I was up until about 4:15 AM waiting for the verdict of the presidential election (and watching Rocky Horror Picture Show) and went asleep as very different person. I woke up this morning at 6:30 AM and could barely believe my news feed on Facebook. Yes, I had indeed witnessed the beginning collapse of my sense of security. Let's break this down because my mental breakdown demands I figure it out. 1) I am transgender. 2) I am mixed heritages. 3) I use Obamacare/Affordable Care Act.
Being transgender is something I'm dealing with in therapy. I have never wanted to be open about it unless I've needed to or felt safe. Trump wants me, a human being with female reproductive parts but decent facial hair and masculine tendencies, to go to the bathroom with sisters, wives, daughters, nieces, aunts, grandmas...females who identify as females. He also has had an open rhetoric that invites people who are homophobic, xenophobic, transphobic, and whatever -phobic you can come up with that's focused on in society right now to openly attack/dehumanize/express themselves freely. That means: somebody sees me, they feel offended by my identity, they can tell me with their words or their fists. Whatever 'justice' they feel they can give me is the outcome. And because I'm transgender, the rights I already don't have won't be there to protect me. I'm sure it will somehow be my fault, that I asked for this, that I incited this kind of treatment. Am I being extreme? Possibly. But these are LEGITIMATE fears that I have. I am allowed to feel rejected and scared and demoralized. Not for long, but I'm allowed to have this meltdown because the securities I have are being threatened.
On top of being transgender, I'm mixed. My mom is white (but possibly of Mexican descent due to the fact that she's adopted, we will never know) and my father was black. I don't look black, I am mistaken for Hispanic more often than being white or even mixed, but I sure am. That makes me a target as well. Since I'm not from Mexico, it's safe to say I'm not a rapist or a drug dealer, according to Trump. But that keeps me open for discrimination. It allows for others who feel that I shouldn't be here, that I don't fit into the American Ideal, to tell me this. Again, do I feel that I'm being extreme, possibly. Legitimate fears. These are things that other people are thinking, feeling, experiencing. This is not a safe time right now and people are reeling and trying to make sense of their new safety/or lack thereof.
Obamacare has allowed for me to seek therapy. Not just for transgender issues, but because I need to make sure that I am mentally stable. Without it, I wouldn't have insurance because my job doesn't offer it in a traditional manner. I wouldn't be scheduled to get my first shot in about a month. I wouldn't be able to see a therapist who understands me, challenges me to deal with trauma, and who makes sure that I take care of myself and stay authentic to myself. Do you know how hard that can be when the world around you tells you that you're wrong? That you're just playing God and you're unworthy of love and happiness and safety? Yeah...trauma is fucking real people and I'm doing the very best I can to avoid additional trauma because of this election. Trump wants to repeal Obamacare and take away the healthcare that I do have. It's not much and it's not the most fabulous thing ever, but it is helping me live authentically and true to my happiness. That could be taken away from me. I won't be able to see my therapist, I won't get my shots, I won't be able to have surgery. Thus, I could become unstable at any moment and who the hell knows what then. I've got an amazing support around me, that definitely won't happen, but I am an exception. Not everybody is as blessed as I am.
This is not your everyday election. This isn't Bush and Obama, this isn't Obama and McCain. This shouldn't have been Clinton and Trump. There is nothing more scary than thinking that everything you live for, everything you've spent YEARS cultivating and protecting, could easily come crashing down because one man is surrounding himself with people who see me as a threat, a predator, an abomination, a "savage" (according to David Duke) and who don't believe I deserve basic rights because I'm lying and pretending I'm somebody else. If I were a threat or a predator, I wouldn't work with children and the love of my life wouldn't let me near her children. If I were...HALF of what Trump and some of his supporters believe I am, I wouldn't be here. I had somebody tell me today, while I was trying to let them know that Obama didn't TAKE anything away from people and that if people can say "Obama isn't MY president" then I can safely say "Trump isn't MY president" because I don't agree with most of his policies. Somebody told me...they straight up said "why don't you go hang yourself in your master's field?" This person knows me. We went to middle school and high school together. They knew me before, they are - were - a friend on facebook, but we hadn't actually spoken or seen each other in years. They felt that my fear of Trump and his anti-acceptance stance was worth me dying...at my own hands...in a field that doesn't exist, but apparently should because I've got black heritage. Will I always experience this? No. Because I haven't always experienced this. But realizing that there are SO MANY PEOPLE who believe that I am not to be treated as a regular human being because I'm not binary, white, educated is heartbreaking.
