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Guided onto the Path of Peace, Love and Joy

Submitted by: Nicole Garcia

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I was born on December 12, 1959, the oldest son in a Hispanic, Roman Catholic family. On December 12, 1532, the Virgin of Guadalupe appeared to an Indian peasant, Juan Diego, and told him to take roses to the Bishop of Mexico. As Juan Diego opened his blanket, the roses fell to the floor and the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe appeared on the blanket. I was a Guadalupano.

The church and the Virgin of Guadalupe were important parts of my life during my formative years. I grew up a good Roman Catholic boy. I played guitar in the church choir. While in college, I served on the church council. To the world, I was a quiet, studious young man. On the inside, I constantly battled depression. I tried too hard to be the person I was supposed to be, but I never felt like I fit in anywhere. I spent hours, weeks, and years praying to God to make me fit in. I didn’t like the things the other guys liked. I wasn’t good at, nor understood, sports. I felt uncomfortable spending time doing “guy things.” I had to watch what they did and mimic their behavior so I could fit in.

I met Gwyn while I was in college. She said she liked me because I was gentle and sensitive. She was my first “girlfriend.” She was very independent and open-minded. She introduced me to the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Ifyou are not familiar with the movie, the main character is a man who wears make-up and women’s lingerie. In 1981, this cult classic played every Saturday night at midnight. People would dress up like the characters and act along with the movie. I saw Rocky Horror at least 30 times in two years. I had never heard the term “transvestite” before. I had never thought anyone else, much less in a movie, liked to do what I did.

When I told Gwyn I liked wearing women’s clothes, she was not surprised. She would actually let me “dress up” for her. I graduated college and started graduate school while Gwyn and I were together. We broke up during my first semester of grad school. I missed her terribly as a close friend and confidant. I thought I would never find anyone whom I felt safe sharing my secret. I didn’t finish the second semester. I pretty much checked out of life. I moved out of my parents’ house and lived in a house with a bunch of friends. I was a lost child in Boulder. I must say, Boulder was a wild playground in the ‘80s. I supported myself by working in retail sales. At one time or another, I sold men’s  clothing, jewelry, women’s perfume, and cars. By November of1989, I was living with my cousin in the back room of her trailer. I worked as a sales associate for a large discount retailer. I was going nowhere fast.

One morning, after spending the night heaving my guts out, I found myself in a detox center. Something had gone terribly wrong in my life. It was only then I realized I had lost all direction, faith and hope. I started attending Alcoholics Anonymous. I grudgingly allowed God back into my life. I felt it was God’s fault that I ended up at the bottom. If God had taken away those horrid feelings, I would have been all right, but I was willing to let God have another go at it. During the following years, I worked hard. I was promoted a few times and became an assistant store manager. I was able to afford my own place. I was praying again, but I hadn’t found a church to attend on a regular basis. I was “buying and purging” on a regular basis. I would get the courage to buy a few pieces of women’s clothing to wear around the house. Later I would feel terrible about having these feelings and throw away all the women’s garments. I did my best to repress those so-called “shameful”feelings.

I met Regina in 1993. Regina was every man’s dream. My family adored her. We were married on October 1,1994. We had a big wedding in a Roman Catholic Church. I was finally the “man” I was supposed to be. Just to make sure I was the “man,” I dove into a new career, law enforcement. It was perfect. I didn’t have to think about what I was supposed to wear. I was trained to be commanding. I finally learned to be macho. By my 41st birthday, I was exactly where I was supposed to be. The American dream was in hand. I was married to a wonderful woman. We lived in a large house near downtown Denver. There were two new cars in the garage. We both had successful careers that provided a comfortable life. I went to church with her because I was supposed to, but mostly because I looked forward to breakfast afterwards.

