I’ve said before that how I told my family was pretty poor. I doubt anyone realises just how poor. My Mum learned as she was about to move home. I’ve covered that earlier but still, stressful enough without my news. But on the back of this, I made plans to tell my brothers. Originally at the same time. But busy schedules meant I missed one brother by just minutes and the hastily rewritten plan meant I told the other brother on his own. It went so terribly that it was the last time I saw him or my nephews since. Which will be fast approaching two years. On November 17th, not that I’m counting every day. I was so stunned by the finality of this that I let my first brother find out by default. Rather than get a similar reaction. Which was totally unfair. At least he could have reacted honestly. Instead, we’ve met once by accident and both of us were too shocked to speak. To each other, anyway. So the carnage of my family relationships is down to me entirely. Most days since, I wonder how to undo the damage. I’m mostly stumped. If I thought going back to being Chris would do it then I’d do it. In the smallest fraction of a second. But it’s beyond superficial cosmetics I think. Although 20 plus months of inaction haven’t helped either. I’d like to think that time might have fostered some understanding but I’m a bit too afraid that the answers will remain final. But at least I’d know. Still, not to finish on a down note, family is much more than what you’re born into. And I’m exceptionally lucky in that regard. Even if I don’t tell the important people to me that often. I’ll be doing that more frequently hopefully. I can always blame the hormones.