So yes, I will be cautious of who I meet and where and when and how I conduct myself around these new people. I will not allow Trump and the vile supporters who wish I'd disappear and/or die scare me away. I will become the change I want to see in the world. I will become a leader and a safe haven and I will make sure that the children I'm helping raise can think for themselves and can still be respectful and kind to others, regardless of their beliefs. Trump may have won the presidency, he may have more control over my life than I am willing to admit, but he will not deter me from being the man I am destined to be. He does not call the shots. I am my own show runner.
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Tuesday, September 20, 2016
Bible Belt, Oklahoma
This is a post that focuses a lot on church, God and religion. Bear in mind that in my eyes, religion is what you make it. My God may not be your God and my God may not be the God you expect. We are all somehow connected. At the end of the day, I'm not 100% sure what I believe, but I have a relationship with somebody/something that I can talk to. Yes, I call it God and I say "Amen" when I'm done talking/praying. I judge not as I am not sinless.
A little bit of background:
I didn't grow up in church. I was given the choice of going to church, of choosing which church I wanted to go to, how long I wanted to be there. I actually wanted to be a pastor at a young age but never thought it was in the cards for me.
Fast forward eight years:
I gave up on established churches for many reasons. I couldn't handle the inability to accept other people's beliefs as truth (your truth may not be my truth and it doesn't have to be to be right), I couldn't understand the intolerance for people who asked hard questions, I couldn't agree with disowning a person because they didn't follow the Bible to a T. I stopped going to church for many, many years. We literally went to church for Christmas Mass and even then, not being Catholic, I couldn't be there. Mainly because I couldn't learn about Catholicism the way I wanted to.
In high school, I found a church home. A place that I felt welcome, felt wanted, and felt like I could be accepted by God. I was still struggling with what it meant to be a Christian and had no clue about the differences between Baptist, Protestant, so on and so forth. I knew very little and was somewhat excited about changing my views, expanding my horizons, and finding a way to reconcile my internal conflict. It took me a couple of months to be comfortable, but because I had so many friends there, it was easy to fall into place.
Fast forward two years and I've got a word for my biggest conflict: Transgender. The Bible didn't say anything about it, but it pretty much felt like I was gay and that was definitely something God didn't want. It wasn't natural and besides, how does population work if you aren't in a heterosexual relationship with God at its core? These are things I "learned" at church. I was transgender and I had actually wanted to be a pastor again. That passion was a roaring fire inside me. I wanted to work with kids like me and let them know that you don't have to be homeless or alone or scared or faithless because God would take care of you if you gave Him your faith and trust.
Then it all came crashing down on me. A very insensitive joke about Catholics and gays was made and I realized that church was not the place for me. I had been raised much differently than what religion/church was teaching me. Be a decent human being, do for others with no expectations, things like that. Making fun of people isn't good or decent, judging people isn't proper, but I was seeing this all over the place and I was more confused and scared than I was when I first walked through the door.
I left that church and I tried another church. I didn't latch on because I had just admitted I was transgender and was still incredibly uncomfortable in my skin. I had already decided on my name, that wasn't the issue. It was the "let's greet those around us" that I just couldn't do. I was crippled by anxiety and I left. That church is now an amazing, all-inclusive church where Norman's PFLAG meets (or used to). I had given up. I figured that God didn't love transgender people and that I was destined to be Godless and would just have to rely on being a decent human being and having fellowship by myself. I was not only letting go of my desire to learn about God, but I was struggling to let go of my dream of being a pastor because, well, I'm transgender and I have no place in the church.
