Looking Back, Looking Ahead

As the final hours of 2016 tick by I, like many others, pause to take stock of the year that is ending and to look ahead at the one about to begin. Looking back to the end of 2015, I see such a tremendous difference in my life. This year has brought significant challenges, painful losses, and buckets of tears. But it has also seen my life blossom in amazing new ways that have enriched and expanded my world.

At the end of 2015 my marriage was coming to an end. I had just started on the brave journey of transforming myself. I worried intensely that 2016 would be the loneliest year of my life. I knew that the one friend who had helped me have the courage to embrace my identity would soon be moving away and I wondered whether I would find any others to fill that void, not to mention how I would recover from the painful loss of a 25-year relationship. Here, at the end of 2016, I can say with relief and joy that my fears of loneliness have proven empty. When I stop and reflect on the circle of friends around me and the network of relationships that has developed over this year, I am overwhelmed with gratitude. I am a rich woman, because of the wealth of friendships that I have. As I write this so many names and faces come to mind that I almost cannot focus on writing. If I haven’t expressed it clearly enough to you yet, let me say again how much you all mean to me.

Which is not to say that I never experience sadness or loneliness. I do feel lonely at times. Tears still overwhelm me at unexpected moments. It’s hard to adjust to being single after 25 years of marriage. Even while my life is rich with relationships, I have not replaced that single, intimate one that I enjoyed for so long. I don’t know when I will. I’m open to the prospect but for now am learning to be content on my own. I don’t want to get involved with someone only in an effort to fill some void in myself. I want to connect with others out of my wholeness. As a result I do sometimes feel lonely, but I try to remind myself that I am not alone, and that’s a big difference.

This year also saw the end of a promising career in foreign language education. That hurt a lot, because I enjoyed teaching and I was good at it. That it ended due to my transformation felt incredibly unjust, which still makes me angry. But I enter the new year established in a new position, with a new and exciting career path open before me. I see opportunities and connections opening to me that would have never been possible in my previous work. I am accepted and affirmed by my coworkers for who I am, without prejudice. I know that my work contributes to the needs of my community, which provides a significant amount of job satisfaction.

I have my concerns for 2017. The beginning of the fascist dictatorship of der Trumpenfuhrer gives me great cause for alarm personally, for the future of democracy in my country, and in particular for the well-being of minorities and all those who do not conform to the reinvigorated worldview that advantages those who are white, heterosexual, cisgender, male (or attractive young female) Christians. But I refuse to give in to fear, just as I refuse to submit to those who use their privileged position to silence those of us on the margins. I affirm the need to engage, to resist, and to stand together with those who will be crushed by the new regime. Rather than leaving me fearful, this invigorates me as we begin 2017.

I don’t look back on 2016 with regret. I’m not even particularly glad to see it end. It has been a year of fantastic personal growth, even though growth always comes at a cost. Looking ahead to the new year, I am excited to grow and develop, to live more wholeheartedly, to engage actively, to stretch my boundaries and challenge myself to become more fully the woman I am. There’s lots of living still to be done.

Proud to be LGBTQ

A transgender sister posted this story on Facebook recently in which the author, who self-identifies as a gay man, expresses his dissatisfaction with the LGBTQ designation. I see some of his point, such as when he says: “This [the LGBT] community does not exist….LGBT isn’t a club I’m in.” Certainly it does not exist as a monolithic block of people who share all the same characteristics, any more than, say, the “evangelical community” is a monolithic block. Any time we group people under a label we ignore that which they do not have in common in order to emphasize what they do have in common. It would be a mistake to assume that all individuals within a group agree on everything, or even that they all like each other. This does not mean that they do not share some element or elements that are particular to them.

This author suggests that the one thing those united under the LGBTQ banner share is the letter V, for victim. He insists that we should not view ourselves as victims, and in this I agree in general, though in reality we often still are because we do still face the challenges of marginalized people. Those challenges vary from one group to another and from one individual in a group to another. A white gay man living in San Francisco is going to have a very different experience and perspective on the practical aspects of living his identity than a transgender woman of color living in a rural town in the deep South.

And this is where I think the author’s fatal flaw, and my greatest critique of his article, lies. Based on what he writes he lives in a context that is relatively safe, in which his “gayness” is simply a part of who he is and doesn’t create any particular obstacles to his life. He optimistically writes: “It’s desperately important…to keep repeating the message that growing up as gay will not mean having to face isery and persecution; that everything’s getting better fast; that we’re winners now.” Therefore, he concludes, he feels no identification with others in the LGBTQ rainbow whose experiences are still those of marginalization, discrimination, abuse, rejection and violence. He certainly has the freedom to feel that way, but it’s a pretty shitty way to treat others who are not “winners” yet. Just because you have obtained all the rights, privileges and acceptance that you desire doesn’t entitle you to abandon others who are still struggling for their basic rights. Just because, for example, same-sex couples now have the legal recognition of marriage throughout the United States, doesn’t make it okay for them to throw transgender people under the bus when they seek the basic right to live openly and freely in society.

Being part of the LGBTQ community for me is not about identifying with everything every other member of that community represents. I’m not gay. I’m not bisexual. I can’t identify with those perspectives at all on a personal, experiential level. Just because I’m transgender doesn’t mean I am close friends with every other transgender person. The dynamics of interpersonal relationships still exist even within the queer community. What being part of the LGBTQ community does mean for me is that I will stand alongside my brothers, sisters and non-conforming others (we need a good summary word for that) in our fight for equality within society and before the law. It means that, while I may not be particularly close to that transgender woman who lives across town and might not even enjoy sitting down to coffee with her, I will vigorously defend her right to be herself and will protect her to the fullest extent I am able when she is being persecuted. Just because I am fortunate to have found acceptance and support in my identity doesn’t entitle me to ignore and abandon those who have not. This is what community means.

So I disagree with this author. I am proud to carry the LGBTQ banner, to identify as part of this community. It’s a loose coalition of disparate elements, but until the day when we are all free to live as who we are in society without fear of violence, discrimination, abuse and rejection  I see a need to stand together and fight for that which unites us and I will use the LGBTQ label to help bring us together.

Lighting a candle of hope

I did something this evening that I have not done in well over a year: I attended a religious service.

This may seem strange, since I recently proclaimed my lack of belief. I didn’t go as someone who believes though. I went because the service was promoted as being a place for those who are dealing with grief and sorrow and not able to embrace the joy of the holiday season. I went as someone who is seeking, questioning, wondering, exploring. I went as someone who is still finding healing for the grief that has clung to me for the past year. I went as someone wanting to know whether this religious community was a safe place for a queer woman with lots of doubts and questions and very little faith.

The answer I received was “Yes, you are welcome here. You are safe here. You are loved here.” I appreciate my friends John and Sheila, both staff members of Northminster Presbyterian Church, who have actively and readily affirmed their support over the past year, who have not pressured me to return to the church, to change my identity, to reaffirm a faith I do not connect with, but who have simply said “You are our cherished sister and there is always room for you here.” Tonight I tested that and found it to be true.

I’m not ready to return regularly to church. My spiritual journey is far from that place. But it is comforting and reassuring to know that I can go there if and when I need or want to. If only my experience were the norm. Unfortunately, too often churches and other religious communities are the least-welcoming places for LGBTQ people. A place that should provide refuge and sanctuary often provides precisely the opposite. Nor do churches tend to welcome those who question, doubt or explore. They are too often about inculcating certainty, fostering a particular spiritual “feeling,” indoctrinating a set of beliefs and a pattern of behavior. Tonight I experienced what church can be for those of us who do not fit within its typical cultural boundaries, and for that I am very appreciative. I dream and long for a time when this will be the norm for churches and queer people will not be excluded from communities of faith because of who they are.

