Either my father was going to accept that I was transgender, or I would no longer have a father

I shoved the letter into the rusty white mailbox and slammed it shut, my heart echoing in my ears. I went back inside the house, rounded up my two teenagers and took them out to a lunchtime meal consisting almost entirely of french fries.

When we came back home, the mailbox was empty.

I had done the thing I was sure I wasn’t ever going to be able to do, and no matter the result, my world was going to change.

Either my father was going to accept that I was transgender, or I would no longer have a father.

Consistency, persistence, clarity, and self-compassion

I’ve been a writer my entire life, but I’ve never been much of a journaler. I’ve heard the advice over and over again, in every writing class I’ve taken and in every book on writing or self-help I’ve read. Sure, I’ve written any number of journal entries here and there, usually when the cacophony of stresses and anxieties in my head made it difficult to think, but never had I kept a journal with any sort of consistency.

Until one hundred days ago, when something finally clicked. I’ll admit that when I started this journaling journey, I kind of accidentally…

My journey from ‘crisis’ to ‘wonderfully normal’ as a trans woman

In a moment of confusion and despair, a storm that had been brewing in my head for more than four decades finally blew itself into a calamitous hurricane. A long-simmering question of identity blossomed into a full-on crisis.

Five years ago, surrounded by four-thousand of my closest friends, I started down the path of finally recognizing myself as transgender.

Every year, my family and I attend Arisia, a science-fiction/fantasy/fandom convention held in Boston over the weekend preceding Martin Luther King Day. Arisia strives for diversity, both in terms of the content of the convention and in terms of its audience…

Can we just let women direct all of these superhero movies, this neverending deluge of superhero movies, forevermore? And let them write and produce them? Birds of Prey and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn (I honestly still can’t believe that’s the actual title) was so different — in both tone and intent — from what it would have been had it been handled by virtually any male director and/or screenwriter. …

How the ending of The Good Place helped me deal with the loss of my father.

My father passed away two months ago. His death was neither sudden nor tragic — he’d been sick for some time, in and out of the hospital for the last couple of years. At the end, he’d been in for a month and spent his last week or so in a nautical-themed hospice suite, though I doubt he even noticed.

When his time to go arrived, he went peacefully; on his final morning, he just slid away in his sleep, surrounded by the quiet conversation of his wife of almost thirty years, his best friend of more than forty, and…

One solution to wrestling with the eternal struggle of “Where did I stick that draft of my novel/blog post/poem?”

When I tell you that I have issues deciding where to write, I don’t mean the actual physical location where my body sits/reclines/slumps as I write. I’m almost always sitting right here at the desk in my home office where I spend hours and hours every day. Sometimes I write in my jammies in bed with a lap desk across my lap, glass of chardonnay close at-hand and dog on my feet.

No, the question with which I tend to struggle mightily and almost constantly isn’t where I reside during the writing process, but rather where my words reside.


Allison Holt

I write words and I write code, and I’m frequently surprised at how similar those processes are. Email: medium@alli.fyi.

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