For now, I'm going to stick with a bit of my personal story. I'll start at the beginning and label each post "Kristelle's Story", that way you can catch up whenever you like.|
So my story begins in 1987, the year in which I was conceived. My mother was around 22 at the time, fresh off a failed marriage and in a steady relationship with my father who was 49. When my father was told that my mother was pregnant, he denied being the father. He had been told by a doctor he was sterile earlier in his life and had two childless marriages to back that argument up. This caused a lot of unneeded stress for my mother, who is already a relatively stressed person. My mother likes having her way and is very prudent, and uptight and very much into being prepared for any situation...but she wasn't ready for this one.
I was born March 10, 1988, in Newport News, Virginia, and given the name Christopher. And boy was my Mom very specific about that. Any person that tried to call me Chris was scolded and sternly told "It's not Chris...It's ChrisTOPHER!". And I do mean anybody. A blood test was done and I was proved to be my father's child. He then wanted to be a part of my life, but due to my mother's stubbornness and her definition of my best interests, he was eventually pushed out of my life instead. By November of 1989, she had met and married my sister's father and had my sister.
After my sister was born, her father and my mother confronted my father, asking him to sign away his legal rights as a parent. This is something he eventually agreed to, and it was followed by my sister's Dad adopting me as his own and being assigned his last name. This information was kept and hidden from me and my sister for a long time, a choice that would later rip our family dynamic to pieces.
My earliest memories of life involve my trans identity making itself present. The first of which happened sometime after I had been potty trained. I woke up in the middle of the night and went to the bathroom by myself(hence how I know I was potty trained). After doing my business and washing my hands, my attention turned to an interesting contraption on the floor. I didn't know exactly what it was but based on its shape...I knew where it was supposed to go. It was my mom's bra of course. After struggling with it for awhile I finally got it on. I admired it and liked it. I couldn't wait to grow up and "be like Mommy". Just then she came in saw what I was doing and spanked me for it. I remember being really confused as to why she did it. And I suspect that moment gave weight to the reason I avoided coming out for a very long time.
The second memory I have that involves my trans identity is harder to place. It may have happened before or after the previous one, I'm not certain...but I feel they were close together. Anywho, I wake up one morning and I felt much more self-aware than normal. I started checking my body out. It wasn't until I reached my groin that I started to panic. "What is this thing?! Why is it there?! Mommy will have the answer!" So I run downstairs nearly in tears and find my Mom in the kitchen, sitting by the counter on the phone. She sees me standing there and she says "Christopher what's wrong?" I replied by swiftly pulling down my pajamas, pointing at my junk and saying "Mommy what's this?"
Her face was unforgettable. Just sheer shock and disbelief at what her kid just asked and how they asked it. She told the person on the phone she would call them back and then proceeded to explain the situation as best she could to a child my age without going overboard. I understood but was not happy about it. I wailed like a banshee for the rest of the day.
The rest of my life before age seven is pretty much a blur. With the only definitive thing that I can say is that my mother was very strict and very protective over me and my sister, while at the same time distant and ignorant of us as individuals. This has always been true of my mother which created a disconnect between her expectations and reality, She saw herself as a good parent because she did her best to provide what she could for her children... Which is true. We rarely went hungry, we were clothed fine, and we never really worried about her bills not getting paid. So she did do something for her children. But she never let us just be kids, she was to protective for that.
And it only got worse as time went on.
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