As we lit candles in this evening’s service I could not light it for the reason given by the pastor -- in acknowledgement of the love of God which I do not experience -- but I lit mine in hope: in hope for my transgender brothers, sisters and non-conformers; in hope for my lesbian, gay, bisexual and asexual friends; in hope for a world that knows way too much of hatred, suffering, pain and sorrow; in hope that we can create a world in which people can live in safety, in connection with one another and in connection with their true selves. This is my Christmas wish. 

Undone

I recently toured our local Jewish History Museum and Holocaust History Center with several of my coworkers. Our organization had provided some of the funding to make the center possible and the center wanted to share the results with us. I went, not expecting to find it particularly powerful or moving. After all, I have visited Auschwitz, Buchenwald, Dachau and the Palace of Justice in Nürnberg (where the famous Nuremberg trials were held following the war). I have read extensively about the Third Reich and while not an expert on it, I consider myself pretty well-versed. I didn’t expect a small history center in Southern Arizona to add much to my perspective.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I had only been in the center a few minutes when I felt the tears begin to well as I looked at the pictures. As I walked through the exhibits, looking at pictures not unlike many I had seen before, my emotions overwhelmed me and I could barely keep from audibly sobbing. A couple of my wonderful colleagues wrapped me in comforting embraces and helped me make it through. After we returned to our office I spent the rest of my day working through waves of tears and emotions that would not quickly release me. Even now, when I reflect on it, my emotions begin to well up inside me.

Why such a powerful reaction? Two things stand out.

First of all, as I looked at the exhibits, particularly those related to the propaganda used by the Nazis and their allies, I saw so clearly the parallels to the language and rhetoric used by political leaders in my own country today, in 2016. Hitler came to power with the support of a minority of very vocal supporters who manipulated Germany’s constitution to their own ends. He promised to make Germany great again. He promised employment. He promised to restore “traditional” German values. He discredited, then eliminated his political opponents. He scapegoated Jews and other “anti-social elements,” as well as “nefarious” international agents as the source of Germany’s problems. He made it acceptable, even fashionable, to hate certain groups. He didn’t lock up the Jews on his first day in power, but the propaganda that laid the foundation began even before he came to power. Sounds frightfully familiar to me. The parallels terrify me.

Secondly, I viewed the exhibits in this center from a radically new perspective. During all my previous interactions with the Holocaust, I had not identified myself as a member of a marginalized minority group. Now I have, and it significantly changes my perception. Had I lived in Nazi Germany, my picture might well now hang on the wall of some Holocaust museum as one of Hitler’s victims. That’s a very sobering thought and makes the pictures I looked at frightfully personal. When I connect that to current events, I see a group of people salivating at the prospect of taking power and in their zeal to restore “traditional” values wanting to restrict and eliminate my civil rights. It’s not such a far step from there to the gas chambers.

I sincerely, deeply hope that the people of my country will stand strong against the propaganda, the lies and the hateful actions of the minority that now want to run this country. Even as the tears flowed freely down my face I was encouraged by the fact that I was with a group of people who stand for equality, for the rights of all people and who will not stand silently as a minority tries to push their hateful agenda. I hope that we will not let history repeat itself in our country. But still I am afraid…

I’m glad we visited the Holocaust History Center. I’m glad that it exists, because we need to be reminded of the evil humans are capable of. We need to be reminded how easily and quietly genocide can begin, how the seeds of hatred and discrimination are planted and grow in a society (or more accurately, how they are actively watered and nourished when those in power choose to manipulate them for their own purposes – the seeds already being present.) We need, as a memorial wall at the center reminds us, to keep throwing the stone of the historical record – the facts of the Holocaust and other genocides – under the wheel of current events to keep more people from being crushed. We cannot let another Holocaust occur in a false desire to “Make America Great Again.”

Reasons to give thanks

I know that people traditionally use the period before Thanksgiving to express the things they are thankful for. I had to get through Thanksgiving weekend first, but having done so I want to pause and reflect on the many reasons I have to give thanks. The past year has been quite a journey, much but not all of which I’ve shared with you on this blog.

• I am thankful that I can finally live freely and openly as myself, that I know longer have to hide or be ashamed of my identity. I am thankful for finally being able to look in the mirror and love the person I see.

• I am thankful for the many friends who have walked this journey with me. Some are old friends, others are newer. Each of you means more to me than words can ever express. You have sustained and strengthened me more than you may ever know.
• I am thankful for my parents, my children, and my siblings who have also supported me as I made this transition. As I listen to stories from others in the transgender community I hear so many of pain because they do not have that family support. What a powerful, life-giving difference it makes.
• I am thankful for my job and my co-workers. I feel so fortunate to work in a place that actively affirms and supports diversity, a place I look forward to going each morning. I am thankful to be engaged in work that supports the growth of positive community in my city and region.
• I am thankful for my dance community – most of whom fall under the category of friends as well. J I am thankful to have this second home, a place where I can express myself freely, creatively, without fear of failure or ridicule. I am thankful for the benefits dance has brought me physically, socially and emotionally.
• I am thankful for those in the LGBTQ+ community who have gone before me, whose lives and sufferings have made it possible for me to live as freely and openly as I am able to today. We still have much to strive for, but thank you to all who have worked so hard to reach the place we are at today.
• I am thankful to live in a community that by-and-large affirms diversity. In a country that has given free rein to hatred, fear and intolerance, I am thankful to live in a community that chooses to welcome everyone. We’re not perfect, but things could be a whole lot worse.
• I am thankful for my children. As they grow into adulthood I am proud of the people they are and who they are becoming. Their journeys have had many challenges as well, and through those challenges they have been shaped as beautiful, talented, amazing people who also affirm diversity and acceptance.
• I am thankful for life. I am thankful for each breath I take, for the opportunity to walk on this planet, to interact with others, to impact their lives in a positive way. Life is a precious gift that can be snatched from us so suddenly. I want to embrace each moment of it.

I can think of plenty of reasons to worry, to be anxious, fearful, depressed and discouraged. Believe me, those moments come as well. But I want to remember regularly the many reasons I have to give thanks, only some of which I have listed here. They strengthen me in those times when the darkness threatens to engulf me.

I hope that each of you also has reasons to give thanks, not only in this Thanksgiving season but each and every day. May be stand together and support one another as we face the challenges that lie ahead, knowing that we are not alone.

Losing my religion

My old acquaintance Stuart (not his real name) responded to my post last week in which I rejected the shame he had tried to cast on me for who I am. I didn’t release his response because I want to respond to it more fully here and not in a comment to the earlier post.

Stuart chose to cite several verses in his effort to demonstrate that I am out of line with god’s created order (he avoided the use of the word “sinful” but that was definitely implied). My first response was to engage him at that level and cite other verses back at him, such as Deuteronomy 22:11 which states that we are not to wear clothes of wool and linen together. Thankfully my wardrobe has little of either so I avoid that sin, but if we are to interpret it as a broader principle of not having multiple types of fabric in our garments, I think many of us are in trouble, probably including Stuart himself. My point here would be that the bible is an ancient manuscript and everyone who says they believe in it chooses rather arbitrarily which parts of it apply to modern life. The bible can be and is interpreted by Christians in a variety of ways, some of them mutually exclusive. We could have a lengthy discussion here on that issue. But that’s not where I want to go with this.

After considering pursuing the discussion down the path of biblical interpretation I realized that doing so would not be pointless. Because the simple fact is that I have ceased to view the bible as god’s divine word. I would not describe myself as Christian at this point, except maybe in a very broad sense and in the cultural sense that it has formed much of my background and perspective on the world. I don’t believe any longer. I have wrestled for a long time with acknowledging this, because it’s another significant step away from who I was, and I have feared how people might respond. But I refuse to live life out of fear any longer.

