What does it really mean to be happy?
I’m happy. Giddy even. Euphoric nearly. And it’s because I’m slowly being able to be myself. I’ve always been me. And I’ve always been a mostly optimistic sort of person. But recently, I’ve been exploring the furthest reaches of myself. Making what I deem to be necessary changes.
I’ve had help. I would never have come this far without the constant affirmation of my friends. Knowing that I have people to stand behind me, beside me even, makes me bold.
So I’ve been honest with myself and I’m working on being honest with those around me. My parents are the final frontier, so to speak. I won’t hesitate to admit that I am terrified. It will not be easy at all. Telling them, not that I don’t want to be their daughter, but in fact, I’ve never been. Yet, I can never really be their son either. I’d rather dabble in the middle. They need to know that I prefer it this way, that this is how it has always been and where I am comfortable. They will also need to know that in general, I prefer a masculine default. Which is a change. It is scary and difficult even for me.
But even the apprehension of speaking to my parents face-to-face does not dampen my happiness. I only hope it lasts for a good long time.