I refute them by living

I think it is important to keep telling my story and sharing my journey. I hope and believe that by doing so I can open a wider window for others into what it means to be a transgender person in our society. But sometimes I grow weary, because it often feels like I have to justify my existence over and over again. I have to try to convince people who view me as fake, as immoral, as a threat to society, that I am none of these things.

I recently read an article by Jenny Boylan, a transgender author whose book about her journey was one of the first I read when I began my own. In her article she announced that she was done explaining her humanity, a sentiment I can strongly resonate with. One statement in particular jumped out at me. Speaking of how she intends to respond to transgender detractors, she states:

You want to know how I’d refute them? Look at me. I refute them by living. I refute them by celebrating this life. I refute them, every day, by getting up and stepping out into the world and by refusing to be defined by any one or any thing other than my own heart.

She expands on this thought when she writes: “It may be that all of the explaining we do of our own lives — all our empassioned speeches about what it means to be trans, what it means to be this particularly complicated and gifted form of human — are less effective than simply being, than simply living in the world and having people understand that we’re here, that we’re not going away, and that we deserve, same as everyone else, equal protection under the law — as well as — who knows? — maybe even a little human kindness.”

I understand my mission in this way as well. I want to educate, inform, open eyes and hearts through my words. But even more I want to demonstrate to the world who I am, who we are as transgender people, simply by living my life every day in the midst of society. I get up, go to work, go shopping, eat out, attend events, as my own daily protest against those voices that would silence me, push me out of the public sphere, tell me that I do not have the right to use the bathroom that is appropriate for me, do not have the right to be protected in my housing, employment, healthcare and other basic needs simply because I’m different. Sometimes this can be difficult, as I’ve shared before.

Last weekend I exercised my freedom by choosing to attend a Women’s Comedy Festival. I hadn’t really attended a comedy show since my college days, and it turned out to be wonderfully funny and relaxing. As I debated whether to go though, I weighed whether I wanted to enter this new arena, whether I felt the courage to exist as a single transgender woman in this space. I wonder whether cisgender people weigh such issues? In the end I chose to go in part to stretch myself by trying something new, and in part because I refute them by living. My life is my protest.

I appreciate the value of safe spaces where transgender people, particularly those who have not reached a point they can come out openly, can gather to interact socially, find support and share their stories. We need such spaces. But I am also thankful and eager to live my life in the broader society as well, because I believe that the more boldly we do so, the more we demonstrate that we too are humans, that we too deserve basic human rights, the more society will come increasingly to affirm that as well. That’s a vision worth working to realize.

I will continue to speak and use my voice to advocate for transgender rights. But I will also refute those who reject us in the most basic way possible:  by living.

I can't keep quiet

This has not been an easy week for the transgender community in the United States. We’ve gone from having our government assure us that they have our backs to having it throw us under the bus. I recognize that the laws still stand which should make it illegal to discriminate against us, but my confidence is severely eroded that we can expect justice when the very government that should ensure that justice has said they will not actively intervene on our behalf.

An old friend called me out on an article I shared about this on Facebook. She told me I should be “part of the solution, not rebellious and destructive upheaval.” When I read this I thought: “What makes speaking out on behalf of the marginalized and disenfranchised rebellious and destructive?” My rights and those of other transgender people should not depend on the state we live in. They shouldn’t depend on whether the white, cisgender majority believes we deserve them or not. Calling for equality, demanding justice, asking for the freedom to exist in the public sphere is not rebellious. It’s a basic human right. If speaking out makes me rebellious and destructive than I guess I am.

This individual went on to recall how I used to operate out of love and inclusion and stated that I now act from selfishness. She could not be more off base. If I used to operate from love and inclusion, I do so far more now. I didn’t really know what inclusion meant until I began my own journey. When I was younger I longed for social justice. Even though I grew up as a white kid in the suburbs of Denver I recognized that my society was riddled with structural injustice and I longed to help right that. The course of my life drew me away from that struggle, but now I’ve come home and in a deeper, more powerful and personal way. I do not act out of selfishness. I strive to act out of love (though readily acknowledge how far short I fall of my own ideal.)

I was told that I am politicizing a personal grievance and creating division rather than peace. But true peace cannot exist where there is injustice. The current hot topic of bathroom access is only a piece of the issue, which is, “Do transgender people have a right to live fully and freely in our society?” As long as there are those who say we do not, we will continue to raise our voices in protest. We will disrupt society because society must make room for us as well. If our protest makes you uncomfortable, then the problem is with you, not us.

Of course, for most of us who protest, myself included, it’s not just about transgender rights. It’s about the rights of immigrants, refugees, women, Native Americans, non-White ethnic groups, non-Christian religions, all those who have experienced discrimination, violence and exclusion at the hands of those who have held the balance of power throughout the history of our nation. Our complaint, our struggle, our fight, is for a society in which all are included, in which the rights of the least powerful are most protected. I cannot be bought off with simple promises that my rights will be respected (especially lacking any clear evidence of that!) Even if the transgender community suddenly had full and total legal protection and acceptance in society, my fight would not be over as long as other communities continued to face discrimination. We are all interconnected.