I’m not going to try to argue with Stuart about what the bible says about who I am, because I don’t see the bible from his perspective. I don’t see it as the rule book by which I must live, therefore I don’t have to try to argue based on it that my life is moral and valid. I don’t believe that my life is invalid from a biblical perspective, and others who still see the bible as god’s word have argued and continue to argue for acceptance of LGBTQ people based on that understanding. I appreciate that they do so. I view them as allies. But this is a battle I’m not going to fight any more.

The problem for Stuart, and christians like him, is that they want to enforce their interpretation of the bible on society as a whole. In a pluralistic society, this is not acceptable. You may believe what you want, but you may not force me to conform to those beliefs in the public sphere. I think this is one of the reasons so many conservative christians voted for a man who is so emphatically not a christian: they recognize that they cannot dictate the narrative of society exclusively according to their worldview any longer and they are fighting to not lose that control which they have exercised for so long. You don’t have to accept me Stuart, but you cannot deny my right to live freely and fully as a fellow citizen and fellow human.

My rejection of the Christian religion comes not solely, or even primarily, as a result of the recent election, though that certainly did it great harm in my eyes. Nor does it arise purely out of my journey to find myself, though the two are closely intertwined, for how can I believe in a god who is supposed to be love, when so many of that god’s followers say that god hates people like me? My issues with religion go much deeper than this. I have read and studied the bible pretty much my entire life. I have gone to seminary. I have read and studied theology. I served as a missionary for almost ten years. And in the end I found it empty. I found that the so-called promises of god cannot be relied on. I can no longer put aside fundamental theological issues that have troubled me for a long time. I am not going to describe them here, as it would take far longer and become far more complex than appropriate for this blog. I have issues with basic theological beliefs in Christianity (and in fact with most any religion) that I can no longer answer, and which are compounded by the expression of this religion I see from so many so-called followers in my country.

If you are inclined to try to argue me back to faith, please save your time and energy. I know all the arguments. I’ve used them myself. Don’t cite bible verses at me. You’re not going to convince me by appealing to a book I probably know as well as you do and which I no longer believe in. If I ever find my way back to this faith, it will be through the continuing expressions of love and grace I find in those whose lives are shaped by the one who is called the “Prince of Peace.” Acts of love, mercy and compassion are the only currency that have any value with me. I am, from this point forward, declaring myself to be areligious and agnostic. I’m not writing off the possibility of god, but I’m definitely not seeing convincing evidence for god either. I am not denouncing all Christians either, for I know many whose lives affirm the fundamental values of love, grace, mercy and compassion. I’m not trying to convince anyone that they should not believe. I’m simply letting you know that I no longer do.

A Center of Hope

Our dance studio will lose its home in the coming months – and I’m really glad. I’m glad, not because I want us to find a new home, which will bring challenges and opportunities. I’m glad because we are losing our space to something equally as wonderful as our studio. In the coming months the Southern Arizona AIDS Foundation (SAAF) will be transforming our studio into a new drop in center for LGBTQ youth. I cannot think of a better reason to lose our space.

I’ve shared over the past few months how much my dance studio has meant to me, particularly in the past year, and continuing to this day. The owner and teachers and dancers have created a unique place where people are safe to explore and develop and express themselves. This second family has been a source of strength and support to me repeatedly. I have also been fortunate to have the support of my parents and my children. The support I have has sustained me through many a difficult time on my journey.

Unfortunately not everyone has such a support network. As an adult with support it’s difficult. As an adult without support it’s very hard. I cannot imagine how overwhelming it would be as a youth. I cannot imagine what challenges you face when your parents don’t support you, when maybe they actively reject you, perhaps even kicking you out. Where do you find that support when your school may feel like a hostile environment, when your church is not a sanctuary? We all need a place we feel safe and welcome, where we can form relationships with people who accept and affirm us, who remind us of our value and worth. We need a place we can go where we have the support we need to face the challenges of life. As an LGBTQ youth such spaces can be difficult to find, and in our current political climate they may become even harder to find.

For these reasons I am thrilled at the plans for this youth center. I had the privilege to attend a gathering Friday evening to help raise awareness and financial support, for such things do cost money. I may not have abundant resources, but this center shall certainly receive what I can give. I hope in the future that I might also be able to serve the youth in this center in some manner with my time and energy, sharing from my experience and offering an encouraging, supportive voice in a world that may feel quite hostile.

If you would like to learn more about this new center, or if you would like to contribute whatever you are able to make it a reality, please contact SAAF at www.saaf.org or (800) 771-9054. I cannot think of a time when a center like this is more necessary and I look forward to seeing it open next year. The light will shine in the darkness.

Not ashamed

In the aftermath of last week’s election fiasco and my engagement with some of my acquaintances about the role of christians in bringing it about, I had an old acquaintance state that my lifestyle is shameful, that God didn’t make me as I am. I won’t deny that these words hurt. I’ve spent a lot of energy this past year confronting and overcoming the shame baggage that my background loaded on me. To have the word shameful thrown in my face was perhaps the most hurtful label one could use against me.

Working on confronting shame though has also helped me strengthen my shame resilience. In the light of this accusation I reminded myself of the truths I have come to understand and embrace: I am worthy of love and acceptance. I am beautiful. I am enough as I am, without having to fulfill someone else’s expectations of me. You may believe that God didn’t make me as I am, but I know I was made as I am. I fully know who I am for the first time in my life and I am not ashamed.

As for my lifestyle, I have nothing to be ashamed of here either. I do not claim to be perfect, but the core values by which I live stem from my Christian roots: to love others as myself, to do justly, to love mercy. If you want to challenge my behavior in regards to these, I will gladly and actively defend myself, and I’m confident my friends would as well. If you want to judge my life on some other criteria, well that is your right, just as it is my right to deny your judgment validity.

I used to judge people just as I was judged by my acquaintance. If you didn’t conform to my limited worldview you clearly needed to get your life straightened out. I spent most of my life avoiding people who were “different,” to my own loss. Having stepped outside the hallowed halls of a narrow American evangelical worldview I’ve found a beautiful, wonderful diversity. I’ve found life. I’ve found liberty. I have found amazing friends who demonstrate love and acceptance without regard to identity or appearance. I’m not interested in re-entering that box of judgment that limits myself and others. 

I will not surrender joy

I wanted to feel joy this morning. It snuck up on me as I ate my breakfast and watched my colorful fish peacefully swim in their aquarium. Then I stopped myself. How could I feel joy in light of the great darkness that has come upon my country? How can I celebrate when I still simultaneously am grieving for myself, for my country, for my friends and even strangers whose lives stand to be so negatively impacted in the coming years? It seemed wrong, inappropriate, immoral.

Until I reflected on this a bit more and realized that it isn’t. To stop feeling and expressing joy, amazement, wonder, delight and hope just because my country will be led by people who spew hatred, fear and division would be to grant them another unearned victory. I will not allow Donny Drumpf and his sidekicks to steal my ability to experience the whole range of human emotion. I will not give him that power.

This does not mean I celebrate his election. I most certainly do not.

It does not mean that I will not grieve the injustices that he and his government will perpetrate upon so many people. I most certainly will. And I will stand against them.

It does not mean I will not feel, and as appropriate express, my anger towards those who discriminate against others, who seek to exclude those who are different, who act with violence toward them, who try to establish an environment in which only straight white people are welcome. I will certainly feel that anger.

But I will not let it control me. I will not let it own me. I will not become consumed by the same narrow-minded fear that DD has expressed throughout his campaign.

So I will dance. I will allow room for joy, and hope, and wonder. I will celebrate beauty. We’re going to need all of those and more to get us through the coming years.