Fast forward four years, 2009:
I'm giving church a chance. I can't say why, but I was. I found a leaflet in my Bible and I was actively taking notes. It was also at the church I thought would be my first home. I'm all about second chances and trying again, but that was a waste of time. I wrote off established churches and established religion because there was no room for acceptance unless you treated it all like a cult. I saw it all as a cult and I wasn't about to lose my new-found confidence in my identity and happiness just to hide and struggle all over again.
Fast forward to 2013:
I go to church a couple of times a year because of circumstances. Dating somebody whose father is a pastor kinda means that if you're at his house on Sunday, you go to church. I wasn't opposed to it, but it did make me somewhat uncomfortable. Her father is passionate. He lives the life of a God-loving man who has God at the core of his existence and he's happy, even when things are miserable. He gives me great advice and helps me navigate things I'm struggling with. I get to see that it's not all rainbows and unicorns. It's also not a cult. It's not something that you have to sacrifice who you are to be in a relationship with God and that's the core meaning. Fellowship is nice and it helps the church stay open, but what matters most is your relationship with God. Which is how I was raised. My mom was on to something.
Fast forward to 2016:
We are required by law to offer religious expression to the kids at work, which I had been taking them to church on Sundays and holidays and when I could. It was okay. I felt it was too commercialized, they wanted money for this and that, but didn't bother to get to know my kids from work or me and it was frustrating. In July of this year, I start going to church with the kids on Sunday morning. The first time I was quite reluctant. I'd been to big churches. There was nothing special about them; judge-y, close-minded, too big, too impersonal. But the message was good. It stuck with me. I went the following week and I was okay. By the middle of September, I was comfortable enough to fill out a communication card. I wrote "What is NAME OF CHURCH'S view on transgender people?" I dropped it in the donation box and passed it down.
On that Sunday morning, I had thought about pursuing being a pastor on my way to work and I prayed "God, if this is the path, give me a sign. Let me know the direction I need to take." During one specific song, I got major goosebumps. I had them the entire song and during the song, I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and I prayed again. "God, is this the sign? Is this really something you want me to do? What's my next step? I give this to you and I accept your guidance." Tuesday afternoon, I had a phone call from a number I didn't recognize so I didn't answer. But they left a message. I checked it when I got outside to my car and it was the church. It wasn't some volunteer, either. It was the head honcho. It was the head pastor of this church.
I couldn't believe it. He said to call him back and he would be happy to talk to me about their stance on transgender acceptance. At the end of the message he said, "CHURCH is a place that is open and welcome to everyone." I was impressed. I felt in his message a genuine warmth and acceptance of my question. There was no hesitation and he spoke like he was confident. I called him back and left a message. He called me back a few minutes later and we had a 10 minute conversation about what has been heavy on my heart.
Transgender people are loved by God. Not only are they loved, they're wanted. God uses us all however He needs us. Remember, my God isn't your God, but everything in the universe is tied together somehow...I firmly believe that. Call it intuition or drive or whatever else you want to call it. For the first time in 13 years, I feel like I can be accepted. I feel welcomed. I feel wanted. Not only that, but this is a place I want to be. I believe that there is a calling for us all and that we sometimes need a nudge to get there. I'm hopeful that this will be fruitful. I'm actually going to introduce myself to the pastor on Sunday. I'm also considering being a pastor again.
Being transgender doesn't mean that you can't be accepted at a church. I didn't realize that until today and it's important to me. I know that religion is important to other transgender folks, but they can't get on board because they don't feel loved or welcomed or wanted. They have rejection from their family, why would God want them? Why would God make them struggle like this if He loves them like the Bible says? God has a plan for us all. Your family may not be supportive of that plan because they don't know what it is, they don't understand it. But that voice you hear may be more than just your inner voice. Listen harder, give it a platform and maybe that voice will be the acceptance you absolutely deserve.
