At first, I got drunk. In my early twenties, I got pissed off my ass before uttering the words. In my teens, I can’t remember how it went, I can just remember the feeling of my churning stomach. At thirty, when I decided to transition, I reverted to alcohol, there is no weed in Korea. Sometimes there’s collateral damage when you come out in this manner–fuzzy memories of the night before. Usually, it worked out and I somehow gained a partner in this process.
To my mother, it was a frantic trans-Pacific phone call, at 6am for her. When I told my sister it was amongst swarms of butterflies over skype while playing Overwatch.
And then there are the rest of my friends, in all their marvellous accepting glory. I can remember the expression on each of their faces, all landing somewhere between “No shit” and incredulousness–the alcohol enhancing the effect. I drank a lot of wine that month. My gay uncle laughed at me over FaceTime as he thought it was a joke, at first; he’s super supportive. There was my ex-girlfriend who I was living with who encouraged me to take action as soon as I could. There was a colleague I met at the gynecologist by chance. I’ve texted, FaceTimed, Skyped, and Facebook messaged friends. I am at the point where I have to take a break from coming out just because I’m sick of talking about myself. There is a narcissism about transitioning.
In short, my advice to others would be to get everyone they know into a room and get it all out of the way in one fell swoop. Though, I value each experience of coming out as it’s made me more resilient and expressive. But, it was all still so damn awkward.
I would be remiss if I didn’t thank everyone for being so god damn awesome about it. Now I just need to tell my father. Volunteers?