DD may have won the electoral vote, but he did not win the right to take away my joy. He did not win the right to keep me from enjoying the beauty and goodness in life (even as he seeks to squash so much of it.) He did not win the right to rob me of peace and hope. I will not give him that right.

Do you stand with me?

I feel safe tonight, safer than I’ve felt since the election results came in.

I feel safe because my boss stated directly and unequivocally that my job and my person are safe.

I feel safe because of my co-workers who have expressed their unwavering support for me and for the people in our community who stand to be negatively impacted by this new government.

I feel safe because of my friends who cried with me and embraced me Wednesday evening and spoke to me of my worth and value and declared that they will stand with me regardless of the changes in our society.

I feel safe because I live in a community that has chosen to value diversity, to exalt love over hatred, inclusion over exclusion.

But I still don’t feel like I am welcome in my own country. I don’t feel that I could travel around my country with the expectation that my rights and my personhood would be respected. I don’t feel safe from the new government of my country, because I do not believe that they are committed to upholding my civil, my human rights. Because I don’t fit their definition of an acceptable person. Because as an old acquaintance said bluntly to me, my lifestyle is shameful.

And even if I am feeling safe at the moment, my heart aches for my friends who still fear for their safety: for women in general, because we have a new leader who has said it’s okay to violate women’s bodies as a man; for people of color, against whom violence by those who are supposed to protect them will now be further legitimized; for my Latinx friends, especially those who fear that they or family members will be deported regardless of the fact that they contribute so much to this country; for my LGBTQ friends, many of whom do not enjoy the safety net that I have and against whom discrimination has become acceptable; for people who do not identify as Christian, and particularly those who are Muslim, who are labeled as potential terrorists simply because of their faith.

Many Trump supporters, including some acquaintances, will protest that they do not hate me. They do not hate minorities or immigrants, etc. And probably most of them don’t. I know my friends and understand that they are not hate-filled people. If they were, they wouldn’t be my friends. But they fail to understand how their vote for a man who used hatred and fear as a (sadly effective) campaign strategy has made it acceptable for those who do view people who are different with actual hatred and who act against them with violence, both physical and psychological. You have elected a candidate who has said heinous things about people from so many groups, basically against everyone but straight white men. And you cannot understand why we are afraid?

Some have protested that Trump didn’t say he hated all these groups, that it’s just the way the media has portrayed him. But his own words condemn him. His own actions condemn him. The plans he has for policies and legislative and executive action immediately upon taking office condemn him. This is not a man seeking to unite a diverse nation. This is a man who represents and acts on behalf of those who want to make America great by making it a country controlled by straight white people again.

People say I just need to get on with life. That I need to accept the results and stop protesting. But I will not stop protesting. I will oppose this immoral man with every fiber of my being as long as he is in office. I will give him no more respect than so many conservatives gave to President Obama, a man of far superior moral character, throughout his eight years in office. I acknowledge that Donald Trump was elected president, but I don’t respect him and I do not acknowledge him as having legitimacy. He is not my president. I respect this nation, but I do not respect a man who would turn this nation back to a darker past.

Above all I will oppose him by acting to stand together with those who will suffer from his government’s policies and actions. I will stand by the immigrants: undocumented or documented, refugees and economic immigrants, Muslim and Christian and Buddhist and atheist and any other flavor. I will stand with my fellow women as we face an erosion of our rights. I will stand with my LGBTQ brothers, sisters and gender fluid siblings. I will stand with those who find themselves in poverty because their government cut funding for the services that helped keep them out of it. I will actively demonstrate that love conquers hate, that the future of our society rests in embracing our diversity, in welcoming those who are not just like us, in standing with the marginalized, outcast and disadvantaged.

And if you voted for Trump but want to demonstrate that you do not support his message of fear and exclusion, of discrimination and hatred, then I challenge you to stand with me, not just in word but in deed, because otherwise your words will continue to ring empty and your assertions of love for us will ring untrue.

Holding on to Hope in the Midst of a Nightmare

I awoke this morning to the worst hangover I’ve ever had, but it wasn’t because I drank too much last night. No, this hangover is going to last the next four years (or at least two). I had gone to bed last night fearful for the outcome of the election as things were not trending well, but I tried to remain optimistic that the western states and late results would swing things favorably. Alas, it was not to be. Enough of my fellow Americans (though not actually a majority!) voted for a man who has consistently displayed his disdain for minorities, for LGBTQ+ people, for immigrants, for differently-abled people, for women, for anyone who didn’t fit a narrow definition of normal. Whatever else they may have wanted to communicate, they communicated that we have no place in this society from their perspective. Our rights matter not. Our safety and well-being are irrelevant. We are not free to live our lives openly and authentically in this country. We are not welcome here. We should cancel all anti-bullying programs in schools immediately, because we just showed our kids that we really think bullying is okay, at least as long as you are a wealthy, powerful white man. I have wrestled with depression and despair since waking up.

I have spent the past year overcoming fear, confronting my own internal fears, daring to live authentically and openly. Now I feel an overwhelming fear, one that feels beyond my control. I fear the laws that this new government will try to pass to exclude me from society. I fear the laws they will pass that will impact dear friends. I fear for the hatred that has been given full and free voice. Yes, I am afraid. I am afraid to leave the relatively safe nest of the city I live in. Even here I have wrestled with feeling safe in public. How can I travel to other parts of my own country when so many regions in it have sent the message that I am not welcome there, that I am not acceptable? Yes, I am afraid.

But I will not give in to that fear. I will hold on to hope, because I still believe that love conquers hate. I still believe that enough of us are committed to creating an open, inclusive society that we will prevail. I hold on to hope because I see the faces and hear the words of my co-workers today who, even as they grieve along with me, assure me that I am wanted and welcome here, that they will stand alongside me in the darkness to come. I hold on to hope because of words like these, written by the daughter of a friend. I believe in a better future, mostly because I have to believe, but also because I see the rays of light, such as the workshop I attended yesterday in which several local businesses committed their time and energy to learn how they can create a more welcoming, equality-focused workplace for transgender people. I think of all my wonderful friends and know that we need to support one another now more than ever. We will need to create communities and networks of change so that we do not allow our country to become a place of hatred and discrimination. Together we will continue to radiate light.

As much as I want to respond to all this with hatred of my own, I will not. I cannot. Where there is darkness, let me bring light. Where there is hatred, let me bring love. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. The future belongs to us.

Why this election matters to me personally

Like many of you I am eagerly awaiting the end of this presidential race which has been, well, less than presidential. I have avoided writing about the election because I wanted to focus on more personal things. But with only days left until we choose a new president, I want to speak about the choice before us from a personal perspective.

There are so many things that concern me about the outcome of this election, so many aspects of the stark contrast between the two primary candidates, that it’s hard not to write a lengthy exposition. But I want to stick to one primary issue: for me this election is about whether we will move forward as a country in which I am free and safe to live openly as the person I am, or whether we will move backward and embrace a mindset that excludes, discriminates against and dehumanizes people like me and anyone who is different from some idealized norm. Will I wake up on Wednesday facing a future in which my identity will expose me to increased rejection and abuse, or to one that will see growing acceptance of the amazing diversity present in our society? It doesn’t get any more personal than that. Are we going to choose to be a society that makes room for transgender people, for lesbian, gay, bisexual, asexual, queer and gender divergent people? Are we going to embrace immigrants, people of color, people of different faiths?

