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Trans Remembrance Day and PTSD
Nov. 19th, 2017 08:06 amTomorrow, November 20, has been designated as Trans Day of Remembrance. My partner, a trans woman, plans to attend the rally at the Women's Monument. I, a cis woman, will be at home, grappling with remembrances of my own - memories of the violent man she used to be. How ironic is that?
It's well-known that transgendered people are frequently the targets of bullying, harassment, violence and abuse, whether of a physical, mental or emotional nature. Much of the violence and abuse may be at the hands of their spouses or intimate partners. But it's not quite so widely recognized that these people may also be the perpetrators of the violence. Frankly I believe that the emotional turmoil evoked in me by such events is definitely a form of post-traumatic stress, a form that even in this day and age remains largely in the closet.
On the day of the Montreal Massacre, December 6 1989, my partner was still living as a man. He (I'll use the male pronoun to refer to this person pre-transition, which occurred in the early 1990s) expressed the view that Marc Lepine's horrendous crime was simply the work of a madman. I suspect she'd deny now that she ever said this, but I've been blessed (or possibly cursed) with an excellent memory, at least for things that happened nearly thirty years ago! It was, I've no doubt, a way of distancing "themself" from the act, a way of saying "I'm nothing like that monster!"
Also at that time, I had returned to Carleton to earn a second Masters degree, this one in Public Administration. As fate would have it, I was in some of the same classes as Colin Macgregor, the man who murdered his partner, Patricia Allen, with a crossbow (Patricia Allen is one of the women memorialized at the Women's Monument).
A year or two later, while I was at an evening class at Carleton, I came home to an enraged man and our traumatized daughter and pussycat - the latter, ironically, was cowering down on HIS side of the bed! Our daughter informed me of what had transpired in my absence.
He had discovered that the cat had peed on his resumes and in a fit of rage, had thrust the poor little thing into her carrier, loaded carrier and daughter into the car and driven to the animal shelter, intent on bringing the cat to meet her maker. Thank goodness he had a change of heart before doing the dastardly deed, though I don't know how that came about. To this day, she insists that s/he came nowhere close to having the cat put down but frankly, it was two against one (even though one of those two couldn't speak English) and I found the evidence of the two considerably more persuasive than that of the one!
The cat in question died on November 6, 1997. Almost exactly two years later, on November 7, 1999, my father died. Perhaps you can understand why November is always a rather difficult month for me. Anyway, that ushered in a decade of personal loss - my brother in August 2004, followed by my mother in April of 2006.
The last of the most egregious acts of abuse on the part of my partner occurred in June of 1996. My brother and one of my nephews with his (musical) band were both living in England at the time and I thought it would be a good time to go over for a visit. Our daughter was a teenager by then and I knew that quite soon, she would be striking out on her own and likely not wanting (or being available) to travel about with her mother. So I took her along and we did visit my brother, my nephew, and one of my aunts who, as fate would have it, died very recently - about three weeks ago. My brother had just celebrated his 50th birthday. The next time I went back there, I had just celebrated my own 50th and it was in order to bury (actually cremate) him at the much too young age of 58.
But let me tell you about my partner's behaviour during that trip. Everything was fine for the first few days. But one evening, when we had just returned to our hotel room after attending an outdoor Shakespeare play, the telephone rang. My partner demanded to know if we had visited my brother yet and when we were coming home. She then demanded I put our daughter on the line and apparently asked her which parent she would opt to live with if we separated. To the best of my recollection, she replied "I have no idea," which was probably the best thing she could possibly have said, though I'm not sure if it reflected her true feelings or not. Several months later, she confided in me that what she really wanted from "Santa" that year was for me to arrange a trip to B.C. the following summer. She was well aware of her dad's volatility and wanted me to start working on her well in advance!
