while, a thinning of body hair. There have also been subtle changes in the shape of my face and in my skin texture. Over time, these changes--plus electrolysis--will continue to feminize my appearance and help me to appear more believably female.

I have also had emotional changes from taking hormones. There have been mood swings, as my body changes to adapt to the new balance of hormones. I find that I am much less aggressive, and less quick of temper, because my testosterone level has been reduced to the normal range for females. There is also an effect of hormone therapy that is perhaps unique to transsexuals, and that is a mixture of happiness and inner peace. My brain is female, and it has been waiting for a flood of estrogen that should have happened at puberty. Now, as I go through puberty a second time, it's finally happening, and as a result I no longer feel the discomfort of the mismatch of gender between mind and body. The body is still mostly male, of course, but now that is only superficial. Inside, the emotional and biochemical gender change is already taking place.

As much as I wanted these things to happen, starting hormones was a difficult and scary step for me. As long as I was in therapy, all I had to do was talk about being a transsexual. Going on hormones meant doing something about it. But like many transsexuals, I'm extremely good at denial, and I'm always ready to doubt my own perceptions, my experience, my knowledge, my feelings--everything. Was I really a transsexual? Was I enough of a transsexual to justify going on hormones--like being just a little bit pregnant? If I did start hormones, would I be able to go through with my transition to becoming a woman?

As I've done at other difficult times, I turned to my friends, just to talk about my feelings. I knew that if I backed out, I'd have to make the decision all over again later on. These wonderful friends all reassured me that I knew what I was doing. When I told one friend that I had cold feet, she told me to go buy myself a pair of leg warmers. It was exactly what I needed to hear, and the next day I went to see the endocrinologist. I picked up my prescription on the way home, and it was all I could do to wait until I was inside my apartment before I swallowed that first Estrace tablet.

Now I can't imagine going back. I know that I'm on my way to fulfilling my dream, and I'm happier than I've ever been in my life. But the transition isn't over, and the most difficult step is next--changing my name, and living as a woman.

It isn't just that I was born a man. In growing up as a male, I learned to act like one, and to talk like one. These are also things that need to change, and to make those changes, I need to practice. I also need courage; these practice sessions will be in public, where any mistake could give me away. Even so, I can't let fear stand in my way. More and more, I'll be living bits and pieces of my life as a woman, learning how to behave and speak, and learning not to care when someone figures out that I used to be male. After all, I know that I'm not the man I used to be--and I'm thankful for that.

And, finally, the easy part: surgery. When I've made it through a full year of living as a woman, then I will be eligible to have certain parts of my anatomy rearranged. It's the last step, the final recognition that a transsexual has passed so far into the new gender role that there is no way to return. A decision to have surgery at this point should be easy; if it isn't, it will mean that I'm not yet ready for that last step.

It doesn't really end there, of course. The learning and growing will never end. I won't have the history of growing up as a woman, and my past life as a man will always be a part of me. To be happy, I will need to accept both sides of myself, to acknowledge that, rather than changing from male to female, I will have changed the balance and the emphasis on these aspects of who I am. My true gender will still be "other."

Without question, the changes that I have begun will bring enormous changes in my life. How can I know that I'm doing what is right for me?

One of the answers for that question comes from knowing others like myself, from exchanging stories about how we grew up, how we feel about dressing, how we see ourselves and the world around us. This is more than simply realizing that I wasn't alone in this world; these discussions also taught me that my feelings and my needs were a normal part of who I am. Although I knew of others who had changed gender before me--Christine Jorgensen, Jan Morris, Renee Richards, Wendy Carlos, Caroline Cossey, Kate Bornstein, and others--this was the first time that I'd ever come to terms emotionally with the possibility that I could do this as well, that changing gender is a rational solution to the issues I face.

I have also learned through therapy that this is a right and reasonable choice, because my experiences there have demonstrated to me, beyond any question, that I am a transsexual. Through hypnotherapy, and using the technique of reparenting, in which I can go back in my life as an adult and be a loving and supporting parent to myself as a young child, I have learned that my gender issue has been a part of me throughout my life.

Recently, I visited a 15 year old boy, a young man slowly coming to terms with loneliness and a feeling of being different. That was me, in my sophomore year of high school. I had worked with him in self- hypnosis before, and we had become friends. We had shared confidences, and I had helped free him from some of the constraints he felt in school and at home. But when I first went back in trance, as a woman, to visit him and to renew our friendship, he was afraid. He recognized me as the same person who had been his friend as a man. He knew that I was the person that he would grow up to be, and that in my own mind and vision, I had already become a woman. I had to win his trust again, and I could do that only by letting him set the pace of our discussions, and by letting him pick the time and place where he felt safe opening up to me. We've come a long way, he and I; he has admitted that he, too, wants to become a woman, and that this is the issue that frightens him. I have promised him that we will go through these changes together.

I have also used self-hypnosis to visit myself at the age of eight. As before, this was a young boy that I had come to know and love before I began working on my gender issues. His reaction to meeting me as a woman was very different, and I don't mind saying that I was completely overwhelmed by the things that happened.

