I Forgot to Remember to Forget

It's been just a little over a year since I began living full-time as a woman.  During the past year, I have sometimes wondered if I will ever stop being so conscious that I am transgender, and just come to think of myself as an ordinary woman.  I have recently figured out that that's unlikely; not because I'm obsessed with my transgender identity, but because I lack cisgender privilege.

Before I explain more fully, let me say that my experiences so far have been overwhelmingly positive.  I seem to be accepted and identified as a woman most of the time.  I still have a job, a place to live, and I still have almost all my friends and some of my family. To quote Joe Walsh, "life's been good to me so far."

Still, I am very aware that my situation is, and likely will always be, somewhat precarious.  Our society is still quite a distance away from fully accepting transgender people; recent actions by the current administration, like banning us from the military and trying to take away our employment protections, highlight this very clearly.  Basically, what it boils down to is this:  if people perceive me as cisgender, I can expect to have no difficulties beyond those women normally face (which are not inconsiderable). But if I'm perceived as transgender, there are likely to be ramifications.  Let me give some examples.

• If I go to a public restroom or changing room, will I be harassed?  Will security or police be called?
• Will I be denied advancement or given unfairly poor evaluations at work?
• If I go on a job interview, will I be given a fair chance, or turned away because of my identity?
• Will potential dates reject me because I'm trans?
• If I go to a healthcare provider, will I be harassed, ridiculed, or denied service?
• If I visit another church, will I be turned away or driven out?
• If I perform music in a public place, will I be harassed or physically assaulted?
• If I go through a full-body scanner in an airport, will the TSA detain and ridicule me?
• If I interact with the justice system, will I be treated fairly?
• If, god forbid, I am arrested for some reason, will I be placed in jail with men?  If that happens, will I only be verbally assaulted, or will I be beaten up, raped, or murdered?

I am not imagining these things; they have all happened to transgender people I know or have read about in the news.  So you see, I don't have the luxury of forgetting that I'm trans.  If I ever did, there are many people who would be only too glad to remind me, and show me exactly what they think my proper place is.

More Coming Out Stories

In observance of National Coming Out Day, here are a couple more stories (coming out is an ongoing process that never ends, seemingly).  This time I want to illustrate the great support I have experienced at my church. So many LGBTQ+ people have had terrible, traumatizing experiences with their churches, but all churches are not the same.

The first story is from 2005, when I was in a music covenant group.  For those of you who are not familiar with that concept, a covenant group is a small group of people who come together regularly to talk about a particular topic and how it relates to them personally--in this case, music.  Our group had become very close, and I felt that I needed to share this important part of my life with them.  My then-girlfriend (later wife) was also a member of the group; I talked it over with her, and she was very encouraging.  So I contacted the facilitator of the group and asked if to be allocated some extra time at the next meeting to talk about something very important to me.

The night of the meeting, I was very anxious as the facilitator had announced that I had asked for additional time.  When it was time for me to speak, I started nervously by asking that what I was about to reveal remain confidential.  As I continued speaking, I began to relax, because I knew the group was with me.  I explained that I was transgender, and tried to illustrate what that meant with the help of a chart and some photos.  There were many questions, thoughtful comments, tears, and a lot of hugs, and I left the meeting feeling very loved and supported; in fact, I was walking on air! 

Five years later, our church was going through the process of becoming a Welcoming Congregation, meaning that we would explicitly welcome LGBTQ+ people.  As part of that process, there was to be a Q&A sessions where people from the congregation could hear the stories and ask questions of a panel of LGBTQ+ people.  With some trepidation, I decided to volunteer to be on the panel.  The Music Covenant Group had faithfully honored my confidentiality, so this was going to be a bigger coming out; additionally, this time I would be presenting as a woman.

The night of the event, I was a nervous wreck, though supported by my loving wife. I was actually physically shaking when I entered the sanctuary; a kind friend offered me some wine to help calm my anxiety.  As old friends started filtering in, I noticed that a few of them walked by without speaking to me, which I found unnerving.  I sat with my co-panelists--we had no gay or queer participants, so we were a BLT panel--and one by one, we recounted our stories.  Again, there were many interesting questions and supportive comments.  I learned that the reason why some people had not spoken to me is that they didn't recognize me!  I was even invited to participate in the church women's group if I wished, a gesture that really touched my heart.  After we finished, people were lining up to hug all three of us, with smiles and tears comingled. I left feeling elated.  A few weeks later, the congregation unanimously voted to become a Welcoming Congregation.

I did soon after began attending women's group events.  Eventually, I began coming to church services presenting as female; at first only some of the time, but soon all of the time.  Church was the first place that I transitioned, and I remain a grateful part of that loving community.

Who Knows?

Do I want everyone to know I'm transgender?  I've been thinking about this lately.  It's been more than 9 months since I fully socially transitioned, but I find that my mind is far from settled on how I feel about being known as a trans woman.

