I'm Not Your Victim

What's the point of my story? That's a question I was forced to revisit while reading the discussion thread under an article on another substack. In one comment, another ex-wife of a trans person admonished the author to “think of the trans widows.” In another comment, a conservative angry with me for not joining his team threatened to withdraw his “sympathy” for me.

Both comments rubbed me the wrong way. Why? Because I don't need sympathy. I am not the victim in my story.

Don't get me wrong. The decline of my fifteen-year relationship sucked. It left me single in my late forties, without the extended family structure I'd come to enjoy, and plummeted me into a deep depression. But breakups happen all the time. It wasn't the first time one of my romantic partners lost their mind, even if Jamie's path was an unconventional one.

If you've read my book you know that I initiated my divorce. And you know that I've picked up and started over many times in my life, often with whole new social networks in new cities. As a liberal, child-free materialist and atheist, I know that losing everything is possible. I imagine that's a harder pill to swallow for the conservative, religious, or family-oriented.

Instead, my story is a vignette of a family affected by a loved one's struggle with gender. This story deserves attention in part because a more dominant narrative suggests that what happened can't and doesn't happen. But a good story is universal. Mine follows the decline of an individual who abandoned authenticity, love and family to pursue some of the more toxic distractions of modern life. Among these were porn use, social media addiction, a deep craving for attention, and inwardly-focused rumination, in this case, in the form of “identity” and “gender.”

The victim in my story, if there is one, is my ex-husband Jamie. I picked my life back up, went to grad school, made new friends, and met someone special. Now I live a largely drama-free life, reading in front of my fireplace, dining out on Saturday nights. It is Jamie who left a quiet life for one of Internet fights and imagined social slights. It is Jamie who transformed from a person in good health to a medical patient requiring anti-depressants and lifelong hormones. It is Jamie who gave up a vibrant sex life with someone willing to indulge his kinks for sexual dysfunction, surgically-altered organs and reduced dating opportunities.

Still, if a grown-ass adult wants to fight with those who love him, get pumped up with silicone, and teeter about in uncomfortable clothes, it's his prerogative. I truly believe that.

That leads us to the real victims of this social experiment—kids. I write to reveal the truth, because currently myths inform the treatment of gender-variant youth. People like my ex are leading that conversation. They're saying transition improves mental health—when I watched Jamie become more depressed and suicidal as he pursued transition. They're saying transgender people have healthy love lives and good sex, when I saw gender dysphoria hobble our emotional and physical intimacy. They're encouraging behaviors known to be unhealthy in any other context—from self-diagnosis to excessive Internet use to body negativity. Are all adults who call themselves transgender miserable? Probably not—no group is homogenous. But if Jamie is any indication, adults with years of life experience behind them haven’t figured out how to successfully navigate gender dysphoria. Let’s not leave such fraught decisions to the whims of children.