Having to adapt to a radical shift in your existence, as if abruptly plucked out from the life you were leading and then unknowingly propelled years ahead into an unrecognizable scenario, is something for which no one wishes to keep the memories alive. This happened to me during the outbreak of the Covid-19 pandemic, when my then partner, whom I recognised as my lawful wedded husband, announced her gender transition. To put this at the forefront is crucial because it was, in many aspects, the catalyst for the onset of everything. It served as the impetus for leading a life closer to the truth and expressed authentically, a life where I felt liberated to present the real me; I could only presume that her experience was far more profound, although it’s purely speculation on my part.
The term ‘co-parent’ is what I’ve chosen to reference my ex-partner, as we’re blessed with a beautiful shared child and because no other terminology seems apt to classify the unique familial bond that we share. She remains a part of my family and I hold deep affection for her; however, she barely reminds me of the individual I wedded back in 2013. Our paths had crossed around when my father’s health had started deteriorating severely, bringing him closer to his final breath. The period was one of incessant uncertainty: I was on the verge of concluding my doctoral research in English Literature at UCC, and could sense an unsettling emotional detachment forming between myself and the reality. My consciousness was drifting away from my physical existence and the familiar realms of my educational pursuit which had begun, quite unfortunately, to imitate a confinement. Endeavours to persist in higher education continued as I went forward to attend screenings for post-doctoral positions and scholarships pertaining to bizarre subjects. There were times when I would wander aimlessly through Cork’s streets as I relished scones and shed tears, alternating between conducting lectures on American Gothic Literature, overseeing examinations, and making visits to my terminally sick father’s bedside. I flunked all the screenings disastrously due to insufficient preparedness and excessive nervousness as I was constantly haunted by the death of my father.
Having spent some time in the limbo between existence and oblivion, meeting D was almost refreshing. D could resonate with my predicaments, being racked by anxiety and relentlessly pursuing a doctorate – albeit in a different discipline. I had envisioned the two of us comfortingly ensconced within this limbo, gradually finding our way to normality. With time, this became our reality to some extent. D was the first person who made me comprehend that I was more than my emotional chaos. This epiphany, shared one evening in my minuscule flat by the River Lee, not long after the onset of our courtship, induced a fundamental shift in my perspective – a shift so profound that it incites a chill in me when I consider how my perception was bound to each fleeting moment of my cognitive journey prior to it. This revelation, a priceless gift from D, imparted to me the capability of dissociation and the recognition of this profound space.
I was acutely aware of the unsettling undercurrents in our relationship, and the seemingly impenetrable emotional barrier D had erected.
We welcomed our joyous firstborn into the world in 2017 and soon after purchased a home. We were steadily progressing along the structured career paths that we thought were prerequisite for a satisfactory life. But despite my boundless love for parenthood, there reigned an unshakeable emptiness in me, exacerbated by the excruciating experience of secondary infertility. It also dawned on me that I wasn’t ideally suited for longstanding secondary education, a profession I had inadvertently found myself in after moving to Kerry on account of D’s academic role. Despite my love for my students and for teaching English, the merciless grind of daily routine was suffocating, especially post-becoming a mother. I yearned for my literary creations to gain recognition beyond my little world, my burning desire remained to publish a poetry book.
Michael McGrath had aptly said once, “Nothing is ever as it seems. We’ve ended up with seven children, but we had loss along the way”
I spent a week in Centre Parcs in Longford, and standing amidst the wilderness, I can feel the funds in my bank depleting ever so subtly.
Paul Howard shared, “I never loved an animal as much as I loved Humphrey. For 13 and a half years, he was my constant companion.”
My journey as a poet began when I was just a young lad and has since then, evolved continuously. Aspiring to see my poetry compilation published was a lifelong dream that fortuitously came to fruition. Eat or We Both Starve, my first anthology, had the honour of being accepted by my most desired publisher, Carcanet Press, in 2021. This dream came to life a decade after I’d had my work printed in various publications. This incredible turn of events sparked a significant change inside me, which made usual tasks like commuting to school, teaching my students or simply sitting in the staff room feel painfully difficult.