One currently popular citation reminds us that ‘Well-behaved women seldom make history.” I’ve spent my life being well-behaved. I will still always strive to be respectful, but I’m no longer going to temper my words just because they might upset someone’s comfortable status quo. I can’t keep quiet any longer, not when the wave of injustice rolling across this country grows larger by the week. If my protest offends you, maybe you should ask yourself why rather than asking me to be silent.

Let's talk about sex(uality)

I want to revisit a topic I touched on early in this blog: sexuality and gender identity. In light of my post about assumptions the other day and a couple interactions I’ve had over the past few weeks, I recognize a need to try to address some assumptions in these areas. And maybe I just wanted a reason to provocatively title today’s post. ;)

Recently I was showing an acquaintance a picture of a woman whom I found quite attractive. He responded by saying, “But… you can’t…. she’s… But you’re a…”

To which I responded, “I can’t what? I can and do find her attractive. I am attracted to women.”

This left him quite flabbergasted and confused. “But you’re a transgender woman. You must like men.” (I’m paraphrasing this conversation.)

“Why must I like men? What determines that I as a transgender woman must be sexually attracted to men?”

“But if you’re attracted to women, that makes you a…”

“A lesbian?”

“Yes, I guess.”

He walked away commenting that I had blown his whole framework of reference and that he wanted to talk with me more about it at some point. We haven’t yet had time for that conversation, but I’d be happy to explore the issue with him.

More recently I was having a glass of wine with a friend. At one point our conversation turned to issues of sexual attraction and she expressed thoughts along a similar line. She also assumed that as a transgender woman I was gay, which she understood as meaning I’m attracted to men, (which if we try to force traditional concepts would actually make me heterosexual since I am female.) When I assured her I am not, she found herself struggling to redefine her understanding of me, of transgender people and sexuality and her whole terminology to address the topic.

These two conversations would not have surprised me coming from most people, but both of these people openly identify as gay or lesbian, so I had assumed that they would have a better understanding of the distinction between gender identity and sexual orientation. That was my error. At the same time they both made assumptions about my sexuality based on their perceptions of transgender people. Our assumptions on both sides led to mistaken expectations and miscommunication, though thankfully given the nature of these relationships the misunderstandings were not offensive and led to fruitful conversation.

As I wrote last year, gender identity and sexual orientation (sexuality) are two separate issues, though of course they do intertwine in practical application. Gender identity refers to how an individual understands themselves, or how they perceive themselves. This reflects itself in a number of ways, one of the most obvious being how a person chooses to present themselves to the world. Gender identity ranges from male to female with all sorts of shade in between, and includes people who are agender, not identifying with any particular gender.

Sexual orientation speaks of the inner attraction one feels toward others sexually. Here we often tend to think in a binary similar to that of gender identity. One is either attracted to the same sex (homosexual) or the opposite sex (heterosexual, often mistakenly referred to as “straight.”) This is problematic first of all because it usually conflates “sex” with “gender.” When a man says he is attracted to women, does that mean people who identify as women, or people who have certain anatomical features? See the issue? Our inability to distinguish between gender, sexual orientation and anatomy creates a lot of unclarity. Sometimes it can lead to violence, especially when a transgender person doesn’t fulfill someone’s expectations of what a potential sexual partner should be.

Secondly, there are more than just two ways one can be sexually attracted. One can be bisexual, pansexual, or asexual, and a host of other possibilities that are beyond my means to explore. I’m far from an expert in this area. But I do recognize that there are more ways to understand oneself than simply whether one is attracted to the same or opposite sex.

Finally, transgender people don’t fit into any simple categories about sexual orientation, any more than cisgender people do. You cannot and should not assume that a transgender woman is sexually attracted to men, or women. Each of us is different. Nor should you make assumptions about transgender men. As much as it helps make sense of the world to fit people into neat little categories, resist! In this regard my interactions with my gay and lesbian friends reflect how their own thinking can be influenced by the dominant heterosexual/homosexual paradigm. But just as we should not assume to know a cisgender person’s sexual orientation simply based on their cisgender identity, we should not make that assumption about transgender people. We’re as unique as the rest of the world.

I find myself continually forced to reexamine my own assumptions. I haven’t got this mastered. But I want to keep learning and improving, setting aside assumptions and encountering people for who they are. When I make mistakes, I want to own them, acknowledge them, apologize for them as appropriate, and learn from them. I hope you will choose to do the same. In doing so we can all come to relate better to one another and encounter each other as the unique people that we are. 

