My name is Maxine, I am Transgender, and I am Mormon. I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I was born, baptized, and raised Mormon. I knew by faith I had a testimony of the church, its leaders, Joseph Smith, Christ, and God. However I also knew I was different from the other youth attending church. I was born in the wrong body.I didn't know how to communicate at such a young age what I was feeling. What I knew. I remember as little kids when we would talk with each other in primary. The girls would say I going to be a mommy some day. The boys would say I going to be like my daddy. I would think to myself, "I don't have a daddy, but I want to be a mommy." I never spoke this out loud at least to my memory and knowledge. I am sure if I did the Primary teacher would of corrected me and spoke to my Grandmother and Mother about it.
I have gone over in other blog's about signs I was different growing up. I won't bring them all up here. There is one though that jumps to mind. One while I am in childhood that has always been ingrained in my memory. It concerned clothing, church attire.
I remember standing in a white shirt, slacks, and my clip on tie. I was at one of the entrances inside the church building. I don't remember if it was before or after, most likely after for everyone was standing around talking and us kids were running around the halls. I was zoned out and observant in this moment, an occurrence that happened at times throughout my life. I watched as girls blew by me in their dresses and skirts. Free and unhindered. While the boys stride was limited do to their dress pants, and their ties flying into their faces. As I continued to look about me I also noticed the adults. They were standing around talking. The women again in dresses, skirts, blouses. Relaxed unless they were trying to control the children running about. The men whether they would admit it or not seemed too hot in their suits. They looked as if they were gasping their last breath and about to asphyxiate. I came to when my name was called I remember that. Before we left I thought, "I won't grow up like those men." I made myself a promise I wouldn't that I would stop it anyway I could. For that was an unacceptable future one I just wouldn't be able to stand. I must be a free me!
Well like all children in the church you grow older and graduate from Primary. For the boys you become a Deacon. I remember I wasn't really all that excited about becoming one. I didn't like the change imposed upon me. White shirt and Tie was mandatory, and I couldn't get away with a clip on anymore. It began to scare me that I wasn't going to be able to halt it! I had made myself a promise. I won't grow up like those men on that pulpit and sitting in the seats that I passed the sacrament to. I was helpless.
It was this point in my life I started praying to God. I prayed over and over for him to change me. To make me a Girl. Every night I would do this. Explaining to him why, pleading to him! The next morning I would wake disappointed and at times in tears.
Before I knew it I was shaving and a Priest in the church. Now I was Blessing the Sacrament. In Priesthood I was being taught how to treat Women. To prepare for a Mission. I was also being taught to one day be a loving and caring Husband and Father that could provide for the family.
This was all wrong too me. Sure I wanted a family of my own just not this way. I didn't want to be a loving caring Husband and Father. I wanted to be a loving, caring Wife and Mother! I didn't want to serve a mission though I had pressure from family to serve one. It was all wrong to me and my promise to myself was officially and utterly broken.
I went to Job Corps after that. I wanted my High School and that was the only option for me to get it. I was warned by my Bishop to remember who I was. That too many youth go there and forget and fall away. Perhaps I took his warning to heart for I came out as Transgender for the first time in my life there.
It was out in public now. Even if it was a closed campus, but two hundred plus students now knew. After a few weeks I had the gumption and guts worked up to tell my Mother. She didn't take it so well, and the next morning my Grandmother was there to "talk" to me.
I remained out as Transgender and Me while I was at Job Corps surrounded by those supportive friends. After Graduation was another matter. I felt forced into my Bishops office. Things he said made me feel guilty. I tried to be a faithful church member after that. However I no longer felt comfortable there. I felt comfortable no where. I stopped attending.
A few years would pass and I would make attempts online to contact Transgender community's from time to time. The Bishop's words would always come back and haunt me and I would stop and cut off contact again. Other times I would try and attend church see how old friends were doing. They were happy and I was not. They were moving forward and I was not. They were themselves, and I was not.
It was around this time that my Home Teacher and former Adviser of the Priest Quarm started coming around. He began Shepherding me back into the church slowly. Eventually I started getting lessons to prepare for the Higher Priesthood. I had been attending church, and reading my scriptures over and over. I worked with the Bishop and when the time came I was ordained. I was an Elder. I still wasn't happy though my family was. At the time I figured that was all that mattered.
To get into the temple I had to have a job and pay tithing. I strove towards that goal. With all my might I put in effort. I never made it. Oh I made efforts to get a job, but a seizure disorder had other plans. It was a sudden onset. Hit me in the car while I ran a stop sign unconscious and crashed into two others full throttle at rush hour on state street.
Took them six months to figure out what was wrong with me. For four-five of them I did nothing but lay in a stupor on the couch. Doped up and content to be doped up. I didn't want to to feel anything. Even then I received pressure from Church and Family to get a job. Even while I was passing out in church falling over barely missing chairs and desks and pews.
A few years later I had moved out of that ward. Church was harder for me to attend where I now lived. I started thinking about God. I started thinking about my Life and all that has happened in it. I became angry, and I blamed the bastard! It really didn't help that a couple years after my move I was enrolled into a school that was founded on Mormon values and Morals. That place was about as Molly as you could get!
The term Molly Mormon is used at least here in Utah to describe the zealous. Those people who are so obsessed with the church they let it rule their entire lives to the point that it even goes against it's teachings at times. For example when I got there slanderous rumors were still being spread around about a former student that hadn't been there in years! A former Gay student. It took a few months but I found out through overhearing a conversation I wasn't meant to. That those rumors were started by certain staff there. I thought nothing of it at the time, but I did spread around what I had heard. That rumor didn't get told all that often anymore after that.
It was here at this place I came to a decision at last. I needed to come to terms with my Identity. I told my therapist there I was at a fork in the road. One future leads to Church and Family. The other Estrogen and Gender Reassignment Surgery. I knew though I had to explore the Transgender side of me. I had to get information. I had to speak to others! I can't just live it without doing that.
So I found a support group to attend. I learned much and reevaluated everything I had thought about before concerning my Gender Identity. Eventually I came to the conclusion despite what the Church thinks and believe this is me. There are things not set in stone. I still hated God at that time. Began to despise him at this point for adding Gender Identity to the list of things going on in my life.
You see believe it or not I love my Religion. That was taken from me. That is not my choice and I don't believe it is God's. At least not entirely. I do believe it was his words that set it in motion. The Twelve and the Members of the Church did the rest and it will be on they're heads. I cannot comfortably attend nor can I partake of its services even if I live a good life. I guess I do hate my Religion. It is a Love/Hate Relationship.
2 comments:
Maxine Marie, very touching thoughts. I am in tears. =(
Wow!! I grew up in Kanab. Your story could be mine, and it is. Being taught that jesus loves me was such a contrast to the brutal treatment I got from my peers, teachers and some church members. I do have a relationship with god. This god I have come to know is not to be feared, and it is not god that judges us. Thank you so much or being brave enough to share your story, and mine. Kriston
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