Hokjes? Wat nou hokjes...!?

How to tell my parents...? (part 2)

After having visited loyally the monthly evenings of the Association of Gender Diversity in Utrecht 'as a woman', I felt this was not the 'form' in which I would be happy. The transformation into a woman felt indeed very nice, but returning to man on the other hand was getting heavier each time. At the same time I came to the conclusion - partly as a result of the many conversations with peers - that I was not a transsexual: my dislike of my male body was not strong enough to qualify for a sex-change operation. However, the forced switch between male and female appearance became a burden I could no longer carry mentally. I felt I was one person with two entities, which should not be seperated, but on the contrary, be integrated: I was a man with a masculine appearance and a predominantly female feelings. The feeling that I must be completely like a woman no longer prevailed; I had leeft that behind me. Boudewijn de Groot, a Dutch singer, has expressed that feeling aptly in his song "Drowned butterfly":

"In order to live I thought you should be a butterfly
To fly very far away from all the life, all the pain.
But I am no longer affected by envy of being a butterfly
If even butterflies have to die, I will not spoil my joy
I can live without flying
Why would I would any longer care for a butterfly who drowned in me
For living, I don't have to be a butterfly anymore."

I had made peace with the thought of being both man and woman, and I wanted to express that. From that moment I decided to express my feminine side, by using make up, painting my nails and occasionally to walk in heels. This, however, is easier said than done, because - strangly enough - I was still ashamed of my own feelings. This has taken a lot of years, but at one point in time I was strong enough to parry or at least to ignore the disapproval of others. Disapproving glances or comments will always be a part of my life, but I am in a mentally state to handle it. Many people in my environment gradually saw me changing from a caterpillar into a butterfly, but still I hadn't told my father. I was partly out of the closet, but there was still a bump to take. And I had decided to take that bump Friday, March 14th, 2014. I was full of confidence and felt strong enough to tell my father and to have the confrontation (if any). A few days before D-day I had called my father to invite him to lunch at a place of his choice in Scheveningen, where he lives. To avoid that I would back up at the last moment, I took off to Scheveningen to visit my father 'in full uniform', thus with make-up, purple painted nails and ankle boots with modest heels. In short, there was no escape: the confession was going to take place. When my father opened the door, he actually didn't notice anyting different. Only when I handed me his new smartphone, he notice my purple nails. He reacted in the manner characteristic of him: "Are you out of your mind?", intended partly funny, partly serious. I took a deep breath and told him that I simply liked painted nails. At first he thought that I was joking, but soon it was clear to him that I was serious. Next when we took off for the restaurant, he noticed my heels and as icing on the cake, it was in the restaurant that he saw that I was wearing make up. For me this was the moment to ask my father if he ever watched the program "He is a she." on televion. He said he was familiar with he program. I took a deep breath and told him that I am not the type 'he is a she', but more the type "he's a she too." There, I have said it...
(To be continued)