Sharing My Truth:Telling My Brother-in-Law

I'm not entirely sure why, but for some time I'd felt a growing need to tell my brother-in-law and his wife about my gender dysphoria. Looking back, I think the biggest reason was that I wanted them to understand the burden my wife had been carrying, alongside everything else life had thrown at her, for almost twenty years.

I wanted them to know just how deeply it had affected her. She'd lived with my constant mood swings, the ever-present fear that she might one day lose her husband, and the uncertainty that came with the unexpected changes that seemed to appear without warning, new piercings, hair removal, tattoos, painted nails, clothes purchases, and all the other ways I struggled to cope with feelings I didn't fully understand myself.

I'd mentioned the idea to my wife because I thought it might help her to finally have someone close to confide in. I can only imagine how difficult it must be at times, carrying such a heavy burden without anyone to lean on or talk things through with.

By telling them, I hoped it would give her the freedom to speak openly and honestly with people she trusted. For so long, she'd carried not only her own thoughts and emotions, but mine as well. She'd supported me through years of uncertainty while often having no one she could turn to herself. Together, we'd chosen to keep my gender dysphoria private while our children were growing up, but that decision also meant she had no one she could confide in about what she was going through.

"Burden" feels like a harsh word to use when describing my gender dysphoria, but I imagine that, at times, it must have felt like one to my wife. After all, when we exchanged our wedding vows nearly thirty years ago, the last thing she could have expected was for her husband to one day reveal something so profound about himself.

Neither of us could have imagined the journey that lay ahead, or the questions, uncertainty, and emotional challenges it would bring. Yet she has faced it all with far more strength and compassion than I could ever have asked of her.

She was unsure about me telling them. She believed they would be okay with it, but you can never be completely certain, and once something like this is shared, there’s always a risk involved, of misunderstanding, of difficult questions, or of it changing how people see you or our relationship.

My wife and I had met up with her brother and his wife a few times recently for breakfast, and with my nails painted black since December I found myself wondering what they must have been thinking. Perhaps they saw it as a midlife crisis, me growing my hair longer, getting my ears pierced, and starting to wear nail polish without much explanation.

There was a new crisis that needed discussing during our recent breakfast meet-up between my wife and her brother, involving one of their siblings. I could see it was weighing heavily on both of them. 

Yet another thing for my wife to have to deal with, it must sometimes feel never-ending for her. I began to wonder whether this might be the right time to share my gender dysphoria with my in-laws. Perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm for them to understand that, on top of everything else she has carried over the years, she has also had me to support and worry about too.

The next day, I bit the bullet and sent the following WhatsApp message to my brother-in-law:

Hi [brother-in-law] & [sister-in-law] ,

I wanted to share something with you both, something I've kept hidden for nearly 20 years.

I've mentioned to [my wife's name] before that one day I might tell you, but she doesn't know I've written this today. I'll tell her afterwards, because I've reached a point where I don't want to keep secrets any more.

[my wife's name] has had to carry a great deal over the years, but one of the hardest things is something she hasn't been able to share with anyone else.

Around 2008, I reached one of the darkest periods of my life. I was living with a secret that filled me with shame, guilt and self-loathing. I didn't understand it myself, and I'd convinced myself that getting married would somehow make it disappear. Instead, it stayed with me and gradually became overwhelming.

One evening, after coming frighteningly close to taking my own life, I finally told her the truth.

I told her that I'd been secretly buying women's clothes and hiding them in the loft. I'd spent far more money than I should have, and everything felt completely out of control. Understandably, it came as a huge shock to her. At first, neither of us really understood what was happening.

With [my wife's name] encouragement, I went to my GP and also received counselling through work. The focus was mainly on the spending, which did improve, but it never really addressed the deeper reason behind it.

For many years, both [my wife's name] and I believed that I was simply someone who liked wearing women's clothes, that I was a cross-dresser. Looking back now, I realise that wasn't the real story.

I've lived with gender dysphoria since I was a teenager, although I didn't have the words to describe it for most of my life. You've both seen [my son's name] journey and, I hope, how important it has been for him to be able to live authentically. In many ways, my experience is similar, just in the opposite direction. Theo was born female but is male. I've spent most of my life outwardly living as a man while privately struggling with the feeling that I should have been born female. That's what gender dysphoria has been for me. The clothes were never really the issue; they were simply one way of trying to cope with feelings I couldn't understand or express.

Living with gender dysphoria is difficult to explain to someone who hasn't experienced it. It's not about wanting to wear different clothes. It's about living with a constant feeling that something fundamental about yourself doesn't fit. Some days those feelings are quiet enough to live with. Other days they're so intense that I simply wish I could go to sleep and not wake up.

Over the years I've found healthier ways of coping. Things like tattoos, piercings and painting my nails help me feel a little more comfortable in my own skin. They don't make the dysphoria disappear, but they make it easier to carry.

At this stage in my life, being married and having built the life that I have, I honestly don't know whether transition will ever be part of my future. That's something I continue to wrestle with. What I do know is that pretending these feelings don't exist has never made them go away.

Only a handful of people know any of this: [my wife's name], Hannah, my sister and her partner, and [sister-in-law's name] .

When [sister-in-law's name] was living in [address], I suspected she was struggling with depression. I told her about my own experience of feeling suicidal because I wanted her to know she wasn't alone, and that she could talk to me without fear of judgement. It felt right to trust her with my secret because I hoped it might make it easier for her to share her own struggles.

Writing this to you has taken me a long time.

I'm not telling you because I expect you to have answers, or because I want anything from you. I'm telling you because you're important to me, and I don't want to hide such a significant part of my life from people I care about any more.

I realise this may come as a surprise, and you may have questions. If you do, I'm happy to answer them honestly.

More than anything, I hope you'll simply understand that this isn't something new. It's something I've been living with for most of my life.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.

[my name]

As I pressed the send button, it suddenly hit me that there was no going back. The message was gone, and all I could do now was wait to see how they would respond.

About ten minutes later he responded with: 

Shit mate I never thought your were going through all of this.  I just hope that you can find a way to be comfortable as yourself in whatever way that seems to work for you. Xx

Then  a few minutes later, another message arrived, from his wife:

Hi, hubby just showed me your message! You are you you are, I'm just sad that we haven't been there for you, or [my wife's name]! Nobody knows what’s in the future for any of us but we have to be happy.  There will never be any judgement and maybe we can help support you both now.  We are family and we will always be there for each other. xx

It's hard to put into words how I felt as I read their replies, but above everything else, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Ideally, I would have preferred to share something so personal in person, but I'm grateful I finally did. Instead of wondering what they might think, I found myself looking forward to seeing them again.

Looking back, nothing dramatic changed overnight, but something important did. My wife no longer has to carry this part of our lives on her own, and that brings me real comfort. Over the years, I've been fortunate to have my wife, my sister and, more recently, my daughter to talk to. My wife, on the other hand, has carried so much of this in silence. It feels good to know that she no longer has to face quite so much of it alone.

 
Thanks for reading, 

Lotte x