The Other Side of Passing

There is much talk in the transgender community about “passing”; in this context it means to be identified by others as the gender you are presenting.  Historically, though, “passing” has an older, almost opposite meaning; it means to conceal one’s membership in a minority group in order to be identified with a higher status group—for example, a black woman who passes herself off as white, or a gay man who passes himself off as heterosexual, in order to avoid discrimination.

I’m not passing judgment on those who attempt to pass in either sense.  In fact, I think many of us trans people try, and succeed in passing as non-trans.  It dawned on me recently that I’ve been successfully passing as a “normal” cisgender man for several decades now.  I conceal and suppress those characteristics and interests that might mark me as effeminate, sissy, or whatever.  I hide the fact that I identify with women at least as much as I identify with men.  In other words, I hide my transgender identity.

I’m not proud of this.  But it’s not easy to step up and loudly proclaim who and what you are if it’s not particularly socially acceptable.  It can get downright hazardous.  I learned early on to suppress my feminine interests and mannerisms in order to avoid getting beaten up and ridiculed by my peers, and to gain approval from my parents and other family.  Even now I have little protection under the law if someone decides to discriminate against me because of my gender expression.

In a perfect world, of course, I could just be myself and not suffer any repercussions.  Alas, the world I live in is not perfect.  Where I live, being white, male, cisgender, heterosexual, native English-speaking, Christian, conservative, Republican, extraverted, and affluent means being at the top of the social ladder.  The more of those characteristics I have or can fake, the less social friction I will experience.  It’s relatively easy to hide or at least mask the fact that I’m an introverted, socially/religiously liberal, Unitarian Universalist transgender person, so my status remains relatively high.  The ugly truth is it’s much easier to gloss over those little details of my life than to stand up and proudly proclaim exactly who and what I am.

I’ve found that over time, as I’ve more fully explored my feminine aspect, that I’ve been able to let more of it leak into my male presentation, but it’s not easy for me.  I think it’s this pressure to keep my head down and conform that drives me to maintain two separate identities, one trying to pass as a man, the other trying to pass as a woman.  In the absence of a “third gender” role in our society, I don’t see that changing.  But in my own, slow way, I am inching toward being as true to myself, inside and out, as I can be.

The Middle of the Road

“Ah, but I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.” – Bob Dylan, “My Back Pages”

I used to regard those people going through midlife crises with some disdain.  You know, the stereotypical middle-aged guy who divorces his wife, buys a red sports car and marries someone half his age.  Or the formerly slightly frumpy woman who starts dressing like her teenage daughter, gets a tattoo, and begins partying like there’s no tomorrow.  Now that I’ve reached my middle years, though, I view them with a little more sympathy.  I understand that they’re acting out of fear and desperation.  They woke up one morning and realized that their youth was slipping away and that death was closer than they realized.  So they are trying to prove to themselves and everyone else that they are still young and sexually attractive.

I’ve certainly been feeling it myself lately.  I’m dissatisfied with my image in the mirror.  I’m often restless and anxious.  I’m unhappy with my job, and indeed my career.  In flailing about, trying to make sense of things, I’ve stumbled onto a book, It’s Only Too Late If You Don’t Start Now by Barbara Sher, which has been really invaluable.  Her basic message is countercultural: life after 40 is better than life before 40.  I won’t go into all the details of her book, but basically her contention is that the period between puberty and middle age is marked by semi-madness fueled by irresistible biological drives.  In essence, being an adolescent or a young adult sucks.  Now, I can certainly agree with that, at least where my own life is concerned.  She also contends that the period beginning in middle age doesn’t suck, that it’s actually a lot better.  That I have yet to see for myself, but admittedly I do know a lot of happy people in that age group.  One of Sher’s most intriguing ideas is that the person you were immediately prior to the onset of puberty, say 10-12, is closest to your true self, and that you begin to reclaim that self after your biological drives calm down. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about all this in relation to my gender identity.  At age 12 I had been crossdressing for a long time, was naturally somewhat feminine, and though I don’t remember identifying as a girl, I certainly had a lot of female friends and was generally confident and OK with myself.  About the time puberty hit, so did the guilt and depression.  I decided I needed to learn how to walk, talk, and carry myself like the other males.  I wanted all the blossoming young women to see me as a man, as sexually desirable, and I cheered on the onset of male secondary sexual characteristics like a deeper voice and body hair.  My desire to wear women’s clothes certainly did not go away, but I felt very guilty about it, especially since it had taken on a strong sexual dimension.

