Chapter 1: Understanding the Roots of Anxiety

Many LGBTQ+ writers might resonate with the feelings expressed in this story. Recently, I've been grappling with a sense of anxiety that felt overwhelming, and it took me a while to pinpoint its origin. This anxiety often made me feel inadequate or like a failure whenever I stumbled, no matter how minor the mistake.

Upon deeper reflection, I identified the source of my distress. I recognized my non-binary transgender identity early in the COVID-19 pandemic, during lockdown, which provided me the space to explore my true self. At that time, I was already in a relationship with my fiancé, who was my boyfriend back then. After a year of coming to terms with my identity, I shared this news with him, making it clear that he was free to leave if he wished. To my relief, he chose to stay and learn more about my journey, which I will always appreciate. He embraced my new pronouns, name, and style — everything associated with my transition.

Before delving deeper, I want to clarify my relationship with his family. While it wasn't particularly close, I felt a level of respect from them. I was welcomed into their home, and we engaged in pleasant conversations. However, my place in their lives was never solidified, especially since we began dating in high school. His mother often emphasized that I was not a "permanent" part of their family, which I accepted, knowing that time would eventually prove otherwise. It's also worth noting that she is a very devout Christian, which contributed to the complexities in our relationship.

As I mentioned, our dynamic shifted dramatically a year after my fiancé learned about my identity. I decided it was time to come out publicly, posting about it on Facebook, where his family was connected. In hindsight, I sometimes wish I had kept that part of my life private.

Following my post, chaos ensued. His mother confronted my fiancé, questioning him about my announcement, causing me to feel a heavy weight of guilt, which lingers even now. He was caught in the middle, unsure how to respond, and I advised him to tread carefully. At the time, we were still in high school, living under our parents' roofs, and it wasn’t the best situation to escalate tensions. She dismissed my identity as a mere "phase."

I didn’t truly lose my composure until she suggested that he should break up with me. That’s when my anger flared. I felt utterly discredited, as though my two-year relationship with her son meant nothing to her. The sleepless nights weighed heavily on me, so I resolved to confront her. Lacking a car and unwilling to involve my mother, I opted to walk to her house. While it was a short car ride away, the 25-minute walk in the sweltering summer heat was daunting.

Arriving at her door, I felt a mix of fear and anxiety, and I wasn't sure if my perspiration was from the heat or my nerves. She reluctantly let me in; my fiancé was at work, giving me the chance for a private conversation.

"I need to talk to you," I began, and our conversation unfolded in Spanish, which I will translate for clarity.

She motioned for me to sit in the living room, and I stated, "My identity is not a phase, and I love your son; I would never do anything to hurt him."

"I know you do," she replied, but then she followed up with, "You both are great friends."

My heart sank. I felt a wave of nausea, anger, and despair. Her words were dismissive, and I realized she was not acknowledging the depth of our relationship. As I looked into her eyes, I felt intimidated. She continued, "There’s no shame in finding someone else someday." Those words felt like a deep stab, and I reassured her that I had no intention of seeking someone else; her son was my only love.

She persisted, stating, "When we’re in relationships, we often think that person is the one we’ll be with forever, but you both will eventually find someone else." I felt my chest tighten but held my tongue. I thanked her for her time and left, but her words haunted me for weeks, exacerbating my anxiety.

The tension didn’t only stem from her; his older brother shared her narrow-mindedness. I reached out to him via text, but his responses mirrored their mother’s sentiments. His passive-aggressive tone fueled my frustration. He made claims that I’d eventually find the right person, as if my two-year relationship with my fiancé were inconsequential.

Before I continue, it’s important to clarify that both his mother and brother are not kind individuals. Their behavior has been hurtful, not just to me but to many others. His mother’s treatment of her son has always been harsh and judgmental, and his brother often perpetuates that negativity without self-reflection.

Weeks passed, and while the drama subsided for us, I knew it continued behind closed doors. I buried my feelings to cope. I was already overwhelmed with my identity struggles, and I didn’t want to add to my burdens by worrying about their opinions.

Visiting my fiancé’s home became a balancing act. His mother typically retreated to her room, and his brother lived elsewhere, so I felt somewhat safe. Yet, every time I heard his brother’s car arrive, my heart would race. I had to maintain a façade of normalcy, even though I despised his presence. His greetings were insincere, and I often felt invisible in that house.

As time passed, my fiancé’s mother began attending some religious classes, which I found unbearable. The instructor’s voice grated on my nerves, and I felt as if I were trapped in a cult-like environment. She held weekly online "masses," often mentioning her son and his "girlfriend," which further alienated me. It was as though she was attempting to erase my identity and present a facade of a traditional relationship.

This denial reached a peak during my 19th birthday, which I shared with her. I simply wanted to spend time with my fiancé, but she commandeered the day for her own celebration. When I broke down in tears afterward, I realized I could no longer respect her.

Despite the drama, we managed to maintain some semblance of normalcy until another confrontation arose. His mother sent a long message filled with insults directed at my fiancé. His response was understandably hurt, but he was no longer surprised by her behavior.

Eventually, tensions came to a head when she threatened to take possession of a car that we had both invested money into. In a moment of desperation, I confided in my father, who, despite our complicated relationship, stepped up to help us secure a new vehicle.

When my fiancé's mother learned about our new car, her attitude shifted. My fiancé gradually distanced himself from his family, cutting off contact. This decision was his own, free from any manipulation on my part.

This brings me to the root of my anxiety. It stems from years of accumulated trauma and rejection. I never sought any of this; I only wanted to embrace my true self. Though I continue to struggle with my mental health, I'm actively learning to heal and hope to do so successfully. If you’re experiencing similar challenges, know that my heart goes out to you.

Chapter 2: The Path to Healing

In the wake of these experiences, I've been reflecting on the importance of self-acceptance and the journey toward healing. It’s essential to surround oneself with supportive individuals who acknowledge and respect your identity.

Finding community, whether online or in person, can provide solace and a sense of belonging. Engaging with others who have faced similar struggles can foster understanding and pave the way for recovery.

As I continue on this journey, I remind myself that self-love is crucial. It’s a process, but with each step, I grow stronger and more resilient. I hope to inspire others to embrace their identities and advocate for their well-being.