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Pat Chapter 6: Soul-Searching
As always, at the height of a fight, my husband left the apartment and slammed the door behind him.
Was he still my husband though?
Was there any room left for our couple?
I cried for a good hour. It’s weird, as a man, I didn’t use to cry but now that I was transitioning as a women, I often expressed sadness or anger with tears.
No, I don’t think it’s hormonal, I think it’s related to the boys don’t cry attitude my father instilled in me. After all, I only saw him cry once, near the end of his life, when I visited him in the hospital soon after he had to stop fighting his cancer. He had lost.
That’s what it took for him to cry.
But I wasn’t my father. And it was time I acted like it.
Just because I had a dominating mother who pushed my father into what he was, who practically castrated him out of any manhood by alternating between her massive drama episode and guilt tripping him into mowing the lawn, repairing her car or taking care of million of tiny tasks.
Is it really a surprise that I found a husband just as dominating as my mother used to be?
Did I have any room growing up for self-expression?
I was so happy to not live with a drama queen that failed to realized that I had married someone who had the emotional range of my father and the bossy nature of my mother.
Oh God. Why didn’t I see this before?
I was a tool to my mother, something to control my father with. I was a tool for my husband, someone to do his laundry, clean his dishes and have sex with.
Did he even like me for who I was at some point?
We had met during a BDSM event. I was nothing more than the slightly feminine boy to play with that week, but something occurred and we began dating.
I think he then provided me the stability, the strength to do what I always wanted: to transition to a women.
But he failed at something monumental: instead of helping me build some sort of self confidence, he trampled daily on my esteem.
I remember why I came to BDSM. I was curious. I had heard that there were cross-dressing people and somehow, I was convinced that trying to dress as a women there might help me transition.
Never did I choose to be submissive. I just chose against loneliness and settled. He was dominant, so I had to be submissive. As a boy, I didn’t feel like I had a choice.
My mother stayed at home, so my father had to work.
But it was time to stop. Patricia had to emerge. I did have a job and make quite a lot of money. It was time to take my life into my own hands.
I think Hugo, in a way, showed me the way. He seems to live at peace with his decisions.
I always stayed away from domination because I was afraid to turn into my mother, but my soon to be ex was dominant and yet, not really my mother.
It was time to find my own way. I had to learn to be dominant, and caring. I had to learn to hold my ground and find a way to express myself.
Perhaps Hugo would do. Perhaps it was time for me take him up to his offer.
He had perfectly accepted me. Perfectly seen who I was and who I wanted to be. It was time to thanks him for it.
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