Anxiety and Assumptions

A good friend of mine who has had her own journey over the past several years shared with me early in my journey that coming out isn’t just a one-time event. Making a significant life transition such as mine means coming out repeatedly in different settings and to different people. Even more than a year after I first opened up to my family and a few close friends I still experience this and it often generates anxiety in me.

Last month my parents celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary. (Yay! Congratulations!!) They had planned a big party at their favorite local wine shop and invited family and friends from across the country. They received a far bigger response than I think they had anticipated. As the weekend approached they were expecting upwards of sixty people. Among them would be many relatives on both sides of the family. This made me somewhat anxious. I had not seen most of my relatives in 8 years or more. Some on my mother’s side I had never met. My greatest anxiety arose from seeing those I had known in the past but whom I hadn’t seen since my transition. Many of them come from small, rural towns in conservative states and I wondered what kind of reception I would receive.

I prepared myself for the Sunday afternoon party and felt I was in a good mental place, when I learned that prior to the Sunday party there would be a family dinner on Friday evening and another on Saturday. Suddenly I had to adjust myself to a different schedule. It may seem like a small deal to you, but for me it generated additional anxiety. I shared this with someone I had thought was a safe person, only to receive a dismissive answer that didn’t acknowledge my legitimate concerns. To someone who has never made such a major life change and never had to face the fear of rejection (or worse), my anxiety may seem unreasonable. Believe me, I wish I didn’t feel it. But it was real and it was better to acknowledge it and work through it than to dismiss it as nonsense.

In the end the weekend went quite well. I received a warm and welcome response from all my relatives. Some were warmer than others, but no one treated me rudely or disrespectfully. No one shunned me, other than one particular person whom I already knew in advance was not particularly happy about my life. I was pleasantly surprised by the reception I received from my aunt, who is nearly 80 years old, and my cousin, for they had known me longest of any of the relatives present. I enjoyed talking with both of them. They addressed me with my proper name and never gave any indication that they were uncomfortable with me. What a wonderful relief!

After the weekend I talked with a friend about how things had gone. She pointed out that just as I don’t want people to make assumptions and judgments about me based on who I am or where I come from, this lesson can remind me that I should also not project my assumptions on others. I had feared that some of my relatives would have problems with me because of their cultural backgrounds in small, rural towns. That didn’t prove to be the case. It certainly could have, but my assumption was based on my own stereotypes and not on anything definite. I want to take this lesson to heart as I go forward, not just when I’m facing a situation where I will be meeting a person for the first time, but in any situation where I am interacting with others. Setting aside assumptions and encountering people as they are can be difficult, but just as I want others to treat me that way, I also need to approach them with the same openness.

Kintsugi: the beauty of brokenness

A friend of mine introduced me to the Japanese tradition of kintsugi. Kintsugi is the art of repairing broken pottery with a lacquer that includes powdered gold, silver or platinum, which rather than masking the break highlights it. In this tradition the breakage and repair of the object add to its value. They become part of its history, rather than something to hide or cover over.

Kintsugi: The Art of Broken Pieces from Greatcoat Films on Vimeo.

What a significant difference kintsugi represents from the general trend in American culture to hide defects or, if they cannot be hidden, to cast off the object and replace it with something new. (Some items of demonstrated antique value may be handled differently, but even those are not repaired in the kintsugi tradition.) American culture values newness, wholeness, perfection. Flaws are to be disguised, not highlighted. Even in the religious tradition I come from brokenness is not always celebrated. Sure, Christianity acknowledges brokenness. In fact, at the root of most Christian theology is the belief that humans are fundamentally flawed. But rather than viewing the damage as part of the formation of each person, Christianity often in practice tries to hide it. In my experience, rare has been the Bible study, home group or church that truly invited people to be open about their brokenness. And even when such brokenness is allowed to be shared, the goal is to let god make one whole so one can move on to perfection.  The American Christian tradition I come out of has largely incorporated the larger cultural value of newness and perfection. (This is not true across the board, I acknowledge. But I speak from my own experience.)

In the past eighteen months I have been broken repeatedly, in so many ways I’ve stopped counting. It doesn’t get any easier. Each time the pain of grief, of loss, of heartache hurts. I’ve shed more tears in these months than I probably shed in all the years prior. I’m tempted to try to hide my cracks, my repaired façade, the repaired places where I’ve tried to put myself back together (or received the loving touch of a good friend to do so). But if I can think of my life in the tradition of kintsugi, those places of repair shouldn’t be hidden. They can be filled with gold as a reminder of that piece of my story, that story that is uniquely mine. I can’t undo the events that have broken me. They are part of me. They have helped shape me into the woman I am today. My life may not be perfect and pristine any longer. But it has a unique and engaging story to tell, and I don’t need to hide or be ashamed of all those beautiful cracks. They are filled with gold.

(Another name for kintsugi is kintuskuroi)