Recently a friend tried to convince me and others that Donald Trump represented the best choice for LGBTQ people. I could hardly contain my shock. A look at the Republican platform alone puts the lie to this argument. If that weren’t sufficient, the choice of the fundamentally anti-LGBTQ Pence as vice-presidential candidate adds further weight to the argument against the Republican ticket as pro-LGBTQ. Trump’s pledges clenches the deal. This ticket and this party are no friends of the LGBTQ community and will not receive my vote. The choice is clear. If I didn’t have a hundred other reasons to oppose Trump/Pence, the threat they pose to my basic identity alone would be sufficient reason.

I don’t have the option of moving to another country, nor do I want to. This is my country. This is my home, and as I cast my vote I will do so for the candidate who will most actively supports the full equality of all Americans, regardless of orientation, identity, ethnicity, or place of birth. I remain hopefully confident that the majority of my fellow citizens will make that choice as well. Regardless of the outcome I will continue to live proudly and openly. I just hope I can do so without greater threat to my personal safety or loss of my basic rights.

Reborn

I celebrated my first birthday this week. Sure, I’ve logged more than a single year on this earth, but this past year was Andrea’s first year of open existence, so it really was a first birthday celebration. I come from a religious tradition that speaks of being born again and though I’m not sure where I stand in regards to that tradition spiritually, this description accurately describes my experience this past year. I feel like I am unfolding myself in so many different ways, expressing parts of my identity that I’ve repressed for a long time, not surprising since I had repressed my core identity during that time. I feel alive again. I feel like a butterfly that’s finally able to spread her wings and radiate her beauty to the world. I’ve been reborn.

My birthday reflected that. The day was fantastic from beginning to end. Dear friends filled my day with love, laughter and joy. I danced. I was treated to many more drinks than I’m used to (and offered more than I could accept!) Scrumptious brownies made by a beautiful friend tempted me to eat far too many of them. Most importantly I felt completely wrapped up in the warm embrace of people who love me and whom I love. I have so much to give thanks for: a new job, a supportive and loving family, an amazing group of friends, the opportunity to give of myself to others, good health, the joy of expressing myself through dance. The sky seems bluer, the air fresher. My lungs breathe in the fragrance of life each day. What a wonderful feeling. I’ve been reborn.

I know that difficult times still lie ahead. The challenges won’t suddenly evaporate forever. But I feel like I’m starting a new stage of the journey. I’ve been passing through a dark valley for quite some time, but the light shines ever brighter. Life flows through me. I’ve been reborn, and it’s a wonderful feeling. It’s time to radiate that life to the world.

Finding Work

Nearly three months ago I lost my job due to my transition. When my employer became aware of it they very carefully avoided firing me but created a hostile atmosphere in which I could no longer work. After much internal struggle I chose to walk away for the sake of preserving my mental, emotional and physical health. Unfortunately, my experience is all too common. Nationally transgender people enjoy no blanket legal protections for employment. In many states employers may terminate an employee because of their gender identity without any legal concern, or refuse to hire someone on that basis. Our status in the eyes of the law remains very muddled and ambiguous, leading to high rates of unemployment and workplace discrimination. (This article describes many of the challenges we face as transgender people seeking employment.) The federal government has taken proactive steps to change policies and attitudes, but cannot change the basic status of protecting transgender rights without congressional action, which remains extremely unlikely in the current Congress.

With this bleak picture I set out on my search for a new job. The job market in my region remains weak, which makes finding work difficult for anyone. When you approach the challenge with the added twist of being transgender it becomes even more daunting. Throughout the process I wondered how potential employers would respond when the met me in person. How would new coworkers receive me? Would I find a job I could enjoy and a welcoming, affirming workplace environment?

I consider myself very fortunate to have finally found a job at all. My fortune goes much deeper though, in that I landed at an employer with an actively affirmative policy on diversity. My new coworkers welcomed me warmly and positively. The atmosphere is welcoming and affirming. I won’t quite say it is my dream job (I still haven’t figured out what that would be) but in terms of the possible scenarios, I could not have asked for a better situation. After a month of working at the organization as a temporary worker I will transition to full-time regular status next week.

I wish I were not an exception to the general employment situation facing transgender people. I am thankful for the opportunity I have, but I want to see the laws changed so that we receive the same basic civil rights that others face. It’s bitterly ironic to me that many of those who would deny us full civil rights come from religious backgrounds. They already enjoy the advantage of having their religious views protected and would now use their privileged position to deny equal protection to others. It’s time for a change and I remain hopeful that we will see it happen in the near future.

  

Misgendered

A few weeks ago while working at the wine shop where I have a part-time job, a customer came in wanting several bottles of wine for a party she was having that evening. I introduced myself and began to assist her in her selection. After finding several bottles she indicated that she wanted me to call my boss, the shop owner, to talk with her, so I summoned her to the front of the store. The two of them talked about the purchase while I continued to bring other bottles as requested by the owner to fulfill the customer’s wishes. She purchased several bottles so we collected them into a box for easier transport. At this point the owner asked the customer if she could help her carry the box out to the store. The customer looked directly at me and said “I was going to have him help me.” My boss graciously said she would help her and they left the store. I felt demeaned, because I had told this customer my name, she had seen that in every way possible I present myself as the woman I am and despite this she chose to look me in the eye and refer to me as “him.” We call this “misgendering” and it happens all the time for transgender people.

Some people misgender me by accident. This happens most often on the phone because my voice does not present as quintessentially feminine, but when I introduce myself to the caller as Andrea, I do expect them to recognize that this is a female name and interact with me accordingly. Some people have known me for a long time and struggle to transition their pronoun usage. My own mother is in this category, though her support has been total and unconditional. I recognize that it is hard for her to make the switch after a lifetime of viewing me another way and I try to be patient with her, though I will now correct her when she does it in public settings. While it can be very uncomfortable and awkward, being misgendered by a friend or old acquaintance accidentally occasionally is tolerable because I know I can gently remind them and that they are trying to adjust their speech. My newer friends almost always get their terms correct.

However, some people, such as the customer in the store, deliberately choose to misgender me. I have had people who have looked me in the eye, heard my name, seen my id or my bank card and still choose to refer to me as “sir” or as “him.” This offends me, because it demonstrates a fundamental unwillingness to acknowledge my identity. It’s like saying that I don’t exist.

I do not make it hard for people to “read” me. I am a high femme transgender woman, meaning that I regularly dress and present myself in a way that is markedly feminine according to the norms of our culture. I have a female name. I am a woman and I expect to be acknowledged as such. This is not an unreasonable expectation. It shows respect to me as a person. The other evening I was out to eat with my mother and the waitress asked what she could get us ladies. This honors my identity. Thankfully in my town this type of treatment is more common, so it really stands out to me when someone misgenders me.

Too often I have remained silent when misgendered. I am learning to speak out, to defend my identity and correct those who deliberately refuse to acknowledge it. It does depend on the context, of course. For example, part of the frustration in the interaction at the wine shop that evening was that as a sales woman working with a customer I could not correct her blatant disregard for my identity because that would be bad customer service. I did say something to my boss later about it and she voiced her support for me and said to call her if such incidents should happen in the future. But in other contexts I need to stand up for myself and not let people deny my existence through their choice of words.

You may feel like this is much ado about nothing, that it doesn’t really matter. As a cisgender person you can say this, because you probably never get misgendered. Your identity is acknowledged daily in the way people interact with you. If you are a cisgender woman, that acknowledgement may come in unpleasant, unwanted ways, which is a different but real issue as well. If you are transgender, you almost certainly have been misgendered and understand exactly what I’m talking about. It’s not a small thing. It’s about having your identity acknowledged by others. When people address me as a woman, when they speak about me with the correct feminine pronouns, they indicate that they accept me as who I am. When they don’t, their words indicate that in their eyes I don’t exist.