To make a long story short, she and I did get to B.C. in the summer of 1997, my nephew and the rest of the band having by then moved into a shared house in suburban Vancouver. My partner didn't pester us there at all, although I must say it was a constant fear. Nor did she abuse the cat, although the cat was by then in failing health and died a couple of months after we got back. Ironically we went on to adopt another cat whom, we think, had been somewhat abused in her then-home. My partner was quite attached to that one and let her get away with things she would never have tolerated from our previous cat. The cat lived to a reasonable age but eventually developed end-state liver disease and had to be humanely put down.
It was primarily at my instigation that we adopted our current cat in 2013, and she has brought a lot of joy and excitement into our lives. But this has been a rough year too for losses. When my partner's mother died in April 2015 (the same month as my own mother died 9 years before that), we adopted her then 13-year-old cats. We lost the first of them over the Easter weekend this year (blood clot - he had always had a dodgy heart) and the other one from cancer in mid-September. Although our current cat was an "only cat" for nearly two years, she seems to be feeling the loss of her companions rather keenly.
Unfortunately I'm not really emotionally ready at this stage to adopt a new companion for her, and of course there's still the worry (although it's fading) that my partner's violent side will once again rear its ugly head. So we shall see.
But I set out to deal with trans remembrance, domestic violence and post-traumatic stress. My partner seems pretty opposed to the whole idea of bringing up stuff from the past or airing the dirty linen in public. And certainly I would hesitate to talk about this stuff with our daughter (or grandchildren once they are old enough to understand and deal with such things). Both my partner and I are keen to be involved in our grandchildren's lives and perhaps surprisingly, I think my partner is a wonderful grandmother. And our daughter and son-in-law are excellent parents.
Surprising really. We weren't really the greatest role models for healthy relationships and positive parenting.
Anyway. War vets - those who were lucky enough to return, though sometimes as mere shadows of their former selves - often don't want to talk about what went on. What happened at the front stays at the front? But now that all is fairly quiet on the domestic front, I do think it's important, if only for the sake of my own sanity, to talk. To speak out in the appropriate forum and in such a way as not to jeopardize our other relationships, particularly with younger generations.
Isn't that what Remembrance Day ceremonies and "Lest we forget" are all about?
It's well-known that transgendered people are frequently the targets of bullying, harassment, violence and abuse, whether of a physical, mental or emotional nature. Much of the violence and abuse may be at the hands of their spouses or intimate partners. But it's not quite so widely recognized that these people may also be the perpetrators of the violence. Frankly I believe that the emotional turmoil evoked in me by such events is definitely a form of post-traumatic stress, a form that even in this day and age remains largely in the closet.
On the day of the Montreal Massacre, December 6 1989, my partner was still living as a man. He (I'll use the male pronoun to refer to this person pre-transition, which occurred in the early 1990s) expressed the view that Marc Lepine's horrendous crime was simply the work of a madman. I suspect she'd deny now that she ever said this, but I've been blessed (or possibly cursed) with an excellent memory, at least for things that happened nearly thirty years ago! It was, I've no doubt, a way of distancing "themself" from the act, a way of saying "I'm nothing like that monster!"
Also at that time, I had returned to Carleton to earn a second Masters degree, this one in Public Administration. As fate would have it, I was in some of the same classes as Colin Macgregor, the man who murdered his partner, Patricia Allen, with a crossbow (Patricia Allen is one of the women memorialized at the Women's Monument).
A year or two later, while I was at an evening class at Carleton, I came home to an enraged man and our traumatized daughter and pussycat - the latter, ironically, was cowering down on HIS side of the bed! Our daughter informed me of what had transpired in my absence.
He had discovered that the cat had peed on his resumes and in a fit of rage, had thrust the poor little thing into her carrier, loaded carrier and daughter into the car and driven to the animal shelter, intent on bringing the cat to meet her maker. Thank goodness he had a change of heart before doing the dastardly deed, though I don't know how that came about. To this day, she insists that s/he came nowhere close to having the cat put down but frankly, it was two against one (even though one of those two couldn't speak English) and I found the evidence of the two considerably more persuasive than that of the one!