Now here I am, 40 years old, and the madness is slowly subsiding.  I’m wondering who I really am, and what do I want to do with the remainder of my life.  And what my true gender identity is.  As youth fades, so does the desire to impress other people or to live my life according to others’ expectations.  It’s becoming clear that I want to express my femininity more strongly.  There’s still the old problem of family and societal expectations, but they are beginning to pale with the realization that my time on this planet is a finite resource.  I don’t believe in an afterlife, so time is doubly precious.  So many transgender people transition in middle age.  I’m not saying I’m going there myself, but I believe I’m beginning to understand why some do.  The journey ahead promises to be interesting.

Women's Group, Part 2

The idea of being able to participate in the church women’s group was much in my thoughts over the next few weeks.  Although it would mean outing myself to even more people, I felt like it was an opportunity not to be missed.  I talked it over with my wife to make sure that she was OK with it; after all, some of the women attending the group no doubt welcomed the time away from their husbands or boyfriends.  But my wife, bless her, was fine with it, and also thought it would be a good opportunity for me.  And it worked out well for her, as she has trouble driving at night, and would now have a built-in carpool buddy.  We might not even be the only couple in attendance, as there were several lesbian couples in the church.

My biggest fear was that some women might resent me attending, if they saw me as a male invading female space.  So far I had not experienced anything but support and acceptance from my fellow congregants, but it seemed too good to be true.  I suppose I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.  To help manage my fear, I chose to wait a couple of months until a friend who had attended the Q&A was hosting the group.  I also communicated my intent to attend to several other women who I knew were supportive, asking them to send positive vibes my way.

When the day finally arrived, left work early and got home in plenty of time to get ready.  I chose a fuchsia peasant blouse, khaki capris, and my trusty Naot sandals, in case you were wondering.  My wife was not feeling well, so I expected to have to go alone, but she felt better after a nap and decided to go.  So by the time she got ready and I made a trip to the grocery store for a vegetable tray to take with us, we were running about half an hour late.  As it turned out, that was OK; most of the women arrived just after we did—UUs are not known for their promptness!

Our hostess greeted us on her porch with hugs and kisses.  She was careful to call me Wendy, though she later slipped up and called me by my male name a couple times, quickly correcting herself each time.   Similarly, the other women who knew about me beforehand made sure to call me Wendy right off the bat.  Another woman I knew said, “I don’t think we’ve met,” and introduced herself, though I thought she already knew who I was.  I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just said, “I’m Wendy” and gave her a big smile.  More women and lots of food arrived, and soon I was sipping wine, munching snacks, and listening to the conversations around me.  After a while we all sat around the dining room table and introduced ourselves in turn.  I think by the time this was over everyone there knew my secret identity, though no one made mention of it or acted surprised.  It was not hard for anyone to put two and two together, I’m sure, particularly as my wife and I kept referring to “our” new house.

After a while we went to the backyard and sat around a fire, roasting marshmallows and talking.  I really didn’t say much; I only spoke when spoken to, more or less.  Instead I listened and frequently laughed with everyone else.  It was interesting that gender roles/differences came up, as some of the women were talking about their kids’ stereotypically gendered behavior and interests.  Also, crossdressing came up, as someone talked about a teen boy who attended a costume party as Frank ‘N’ Furter and impressed all the girls by wearing heels the entire time.  I didn’t see any evidence that anyone was referring obliquely to me in any way, though.  In fact, I didn’t feel as if I was treated any differently than anyone else.  When we got ready to go, the hostess told me that she hoped I came to all the women’s group nights from now on, which was wonderful to hear. 

