Certainty

As I watch and listen to the emerging stories of transgender children, what strikes me the most is how certain they are about their gender.  They know they are boys or girls, in spite of what their parents and others say, in spite of what kind of bodies they were born with. I enjoy hearing these stories because they help validate the transgender experience, that this is something inborn and not caused by bad parenting or whatever.  At the same time, I'm troubled that the current transgender party line seems to be an emphasis on certainty; trans people are 100% sure of their gender, that there is no doubt and was never any doubt.  That doesn't jibe with my experience, though I did tell my mother when I was a small child that I wanted to be a girl.  It's safe to say that I'm not sure of much of anything, at least not for long (that's probably why I'm a Unitarian Universalist). 

So what am I sure of, as pertains to gender?

1. I know I like to wear women's clothing, jewelry, and makeup.  I've been doing it since the age of three, though my parents made it clear that it was not acceptable.
2. I want to look more like a woman.  I spend a lot of time thinking about what steps I can take to make myself look more feminine (under the radar).  I would prefer having a feminine hairstyle, more feminine curves, and a lot less body hair.
3. I usually feel a deep sense of peace and rightness when I'm in feminine mode.  When I look in the mirror and see a woman looking back at me, my soul says "yes". 
4. I'm generally more comfortable in the company of women than men.  I could care less about the things that most men talk about, while I often find women's conversations interesting.  All my healthcare providers (family doctor, dentist, optometrist, etc.) are women.  I like chick flicks--well, at least some of them.
5. I feel pretty comfortable interacting with people as a woman.  I feel more sociable, somehow.  And I like being addressed with a feminine name, pronouns, and honorifics.  I don't even mind it when someone calls me "ma'am" when I'm in male mode.
6. I'm very sensitive and empathetic.  It's not uncommon for me to get teary-eyed during a tender moment, or to feel real pain when seeing someone else suffer.

Does all this mean that I'm really a woman?  Beats me!  I really don't know what it means to be sure of your gender.  It just doesn't compute with me.  I'm sure that I'm me, that's all.  And I'm also sure that:

1. I've been socialized from birth as a male.  I know how to navigate social settings as a male pretty well.
2. I have a male body and am comfortable with my "plumbing".
3. I have a male voice.  Especially important for someone who sings, my voice falls within the male range.
4. I'm attracted to women.
5. I've built a career as a male and have generated a lot of good will that has helped me stay employed through numerous layoffs, corporate buyouts, etc.
6. Society often exacts a heavy price on those who publicly cross gender lines.  Sometimes it's marginally OK to change from one gender to the other, as long as you're never ambiguous and are certain about your gender identity (from birth, if possible).

So add all those things together, and what do you get?  I don't seem to fit comfortably anywhere.  I'm unable to pledge my allegiance to the idea that there's two, and only two genders.  Even if I someday transition to full-time womanhood, I don't think I'll ever be 100% certain.  Most likely I will always be a square peg.  But I'm not sure of that either.
 
 

Hiding in Plain Sight

I have been going out in public as a woman since early 1998; you'd think I was an old hand.  But on Sunday, after attending church services, a committee meeting, getting takeout food, fueling my car, and getting groceries, I felt a real sense of accomplishment that I was able to do all these things with little anxiety.  It felt like something new, and it took a little soul-searching to figure out why.  In a nutshell, I concluded that I was, for the moment at least, no longer hiding.

As I mentioned, I've been doing things as a woman for quite some time.  I've gone shopping and dining out too many times to count.  I've gone to museums and musicals, taken dance lessons, even went on a week-long beach vacation.  But in surveying all those experiences, I can break them down into two groups: experiences in LGBT-friendly territory and sojourns into "civilian" territory.  My strategies for dealing with each have historically been different.

For LGBT-friendly spaces, I tend to operate relatively normally; outside of my normal shyness, I have very little fear.  'Nuff said.

For "civilian" territory, my strategies have more or less been to blend in the background as much as possible, avoid attracting any attention, and for God's sake, don't talk to or look at anyone!  My anxiety levels tend to be high, and I feel very tightly wound.  Not that I've had any really horrible experiences so far.  Yes, I've been stared at, pointed at, giggled and laughed at--temporarily humiliating, not majorly traumatic.  Still, I feel much more pressure to "pass" and therefore escape unwanted attention, especially from people who react to trans folk with violence.  If I am with a cisgender person, I try to get that person to shield me from any other human contact as much as possible.  For much of my time out, that person has been the woman who is now my wife.