The cat in question died on November 6, 1997. Almost exactly two years later, on November 7, 1999, my father died. Perhaps you can understand why November is always a rather difficult month for me. Anyway, that ushered in a decade of personal loss - my brother in August 2004, followed by my mother in April of 2006.
The last of the most egregious acts of abuse on the part of my partner occurred in June of 1996. My brother and one of my nephews with his (musical) band were both living in England at the time and I thought it would be a good time to go over for a visit. Our daughter was a teenager by then and I knew that quite soon, she would be striking out on her own and likely not wanting (or being available) to travel about with her mother. So I took her along and we did visit my brother, my nephew, and one of my aunts who, as fate would have it, died very recently - about three weeks ago. My brother had just celebrated his 50th birthday. The next time I went back there, I had just celebrated my own 50th and it was in order to bury (actually cremate) him at the much too young age of 58.
But let me tell you about my partner's behaviour during that trip. Everything was fine for the first few days. But one evening, when we had just returned to our hotel room after attending an outdoor Shakespeare play, the telephone rang. My partner demanded to know if we had visited my brother yet and when we were coming home. She then demanded I put our daughter on the line and apparently asked her which parent she would opt to live with if we separated. To the best of my recollection, she replied "I have no idea," which was probably the best thing she could possibly have said, though I'm not sure if it reflected her true feelings or not. Several months later, she confided in me that what she really wanted from "Santa" that year was for me to arrange a trip to B.C. the following summer. She was well aware of her dad's volatility and wanted me to start working on her well in advance!
To make a long story short, she and I did get to B.C. in the summer of 1997, my nephew and the rest of the band having by then moved into a shared house in suburban Vancouver. My partner didn't pester us there at all, although I must say it was a constant fear. Nor did she abuse the cat, although the cat was by then in failing health and died a couple of months after we got back. Ironically we went on to adopt another cat whom, we think, had been somewhat abused in her then-home. My partner was quite attached to that one and let her get away with things she would never have tolerated from our previous cat. The cat lived to a reasonable age but eventually developed end-state liver disease and had to be humanely put down.
It was primarily at my instigation that we adopted our current cat in 2013, and she has brought a lot of joy and excitement into our lives. But this has been a rough year too for losses. When my partner's mother died in April 2015 (the same month as my own mother died 9 years before that), we adopted her then 13-year-old cats. We lost the first of them over the Easter weekend this year (blood clot - he had always had a dodgy heart) and the other one from cancer in mid-September. Although our current cat was an "only cat" for nearly two years, she seems to be feeling the loss of her companions rather keenly.
Unfortunately I'm not really emotionally ready at this stage to adopt a new companion for her, and of course there's still the worry (although it's fading) that my partner's violent side will once again rear its ugly head. So we shall see.
But I set out to deal with trans remembrance, domestic violence and post-traumatic stress. My partner seems pretty opposed to the whole idea of bringing up stuff from the past or airing the dirty linen in public. And certainly I would hesitate to talk about this stuff with our daughter (or grandchildren once they are old enough to understand and deal with such things). Both my partner and I are keen to be involved in our grandchildren's lives and perhaps surprisingly, I think my partner is a wonderful grandmother. And our daughter and son-in-law are excellent parents.
Surprising really. We weren't really the greatest role models for healthy relationships and positive parenting.
Anyway. War vets - those who were lucky enough to return, though sometimes as mere shadows of their former selves - often don't want to talk about what went on. What happened at the front stays at the front? But now that all is fairly quiet on the domestic front, I do think it's important, if only for the sake of my own sanity, to talk. To speak out in the appropriate forum and in such a way as not to jeopardize our other relationships, particularly with younger generations.
Isn't that what Remembrance Day ceremonies and "Lest we forget" are all about?
