In my family, I am the middle child and the only girl between two polar opposite men. My older brother, Johnny, is a typical family man, boy-dad, American dream-chasing type. While my younger brother, Jack, prefers to live on what is considered the fringe of society in queer, platonic-focused spaces.
Johnny loves old trucks and bombfires. Jack loves homemade decor and musical theater. Johnny wears rugged blue jeans and black graphic t-shirts. Jack prefers gentlemanly button-ups and slacks. On the surface, the two appear to live in different universes.
Despite the outward differences, my brothers have a quiet, yet ever-present bond. Both are soft-spoken and deceptively funny. Both love comedies and classic rock. Both take care of our alcoholic mother in such loving selflessness that I could only wish to share. All three of us love cats and are prone to panic attacks.
My oldest brother is kind and intelligent, but limited in his perspective. He is the only one of us who did not attend college. He chose to work on the same farm as our father, earning a decent wage and creating a loving and stable home for his wife and children. Because of his limited experience, he struggled to understand what being Trans even meant.
When Jamie became Jack, Johnny couldn’t empathize. He deadnamed and raised an eyebrow when others seemed in full support. It wasn’t out of hatred, but out of ignorance.
Luckily, ignorance is an easy fix. All it takes is a listening ear and a desire to love.
I was honored to be the first one in our family that Jack came out to. I was so happy that he could finally get a better understanding of himself. I promised not to out him to our other family members.
Two years went by, and I became anxious about keeping such a huge secret from my family, especially because I knew that, like me, most of my family members just wanted Jack to be happy.
But coming out is a personal journey, and it wasn’t my place to overstep. Sometimes I would question and push him to do so. I regret that now.
My father and Johnny were the last to know. Even my grandmother (a fierce and feminist ally!) knew just a few months after me.
My father admitted he felt sorry that Jack hadn’t been comfortable to show his true self to his own father. But in Jack’s defense, our father is a conservative-leaning farmer from a small town. It was such a big conversation that Jack wasn’t sure how to even approach someone who had zero knowledge of the LGBT community.
Step by step, my father learned to be more tolerant, but Johnny remained indignant. He asked hurtful and ignorant questions. Questions like: “Why does Jack feel like he needs to transition when he could just wear pants and have short hair?”
Johnny thought the change was too extreme, too far away from what he perceived to be normal.
Jack didn’t regret coming out. But it took a toll on his mental health to have to constantly defend himself and his choice to go on testosterone.
As I mentioned, all three of us suffer from frequent panic attacks. Testosterone took a toll on Jack’s body during the first year. Twice, my father took Jack to the hospital because of a panic attack after a dose.
Because of this, Johnny and my father saw the testosterone shots as a dangerous thing. They gossiped with each other about how ridiculous Jack was being for putting himself in danger.
They confirmed each other's biases in their conservative bubble.
Testosterone shots did end up being wrong for Jack, but not in the negative, transphobic way the other men in my family thought. After a year, Jack switched to a testosterone cream with a smaller dosage. This worked well with his body and he’s been able to slowly transition comfortably ever since.
After switching to testosterone cream, Jack’s confidence blossomed. Even Johnny and my father took notice.
When I went home for Christmas two years ago, I visited Johnny’s house so I could spend some quality time with my newborn nephew.
Johnny confided in me that he still didn’t understand why Jack wanted to be a man. The first thing I noticed was he no longer deadnamed and even switched up his pronouns every now and then.
I told Johnny my opinion on the matter. It was Jack’s choice. As long as he’s happy, we should be, too. Johnny agreed, but couldn’t shake his feelings completely.
Two years later, I went back to New York again to take my elopement photoshoot. In the summer of 2024, we drove to Watkins Glen for the photos. Me, my fiancé, and Jack rode together and Johnny and his family took their own vehicle.
The first thing Johnny said to Jack when we reached the gorge was, “Dang, looking snazzy!” He tugged on Jack’s vest and smiled.
We were never a very emotional, tight-knit family. Trauma and shame separated us for a long time. Small acts of kindness are how we measure our love for each other. And in that moment, I felt real love between my brothers.
It has been a long process. But Johnny has developed a stronger sense of empathy, as Jack has gained a stronger sense of self.
Change can be hard, but when you love someone, you’re willing to look within yourself and realize you might just be wrong. I adore my brothers. I am one lucky middle child.
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