A little bit of background:
I didn't grow up in church. I was given the choice of going to church, of choosing which church I wanted to go to, how long I wanted to be there. I actually wanted to be a pastor at a young age but never thought it was in the cards for me.
Fast forward eight years:
I gave up on established churches for many reasons. I couldn't handle the inability to accept other people's beliefs as truth (your truth may not be my truth and it doesn't have to be to be right), I couldn't understand the intolerance for people who asked hard questions, I couldn't agree with disowning a person because they didn't follow the Bible to a T. I stopped going to church for many, many years. We literally went to church for Christmas Mass and even then, not being Catholic, I couldn't be there. Mainly because I couldn't learn about Catholicism the way I wanted to.
In high school, I found a church home. A place that I felt welcome, felt wanted, and felt like I could be accepted by God. I was still struggling with what it meant to be a Christian and had no clue about the differences between Baptist, Protestant, so on and so forth. I knew very little and was somewhat excited about changing my views, expanding my horizons, and finding a way to reconcile my internal conflict. It took me a couple of months to be comfortable, but because I had so many friends there, it was easy to fall into place.
Fast forward two years and I've got a word for my biggest conflict: Transgender. The Bible didn't say anything about it, but it pretty much felt like I was gay and that was definitely something God didn't want. It wasn't natural and besides, how does population work if you aren't in a heterosexual relationship with God at its core? These are things I "learned" at church. I was transgender and I had actually wanted to be a pastor again. That passion was a roaring fire inside me. I wanted to work with kids like me and let them know that you don't have to be homeless or alone or scared or faithless because God would take care of you if you gave Him your faith and trust.
Then it all came crashing down on me. A very insensitive joke about Catholics and gays was made and I realized that church was not the place for me. I had been raised much differently than what religion/church was teaching me. Be a decent human being, do for others with no expectations, things like that. Making fun of people isn't good or decent, judging people isn't proper, but I was seeing this all over the place and I was more confused and scared than I was when I first walked through the door.
I left that church and I tried another church. I didn't latch on because I had just admitted I was transgender and was still incredibly uncomfortable in my skin. I had already decided on my name, that wasn't the issue. It was the "let's greet those around us" that I just couldn't do. I was crippled by anxiety and I left. That church is now an amazing, all-inclusive church where Norman's PFLAG meets (or used to). I had given up. I figured that God didn't love transgender people and that I was destined to be Godless and would just have to rely on being a decent human being and having fellowship by myself. I was not only letting go of my desire to learn about God, but I was struggling to let go of my dream of being a pastor because, well, I'm transgender and I have no place in the church.
Fast forward four years, 2009:
I'm giving church a chance. I can't say why, but I was. I found a leaflet in my Bible and I was actively taking notes. It was also at the church I thought would be my first home. I'm all about second chances and trying again, but that was a waste of time. I wrote off established churches and established religion because there was no room for acceptance unless you treated it all like a cult. I saw it all as a cult and I wasn't about to lose my new-found confidence in my identity and happiness just to hide and struggle all over again.
Fast forward to 2013:
I go to church a couple of times a year because of circumstances. Dating somebody whose father is a pastor kinda means that if you're at his house on Sunday, you go to church. I wasn't opposed to it, but it did make me somewhat uncomfortable. Her father is passionate. He lives the life of a God-loving man who has God at the core of his existence and he's happy, even when things are miserable. He gives me great advice and helps me navigate things I'm struggling with. I get to see that it's not all rainbows and unicorns. It's also not a cult. It's not something that you have to sacrifice who you are to be in a relationship with God and that's the core meaning. Fellowship is nice and it helps the church stay open, but what matters most is your relationship with God. Which is how I was raised. My mom was on to something.
