As I sat in the graveyard alone, I reflected on my father’s 85 years on this earth.
A life well-lived, now about to be celebrated at his funeral.
And yet, there I was staying a discreet distance from the service – banished from attending my own dad’s memorial service.
Unfortunately, I knew this time would come. I had hoped that some reconciliation might be possible, but my mother had explicitly asked for me to stay away.
The reason? I’m a trans woman and she – and my late father – wouldn’t accept my gender identity.
I had a happy, settled family upbringing. My childhood home – a council house on the edge of the city – was a place of security. My parents met when they were young and loved each other dearly – they truly were soulmates.
It wasn’t without its challenges though, as money was always tight so my family had to be thrifty.
My mother made her own clothes and I’d often help, picking out the pattern, and watching her pin and sew the cloth, to the final creation – typically a dress she‘d wear on a Saturday night out.
As I grew up, I realised that there was nothing I wanted more than to wear those dresses. So whenever I had a chance, I’d try on my mother’s clothes.
It always had to be in secret though, when my parents were at work and my sibling at school. I was paranoid about making sure the clothes I wore were put back exactly as I found them.
Whenever I had a chance, I’d try on my mother’s clothes
The prospect of being found out terrified me. In those days – around the early 1980s – anything and everything to do with a male wearing female clothing was subject to ridicule or comedy.
There were adverts for ‘crossdressing services’ on the back of some newspapers, but with words that included ‘secret’ or ‘confidential’.
On top of that, my parents were never afraid of expressing their disgust. ‘They should be strung up,’ my father said once about a trans person.
Being trans was something to be ashamed of. I kept that shame for over 50 years, until ultimately something had to give.
Eventually, I reached a crossroads. I could no longer suppress my gender identity and a process of exploration started.
So I went to a local trans support group in 2016 and realised there were others just like me.
The support group was held once a month in a village hall with a discreet entrance, a welcoming place where trans women could meet and chat with like-minded people.
I went there several times, and made new friends. But I had to lie to my old friends and family as to my whereabouts. My long-time partner, who I had met in the early 1990’s, had no idea of my gender identity.
I then went on a weekend away at a trans event in Manchester in summer 2017.
The event is called Sparkle and is held in Sackville Gardens, just outside the city centre. On the Saturday afternoon, I’d decided to walk to the centre, my first time presenting as the woman I am in a large crowd.
I saw some other trans people walking the same way and tagged along with them, thinking safety in numbers.
But my confidence grew when I realised that nobody was paying me any attention, so I split from them and headed to the main shopping centre.
In Debenhams, I asked for some lipstick. ‘It’s £40,’ said the assistant. My jaw dropped and I asked if there was anything cheaper.
Before I knew it, I was having a makeover. I walked out of the store wearing blush and mascara, the proud owner of a new lippy and some eyeshadow!
After picking out some new clothes, I knew that I had to transition.
So, I wrote a letter to my partner to explain as best I could. I admitted that I’d been deceiving her for a long time.
I was aware that many relationships break down when a partner comes out as trans, so I feared the worst. She broke down in tears when she read it, but over time she accepted my identity as a woman.
Our relationship survived and continues.
I allowed myself to grow out my hair, which my mother commented on whenever I visited. I covered it as just a ‘change of look’ but I knew she wasn’t happy.
When I took the plunge into getting my ears pierced in 2018, they responded in the only language they knew. ‘Are you a poof?’
It took a while for a response to come back, but when it did, it was heartbreaking. ‘We don’t want you coming here dressed as a fairy…’
It took a lot of soul searching until I finally made the decision to transition in late 2018, which meant I had to tell my family.
I wasn’t prepared to face them in person, so I sent them a letter, just like I had done with my partner. It took a while for a response to come back, but when it did, it was heartbreaking. ‘We don’t want you coming here dressed as a fairy…’
My parents, the people I’d once thought loved me unconditionally, made it clear they never wanted to see me again. That hurt.
I used to see my parents regularly as they lived just a short drive away but those visits stopped.
Mum still texts every now and then, and over time, her messages became more conciliatory, giving me updates on other family members and the health of her and my father.
Then, in June 2022, she sent me a picture of my father on his deathbed.
I knew from previous messages he wasn’t well and I’d been preparing myself for bad news.
Any other child might be allowed to spend time with a dying parent, but not me.
I was 200 miles away on holiday at the time and would have travelled back without hesitation, but it was clear I wasn’t wanted.
A day after she sent the picture, I got a phone call from my sister to say he’d passed away. His passing wasn’t unexpected but, the fact that I’d never see him again, we’d never make up, was still hard to take.
If you have a trans child, please love them for who they are
The funeral arrangements were made and while it was made known my children and my partner – their mother – were welcome to attend. I, however, was not.
I couldn’t stay away though.
I was at the cemetery as the hearse arrived. I moved as close as I could – about 200m away – while remaining out of view as the service took place.
I said goodbye, remembering the love he had given me for so many years until he cut me off and that he’d a long and fulfilling life.
Afterwards, my partner told me that other family members had expressed support for me at the funeral. I found this comforting and have met one of my aunties since.
To this day, there has been no reconciliation with my mother. We text about how family members are doing, the weather, holidays and the like, but I fear we’ll never see each other again.
Age will one day catch up with her and another funeral will happen. I will be there regardless. The question is whether I am hidden in the graveyard or visible giving tribute.
For the moment, I put that to the back of my mind. I have to focus on the fact that I have made the right choice for me, and my life, no matter what others think.
If you have a trans child, please love them for who they are.
Because we are fabulous, normal human beings – and being ourselves should never be a reason to be cut off from our loved ones.
Degrees of Separation
This series aims to offer a nuanced look at familial estrangement.
Estrangement is not a one-size-fits-all situation, and we want to give voice to those who've been through it themselves.
If you've experienced estrangement personally and want to share your story, you can email [email protected]
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