It’s about time to start getting ready for Midnight Mass, and of course I’ll be posing as “Steve.” I’ll be sitting there, looking at all the girls in their cute skirts and dresses, make-up and hair done up, and I’ll be schlepping along as the guy people think they know. If only…
I wish I could wear something cute to church, nothing overtly sexy, but definitely feminine. I wish I could be part of a family that could accept me for who I am, both religious and blood. There’s nothing but hatred for my kind from the family, and to many in my religion hates the LGBT crowd, unaware that we exist among them.
But I cannot deny neither family for belief. It’s also part of who I am. I have not acceptance as “Steve” or Stefani. I’m the perpetual outsider looking in.
If there’s one thing I want for Christmas, it’s to be who I am, without fear, without rejection. I want to stand before God as the woman I should have been, instead of the accidental man I was born. Instead, I’ll sit their through the Mass, grimace as I wish others a Merry Christmas, and know that I will not get my holiday’s desire.
But it could be worse. I’m thankful for the blessings I do have. I just have to remember that.