Take the aforementioned trip to the beach and surrounding areas.  Sounds like a trans person's dream, doesn't it?  Well, what I remember most is constant fear (that, and how much it hurts to shave closely twice a day for a week).  I was a walking bundle of apprehension, and my now-wife did nearly everything in the way of social interaction for me.  She paid for the meals (male name on the credit card, you see).  She bought the tickets to attractions.  She made the phone calls.  Meanwhile, I was like a little child clinging to my mother's skirts.  It was a relief to change back to male mode just to get away from the fear (well, and the shaving).  And so it continued for much of the next decade; despite her efforts to encourage (and sometimes goad) me, I largely depended on her to shield me from human contact.  And then, illness crept in and she became unable to be a companion and buffer on my forays out into the world.

Left to my own devices, I was forced to come up with new strategies.  For a while I stopped going places as Wendy, but I couldn't retreat into the closet again for long.  I managed to fight down the fear and begin finding new outlets.  The main outlet, as documented in previous blog entries, has become my church community: first I came out to a small group, then a larger group, then the women's group, and finally, I have recently begun attending church services as a woman.  Even though our church is LGBT-friendly, and therefore in the "safe" zone, it is still enough of a stretch and demands enough social interaction that my confidence and social skills are gradually improving.  I am also finding that my increased confidence in "safe" spaces is gradually seeping into the public arena, too.  And encouraged by the example of others, I am increasingly feeling that it's OK not to pass; being openly transgender is somehow freeing (if still scary).

I think of my journey thus far as a slowly-opening flower.  An incredibly, glacially slow-opening flower, but it's opening nonetheless.  Here's hoping that it will continue to open, at whatever pace.

My Dysphoria Ain't Like Dat-phoria

(Sorry for the title, but I couldn't resist.)

I think it's pretty hard for for people to understand my particular variety of transgender.  Heck, it's pretty hard for me to understand.  Mostly that's because of the conflict between our binary conception of gender and my internal gender, which I believe falls somewhere in between male and female.

Transsexuals have the advantages of a relatively easy set of metaphors (x trapped in a y body, etc.), and a clear destination (i.e., they identify fully with a particular gender).  I'm not saying that they have it easy--they don't.  I don't think any trans person has it easy.  But I think people have an easier time understanding transsexuals because they don't call the gender binary into question so much.

Then there's me.  I do experience gender dysphoria--there is a conflict between my internal (brain) gender and my body.  However, from all I've heard and been told, it is of a different order of magnitude from most transsexuals.  I discussed this in an earlier blog entry--I don't experience distress about my genitals.  But in large part, I do wish my body was more female-looking.  I feel better and more attractive when I'm in feminine mode.  In my case, it's mostly hair that distresses me most--the scarcity of it on top and the proliferation elsewhere.  Sometimes I do wish I had breasts, and smaller hands and feet.  Occasionally, I think about taking female hormones, but am frightened by the accompanying loss of male sexual function and the fact that it would become harder to pass as a man.  My voice is another source of conflict, as I love singing, doing impressions and generally using silly voices.  I'm getting a little better at using a more feminine-sounding voice as Wendy, but if I had to sacrifice my lower register permanently I would miss it.

I do think of transitioning to full-time female sometimes.  But, unlike most of my transsexual brothers and sisters, I would feel loss at giving up my male identity.  And since my gender dysphoria is not so severe that it overrides all other concerns, and absent a third gender role in society, I'm left with a choice.  I can transition to full-time female, which I believe would be a better fit in some ways.  However, I would most certainly lose my job, and given the fact that the IT pool is so small in this area, I would almost certainly be blacklisted and either have to take a job in another profession or move.  Since the state I live in does not recognize same-sex marriage, my marriage would be invalidated if I managed to get my gender legally changed to female--not good at any time, even worse given the state of my wife's health.  Furthermore, I would be a lesbian with male genitals, which would perhaps make me even more of a social pariah.  Of course I could have GRS (Genital Reassignment Surgery), but since I really have no desire to do that, it would be a surgery forced upon me by social pressure and not something I really wanted to do.  Oh, and some, perhaps all, of my family would cut off contact with me.  The employment difficulties mentioned before would no doubt force me to move, so I would be separated from my friends--and I don't make friends quickly or easily.  This is not a very appealing scenario.

