Roxanne Ross
My pastor gave a message recently on the topic of doubt. The focus was on the universal experience of facing doubts and how it is healthy and right to acknowledge them. People who operate never admitting to having doubt are neither realistic nor honest. In matters of faith, doubt sends us to our knees to ask God for wisdom and understanding. We place ourselves in a realistic position of humility. No one knows all truth except the Creator. So at some point, if we are willing to be open and inquiring about life, doubt will show itself.
For the transgender person, doubt is a very familiar companion. "How can this dichotomy of body and soul, gender and sexual identity be so askew?" we ask ourselves. If we have remained deeply hidden in the closet of our mind, this question shakes us to our very core. Since few of us ever had anyone speak first to us about this phenomenon, we begin to doubt our sanity. "Am I mentally ill?" Our first instinct is to go with the prevailing notion that what is between our legs has irrevocably set us in conflict with our mind and it is our mind that must be wrong. It is much like the legal system's laws of evidence. Tangible physical evidence is more verifiable and factual than circumstantial evidence or personal opinion. So we become defensive and even unsure, wondering how we could ever convince someone that what is going on inside of us has as much truth as our outside appearances.
Doubt is our tutor to the truth, because it forces us to wrestle and discern what is real and what is not. The problem is we can look at the task before us and become intimidated by its immensity. Then to compound it all, fear rears its head.
I have contemplated how much of my life was dictated by my fears and I must admit to being struck by the answer. My entire life has been rule by fear: fear of discovery about my gender identity, fear of ridicule and misunderstanding, fear of loss and shame, fear of harm, fear of losing my reputation built on years of proper and acceptable behavior.
What part did doubt play in reinforcing those fears? I believe that it was one of the main reasons I stayed completely hidden. I doubted anyone would ever understand me or accept me. I doubted my own sanity. I even doubted that God could ever accept me as I was, despite all the scriptures to the contrary. I looked instead at the attitudes of people around me and the teachings of the churches I attended and swallowed them whole without honestly wrestling with my doubts. Instead, I submitted to the version of the truth as I had been taught and I despaired. My ability to pray was blocked. I went through the motions, speaking words into the air, but felt a steel curtain of sin separated me from God. Visions of my words literally bouncing off the walls of heaven, unheard and unanswered, taunted me. So I found a way to cope by becoming numb. Acting out the role I had seen in others, I found I could function by going through the motions and play the part of the good Christian. This paralysis of the mind allowed me to continue existing, but without the fullness of joy or freedom to be me before God, warts and all. Above all, a deep and abiding fear held me captive.
How did this change for me? Ironically, it was fear that was the final straw. I saw how my life was sinking into an ever-widening chasm of hopelessness. I felt physically drained, my relationship with my wife was drying up, and I saw no way out. Being so numb, I rarely made the effort to find a way to change, as I had despaired of any change that would help. But above all, I became afraid that my life would end without ever knowing if I could have the female life I desired. To top it all off, my depression was killing my marriage in a manner I could not allow to continue. She thought something was wrong with her that was making us grow distant. Here I was, hiding the awful answer, for fear of losing her if she knew, and it made no difference…we were losing each other anyway. Worst of all, she felt she was to blame. I could no longer allow this charade to continue. All the doubts I faced about who I was and what I could be had put fear in control. It had to stop.
I have a fear of heights. Stepping to the edge of a precipice is the last thing I would ever do willingly. When the time came for me to tell her, it was very much like standing on the brink of a cliff. Once the words were spoken, I could never go back.
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