If you are interacting with a transgender person and are not sure how to address them, I have a very simple suggestion:  Ask them. As I said, my presentation is very clear and people shouldn’t have any struggle with how to interact with me, but other transgender people are more fluid and it may be more difficult to know what they prefer. Ask them. That’s much better than treating them according to your perception of their identity and in the process denying their identity because you are uncertain or, worse, deliberately refuse to acknowledge that they don’t conform to your perspective on gender. Ask them. It’s really not that difficult, is it?    

What gives you hope?

Yesterday I had the privilege to be interviewed by a young man, himself transgender, who has been travelling the country collecting stories from transgender people and allies in small towns and cities for a book he will be writing. One of the questions he asked me is “What gives you hope?” I hadn’t thought specifically about that until he asked, but answering it reminded me of some vitally important parts of my life.

My journey this past year has challenged me and pushed me beyond just about every limit I thought I could endure. About a month ago I reached a night where I found myself in despair to the point that I questioned the very value of continuing to live. I have known a great amount of joy, but also great depths of sorrow and grief. In the midst of that, I have found hope in my family, particularly my parents and my children who have walked this journey with me from the day I told them. I know far too many LGBTQ people who do not have this fundamental support and realize how fortunate I am that I do.

I also find hope in the amazing friends I have around me. I regularly feel lifted up, encouraged, affirmed and loved by them. I feel that I belong. I remember the theme song from Cheers, the popular sitcom from the 80s, which said “Sometimes you want to go, where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came.” I always thought that the church should be such a place, though it rarely has been for me. But I now have such a place in my dance studio and that gives me so much hope. Between my biological family and my circle of friends I know that I am not alone. I know that I will never be abandoned, no matter how difficult things are. I know that they will be there for me, and I will be there for them. This gives me tremendous hope for my future.

In a world that often expresses hostility, dismay, derision and lack of understanding toward transgender people, as well as towards others who don’t fit the dominant perception of “normal,” I have hope because I see that there are a lot of people who do not feel that way, who affirm each person as they are. I have hope that the future will be better because such love must conquer the hate that others spew out. In the midst of this toxic election year, when one candidate builds his entire campaign on a message of fear, exclusion and intolerance, I know that he does not represent the values of this country and have hope that the values I see lived out among my friends will prevail.

Finally, I have hope because for the first time in my life I feel like a whole person. I am connected with myself. I know who I am and can live fully and freely in that identity. If you have not lived your life disconnected from yourself, you may not fully understand this, but the sense of freedom and hope that come from living wholeheartedly empowers and uplifts me. It’s not always easy. I’ve tried to be very candid about that on this blog. There are very difficult days and dark nights. Sometimes I want the struggle to be over, but I know that the struggle shapes me and that I have the strength and the inherent worth to rise again.

Hope has always been an important word to me. I appreciated the question from the interviewer yesterday because I had not thought of my journey particularly in terms of hope until then, but I see that I have strong, deep reasons for hope, and for that I am deeply thankful.

In Celebration of Coming Out

Today is National Coming Out Day, a day to celebrate those who have been able to step out of the shadows and let the world see them as they are. Unfortunately, there are still far too many who are not able to do so for a number of reasons, most of them rooted in fear: fear of rejection, fear of violence, fear of losing one’s employment, housing, relationships… I understand this fear. I’ve felt it and it kept me in the closet a long time.  I long for the day when no one will have to repress who they are, when coming out won’t really be coming out at all because nothing will have been hidden away. I will work with others to transform society to achieve this, because I believe so deeply in the inherent worth and dignity of all people and their right to live freely and fully as the person they are.

Recently I looked back through old messages on my phone to see when exactly I had first come out. I knew it was sometime in October but couldn’t remember exactly. Well, it turns out my timing was just a little bit off, because my coming out day is actually October 12. One year ago tomorrow I revealed my hidden secret identity to another person for the first time in my life. It was a hesitant, fearful, tentative step, but it was the first crack letting in the light that would in time become a flood that has radically changed my life. I’ve written about that journey already and will continue to share about it, but without that first opening, which had me literally shaking in fear, I would never have become the person I am today.

For that reason I will celebrate October 12 as coming out day. It’s like a second birthday because of the tremendous significance it bears. It marks my rebirth, my new beginning and if that’s not worth celebrating, I don’t know what is. So here's to all who have come out and to those who are not yet able to do so. May we each have the courage and opportunity to live authentically as full members of society.

Coming out and living openly aren’t something you do once, or even for one year. It’s a journey that we make every single day of our lives. Every coming out experience is unique and must be navigated in the way most comfortable for the individual. Whether it's for the first time ever or the first time today, coming out can be an arduous journey. It is also a brave decision to live openly and authentically.

 (from the Human Rights Campaign website)

I am not an island -- AIDSWalk 2016

When my alarm rang at 5:00am on a Sunday morning I seriously wondered what the hell I was thinking when I signed up for a volunteer shift beginning at 6:00am on the one day a week I don’t have anything fixed on my schedule. But I pulled myself out of bed nonetheless, made myself presentable and drove downtown to help with the annual AIDS walk to raise support and awareness.  I chose to participate because I understood that the cause is important and I wanted to do what I could to support it, but I admit that I didn’t feel a strong personal connection to the issue. That changed this morning.

I know people who live with HIV. They’re not my closest friends, but in my circle of acquaintances there are definitely people whose lives are impacted by this and, therefore, so is mine. As I prepared for my volunteer role this morning I began speaking with another volunteer who became something of my partner for the event. I’ll call her Tracy. We made small talk for a while and then she asked me if I knew anyone impacted by the virus. I said that I had acquaintances but not really close friends. She then surprised me by saying that she lives with it and has since she was 18. I appreciated her openness about it and we began to talk more in depth. She allowed me to ask some questions about her experience of facing a potentially lethal disease so early in life. I was encouraged to hear that she had family support but then she mentioned that the thing she most wishes is that she had more contact with others in the community who live with it. I imagine there are such groups but, being new to the AIDS support community here I couldn’t make any specific suggestion. I did offer to stay in touch with her personally and gave her my contact information so she can follow up. I hope she does.

I felt a connection with Tracy because, as I shared with her about my own journey during the course of our conversation, she and I both face the challenge of living our lives under the burden of social stigma. She spoke of my bravery but I think she’s the brave one, for she faces life each day knowing that she carries a disease that could kill her. Worse, she has to assess whether to acknowledge this to people she interacts with because not everyone will handle it well. We don’t speak of AIDS as we do of other diseases. We have made great strides in reducing the negative social attitudes towards HIV and AIDS, but we still have so far to go. Too many people still view it with fear and suspicion and treat those who live with it as if they were unworthy of living full human lives. I can relate to that all too well, because as a transgender person I also face such attitudes in society. My interaction with Tracy throughout the morning made my involvement with and commitment to the efforts to raise HIV/AIDS awareness and support those living with it far more personal, because I understand in a way I hadn’t really before that this is part of the same fight against discrimination and against the efforts to mark those who don’t fit the standard social narrative as less human and unworthy. I want to say to Tracy and all those who live with HIV that they are loved and worthy and adequate and I want to do what I can to foster their full acceptance and support in society.

Volunteering with the walk left me encouraged, in large part because of my interaction with Tracy, but also because of the amazing community spirit I saw on display. Hundreds of volunteers got up early on a Sunday morning to come down and support this event. Along with them hundreds of walkers got up and walked the city streets to raise money and awareness. I teared up a bit as the first walkers passed through the balloon arch that marked the end of the walking route, welcomed by dozens of people applauding and cheering their involvement. The amazing diversity of the people involved in the event was simply beautiful. I’m old enough to remember when AIDS began to intrude into public awareness back in the 80’s. I remember the fear and animosity that greeted those affected by it – much of it coming from religious communities. An event like today’s would have been much different then. This year’s event marked the 28^th anniversary here in my community. I wasn’t around for that first year, but I can imagine that it was met at best with indifference and at worst with angry expressions of hatred and discrimination. We’ve come a long way from those dark days, but we still have so much farther to go, just as we have so much farther to go in accepting and affirming those who don’t conform to the typical sexual or gender narrative of society. My cause is Tracy’s cause, and I will stand with her and all those living with HIV, just as I would hope they will stand with me as a transgender woman. I hope you will stand with us as well.