The other choice is to remain as I am--living in a male role most of the time, spending enough time in a female role to keep me sane.  It's a compromise solution, but I get to keep my job, my family, the friends I treasure.  I'm lucky in that I have an accepting spouse and a church community that has thus far shown me nothing but love and support.  Right now I'm not thinking much about the future or how my circumstance or feelings may change in times to come.  I'm just taking one day at a time, grateful for what I have.

The December of Wendy

It's been a long time since my last post. Events of the last few years have made my life increasingly chaotic and my time to devote to this blog has been, and will continue to be, limited. My wife is suffering from a degenerative disease and so she needs ever-increasing amounts of care. Plus I have involuntarily changed jobs. So, too, time for getting out and about as Wendy has decreased. Until very recently.

I had a couple of landmark events earlier in the year. Back in May I made my first appearance during a church service as Wendy. That went very well, but it was a big step and I felt I needed to draw back and get my bearings. Then in November I attended our church's Women's Retreat for the first time, to my knowledge making me the first person to have attended both Men's and Women's Retreats. That also went very well; although I only attended for one day instead of the whole weekend, I participated in a number of activities. One of the scariest in a way was doing an hour-long yoga workshop. I do yoga pretty much every day but this was my first time as Wendy. I was a bit worried about losing my wig and/or breast forms, but somehow managed to keep together. Anyway, it was an enjoyable day, I was totally accepted, and I was invited back next year.

Meanwhile, a TS woman joined our church choir, and somehow her presence spurred me toward making further appearances as Wendy during church services. I still had some apprehension about this; as I have blogged before, it is difficult to switch genders back and forth in a social setting. I felt like I almost had to renegotiate all my relationships with people who know me primarily through my male identity. I also had major apprehensions about stand up in front of everyone while singing in the choir. I talked about these things with the minister of our church; she was very encouraging and positive, and assuaged my fears for the most part.

At church

So for three Sundays in a row in December, which happened also to be special holiday services, I attended as Wendy. I even rehearsed and sang with the choir--in the tenor section. I could have sung alto, but our choir has a greater need for tenors. That felt a little odd, especially on a couple of songs where the tenors and basses sang sections without the altos and sopranos. Mostly I felt very relaxed and not out of place at all. Occasionally someone slipped and called me by my male name, but I expected that. A number of people didn't recognize me, even though I sat in my same old place and sang in the same old place. Even the choir director didn't recognize me at first, despite having been given advance notice! I was a little disconcerting having people I know walk right by me with no sign of recognition, though. I was greeted with some warm hugs and compliments, too. It was overwhelmingly a positive experience.

New Year's Eve

I followed that up with an all-too-rare shopping trip and a New Year's Eve party as well. As the party was disco-themed, I scored a pair of very gaudy sparkly silver 4-inch platform heels. I wore a formal gown and a tiara to top it all off. I had a wonderful time that night, too. I saw a number of people I hadn't seen in a while, hugged some, surprised others, danced, talked, and generally felt a warm glow. Incredibly, I didn't break an ankle in those heels, though I did lose a pair of sequined earrings.

Having ended the year in so glorious a fashion, I am now faced with questions: What now? How often am I going to attended church services as Wendy? Where am I going? But those are topics for other blog entries.

Separate Ways, Worlds Apart?

(Oh God, how have I sunk to using Journey songs as post titles?)

When am I Wendy, and when am I not? It used to seem so easy; if I wore women’s clothing and makeup, I was Wendy. It was easy to talk of being in “Wendy mode”—the external trappings of femininity sort of flicked a switch in my brain and let the suppressed thoughts and feelings loose. Now it doesn’t seem so clear.

It was a little more than 15 years ago when I first formalized the internal male/female split in my psyche by naming the feminine part “Wendy”. It’s been a useful contrivance that allowed me to compartmentalized my conflicted feelings into two different identities, each somewhat separate. But the two identities were never really separate in that they shared the same brain, the same body, the same memories, etc. There has been some integration of the two, especially in recent years, in different spheres.