This was the first time that I had ever gone into trance as a woman. I took myself back to the home where this young boy lived, and he came into the room where I waited to meet him. Within a minute he was wearing a dress, the same dress that I remembered from that picture long ago, the picture I'd seen of my brother. He cried, and as I held him in my arms, he asked me, "Why did I have to wait so long to be happy?" How could I answer that? I hugged him and let him know that he didn't have to wait, ever again.

When he finished crying, I let him go, and he walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. He was still wearing that dress. Something told me that the changes were not over, and I followed him out into the hallway. A child stood there, still wearing that same dress, but the child was now a young girl. That young girl was me.

I have made a home for that girl, in my heart and my mind and my life. I could not have left her there, alone in my old childhood home. In trance, we have gone to the zoo together, gone shopping together, and gone for walks in a meadow that was a secret retreat for me when I was growing up. I have been amazed at the ease with which she handled her transformation, and at the fact that she has never looked back. It's as if she had never, ever, been a boy. It is this little girl who gives me the courage to face my own issues. It is this little girl who finally taught me to accept myself and to love myself. Through her, I have the strength now to do the things that I need to do to take care of myself. Because of her, I can no longer doubt who I am.

It seems that for a transsexual, the issues never end. Nor are these issues limited to my own life; sooner or later, friends, family, and coworkers must know who I am.

Coming out is hard. It was not even possible for me until I accepted who I am. And since that acceptance came in stages, there have been occasions where I have had to come out more than once to the same person, first as a crossdresser and later as a transsexual. And even with self-acceptance, coming out is hard.

First, I had to learn to accept the possibility of rejection. That was scary enough, as the first person I came out to was my best friend. Losing her friendship would have been a terrible blow. Fortunately, she has accepted most of the changes in me, although at times it has been hard for her as well. I can look back and laugh now, but I wouldn't have come out to her that day if two things hadn't happened. For one thing, from some ambiguous remarks she'd made at different times, I thought that she'd already figured me out. Who could be easier to come out to than someone who already knows? But she hadn't figured me out, and everything I said that day was a surprise to her.

The other thing that happened to cause me to come out to her was that she called me out. We'd been shopping for earrings and had a mock fight about which one of us would buy a particular pair. (She won.) Afterwards, she wanted to know what was going on. So I told her. If she was surprised by what I said, I too was surprised by the fact that she didn't already know. Coming out is always an opportunity to be surprised. Since that time, I've learned to be surprised only if someone does have a clue; it has happened only once in telling more than 150 people.

I have had to learn what rejection means. If a person rejects me, specifically because I am a transsexual, then that person has rejected me because of his or her own issues. I acknowledge that transsexuality is not an easy issue to understand, and that many of you may be uncomfortable with this discussion. I know that rejections are going to happen, and that they will hurt, even though I know that rejection does not change who I am. I also know that if a person rejects me, I cannot blame that person; we are who we are, each of us, and I am not out to change anyone else.

Each time I come out to someone, it must be for a reason. Usually, it is because I value that person as a friend, and I want to continue that friendship through and beyond a difficult time in my life. Other times it is because I need the freedom to be my true self, and I prefer to let people know what is going to happen, rather than surprising them when I start living as a woman. It is hardest when I need to come out for both of those reasons.

That brings me to the most frustrating aspect of coming out. I have to build my courage, prepare myself for rejection, and tell someone about this deeply personal aspect of my life. What do I expect in return? Initially, I hope that this other person does not reject me. I also hope for acceptance. Most of the time, I don't get either of these. Few people have had to deal with this topic before, so often the initial reaction is cautious, curious, and uncertain. People have questions; they need time to think; their feelings are usually not simple or easy to understand. I've been told that this is "fascinating, in a creepy kind of way." But I'm not a creep, and I have no interest in being fascinating. All I want is that freedom to be myself, and to be accepted as the whole person that I am.

Men, in particular, have a difficult time accepting this. I know that many men have tried on a dress at some time in their past; perhaps they worry that they, too, will become like me. But the odds are against that, by hundreds or thousands to one. I also believe that men feel personally threatened by even the thought of genital mutilation, whether by surgery or accident or any other means. All I can say to that is that no one should think of me as a man; the physiology that I was born with is a birth defect, and nothing more.

Many people wonder why my transition must be so public. Yes, for a person who is perceived as male to wear a dress is an act which draws attention, whether other people want to notice or not. The answer is that I must be public about this, for it is not merely my own image that I am changing. If I am to continue functioning, in public, at work, or in relationships of any kind, other peoples' perceptions of me must change as well. People will interact with me based on the way in which they perceive me, and it is my choice that people perceive me and interact with me as the woman that I am inside.

People ask why I want to change who I am. The answer is simply that this is who I am; the changes are merely discarding things which are false or wrong. I want to simplify my life, to be the person I know I am, in private, among friends, and in the world at large. And there is surely nothing wrong or shameful about being a woman. Put in those terms, am I really asking so much of the world, or of my friends?

I no longer hope to get acceptance as soon as I come out. I do hope that it happens eventually, but I have learned that I can't push. I usually come out as a man, or "in drab," as we say, because that is how people know me. I don't talk too much about dressing as a woman, because it only adds to the discomfort level. Coming out is a process of putting myself on the line, without any expectation that the results will be what I want. The other person is free to accept, to reject, or to hover indefinitely in between.