She sent me a nice email later on, saying that several women who were there that night expressed joy that I was there, and that I was a good influence on the church community.  I was so grateful—and ready for more!  I wanted to keep going, increase my comfort level, and start interacting more with the other women.

Just before heading to women's night, November 2010.

Since that first time I have attended several women’s nights (the above p.  I have yet to experience anything other than total acceptance.  The biggest issue that I have run into is that many women don’t recognize me, even if they know me well in my male guise.  So they will come up and introduce themselves to me, and I find myself at a loss for what to do.  They didn’t cover this in the transgender training manual!

My default behavior in Wendy mode has always been to pretend that I’m 100% woman with no male identity, and to try to blend into the background as much as possible.  While this may be a good strategy for survival out in the general public, it doesn’t work so well in the women’s group.  I feel that for me to introduce myself to a friend as Wendy and leave her to figure it out is unkind and could be construed as an attempt to deceive her—though I do admit that I enjoy the look of wonder that comes when people do figure it out.  I find it very difficult and frightening to say something to the effect of, “Hi, I’m Wendy, but you know me better as -----“, but that’s what I feel would be right and proper.

Fortunately, as I work this issue out, I have to my knowledge not offended anyone because of it.  A while back I was pulled aside after church by a woman I have known for nearly ten years.  It took her two women’s nights two months apart to realize who this Wendy actually is, even though I had talked to her face-to-face both evenings.  She seemed a little embarrassed that it took her so long to figure it out; she had been wondering if I had a twin or something like that.  I told her that I hoped she didn’t think I was trying to be mysterious and explained how I find it difficult to explain all this to people.  She assured me that I don’t need to explain myself to anyone, that she thought I was a very dear and special person.  Needless to say, I was tickled pink and looking forward to the next women’s night!

Women's Group, Part 1

One of the most interesting aspects of my trans life right now is my semi-regular attendance at my church’s monthly women’s group gatherings.  For us part-timers, being able to interact with a group of women as a woman on a social basis is quite a rare treat.  I’m still kind of awed at having such a privilege.

See, I live in a very conservative area.  Most people are here are liberal-hating, gun-toting, Republican-voting, by-God fundamentalist Christians.  Fox News plays on the television in most public places, including doctors’ office waiting rooms.  A local farmer has erected a 30-foot flagpole on top of a hill overlooking the Interstate so he can fly the Confederate battle flag for the benefit of passersby.  Racism is still lurking under the surface, though it’s not openly tolerated.  Homophobia—and by extension, transphobia—is pretty much unabashed and unapologetic.  To be fair, there are also lots of friendly, kind, and generous people here.  People are complicated.  So what is a liberal, freethinking, diversity-embracing person like me to do?  “Move away!” some might say, but, hey—I was born and raised in this area, and for all its imperfections, it’s home, and I stubbornly claim my right to exist here despite my countercultural leanings.  Well, most people around here go to church, and quite unexpectedly, that’s exactly where I found a little enclave of like-minded folks.

I never thought I’d join a church.  I rejected orthodox Christian teachings years ago and have never looked back.  But a Unitarian Universalist church is like no other I’ve encountered.  What we hold in common is not a set of beliefs, but a set of values.  At any given service I might be sitting next to a Pagan, a Buddhist, a Christian, an Atheist, or who knows what else.  Questioning orthodoxy and authority is not only allowed, but expected.  This sounds crazy and counterintuitive to most people, but believe me, it works.  I’ve been going here for almost ten years now, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Our church started the Welcoming Congregation curriculum a couple of years ago.  Our denomination is very BLGT-friendly; in fact, it’s one of the only religious groups that ordains openly transgender individuals as ministers.  But each congregation is independent and sets its own policy.  Our congregation is BLGT-friendly, too, but we decided that we needed to learn more about the issues that BLGT people face, and to formally welcome them to our church by following the denominational Welcoming Congregation curriculum.  The final piece of the curriculum was a Q&A session with real, live BLGT people from our midst.  Guess who decided to be the transgender panelist?  I had come out to a very small number of people at the church before, but most had never met Wendy in person.  So to appear before a large group of people en femme was a big and scary step for me, but it was also something I really wanted to do.