Physically, of course, I only have one body, and I have certainly sacrificed some of my masculinity in order to be able to more easily slip into Wendy mode. It began when I decided to shave my legs during the wintertime months when I could conceal it easily. These days, I shave my legs all year round and do other periodic body hair removal. Last week I took it to another level by beginning laser hair removal on my face. I pluck my eyebrows (to a certain degree) and use women’s face creams, moisturizers, etc. I have long hair, though thanks to age plus testosterone my forehead is too high and my hair too thin for it to look very good in a feminine style. I almost always have painted toenails and I usually have on one or more articles of women’s and/or unisex clothing. And I have noticed that my speech and movement have become somewhat more effeminate; I have never been what you’d call a macho man, but I used to actively try to suppress any hint of femininity in my behavior much more than I do now.

In my mind, I’m also more androgynous. I used to police my thoughts as much as my actions to try to block out anything I thought of as feminine, particularly as an adolescent. Now I’m much more comfortable letting my thoughts roam where they will without trying to suppress them on the basis of gender appropriateness (whatever that means). I have left behind much of my cultural upbringing and am now much more tolerant of diversity, more conscious of white male hetero privilege, and much more in sympathy with progressive and feminist values. What’s more, my gender dysphoria seems to be on the increase. It sometimes causes an internal cringe if people refer to me as a man; on the other hand, I don’t feel entirely comfortable calling myself a woman, either. I usually use gender-neutral language to refer to myself. And in the nexus between the mental and the physical, to look at myself in the mirror and see an overtly masculine person is somewhat painful, so that I often avoid looking at myself at all.

In the social sphere, I used to keep my masculine and feminine personas completely apart. No one knew both sides of me, and that’s the way I wanted it. But the two worlds seem to be slowly merging. The first person to really know both sides of me was the woman who became my wife; now that circle has enlarged to include many people at my church. I find that having two personas is the most awkward in the social realm, and I’m still learning how to best navigate that seldom-trodden path.

I have always tried to present either 100% male or 100% female to others, but in reality the line has blurred. One of the things I’ve learned about being transgender is that you can’t have it completely both ways. To increase my comfort level with myself I’ve had to relinquish some of the appearance of masculinity and move toward the feminine, and the movement hasn’t ended yet. The increased gender dysphoria, the creeping feminization of my appearance, and a desire for more and longer continuous social experiences as Wendy, are indicators that I’ve got more gender exploration and transformation to discover.

Birth Defect?

So I was reading Facebook posts this morning when I saw someone comparing being transgender to having a birth defect. This (cisgender) person was sympathetic and trying to use this analogy to cast being transgender as a medical problem that is no more immoral than being born with a cleft palate. It’s certainly not the first time I’ve seen this analogy; in fact, I’ve seen it promoted on various web sites, forums, and in person, almost always by transsexuals. I can see how people who have intense feelings of being “born into the wrong body” might consider the body parts that don’t fit their gender identity to be wrong or defective. Still, I find the analogy disturbing.

As I see it, using the word “defect” casts us as people with a problem that needs to be solved. I understand that some do, indeed feel that way, that if only they are able to get hormonal and surgical treatment to make their bodies conform to their gender identity, they will be cured—they will be “normal”. However, I certainly do not feel that way. Admittedly I have never identified as transsexual, and my gender dysphoria is perhaps less intense. My body, imperfect as it may be, has never been repulsive to me, nor have I ever felt distress at having male parts or not having female parts. I don’t feel like I was a mistake or that I am defective.

In keeping with my somewhat stubborn and rebellious nature, I don’t think the problem is me, but rather with the way our society views gender. In short, I think the two-gender system is defective, not me. The idea that there are two and only two genders, that they correspond exactly with two and only two sexes, and that each gender is associated mutually exclusive characteristics, behaviors, appearances, and tastes, is patently false. If it were true, there wouldn’t be any transgender people, or intersex people. Instead, humanity is fantastically diverse in many ways, and a strict two-gender system doesn’t accurately reflect that diversity. So why are we trying to shoehorn everyone into those two genders, and calling everyone who doesn’t fit defective? We should expand our gender classification system to take this diversity into account. Other cultures have or have had other genders besides male and female, so why can’t we?

Yes, I know—easier said than done. Our whole society seems to be built on the two-gender system, and dismantling or changing it would be a massive paradigm shift, a sea change, in fact. But long-term, I think it’s the best way forward. And a first step on the way might be to stop seeing transgender people as defective people, but rather as simply “different” people. Diversity is good.

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.