I lived with a very large secret from as far back as I can remember until last October.  I very early on learned to hide my feelings and outwardly conform to the appearance of a cisgender male.  That secret was very hard to bear and took an enormous amount of emotional energy to maintain.  Once I became willing and able to share the secret with more and more people, it was a huge relief.  It is so freeing to not have to lie about yourself.  I never want to go back to that place again.

At the same time, I'm conscious that being a known trans person is likely to be a liability in many circumstances.  I thankfully have very accepting people in my life.  For them, it's no big deal.  But to others in the world, trans people are perceived as a threat--never mind that the threat is imaginary.  To be able to be seen as a cisgender woman in the larger world is definitely a boost to safety and privilege--and given the misogyny, harassment, and threat of violence to which all women are subject, that's saying something.  I'm aware that I am lucky enough to be seen as a cis woman by the casual observer.  I have no confidence that the illusion holds up to scrutiny.  I feel like people figure out I'm trans if they spend any amount of time around me. 

I still struggle with confidence in myself as a woman.  I'm always aware of being different from most other women.  I often feel awkward; my education in the ways of women seems half-done.  There are so many little things to learn that most take for granted.  In my darkest moments, I look in the mirror and see a man in a dress.  I expend a lot of effort in trying to look "put together", partly to combat my insecurity (partly because I like clothes and makeup).  Sometimes I tire of being "the transgender one", a curiosity.  Sometimes I long to be known simply as a woman.

I'm not ashamed of being transgender, or of my past.  I'm proud of how far I've come.  Sometimes I enjoy being "special". And one of the advantages of getting older is that one gradually stops caring what other people think.  However, I also know that being a known trans person has definite risks. It's still early days in my transition, and there is lot to process and come to terms with.  Do I want everyone to know I'm transgender?  Still wrestling with that one.

Lucky

I'm one of the lucky ones.

I live in a time and place where, although it's not easy, it is possible for a transgender person to live a relatively peaceful existence.  As yet, there is no law prescribing jail time or the death penalty for being trans, though some of us are still condemned to death by individuals filled with fear and hatred.

I'm one of the lucky ones.  I have some family members that will still speak to me.  Many of my old friends still speak to me.  I have a church community that embraces me for who I am.  None of them have tried to harm me.

I'm one of the lucky ones.  I was able to keep my job.  Because of this, I can keep a roof over my head and food on my table.  I have employer-provided insurance and can afford to pay for medical care and medications.

I'm one of the lucky ones.  Because of genetically inherited traits, I can blend in reasonably well with other women.  I can use a public bathroom without putting myself in danger.  While I am regularly, though unintentionally, misgendered and occasionally deadnamed by people who knew me before transition, strangers use the correct pronouns.  No one shouts derogatory remarks at me when I'm walking down the street.

I'm one of the lucky ones.  I was born into a white, middle-class family, drastically reducing my chances of being harassed by the police and murdered for being trans, as well as having a much easier time getting an education and employment.

I'm one of the lucky ones.  I didn't do anything to deserve my luck, and sometimes I feel guilty about it.  My heart is heavy for all those who aren't so lucky.  The only thing I know to do is to try (and I often fall short) to help those who are less lucky.  We all deserve to live a life free from hate, fear, and deprivation.

I'm one of the lucky ones.  And I wonder how long my luck will last.

Yesterday...and Today

I guess it's time for a look back at another year gone. 2016 will forever be remembered by me as my rebirth year.  My time and energy were mostly concentrated on transitioning, so instead of a lot of summation about what went on during the year, I thought I'd write about what life has been like since October 7, my rebirthday.

For me, one of the most remarkable things about my new life is how little has changed.  I still get up and go to work every morning.  True, I spend more time on my clothing choices, and have the added tasks of fixing my hair and makeup, but those things have quickly become normal.  I still have the same job duties with the same people.  I come home in the evenings and fix dinner.  In short, life is much the same, with this significant difference: I feel much happier and have more energy.

From my perspective, inside looking out, I don't feel any different.  I'm still the same old me.  Since I can't see what I look like (unless I look in the mirror), I often forget that other people perceive me differently than they used to.  It's still a mild (though welcome) surprise when people call me "ma'am", or refer to me as "she" or "her".  However, I must add that it is now more unpleasant to referred to as "he" or "him"--at those times, my self-doubt is triggered, and I'm acutely aware that some people still see me on some level as male.  But back to my main point--I feel very natural and my presentation is unforced, so I often forget that I've changed in the eyes of the world.  This is the real me, folks.

And now, as I settle into my new life, I ask myself, "what now?".  The last several years have been consumed with caring for my ailing wife and transitioning.  Now, no longer having those tasks, there is suddenly space for other things.  I begin to remember what I used to like to do.  I've begun reconnecting with old friends.  I bought a bike and started riding again.  My interest in genealogy has been renewed.  I'm hoping to begin writing and playing music more often.  And I am finally finding the time and energy to address the mess and disorder in my house.

I feel very blessed that my transition has been so smooth and 95% positive.  But I'm also concerned that my life is finally coming together at the same time that the world seems to be running off the rails.  Still, I'm grateful for every new day--and new year.