Despite my trepidation, it went very well.  I didn't know quite how to act when I first entered the church.  I suppose my nervousness was pretty obvious, as the organizer of the panel gave me some wine to drink almost as soon as I arrived.  As people filed in, I saw several double-takes and surprised remarks; more disconcertingly, there were also people I knew very well who didn’t give their usual hearty greetings.  Later those people came up to me and apologized—they had no idea who I was until I started speaking.  I had created a new nametag with my femme name, so at least there was little confusion on what to call me. 
The panel turned out to be comprised of all women—the men who were supposed to participate canceled at the last minute.  So there was one lesbian, one bisexual woman, and me.  Each of us told her story, then we fielded questions from the audience.  There were quite a few questions directed toward me, perhaps unsurprisingly.  I was asked if I considered myself a man or a woman (my answer: Both and neither), did I want to attend church as Wendy (sometimes, but I'm not ready to come out to the whole congregation), and even if had I considered changing my name to something androgynous so I didn’t have to have two gendered names.  I’d never really thought of that one!  There were some excellent practical questions about boundaries; i.e. in what setting(s) would it be acceptable to talk about this part of my life.

I got lots of compliments on my courage, as well as on my appearance.  And I got a lot of hugs!  One woman was moved to tears as she expressed her appreciation for us (the panelists) and what we’d gone through.  Our minister commented on how feminine I was, and that she never really understood until then what an integral part of my identity this was.  Several people thanked me for making them aware that there were other types of transgender people besides transsexuals.  The bisexual panelist expressed how she was often treated as “confused” or “unserious” by gays and lesbians, and I told her how much I identified with that experience in the transgender community.  The audience was very interested and involved, so much so that we went well over the alloted time.  Most intriguingly, several women invited me to participate in the church women’s group get-togethers...


(To be continued...)

Episode IV: A New Blog

Five years ago, more or less, I started a blog on the late, lamented Yahoo! 360; when that was discontinued, I lost heart and interest and blogged no more.  Now I feel the urge to write again; I make no claims of being a great writer or having original thoughts, but I want to share what I have nonetheless.

A little about me: I’m a human being living on the planet Earth; more specifically, the northeastern corner of the state of Tennessee, in the United States of America.  I was born a male approximately four decades ago, was socialized as a male, and remain male-bodied.  Most of the time, I dress and act more or less in ways culturally sanctioned for men, and use my male birth name.  Sometimes, though, I dress and act more or less in ways culturally sanctioned for women, and use the name Wendy.  If you must use a label, transgender will do.  I am married to a woman who is OK with all this.  I work as a server administrator for a smallish corporation in the process of being swallowed by a gargantuan corporation.  I lead a rock band, in which I play guitar and sing.  I write and record my own songs.  I am a member of a Unitarian Universalist congregation.

I sometimes think I'm a walking contradiction.  I'm open-minded, yet stubborn.  A religious agnostic.  A cynical optimist.  A sloppy perfectionist.  A womanly man.  An IT professional with a distrust of technology.  A very shy person who loves to play music in front of an audience.  You get the idea.  I'm mostly OK with contradictions and paradoxes; in fact, I think they make life interesting.  While I maintain this blog, I want to share my contradictions, thoughts and history with anyone who might be reading.  I want to add my voice to the babble of humanity, if only for a time.