Fast forward to 2016:
We are required by law to offer religious expression to the kids at work, which I had been taking them to church on Sundays and holidays and when I could. It was okay. I felt it was too commercialized, they wanted money for this and that, but didn't bother to get to know my kids from work or me and it was frustrating. In July of this year, I start going to church with the kids on Sunday morning. The first time I was quite reluctant. I'd been to big churches. There was nothing special about them; judge-y, close-minded, too big, too impersonal. But the message was good. It stuck with me. I went the following week and I was okay. By the middle of September, I was comfortable enough to fill out a communication card. I wrote "What is NAME OF CHURCH'S view on transgender people?" I dropped it in the donation box and passed it down.
On that Sunday morning, I had thought about pursuing being a pastor on my way to work and I prayed "God, if this is the path, give me a sign. Let me know the direction I need to take." During one specific song, I got major goosebumps. I had them the entire song and during the song, I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and I prayed again. "God, is this the sign? Is this really something you want me to do? What's my next step? I give this to you and I accept your guidance." Tuesday afternoon, I had a phone call from a number I didn't recognize so I didn't answer. But they left a message. I checked it when I got outside to my car and it was the church. It wasn't some volunteer, either. It was the head honcho. It was the head pastor of this church.
I couldn't believe it. He said to call him back and he would be happy to talk to me about their stance on transgender acceptance. At the end of the message he said, "CHURCH is a place that is open and welcome to everyone." I was impressed. I felt in his message a genuine warmth and acceptance of my question. There was no hesitation and he spoke like he was confident. I called him back and left a message. He called me back a few minutes later and we had a 10 minute conversation about what has been heavy on my heart.
Transgender people are loved by God. Not only are they loved, they're wanted. God uses us all however He needs us. Remember, my God isn't your God, but everything in the universe is tied together somehow...I firmly believe that. Call it intuition or drive or whatever else you want to call it. For the first time in 13 years, I feel like I can be accepted. I feel welcomed. I feel wanted. Not only that, but this is a place I want to be. I believe that there is a calling for us all and that we sometimes need a nudge to get there. I'm hopeful that this will be fruitful. I'm actually going to introduce myself to the pastor on Sunday. I'm also considering being a pastor again.
Being transgender doesn't mean that you can't be accepted at a church. I didn't realize that until today and it's important to me. I know that religion is important to other transgender folks, but they can't get on board because they don't feel loved or welcomed or wanted. They have rejection from their family, why would God want them? Why would God make them struggle like this if He loves them like the Bible says? God has a plan for us all. Your family may not be supportive of that plan because they don't know what it is, they don't understand it. But that voice you hear may be more than just your inner voice. Listen harder, give it a platform and maybe that voice will be the acceptance you absolutely deserve.
Wednesday, August 31, 2016
Batter Up
Sorry for the delay. I hate when I have this grand plan for a blog and then I get tired or busy and I don't get around to accomplishing what I wanted. This post actually didn't end how I wanted it to. I wanted to write about the dynamic of being a transgender parent/step-parent, but ended up settling on something completely different. That's not bad, though. This spoke to me more.
I was not openly gay or transgender in high school. I came out to my mom in the last couple months of my senior year. After always seeing myself as a male, I was able to put a word to the feelings I had. I could finally explain why I was attracted to women, but never AS a woman. I didn't even see myself as gay, but I was active in my schools's GSA group.
I didn't want to be an advocate, even after I came out and met other transgender people. It took probably three or four years for that seed to grow. I wanted to educate people and help others have the (mostly) positive reception I had when I came out. I didn't know what to do or how to do it, but it was a sort of passion.
That passion waned as I stopped chasing my transition. I had changed jobs, finally getting a little comfortable and letting my facial hair grow out just a little bit. Nothing like what it is today. I watched YouTube videos, but the news was usually bad or nonexistent. It was hard to get an accurate picture of what the community as a whole needed or was going through.
As the news shifted and started to report more transwomen of color being murdered, I had become more comfortable in my skin. I had participated in NoShave November and my mustache was coming in nicely. I was in a stable relationship and I was determined to reach just one person and let them know they weren't alone.