After eight years of marriage, things weren’t working. We wanted to have kids, but she didn’t get pregnant. It was my fault. A couple has to sleep together to have kids. I always managed not to be around. I usually worked second shift. I took on extra duty. I always made the excuse of wanting to make extra money to fix up the house or pay bills. I couldn’t tell her it was awkward sleeping with my best friend. That’s how I thought of her. She was elegant. She dressed with style and taste. I wanted to be just like her. That was wrong. I had to work harder. I had to keep those feelings repressed. Vodka helped the repression. I began to resent her. I blamed her because I was unhappy. She readily agreed to a divorce.

I bought a little house in the suburbs and looked ahead to an uncertain future. Alcohol and guns do not make a good mix. A few weeks after I moved into my new little house, I sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of vodka and a pistol. Half the bottle was already in me. How could I end up here? I had had it all! Why would I walk away from a perfect life? What was wrong with me? The only reason I didn’t end my life that day was the death of a fellow officer. He had committed suicide a week before. At his funeral, I saw the look of hurt and dismay in the faces of his family and friends. I could not cause the same harm to my family. I cried out to God, “I have prayed for you to make me what I am supposed to be!” I realized I kept praying for what I wanted. I gave up and gave in. “Do what you will with me, Lord, but I can’t do it alone. I need your help.”

Within a day or so, my employer sent out a message about confidential mental health treatment. Stress, anger, and depression were my companions. I made the call. After two sessions, my therapist recommended long-term therapy. Ouch, that hurt. I went to a therapist for long-term treatment. She helped me come to terms with the fact that I may be a “cross-dresser.” She recommended a support group, the Gender Identity Center of Colorado (GIC). I went to the GIC and found other people who had the same feelings. I still felt like a freak, but at least I had a support group. In February 2003, I attended the Goldrush Conference, sponsored by the GIC, bringing together the transgender world for a few days. Speakers and workshops dealt with a wide variety of topics, such as make-up, clothes, surgeries, therapy, and how to walk and talk like a man or a woman. I started the conference trying to come to terms with the fact I may be a cross-dresser. I happened to sit in on a workshop that dealt with transsexuals; nothing that I though concerned me directly, but there weren’t any other workshops of interest during that hour. As I sat there and listened to the stories of those around me, I realized they were telling my story. The shame, embarrassment, and feelings they described were mine.

imageDuring that workshop, I had a “moment of clarity.” I first heard that term described in the AA Big Book. It is a moment when the alcoholic comes to terms with life. This “moment of clarity” is the inspiration to change. My moment happened when I realized and accepted who I am. I am a woman. A tremendous weight was lifted off my shoulders. Serenity replaced the pain and heartache I had kept inside. I felt something I had never felt before, inner peace. When I left the conference, I was walking on air. I called a cousin, Kelli. Kelli and I grew up together. She was one of the first people I told about my cross-dressing. I was ecstatic on the phone. She told me to slow down and think about what I was telling her. She was supportive, yet made me realize not everyone would be as happy about my decision. Oh,my! What would Mom say? Dad? My sisters? Work! I needed a plan. I told my therapist who referred me to another therapist, who specialized in Gender Identity Disorder. Ouch, I had a disorder. Oh, well. My new therapist seemed very nice, but she questioned everything I said. After a couple months, she formally diagnosed me as having Gender Identity Disorder. She wrote a letter recommending me for hormone replacement therapy. She referred me to a medical doctor and on July 8, 2003, I started hormone replacement therapy. Phase One of the plan was completed. I had a psychological evaluation and had a disorder. I was under the care of a medical doctor. Time for Phase Two: telling my family. Luckily, I had developed a network of friends at the GIC and church.