Bravery

I spent most of my life watching my words carefully, striving to not say things that might cause people to dislike me. I swallowed my opinions, or expressed them with the utmost caution and lots of cushioning words to dilute their potential impact. I was so afraid of what other people would think of me, so dependent on their opinion of me that I almost never spoke boldly and openly. I hid my true self in an effort to please others.

No more.

Not that I suddenly spout off any old thing that comes into my head. But because I feel much more confident and comfortable with who I am, I can speak out of that confidence and share my thoughts and opinions. I can express myself creatively. I can be serious, or silly, or whatever mood I happen to be in at any given time, because what other people think of me doesn’t change who I am. I’d like to say it doesn’t affect me at all, but that wouldn’t be true. I do care, and I still want people to like me. But I no longer NEED them to like me to feel good about who I am.

We hear often about the bravery of soldiers, of first responders and such, and certainly they exhibit a certain form of bravery at times. But bravery is not just about courage under fire, or risking one’s life to save someone in danger. It can be simply choosing to express your true self in front of others. It can be sharing that first tentative piece of artwork, that first draft of a poem, or taking those first hesitant steps as a dancer. It can be sharing with one person something about yourself that you have always kept hidden away. Such bravery doesn’t come with medals and citations. In fact, it often comes with ridicule and abuse, or just plain indifference. But it’s bravery nonetheless, for there is no greater act of bravery than to put who you are out there for others to see. I’ve experienced this so often this past year. It’s hard. It’s scary.

I was sharing with a friend recently how, even after three years of taking dance classes, I still often feel afraid and intimidated, hesitant to get out on the dance floor. This is especially true in any new class setting. It’s a risk. I’m putting something of myself on display and others may use that opportunity to wound me. As I’ve shared before, I am thankful that my dance studio is such a positive, affirming environment, but there is still that anxiety, that uncertainty. The first day I took a modern dance class this summer I had knots in my stomach all the way to the studio and until I actually got on the dance floor and just let myself get into the rhythm of the class. Even after three years of dance and with a very supportive environment, expressing myself before others requires bravery.

The more I practice bravery, the easier it becomes – somewhat. I still have to push myself to step into new situations, to try new things, to go beyond my comfort zone. I make it a personal challenge, but honestly, sometimes I’d rather just remain in the safety of my little bubble. Heck, some days I’d just as soon not get out of bed. But I will continue to choose to be brave, to show up for my life, to share who I am with the world and accept the risk that comes with that, because in doing so I experience life and I pass life on to others. I love when I see that my small acts of bravery encourage someone else to bravely express themselves in a new way. I hope that you will do so as well!

Invisible People

While running between two of my current part-time jobs the other day I stopped by a convenience store to pick up some caffeine. I had started the day tired and working another six-hour shift on my feet required some artificial stimulation. As I entered the store the employee, a younger, blond-haired woman, gave me a cursory glance and acknowledgment of my presence (greeting seems a bit too strong for her response). I picked out my beverage and headed to the counter, where she joined me. She wasn’t rude by any means, just not particularly engaged in our transaction either. Who can blame her? I was another customer in a string of them buying a simple beverage.

While she rang up my purchase I asked her how her day was going and we began chatting about our work lives. As I talked with her, her demeanor changed from disinterested to engaged. I’m not going to say she came alive, that would be an overstatement. But she did seem to brighten in response to our conversation. It wasn’t anything in depth. We mostly commiserated about the challenges of working long shifts. But in that brief interaction we connected, just slightly, at a human level. I left feeling a small bit better and I hope that I left her also feeling just the slightest bit brighter.

My current economic situation has renewed my perspective on the people we interact with every day: the checkout people, shop employees, cleaning personnel, secretaries and administrative assistants, waitresses and waiters and so many others. They are the ones who do the basic tasks that keep society functioning on a daily basis, but how often do we stop to acknowledge their humanity? I’ve seen this in my job at a wine shop, where I serve people during our weekly wine tastings. Many of our customers treat me very well, talking with me as I come to their tables and engaging with me as a fellow human. The regulars take it a step further and we have begun to get to know one another, not in a deeply personal way but still with a stronger than casual connection. These types of interactions make the job enjoyable.

Then there’s the other group, the ones who come in, drink their wine and exchange barely a word with me. Certainly that is their right, and there may be something going on in their lives that influences their behavior at that moment, so I don’t want to be overly harsh in judgment. But these interactions leave me feeling empty, like I’m invisible. If I were replaced by a wine-pouring robot it wouldn’t matter to these customers. I don’t expect or ask for much, but I do appreciate it when my customers acknowledge my existence and affirm that I am more than a menial servant.

I have always sought to be conscious of “invisible” people, but my current situation has made me redouble my efforts to not interact with people as if they were invisible. I want to come away from every interaction I have with other people, as much as I possibly can, with the feeling that I connected with them on a human level. I want to leave them feeling like they are valued, worthy people, that their lives matter, that their contribution is appreciated. When I frequent a business regularly, such as the pizza shop near my dance studio, I try to learn the names of the employees so that I can connect with them still better, because learning a person’s name communicates that I see them as a unique, valuable individual, not just an anonymous employee. I look for points of human connection and share from my own life at a corresponding appropriate level.

We complain a lot about the loss of civility and about the breakdown in discourse in our society. Our culture is certainly changing and despite all the negative press there are many reasons to hope for a better future. I think we can take small, powerful steps to heal the dynamic between people in our society remembering that the people we interact with every day are also human, that they long for affirmation of their worth, of their contribution, of their significance. This alone won’t solve all the challenges we face, but it might make life more positive for a lot of people. Will you join me? Will you take the time today to connect with the people who cross your path?

Feelings, nothing more than feelings (?)

I want a new drug…

One that won’t make me feel too bad

One that won’t make me feel too good.

Huey Lewis may well have captured our American psyche when he sang this song, even if unwittingly. Accepting who I am, beginning to live wholeheartedly, has enabled me to feel more deeply and intensely than most any time in my life. I have cried more in the past twelve months than I probably cried in the preceding forty-plus years. Heck, I may have cried more in the past month than in the previous forty years. It’s not just about crying though. It’s about allowing myself to experience the fullness of my emotions. It’s about vulnerability. (There’s that word again.)

When I was hiding from myself, denying my true identity, I couldn’t risk vulnerability. To protect myself from that I learned, among other defenses, to numb myself. Brené Brown addresses this in her book Daring Greatly. She emphasizes that numbing isn’t necessarily about addiction to pain-killers, or drugs, or alcohol, though it can include any or all of those.  It’s about trying not to feel too much of something that we don’t want to feel. It’s about disconnecting from our emotions because our emotions are too dangerous. They make us vulnerable. “We’re desperate to fell less or more of something – to make something go away or to have more of something else,” she writes. We want that drug Huey sang about.

Now most of us, myself included, would be happy to feel all the joy and pleasant feelings we can. That’s what we want more of. But we can’t, because life doesn’t work that way. As I’ve embraced the fullness of my life in the past year, I’ve had days of great emotional highs, but I’ve also had some really deep lows. I’ve had days where I was barely holding myself together, and days where I felt like I was walking on sunshine (cue Katrina and the Waves). If I numb myself to try to experience less of the low points, I’m going to lose the high points as well. “Numbing vulnerability also dulls our experiences of love, joy, belonging, creativity, and empathy,” writes Brown. You can’t have the joy without accepting the potential (likely?) pain as well. It just doesn’t work that way.

