With Mom It Can Be Like Bearding The Lion

(I am a trans man. Since before I even admitted my gender identity to myself I knew I wanted a beard, so as soon as I could grow one that didn’t look like pathetic fluff, I did. This was a few months after I proposed to my now-husband, but a few years before we got married. We’ve gone together to meet my mother in town.)

Mother: “Eurgh, no, I don’t like your beard. Not at all.”

Me: *stomach sinking, wondering if it looks terrible* “Why not?”

Mother: “I hate beards! They’re awful! Your father grew a beard and I hated it.”

Me: “Oh. Well, you don’t have to like it. It’s my face.”

Mother: “Eurgh. I hope you’re not going to have that when you get married!”

Me: “Only two people have a say in what happens on that day, mum.”

Mother: *clearly triumphant and completely certain that he was going to back her up, she rounds on my fiancé* “Well?!”

Fiancé: *calmly* “I like it, I think it looks cool.”

Mother: “Well… Well, fine then! You always have to have your way!”

(We haven’t spoken to my mother since the day we got back from our honeymoon. Best decision I’ve ever made! And yes, I got married with a beard, and since then have grown the goatee section long enough to put beads in. I love it and it looks good on me. She would be horrified, both by the beard and by my ownership of my own body, in defiance of her wishes!)