August 31. My wife and I renewed our vows this year, 33 years to the day from our first wedding. I wore a beautiful, ridiculous wedding gown, and I looked fabulous. We had friends and family there, on a beautiful day on the waterfront in Seattle. I played my cello at the reception. I started my transition and playing cello at the same time, and that was not a coincidence.
I didn't cry, but there were definitely tears behind my eyes.
We bought my dress on a Friday afternoon months earlier. The only other person in the shop was there all by herself, because the best friend she would normally be shopping with was the woman she was going to marry. I found that touching - just like us, she was rejecting the strictures of the patriarchy while still participating in the traditional rituals, adapted in a way that made sense for her and her partner. Ditch the "love, honor, and obey" but still wear a really pretty dress.
*Waves from Central Washington*. It sounds absolutely lovely!
I took up the harp again when I (re)started my transition. It was so much a part of my mental image of me as a woman that I simply had to put my fingers to the strings again. I hope to be good enough to play for my wife when we renew our vows next year.
Not just for relationships that survived the transition (which are far fewer than those that don't). My marriage crumbled. Since then, I have started a new relationship with an adorable trans man and we are looking forward to our commitment ceremony on both sides of the equation. I cannot wait to see him in a tux, and I can't wait to wear a pretty dress. We've both had failed marriages. Now we get to commit in the way we were always meant to.
Well, we don't really know the ratio of those marriages that make it to those that don't. The best data we have, from the USTS, says that only 24% of trans folks reported that them coming out and transitioning ended a relationship itself.
After 24 years, my soon to be be ex-wife and I are in the process of divorcing.
We'll give you very different reasons for the divorce. In brief, I'll describe decades of civility without vulnerability and a lack of intimacy (not just physical).
She'll point to my transition.
Her rejection of my transition was a gift. There were reasons I stayed. No more.
My wife and I exchanged our vows in 2020. Which means a reception wasn't exactly possible. So we planned for our fifth anniversary to have a reception, steampunk themed, everything.
On our third anniversary, a few months after my egg shattered and only a week or so before I started HRT, my wife made a request of me.
A vow renewal.
This time as Tabitha and Shannon. "as it should have been" in her words.
The happy, happy tears that flowed as I gasped out "yes, yes, oh please yes" was amazing.
My Icelandic folklore professor, when I was doing my study abroad, pointed out that liminal spaces and beings have power. Cats are seen in Icelandic folklore as being liminal, of holding space between the physical and nonphysical realms. The shoreline is liminal, being between sea and land.
Transition, in many respects is liminal by it's very nature. Your journey towards becoming the authentic you is liminal, you're between one state and another. The more you change and celebrate the changes, the further you get away from who you were, and the closer you get to who you are.
And I think many of us are attracted to events and hobbies and crafts and professions that are transformative. Fiber arts. Metal work. Teaching. Taking one thing, one state, and changing it. And are drawn to that liminal space when fiber becomes thread, when the raw metal becomes the finished item, when ignorance becomes knowledge.
No, it's not unusual to mark that first dose of hormones, that first time going out in the right clothing, that first surgery, as a rite of passage. You see it with Jewish transfolk when they go though a second bar/bat mitzvah, to mark they are an adult male or female now. You see it with Christian transfolk who may have their pastor or minister celebrate their new place in the church. You see it with Pagan transfolk when they talk with their patron Deities, and take on their new role as a Priestess or Priest.
Because a rite of passage is part of that liminal state. It marks your journey from one state to another, from fiance to wedded. From the gender you were assigned to the gender you actually are
I know one emby that has the dates they started their transition, the dates they started HRT, the dates they got each of their surgeries, all tattooed on their arm. It's their way of marking each step of their journey.
And one to mark having the courage to resume my journey and transition for good this time. I may figure out how to work the date for my estroversary (love that term!!) into that design.
Growing up in a very traditionalist Roman Catholic environment, reading the Episcopal Church's "A Service of Renaming" really helped me recognize and start to move past the shame and guilt that prevented me from seeing myself for most of my life. The Renaming Rite doesn't just re-contextualize or expand the theology and tradition I grew up with; it recognizes that the territory of the sacred already includes trans identities. It emphasizes the importance of transition in one's life by including references to foundational aspects of the church's own identity, such as the Transfiguration of Christ or the naming of Israel. The rite is something that, to me, is truly affirming instead of merely being accepting.
I'm no longer a believer, but I grew up in the Episcopal church. That's where my wife and I were first married. It was, for the most part, rather stuffy in that understated Church of England way, but the message was always about the love of God, never the wrath of God.
There are still churches out there proclaim the gospel that all God's children are worthy of love for exactly who they are, and most Episcopal churches fit into that category.
August 31. My wife and I renewed our vows this year, 33 years to the day from our first wedding. I wore a beautiful, ridiculous wedding gown, and I looked fabulous. We had friends and family there, on a beautiful day on the waterfront in Seattle. I played my cello at the reception. I started my transition and playing cello at the same time, and that was not a coincidence.
I didn't cry, but there were definitely tears behind my eyes.
We bought my dress on a Friday afternoon months earlier. The only other person in the shop was there all by herself, because the best friend she would normally be shopping with was the woman she was going to marry. I found that touching - just like us, she was rejecting the strictures of the patriarchy while still participating in the traditional rituals, adapted in a way that made sense for her and her partner. Ditch the "love, honor, and obey" but still wear a really pretty dress.