Brown links our numbing behaviors to fear of inadequacy. We fear that if we reveal our true feelings, our “weak” emotions, people will pounce on us and destroy us, or shun us, leaving us isolated and alone. Our culture emphasizes those who are successful and strong. Emotions are for the weak. We feel inadequate because if we were only more ___________, we wouldn’t feel this way. We’d be able to handle anything that came our way.

What I am discovering as I embrace my true self and live in the light is that I am enough as I am. I am worthy; worthy of love, of belonging, of equal treatment. I am learning to accept myself with all the messy incompleteness that is me. Are there areas I want to grow and improve in? Certainly. But that does not mean I am not enough. It doesn’t mean I am unworthy. It just means I’m human. Accepting myself as I am has freed me to accept my emotions as they come, to feel them fully, to breathe them in and exhale them, without feeling like I have to hide, deny or suppress them. I try to be aware of the context and express myself within measure, but I don’t want to hide my feelings from my friends. More than once I have walked into my dance studio and broken into tears, because I know that’s a safe place to do so, a place where no one is going to judge me, laugh at me, or find me inadequate. We all need those places.

Tears don’t necessarily equate with sadness either. The other day I was driving to pick up a friend, listening to a beautiful piece of music on my car stereo and looking at the bright white clouds against the brilliant blue sky and I started crying because it was a moment of such poignant beauty. And I drank the moment in, not trying to hold it forever, just savoring its sweetness. Another day I was crying to a song on the radio because it awoke feelings of grief and sadness. I let the tears flow.

Sometimes I still want that pill. I want to not feel so deeply, to not hurt so much. But really I don’t. I don’t want to numb myself to life anymore. I want to live it in all its fullness, confident that through it all I am enough and I am worthy.

We Belong

In exploring new music recently I found this song by Namoli Brennet. I had heard of her before, as she is well-known in the local transgender community, having once lived in my current home town. But I had not listened to any of her songs until yesterday. I like this simple song because it communicates a powerful and important message. Take a moment and listen to it.

This song resonates with me as a member of a marginalized group in our society. I speak up because the transgender community belongs in this society, in this world, as full and equal members of humanity. I also speak up because efforts to discriminate against us, to push us out of the social sphere and back into the closet, are directed not just at us, but reflect a desire by various elements in society to exclude anyone who doesn’t fit a narrow definition of normal and acceptable. It’s not just about transgender people. It’s about gay, lesbian, bisexual and asexual people and others with atypical sexual orientations. It’s about women, who continued to be viewed and treated as less than men. It’s about various ethnic groups who are viewed and treated as less than whites. It’s about excluding those who practice a different religion (though religion itself generally promotes an attitude and atmosphere of exclusion).

 Anytime we exclude a person or a group of people because they don’t fit our own narrow definition of normal, whatever that definition may be, we diminish ourselves, we rob them of their humanity, their dignity, their worth. And I will stand against that and shout “We belong.” We belong in society. We have inherent and fundamental worth and dignity. I will not continue to run away and hide. For me standing up for the equal treatment of transgender people is also about standing up for the equality of all other marginalized and excluded groups and for all those who have felt like or been pressured to run away. We belong.

Contentment

The other morning I got up, had breakfast, showered and got dressed for my day. I had a job interview that afternoon (my first one in all my weeks of searching!) and had promised to help a friend with an issue in the morning. Since I didn’t know how long that would take and wanted to be prepared should it take me right up to the interview time I put on the outfit I had recently purchased for job interviews: a cute white and black top and a straight black pencil skirt. I had a little time before I had to depart to pick up my friend so I turned my attention to a few household tasks, the kind that always need attention but can be ignored when more pressing things call. Nothing particularly interesting, not even worth writing about really. Except that as I did them, I felt this great sense of contentment. In the midst of boring, domestic activities, dressed to head out for a job interview, I realized that this was the life I had been looking for because I am finally living authentically.

I looked out the kitchen window at the morning sun and rested into the calm assurance of being true to myself, of not having anything hidden that I needed to be ashamed of, of simply being me. Perhaps you experience this feeling all the time. I certainly hope you do. I have had moments of being content in my life, but for the first time in all my years that contentment went soul-deep; nothing hidden, no fear of someone discovering my secrets, at peace with who I am and who I am becoming, a solid, simple peace. Sometimes I look at the lives other people lead. I see them sharing about their vacations and adventures and I envy them, because at present I’m doing well to keep my bills paid. There’s nothing wrong with having vacations or other great adventures. But where I’m at right now I am learning to find joy and contentment in my little world, in my simple life, in the amazing, wonderful friends who surround me, in the crisp clear sunlight on the mountains in the morning, on simply being alive and being myself. I hope that you also can experience that joy today. 

A Reminder of Why I Share My Story

Yesterday I had a reminder of why I share my story so publicly. An old acquaintance shared a link to a satirical article posted by the website babylonbee. (I won't link to it here. It doesn't deserve the dignity of further views.) This website satires a number of behaviors from a Christian slant and has previously published other pieces that were derogatory and demeaning of transgender people. In the past I have shied away from responding to such provocations, not wanting to feed the trolls. But this time I felt the need to respond, in part because being silent contributes to our continued marginalization and in part because this is someone I've known for fifteen years and whom I would hope for more respect from because of that.

This person made a point of stating that the article was satirical, even joking that readers should look the term up on Google if they didn't know what it meant. While I'm quite familiar with satire, I went ahead and looked it up anyway just to be very clear in my response.

My acquaintance responded with this:

To which I responded:

At this point another acquaintance of my acquaintance, a man I do not know and have no connection with, jumped in with some juvenile remarks. Apparently he has since withdrawn them as they are no longer in the conversation thread on Facebook. Perhaps he realized how asinine his comments were. I don't know. But he essentially explained gender as directly tied to anatomy using rather crass terminology, then informed me that a swift kick in my genitals would make my gender clear to me. I told him that I really appreciated his clarification of the issue and suggested that he could learn something from hearing the stories of others who were not like him, but that he probably was not willing to think beyond resorting to abuse and violence. I coined the term (? maybe. I haven't seen it used elsewhere but am not claiming exclusive rights to originating it!) "cisplaining" to describe the dismissive, demeaning tone he took toward me. Mansplaining also describes an aspect of his attitude.

My acquaintance came back with this statement of how I could not understand his perspective and how my worldview needed to accommodate his own. (I like the way he starts with "Dear friend" which he probably intends to communicate a certain bond between us but which came across as dismissive, like a parent trying to dismiss a child).

To which I responded:

He has not taken me up on my offer for personal conversation on the issue.

This acquaintance is a reasonable, educated person; someone whom you would think of as a "nice guy" if you met him. He's a good husband for all I know, respected in his profession, a leader in his church. And he would dismiss my very identity with a few simple words and a piece of cheap satire. This is on the one hand relatively mild. At least he doesn't threaten violence against me as his other acquaintance did. But by dismissing the very identity of transgender people (and probably others outside of his acceptable worldview), he makes it acceptable to dismiss us, to exclude us from the rights, privileges and opportunities of society. He marginalizes us which allows us to be abused, victimized, dismissed and discriminated against. It's not a small matter. By accepting us as human beings like himself with full rights to dignity, worth and equality in society he would not lose anything of his own ability to participate in that society. But by insisting on his narrow perspective as the only acceptable one he would exclude me and others like me. And that is not acceptable.

So I will keep telling my story because I want people like this man to know that I am a human being with as much worth and value as any other, and I will continue to expect that society treats me accordingly.