I joined a YouTube group of other transmen across the US and Canada. We each were assigned a day of the week and agreed upon a topic. It was great and I loved it. We were getting likes and new subscribers every week. We grew up. We went to college, got jobs, started hormones, moved...life happened and we started to fall off.
I tried to keep up with it, starting an Instagram and Twitter (because I was super active on those platforms at the time) and stay engaged, but even I fell off the horse. It was hard to be a role model when I myself had stalled once again is transitioning. I was planning on starting hormones, but I couldn't afford insurance. I also couldn't afford a therapist. Both were needed for my journey (mind you, all journeys are different) and I was stuck.
I let the group go and toyed with starting a blog, but it felt empty and I didn't know what to write about. I wanted to write about what it meant to redefine life, what it meant to define my position and my journey. In 2013, I changed my name and decided I was going forward and nothing could stop me.
The journey is always changing. It is something new every day. Some days, it's exciting and I feel really good. Other days, it's a struggle to even get out of bed. Some days, I want to be a huge activist and raise awareness and help cultivate a strong, inclusive community outside of our niché. Some days, I just want to stay in my lane and do me. That doesn't mean I don't want justice and equality for every living human being, it just means I don't have the fight to take care of more than myself. And that's ok.
A high school friend of mine recently reached out to me and asked if I would be willing to speak at her school. They're in the planning phases of a GSA and I think it's exciting. It's not just a chance for me to be a part of my community, it's also a push in the right direction. A push to keep going forward. I want to be a success, a role model for kids who don't have one or who are afraid of embracing their authentic selves. I cannot wait to start this new part of my journey.
I was not openly gay or transgender in high school. I came out to my mom in the last couple months of my senior year. After always seeing myself as a male, I was able to put a word to the feelings I had. I could finally explain why I was attracted to women, but never AS a woman. I didn't even see myself as gay, but I was active in my schools's GSA group.
I didn't want to be an advocate, even after I came out and met other transgender people. It took probably three or four years for that seed to grow. I wanted to educate people and help others have the (mostly) positive reception I had when I came out. I didn't know what to do or how to do it, but it was a sort of passion.
That passion waned as I stopped chasing my transition. I had changed jobs, finally getting a little comfortable and letting my facial hair grow out just a little bit. Nothing like what it is today. I watched YouTube videos, but the news was usually bad or nonexistent. It was hard to get an accurate picture of what the community as a whole needed or was going through.
As the news shifted and started to report more transwomen of color being murdered, I had become more comfortable in my skin. I had participated in NoShave November and my mustache was coming in nicely. I was in a stable relationship and I was determined to reach just one person and let them know they weren't alone.
I joined a YouTube group of other transmen across the US and Canada. We each were assigned a day of the week and agreed upon a topic. It was great and I loved it. We were getting likes and new subscribers every week. We grew up. We went to college, got jobs, started hormones, moved...life happened and we started to fall off.
I tried to keep up with it, starting an Instagram and Twitter (because I was super active on those platforms at the time) and stay engaged, but even I fell off the horse. It was hard to be a role model when I myself had stalled once again is transitioning. I was planning on starting hormones, but I couldn't afford insurance. I also couldn't afford a therapist. Both were needed for my journey (mind you, all journeys are different) and I was stuck.
I let the group go and toyed with starting a blog, but it felt empty and I didn't know what to write about. I wanted to write about what it meant to redefine life, what it meant to define my position and my journey. In 2013, I changed my name and decided I was going forward and nothing could stop me.
The journey is always changing. It is something new every day. Some days, it's exciting and I feel really good. Other days, it's a struggle to even get out of bed. Some days, I want to be a huge activist and raise awareness and help cultivate a strong, inclusive community outside of our niché. Some days, I just want to stay in my lane and do me. That doesn't mean I don't want justice and equality for every living human being, it just means I don't have the fight to take care of more than myself. And that's ok.