Oh, Rachel, that's so beautiful!
*Waves from Central Washington*. It sounds absolutely lovely!
I took up the harp again when I (re)started my transition. It was so much a part of my mental image of me as a woman that I simply had to put my fingers to the strings again. I hope to be good enough to play for my wife when we renew our vows next year.
Not just for relationships that survived the transition (which are far fewer than those that don't). My marriage crumbled. Since then, I have started a new relationship with an adorable trans man and we are looking forward to our commitment ceremony on both sides of the equation. I cannot wait to see him in a tux, and I can't wait to wear a pretty dress. We've both had failed marriages. Now we get to commit in the way we were always meant to.
Well, we don't really know the ratio of those marriages that make it to those that don't. The best data we have, from the USTS, says that only 24% of trans folks reported that them coming out and transitioning ended a relationship itself.
That said, your story? Absolutely lovely.
After 24 years, my soon to be be ex-wife and I are in the process of divorcing.
We'll give you very different reasons for the divorce. In brief, I'll describe decades of civility without vulnerability and a lack of intimacy (not just physical).
She'll point to my transition.
Her rejection of my transition was a gift. There were reasons I stayed. No more.
My wife and I exchanged our vows in 2020. Which means a reception wasn't exactly possible. So we planned for our fifth anniversary to have a reception, steampunk themed, everything.
On our third anniversary, a few months after my egg shattered and only a week or so before I started HRT, my wife made a request of me.
A vow renewal.
This time as Tabitha and Shannon. "as it should have been" in her words.
The happy, happy tears that flowed as I gasped out "yes, yes, oh please yes" was amazing.
My Icelandic folklore professor, when I was doing my study abroad, pointed out that liminal spaces and beings have power. Cats are seen in Icelandic folklore as being liminal, of holding space between the physical and nonphysical realms. The shoreline is liminal, being between sea and land.
Transition, in many respects is liminal by it's very nature. Your journey towards becoming the authentic you is liminal, you're between one state and another. The more you change and celebrate the changes, the further you get away from who you were, and the closer you get to who you are.
And I think many of us are attracted to events and hobbies and crafts and professions that are transformative. Fiber arts. Metal work. Teaching. Taking one thing, one state, and changing it. And are drawn to that liminal space when fiber becomes thread, when the raw metal becomes the finished item, when ignorance becomes knowledge.
No, it's not unusual to mark that first dose of hormones, that first time going out in the right clothing, that first surgery, as a rite of passage. You see it with Jewish transfolk when they go though a second bar/bat mitzvah, to mark they are an adult male or female now. You see it with Christian transfolk who may have their pastor or minister celebrate their new place in the church. You see it with Pagan transfolk when they talk with their patron Deities, and take on their new role as a Priestess or Priest.
Because a rite of passage is part of that liminal state. It marks your journey from one state to another, from fiance to wedded. From the gender you were assigned to the gender you actually are
Oh, Shannon, that's so beautiful!
I know one emby that has the dates they started their transition, the dates they started HRT, the dates they got each of their surgeries, all tattooed on their arm. It's their way of marking each step of their journey.
I've got a planned tattoo:
On my seventh estroversary, I'm tattooing my signature and the date. Because an artist should sign her work when she's done.
Oh that's lovely!!!
I'm trying to plan three tattoos right one:
One to mark getting my B.S. in Geology
One when I get my M.S. in Geology
And one to mark having the courage to resume my journey and transition for good this time. I may figure out how to work the date for my estroversary (love that term!!) into that design.
Yay geology! 👋
<obvious pun> It does rock. :). </obvious pun>
Omg, feels.
As my marriage shatters, I remember how much I dreamed of a vow renewal, and for how many years.
Who knows what lies ahead. I hope maybe this happens again for me someday. As you write, it's the ritual, the announcing and strengthening of ties.
In the end, to m surprise, it was me who could not accept making myself small enough to fit into a future that involved continuing my marriage.
So many years and memories and ties left behind. I am raw with grief as it happens.
But the joy of this ritual As a trans person is entering into it as your whole, authentic self.
And I've spent so many years denying that person. I cannot do so any longer.
If this is to happen in the future for me, I cannot be with any masks or lies. I will not be bound in falsehood.
Oh, Ivy, I'm both sorry this is happening and so glad you're going to be free to be yourself.
Growing up in a very traditionalist Roman Catholic environment, reading the Episcopal Church's "A Service of Renaming" really helped me recognize and start to move past the shame and guilt that prevented me from seeing myself for most of my life. The Renaming Rite doesn't just re-contextualize or expand the theology and tradition I grew up with; it recognizes that the territory of the sacred already includes trans identities. It emphasizes the importance of transition in one's life by including references to foundational aspects of the church's own identity, such as the Transfiguration of Christ or the naming of Israel. The rite is something that, to me, is truly affirming instead of merely being accepting.
You can read it on page 120 here: https://www.episcopalchurch.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2021/01/lm_book_of_occasional_services_2018.pdf
I'm no longer a believer, but I grew up in the Episcopal church. That's where my wife and I were first married. It was, for the most part, rather stuffy in that understated Church of England way, but the message was always about the love of God, never the wrath of God.
There are still churches out there proclaim the gospel that all God's children are worthy of love for exactly who they are, and most Episcopal churches fit into that category.
Hehehehe. Have fun with it!