Oh, haven’t I mentioned St. Paul yet? At the GIC conference, I met René. She was also in law enforcement and already in transition. We had a lot in common and talked almost every day. She asked me to go to church with her – a Lutheran church! Mom would have a fit if she found out I went to a protestant church. She would have a fit if she knew I wore a dress every weekend. Such is life. I went to St. Paul Lutheran Church in downtown Denver. As a part ofmy therapy, I decided to dress as a woman during the evenings and on weekends. I was very careful only to go out where I would be safe and usually with friends. I had become fairly good with make-up and clothes. Some good role models and teachers seemed to appear in my life. When I walked into St. Paul, I was terrified. I was sure people were staring at the “man in a dress.” René sat next to me and held my hand. Once the service started, I felt right at home. The organ music was beautiful. The choir was filled with the voices of angels. The Pastor preached love, acceptance and compassion. It was as if he knew exactly what I needed to hear. After the service, people came up to me and introduced themselves. Everyone asked me where I was from and if I liked the service. They all asked me to come back. Thank you, Jesus! I was home. I attended St.Paul Lutheran Church regularly for several months before I went to catechism classes. I joined St. Paul in April 2004 because of the people who embraced me as an individual, not as a transgender woman. The people who didn’t really understand what I was going through were willing to listen to my story, learn and accept. I truly learned what it means to be accepted and, in turn, learned to accept others. I learned how to pray, not for myself, but for the courage and patience to help others. I went to St. Paul to celebrate my faith, to celebrate my life.

St. Paul was a sanctuary during the implementation of my plan to transition from a man to a woman. Most transitioning transsexuals lose their jobs and their families. I knew I was taking a tremendous risk, but the alternatives were not acceptable. I would not live as I had before. I would not take my own life. I pressed on. I told my sisters first. They seemed to take it well. At first, that is. Mom also took it well at first. The meltdown came a day later. Dad took it the best. My family was concerned for my safety and wellbeing. Mom was afraid I would end up alone in the world. To be honest, I had the same fear. For the first six months after telling my immediate family, I chose not to see them while wearing women’s clothing. They needed some time to process the concept of Michael becoming Nicole. I provided some literature to my family. One of my sisters talked at length with my therapist to make sure I wasn’t seeing a quack. After six months, I began to show up at Mom and Dad’s house wearing more feminine clothing, then some make-up. Mom’s face went white the first time I showed up in a dress, hose and heels. After that, she started buying me blouses and jewelry. It took time, patience and understanding, but my family stuck with me.They all lived through their own transition.

I was relieved by the reaction I received at work. I was very careful about my appearance, but my longer hair and nails started attracting attention. I initially came out to an officer with whom I had a close professional and personal relationship. She was so understanding and supportive. With her help, I told a few more officers, then my immediate supervisor. My immediate supervisor was wonderful. He listened, asked questions and helped me go to the next level. A couple meetings down the road, I was invited to attend a department-wide supervisors’ meeting. There were 45 high-level administrators from the entire department. The Director gave me her full support, directing all her subordinates to contact her directly if there was any dissention in the ranks. She is definitely a gift from God. I transferred from the streets to a desk position for the transition. In my new office,everyone was cordial. My new co-workers gave me the time to grow and blossom. There were a few who had a difficult time accepting what I was doing, but it wasn’t long before everyone in the office was a friend and supporter. I had to sell my house to help pay for surgery. I had gender reassignment surgery in Trinidad, Colorado on November 11, 2005. My birth certificate was amended to reflect my name, Nicole Michelle García, and my sex, female. Recently, I transferred back to the streets. It was a tearful day when I left the office where I transitioned. My co-workers had become wonderful friends.

Dad passed away two years ago. He made sure everyone knew that he embraced me as his child. He loved me for being me. I have since moved in with Mom. Yes,it is true: we all become our mothers. I am no different. Mom and I shop together. We visit family together. She may get a pronoun wrong every once in a while, but in her heart, I am her baby, no matter what. I have truly blossomed at St. Paul Lutheran Church. I am now the convener ofthe RIC committee. Some Sundays I am a Eucharistic minister, usher, sacristan or, once in a while, I can just sit in the pews. At St. Paul, I listen to the Word and celebrate my faith. I gather with my friends and break bread. The day I “gave up and gave in” was the day my life was guided onto the path of peace, love, and joy.