A high school friend of mine recently reached out to me and asked if I would be willing to speak at her school. They're in the planning phases of a GSA and I think it's exciting. It's not just a chance for me to be a part of my community, it's also a push in the right direction. A push to keep going forward. I want to be a success, a role model for kids who don't have one or who are afraid of embracing their authentic selves. I cannot wait to start this new part of my journey.
Saturday, August 20, 2016
Phobia of Consequences
-takes a deep breath-
Transphobia isn't something that I've been in close contact with more than two or three times in my whole life. Living in central Oklahoma, I would think it would have been a more common occurrence, but I've really been blessed/lucky to be sheltered from this side of it. I've been confronted in the bathroom once, about two years ago, and made it out with minor issues. What people don't understand is that being transgender and being targeted can have instant negative consequences. I was shaken and my confidence dropped but, because I was loved and supported, I got through it fairly quickly. That experience couldn't prepare me for what I experienced the other day.
I overheard some guys talking about transgender celebrities. It seemed like a casual conversation, simply just a discussion of who is, who isn't, who pulls it off, who doesn't. Things of that sort. It quickly turned into something darker. One of the guys said "Those people should be treated like the Jews. Fucking put them in some camps and kill those freaks. They deserve it for trying to play God and shit." I listened for a few more minutes, worried about how they perceived me, before I was able to walk away. I had to collect myself before getting on with my day. There was so much I wanted to say, but obviously it was could have escalated into a dangerous situation for me.
Sometimes, trans people have this feeling of "not being trans enough" because we don't fit into the cookie-cutter norms that society wants us to. We are either too masculine, not masculine enough, too feminine, not feminine enough. Seen as freaks, abominations, people who are trying to defy/play God, so on and so forth. This is obviously not the case. I often feel like I'm not trans enough. It's simply programming. When you're born a female, you're expected to be a certain way. Act, talk, walk, think, feel certain ways that are different from how males are expected to be.
When you cross the line of being transgender, that programming can be difficult to undo. Sometimes, even I realize I've done something that natural-born guys wouldn't do. I have to try and be conscious of everything I do and try to be masculine enough to make sure I'm not coming off as feminine or even gay. I certainly don't see myself as gay, mainly because I don't see myself as a female. Many FtM (female-to-male) guys sometimes feel that they just aren't masculine enough. It causes a lot of disconnect at times, because we are struggling to make sense of what we are working with and how we are perceived in the universe.
I was perceived on the outside as whatever. I don't even know. I probably wasn't even on their scope of concern. Nonetheless, the conversation I overheard had an impact on my self-perception. My confidence was torn down. My will was wrecked. I found myself at home, unable to control my emotions. not necessarily fearful, but full of sadness and anger. I struggled to keep the tears away because I felt like all the efforts I've made to "pass" (which means to embrace and live as authentically as I possibly can) have been a failure. Temporary, but a part of my psyche and my spirit broke. Imagine knowing one of the worst atrocities in history happened to a specific group of people and having somebody wish that upon you. A completely innocent person who just wants to live safely and happily is dealing with somebody wishing they would be tortured and murdered simply for being who they are. Something completely out of their control.
I got two hours of sleep before going to work. I cried uncontrollably. I couldn't even talk about it for about 24 hours. I had to try and deal with it myself because the pain was too much. But why? Why was it so powerful and so painful? The answer is easy: Because it is insanely accepted as appropriate. Not a single one of the other guys said anything in defense of transgender people. None of them said anything to disagree. They didn't necessarily agree and I could tell one was a little uncomfortable with the comments, but there was no correction.
I wasn't strong enough to stand up for myself. I wasn't strong enough to stand up for other transgender people who desperately need it. I feel like a failure. I feel like a fraud. It was a missed opportunity and I realize that. I also accept the fact that I am privileged to be American, to be loved, to be supported, to be who I am. I may not have been able to deal with this transphobia as others would have liked. But I can say that I did what was best for me. Who knows what that could have turned into. Transphobia shouldn't be tolerated, especially to that extent. All it takes is an open mind and an honest attempt to learn about something you may not fully understand. Take the negatives you perceive and turn them into positives, if possible.
