Matching pajama pants
On going home for the holidays
It’s 9:00 pm on Sunday, and I should’ve started writing hours ago, but I’m starting late because I started everything late today. But if I’m being completely honest with you, I don’t mind too much that I’m starting so late—if only because this is the coziest I’ve felt in ages.
Let me set the scene for you: I’m sitting on our tired gray couch, the room lit only by our little Christmas tree. I’m sipping on some red wine, chosen by Zoe to go with a gingerbread loaf we devoured over the past twenty-four hours, in a jam jar we’ve repurposed into our standard glassware. On one side of me, Marmalade is asleep, snoring lightly; on the other side, my quilt is waiting for me to return to the pleasurable task of sewing. Zoe is in the dining room doing some schoolwork, and we’re listening to boygenius—both as a band and as each member individually. I’m kept warm by one of Zoe’s sweatshirts and the pajama pants my Mom bought for the entire family to match (yes, we’re one of those families).
Zoe and I decorated for Christmas yesterday. A poinsettia garland is strung over our fireplace, with stocking hung on either side. Last year’s Christmas cards are on the mantle. Our tree has a few new ornaments: a new bird for Zoe, the rat king from The Nutcracker for me, and some crocheted ornaments we got from my little sister in a white elephant gift exchange. Then, we watched National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation while enjoying the aforementioned gingerbread loaf and wine. The perfect quiet night in to follow our morning travel back home from my parents’ place.
I was nervous to visit my family for Thanksgiving. Difficult to admit, but true.
When I was in college, I cried at the end of every trip home because I didn’t want to leave my family. Part of me never wanted to leave; I wanted to stay with my parents—stay a child—forever.
A couple days after returning to school, though, another feeling crept in: relief.
It felt like I was living two different lives. (Some people in my life would probably say I was, though I feel that’s unfair.) After the sexual assault and its aftermath, I found myself increasingly distant from my family. I was ashamed of what had happened to me and hurt by some of my family’s reactions. The holidays aren’t a time for discussing sexual violence, so going home then, I could pretend nothing had happened. It was an incredible relief but a temporary one.
I felt a Cleaving in my Mind— As if my Brain had split— I tried to match it—Seam by Seam— But could not make it fit. The thought behind, I strove to join Unto the thought before— But Sequence ravelled out of Sound Like Balls—upon a Floor. —Emily Dickinson
That feeling of dissonance heightened after I came out and began transitioning at school. At home, I had come out as bisexual years ago—something we never discussed again.
When I did come out to my family, reactions were… mixed.
At that point, I had been socially transitioning for a couple of years. But to my family, my coming out was sudden, unexpected. Not all of them took it well (some took it terribly). And the relief of joining my two selves—myself at home and myself at school—came at the cost of revealing the cleaving to my family.
So, my relationships with each member of my family are more complicated than ever, and each is complicated in a slightly (or more than slightly) different way.
The most challenging relationships now have me dreading going home, anxious about how they will treat me and Zoe, about how we should treat them, about how everyone else will perceive our interactions. This is, of course, on top of all the other anxieties that come with visiting my parents, who live Kentucky: transphobic strangers, difficulty finding safe bathrooms to use, becoming acquainted with the new developments in my Dad’s disease progression.
Last year, my dread was protective. Some people treated us poorly, and my response—to retreat from any interactions—was read as rude by people who didn’t notice the way we were treated (or perhaps didn’t care).
But this year, my dread ended up feeling silly. To my surprise and elation, everything went more or less smoothly.
Slowly but surely, relationships are finding new shapes, adapting to accommodate me, my partner, and our queerness. We will never be able to go back to the way things were before I came out, for better or worse. Mostly better! I am, right now, the happiest I have ever been in my life. I feel like my Dad and I have never known each other better. I met my niece, H—my older sister and her husband’s daughter—who is an absolute sweetheart. My brother and his wife are my favorite couple to hang out with (sorry, Mom and Dad), and every time Zoe and I can get together with them, we have a great time. And, of course, I have our marriage and our dog and our little apartment—true blessings in my life.
But part of me will always long for the easy familiarity I had with my sisters and Mom before I came out. I don’t think that familiarity will ever return, and I don’t know what will take its place. I hope whatever it is, it’s better than before. After all, it will be truer. Only time will tell.
Regardless of what may come, what has passed—Thanksgiving with my family—was great. Lots of board games, lots of toddling around the house with H, lots of food, lots of conversation.
And the matching pajama pants. When I stepped out of the bathroom after changing for our family photo, I felt such joy looking around at everyone in their matching clothes. After a year and a half of distance—both physically and emotionally—I felt that familiar urge to stay at home. I was warm and cozy, surrounded by people I love. And I felt like one of them, like there was nothing “different” about me.
I also feel warm and cozy, surrounded by people I love—well, by person and dog I love—here in our apartment. We’ll be staying here for Christmas, sharing traditions from our families with each other and hopefully making some new ones, too.
I didn’t cry before flying back to New York because my home is here, even if my parents’ home isn’t. And I’m the same Emory in both homes.
Zoe and I went to see It’s a Wonderful Life at the historic theatre near our house. It was my first time seeing the movie, which was lovely. (And unexpectedly anti-capitalist! Explains why Zoe loves it so much.) I got to have popcorn at the movie, a rare treat in our corn-less household.
For the family white elephant, I got a (sustainably sourced) rabbit’s foot. Hopefully, it’ll bring me some luck at work, which has been stressful lately.
I finished my second morning pages notebook today, so I got to set up my third journal this afternoon—writing down the basic principles of The Artist’s Way as well as my affirmations and prayers. Mostly, I’m sharing a photo just to show off my stickers (peep the quilt block sticker from
!):
