Courting a Transition

Tom Forrister describes how his decision to transition from female to male impacted his marriage.

“Honey, please tell me what’s wrong!”

I barely heard my wife’s distressed words as I stared down at the city of Providence from our hotel window. It was a gloomy Valentine’s Day weekend, a time to connect, but I was emotionally distant. Our thus far brief and rocky marriage was cascading downhill and out of control.

Throughout the weekend we had been exploring our sexual relationship. During our time together I would tell her to pretend I had a male body—it was my most comfortable role, one that allowed me to share intimacy with my spouse.

I would close my eyes and imagine I was physically male, but every time that illusion was broken I became more resentful. Now, unable to perform, I sat rocking back and forth in the chair near the window, confusing the one person I couldn’t bear to lose.

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The burden of this secret had become too much. It all culminated in this moment. This weekend getaway was supposed to strengthen our bond, not hurt us. I had to try to express my pent up feelings.

I tore my eyes away from my reflection in the window.

“What do you see when you look at me?” I asked. “What if I told you I have to change…this?” I gestured to my face, my body.

Earlier that day, I had met a post-op transman face-to-face for the first time. I never would have guessed that he had begun his life female-bodied. Until that point I had never thought a physical transition was possible to that extent. Seeing him opened my mind to the possibility of a way out. It was my shining hope in the darkness.

“This person…this man that I always ask you to imagine me as…” I faltered, but continued, this time staring directly into my wife’s eyes. “He’s the real me. This role I often play isn’t a role at all. I’m really a guy.”

“But that’s the person I fell in love with,” she knelt and held my hand. “I love you for who you are. If you’re really a man, don’t hold back. Stop fighting who you are, because it’s the fact that you’re fighting yourself that’s tearing you—and us—apart.”

I cried out of sheer relief—she still loved me. I felt unburdened.

She was right. I was a mess, and I had been for a long time. I followed her advice, and the awful, draining darkness lifted. I was now focused on the possibility of physical transition. I was able to focus my attention on my wife in a way I had not felt since we first courted. I say “courted,” because that’s what our initial dating relationship was like: a courtship. Meeting online helped my wife see the real me long before I transitioned from female to male.

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Bella and I met six years ago through an online writing and role playing game—far from your typical Match.com relationship. We assumed different characters’ points of view, and wrote stories together. All of my characters were male, and many female players in the game would ask, “How do you understand a guy’s mentality so well?” My subconscious wanted to reply, “Because I am a guy,” but it took a while for my conscious mind to catch up.

Outside the game, Bella and I had an instant connection. We shared similar interests, philosophies, and passions in life. I was upfront and told her that I was female-bodied, but we began a relationship online in which I acted masculine. My wish that she treat me as male were not fully realized at first, but our mutual understanding was organic, blossoming with our romance.

Soon my sex didn’t matter in the slightest. It was all in the mindset, my gender identity. She saw me as male, and so did I. I pursued her, won her away from another suitor, and when we finally met in person, she saw past my physical form to my inner self. Neither of us is unattractive, but instead of judging one another by the standard misleading profile photo common on dating sites, we got to know each other’s mind through the power of words.

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Now that I have made the transition, recent talks with my wife surprise me. Bella admits to more of her pre-transition fears than she would at the time. Aside from the understandable surgery worries, she tells me, “My biggest fear was that I was pushing you to transition, that it wasn’t really what you wanted. You seemed so happy whenever you let yourself be male, and I wanted you to be happy. But some changes are permanent, and I didn’t want you to regret it. I knew you would go through huge changes, so I wanted you to be sure. I love you, period. I didn’t want you to do this for me. It had to be your decision.”

“How did my feminine appearance affect your view of me back then?” I ask, curious.

“Appearance was confusing because you acted like a guy, but you looked like a girl. You were a beautiful woman, but it was dissonant from your behavior. It was how you treated me that really made me see you as the guy you are, even from the beginning. It was your taking on the male role—you did the pursuing. You took charge. You swept me off my feet.”

“I got to know you through how you acted first because we met online. I found my soul mate. The package didn’t really matter so much.”

—Tom Forrister