Transphobia isn't something that I've been in close contact with more than two or three times in my whole life. Living in central Oklahoma, I would think it would have been a more common occurrence, but I've really been blessed/lucky to be sheltered from this side of it. I've been confronted in the bathroom once, about two years ago, and made it out with minor issues. What people don't understand is that being transgender and being targeted can have instant negative consequences. I was shaken and my confidence dropped but, because I was loved and supported, I got through it fairly quickly. That experience couldn't prepare me for what I experienced the other day.
I overheard some guys talking about transgender celebrities. It seemed like a casual conversation, simply just a discussion of who is, who isn't, who pulls it off, who doesn't. Things of that sort. It quickly turned into something darker. One of the guys said "Those people should be treated like the Jews. Fucking put them in some camps and kill those freaks. They deserve it for trying to play God and shit." I listened for a few more minutes, worried about how they perceived me, before I was able to walk away. I had to collect myself before getting on with my day. There was so much I wanted to say, but obviously it was could have escalated into a dangerous situation for me.
Sometimes, trans people have this feeling of "not being trans enough" because we don't fit into the cookie-cutter norms that society wants us to. We are either too masculine, not masculine enough, too feminine, not feminine enough. Seen as freaks, abominations, people who are trying to defy/play God, so on and so forth. This is obviously not the case. I often feel like I'm not trans enough. It's simply programming. When you're born a female, you're expected to be a certain way. Act, talk, walk, think, feel certain ways that are different from how males are expected to be.
When you cross the line of being transgender, that programming can be difficult to undo. Sometimes, even I realize I've done something that natural-born guys wouldn't do. I have to try and be conscious of everything I do and try to be masculine enough to make sure I'm not coming off as feminine or even gay. I certainly don't see myself as gay, mainly because I don't see myself as a female. Many FtM (female-to-male) guys sometimes feel that they just aren't masculine enough. It causes a lot of disconnect at times, because we are struggling to make sense of what we are working with and how we are perceived in the universe.
I was perceived on the outside as whatever. I don't even know. I probably wasn't even on their scope of concern. Nonetheless, the conversation I overheard had an impact on my self-perception. My confidence was torn down. My will was wrecked. I found myself at home, unable to control my emotions. not necessarily fearful, but full of sadness and anger. I struggled to keep the tears away because I felt like all the efforts I've made to "pass" (which means to embrace and live as authentically as I possibly can) have been a failure. Temporary, but a part of my psyche and my spirit broke. Imagine knowing one of the worst atrocities in history happened to a specific group of people and having somebody wish that upon you. A completely innocent person who just wants to live safely and happily is dealing with somebody wishing they would be tortured and murdered simply for being who they are. Something completely out of their control.
I got two hours of sleep before going to work. I cried uncontrollably. I couldn't even talk about it for about 24 hours. I had to try and deal with it myself because the pain was too much. But why? Why was it so powerful and so painful? The answer is easy: Because it is insanely accepted as appropriate. Not a single one of the other guys said anything in defense of transgender people. None of them said anything to disagree. They didn't necessarily agree and I could tell one was a little uncomfortable with the comments, but there was no correction.
I wasn't strong enough to stand up for myself. I wasn't strong enough to stand up for other transgender people who desperately need it. I feel like a failure. I feel like a fraud. It was a missed opportunity and I realize that. I also accept the fact that I am privileged to be American, to be loved, to be supported, to be who I am. I may not have been able to deal with this transphobia as others would have liked. But I can say that I did what was best for me. Who knows what that could have turned into. Transphobia shouldn't be tolerated, especially to that extent. All it takes is an open mind and an honest attempt to learn about something you may not fully understand. Take the negatives you perceive and turn them into positives, if possible.
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