I was 31 when that time came. It was spring 2020, and I had made the decision to get top surgery
and tell my parents. By then, it had been 15 years since I had “dropped the last bomb,” as my mami likes to say, yet part of me felt like it was still too much for them to handle and too soon. Again, I was twisted and warped with the guilt of choosing myself instead of the unit. I was embarrassed and uncomfortable. When the FaceTime tone beeped, I felt like the world was about to swallow me whole. But then I saw my parents’ faces, and the words just bursted out of me. My glorious sister, who is without a doubt my most valiant champion and steadfast companion, helped facilitate the rest of the call as my parents tried to process what they were hearing. I can barely remember the conversation, but I do know, in a beautiful turn of events, my dad, a loyal and trustworthy ally
, was completely on board. My mom wasn’t elated, but she didn’t put up a fight. She asked somewhat prying questions and didn’t exactly mask her disappointment, but she wasn’t angry. Thinking back on the conversation, the response wasn’t perfect, but there were some serious wins considering what we’ve been through.