Despite leading a rather pleasant life, I had an overwhelming sensation of unease, almost as if I was leading a life not meant for me. This guilt-ridden feeling of ingratitude was exacerbated by the opening of a seemingly imperceptible window that I felt compelled to squeeze through, regardless of the threatening shards of glass that remained.
Subsequently, the world was hit by the Covid pandemic, and my co-parent shared a profound secret. Her unusual behaviour and distant demeanour were indicators of her own silent struggle: feeling encaged in the wrong body whilst living the right life. This admission brought great relief but also raised a myriad of questions. Should she opt for transitioning or would minor tweaks in her life and look be enough?
Looking back, our discussions around this topic seem laughably absurd; essentially discussions on what degree of change I could handle and what she could bear. But it didn’t take long for us to realise that there is no room for compromise in such life-altering issues and coming to terms with her decision to transition into the woman she has always identified as, meant accepting the dissolution of our marriage.
Regardless of the pain it caused, the goodbye process had a unique and remarkable beauty. I’m referring to our farewell between two timid beings that were ready to liberally be their true selves. This required that they go their own ways. Amidst the heartrending hurt, I sought solace in my habitual refuge – writing. In fervent and concentrated spurts, I crafted the poems that eventually found their place in my second collection, egg/shell, expected to be published by Carcanet Press in 2024.
The poems in this anthology use symbols of eggs and swans to delve into the painful subjects of miscarriage and the ramifications of a partner’s gender transition. Intriguingly for a poet like me, I discovered that the term “egg”, in trans vernacular, refers to an individual who is yet to acknowledge their trans identity. Meanwhile, “an egg cracking” metaphorically illustrates the stunning realization of one’s trans identity.
One of the poems titled “Lessons in Neuroplasticity when Changing your Name to your Name”, recounts a significant event that occurred roughly six months prior to D revealing her trans identity to the world and me transitioning from using D’s original name to her chosen female identity, in an effort to mentally adapt. This, to me, was a monumental step in our journey as I had to continually remind myself of the reality of the situation – the man I was deeply in love with was no more. The exhaustion of redefining my perception of this person, now a woman, was nothing short of draining. Despite that, it was crucial for me and for her, that I manage this transition correctly. Over an extended period, this was an undertaking of utmost importance – letting go of my husband. Reflecting upon her struggle with the transition, I can’t even begin to fathom how physically and mentally draining it must have been for her, and continues to be.
My life was disintegrating, but out of this chaos, my poetry emerged and came to life. I composed these works not only for individuals who could relate to my condition, but for anyone who has experienced a heavy blow or disarray in their lives. Through this journey, I discovered that by acknowledging and embracing D for the woman she truly is, I began to truly accept and explore the parts of myself that I’d always concealed and feared. Most notably, I undertook an assessment for ADHD, which unsurprisingly confirmed the workings of my mind. In the process, I permitted myself to experience sadness and anger.
This situation is contrary to what I envisioned on my wedding day, standing next to the man I thought would be my lifelong partner. I am not alone in witnessing the unique disappointment that follows the break up of a marriage. People evolve, and as they do, we need to let go and allow ourselves to move beyond the realms of our comfort zones, beyond what we perceive as safe, acceptable, or known. I am deeply gratified I chose this path as it has graced my life with inexplicable beauty.
The circumstances suggest that my experiences could fold themselves into verses, into an anthology of poetry. So that’s the plan, I will continue to pen down my experiences, all the while hopping over life’s cracks as best as I can. I’ve learnt that if I stumble and fall into those cracks, it’s perfectly alright; I now hold the assurance of finding my way out eventually. There’s merit in sitting with your own solitude in the darkness, for when you finally step into the light, the warmth of the sun on your skin and soft grass beneath your feet brings an unparalleled feeling of safety and confirmation of life. The utter joy and relief of self-acceptance in your present state is akin to the liberating feeling post lockdown. You remember that feeling, right?
Victoria Kennefick’s collection of poetry named egg/shell is available via Carcanet Press.