A brilliantly written essay by my great friend, Chynna Angel Douglas.
It was posted on her Facebook page about a year ago and reprinted here with her permission.
She knows.
If your blood runs cold with these two words, you’ll know what I’m talking about.
Maybe it’s six words: Oh my God, she fucking knows.
But how? Through a series of changes we made in some hosting accounts and emails she received a hacked email alert.
But then fraud alerts kept happening and she finally said – out loud – “Someone named Chynna Angel Douglas hacked an email account. They’re a crossdresser and they uploaded a photo.”
She said. My name.
It came straight out of her mouth, over her lips and right into every fear and nightmare I’ve ever had. I played it off with disinterest and casually left the room to delete posts, pictures, everything until I realized the damage was done.
When I came back into the room I knew she knew that photo was me. But we both quietly went about our night – a sleepless night for both.
In the morning after the typical tumult at the start of the day and calm had settled in, she asked for a conversation and confirmed she knew. She saw the photos, the posts, the accounts, the YouTube vids. All of it.
I was prepared. My sleepless night was spent writing a three-page letter all about Chynna, my history of crossdressing since adolescence, my first full makeover, all the going out, the friends I’ve made and more. I had never told her because it all pre-dated our marriage. I didn’t want to be a crossdressing husband. Since I first met her all I’ve wanted to be more than anything was the best husband I could be.
I had resolved long ago not to tell her and as long as Chynna never lived again, it wouldn’t be something to hide. But digital Chynna had nowhere to run.
I had read about telling one’s wife and I knew it was important to be honest and reveal everything at once. The letter was a way to make sure I didn’t leave anything out. If you’re considering telling your own partner, I highly encourage writing a letter and reading it. Remember to apologize and, as in any situation, put your partner first and make sure you’re considering the pain this might cause.
My wife practiced her words for the conversation and she immediately put me at ease. She felt most badly that I didn’t feel like I could tell her. She was … ok with it. The biggest part of me felt like she would be. We both strongly believe in the Pursuit Of Happiness, which seems like it’s being forgotten more and more by some these last few years.
Anyway … she had immediate questions that demanded definitive answers:
Are you gay? No.
Are you bi? No.
Are you trans? No.
Have you ever worn my clothes? No.
And then one I really liked:
Do you like doing the cooking and laundry because it makes you feel ‘more like a girl’. No.
(I just like taking care of things that need done.)
After the conversation we fell into our regular rhythm and a few days later I followed up to see if she had any more questions. She did not and admitted she hadn’t thought about it as much as she thought she would and just wanted a heads up if I did want to go out again.
The door is open for Chynna again to get dolled up and go out on adventures. She even offered to do my make-up, which is very sweet, but would also be very weird. She doesn’t know this yet but maybe some shopping help someday. We’ll see.
So … for fifty years I’ve been keeping this secret. Turns out she’s been the real keeper all along.
Read about our recent outing here!