On the other hand, I do not have an indefinite time to wait. I have started my transition, and now a clock is running. Sometime this summer, I plan to start living as a woman. At some time in the future, I won't have a choice, because I will no longer look like a man, due to the feminizing effects of the hormones I take. I already find it more and more difficult to take on male social roles, or to identify myself as a man; these are things that hurt, that make me realize all over again that I was born into a body that does not fit. I can wait only so long for acceptance, but then I must do the things that I need to do, to be myself, and to take care of myself.

All of us who are transsexuals owe a great debt to those whose transitions have been public, from Christine Jorgensen forward in a steady if somewhat small stream. Sometimes the publicity has been by choice, and other times it has been forced upon them, but each of these people has contributed to a public awareness so that at least people have heard of this before they hear it from me. I can come out to someone without feeling like I'm a freak. I'm not a freak; I'm simply someone you know, a human being who is dealing with a difficult issue of gender identity.

In spite of the publicity, and sometimes because of it, there are still misconceptions about transsexuals. I'm often asked if this is related to being gay or bisexual. It is not; the fundamental issue for me is my own identity--who is that person I see in the mirror? For gay, lesbian, and bisexual people, the issue is affectional orientation--whom would they choose for close relationships? I once heard this question phrased as, "What flavor do you prefer?" The only flavor that makes sense is Rocky Road.

This is not to say that transsexuals do not have to face this issue of relationships, but only that it is a separate question. Orientation can change during transition, and it does happen that a transsexual can be heterosexual both before and after transition, although all other possibilities have been known to happen as well. During transition is another story, however, and most transsexuals find it difficult to establish or maintain a relationship while their external gender is changing. Many transsexuals actively avoid relationships through this period, because the emotional cost to both partners can be very high.

I am very fortunate to have a partner who knows and who accepts, and who has said that she will stay with me as long as my changes do not become too much for her to cope with. While some of the changes have already been difficult, we have kept our ability to talk about them, and we are still together because we care so much about each other. She is a rare and special person to be able to accept me during my transition. I am pleased to say that I love her and that my life would be much less satisfying if she were not here.

If relationships are difficult, coming out to family can be even worse. In a way, I am fortunate that I have only two family members whose acceptance I need. I have no children, and my parents, who could never have accepted or understood, are both dead. But my brother and sister are important to me, and it was especially important to tell them before the changes become too obvious, and to give them plenty of time to adjust to the idea of my transition. Coming out to them was more than a little scary, and rejections would have hurt deeply.

Fortunately, we've been able to talk about difficult issues before, and we've pulled together through family issues that could have divided us forever. Still, I really couldn't know how they would react when they found out that their brother is actually a sister. I came out first to my brother, and the acceptance I received from him and his wife was overwhelming. They even offered to facilitate my coming out to my sister, with all of us--including my partner--gathering at my brother's home. I can't imagine any circumstances that would have been more conducive to gaining my sister's acceptance, and I am deeply grateful to them for this and for all of their support. This is the kind of family acceptance that we all dream about, but which we can never count on receiving.

Even the time and place for coming out can be a surprise. In talking to my sister to set up this family gathering, she asked too many questions, and it became necessary to come out to her over the telephone. Because I had no chance to prepare her--or myself--telling her was scary. I was very relieved when I understood that she also would accept these changes in me, although at the same time I understand that it may take her longer to adjust to these changes than it did for my brother. I can live with that.

When coming out, disaster is always a possibility. I know transsexuals whose marriages have exploded and whose families do not speak to them. I know transsexuals who have changed their full names, their identities, their jobs, and their homes, rather than face the risk or results of rejection. I do not want to be one of those whose lives are torn apart. I want to keep my friends, my family, my job, my church, and everything else in my world. To me, this doesn't seem like too much to ask.

As I indicated at the beginning, talking about this issue has not been easy. And yet it has been necessary, for my association with this fellowship is important to me. Before I could commit to speaking to you today, I accepted the risk that some of you might reject me, because the opportunity to keep the friendships and the sense of community that I have found here is worth that risk. If you were not worth that risk, I wouldn't have joined this fellowship.

Still, you have that choice, and each of you is free to choose as you will. This may be the first time that you've had to deal with this issue, and I know that it isn't easy. It isn't easy for me, and I've lived with it for over 40 years. If this is the first time, though, remember that it may not be the last; you probably know someone else who is a crossdresser or a transsexual; the only difference is that with me, you know who I am, because I've told you, and because I've asked for your acceptance.

All that I ask is that you take your time in deciding. Your answer is worth waiting for.

Hymn: "Tis a Gift to be Simple"

'Tis a gift to be simple, 'tis a gift to be free,
'tis a gift to come down where we ought to be,
and when we find ourselves in the place just right
'twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gained,
to bow and to bend we shan't be ashamed.
To turn, turn will be our delight
'till by turning, turning we come 'round right.

Closing Words

Go your ways,
knowing not the answers to all things,
yet seeking always the answer
to one more thing than you know.

--John Brigham