Cry in Secret (transcript)

(Acetone transfer of handwriting) I was presenting female at a wedding when my uncle made a comment about "those damn tr*nnys" and how Trump was going to get rid of them. It made my cry in secret because I suddenly felt unsafe.

I cry in sececret sitting next to my little brother in the back of a car as my grandmother & father talk about how all gays should be hung... a week after telling my dad I was a lesbian and him saying he accepted me 100%

I cry in secret when I feel alone in my body, when I feel unseen by the world, by myself. When I hear conversations about queerness being for attention, when I hear about Queerness being a luxury. I cry in secret when I see friends and loved ones in immeasurable amounts of pain because people refuse to care to understand.

As a new lesbian, who recently got out of a marriage to a man, I cry for a number of reasons. But most of the latest tears came from my first heartberak post what I call my "awakening."

I found someone who really loves me. Now, when I cry, it's not in secret. I cry in her arms. We hold each other. Our love is an act of rebellion.

I witheld my tears when my brother neglected my gender identity. We were at a psych ward so I witheld all my emotions for the betterment of his health.

I cry in secret knowing that if I ever marry a man, he will expect me to bear his children. To work part time maybe, to support his career, even though I am more career-oriented + driven then any man I've ever met. I cry in secret in panic attacks thinking about pregnancy, my fear closing my throat. I cry because I can't get my tubes tied unless I'm older + doctors think I'll regret my decision later. I cry because we are taught to expect children, but don't consider the affects it could have, and I am afraid.

I cry in secret in the sideways moments in and out of time, when the dark water closes in over my head, sloshing back and forth in my body & mind, overwhelmed in the alone moments when the desperate reach lashes out, the phantom in the stone walls that are just made of water.

I cry for my pain, my trauma

I cry for her trauma

I cry for the pain we have given each other

I cry for the beauty of love

I cry for the world, full of pain, on the edge of bursting

I cry for the people I cannot touch or help

I cry because most days I am too numb to comprehend the immeasural suffering

or the small moments of beauty in human life.

My daughter came out to me at age 15 and I hugged her ~