Coley

About a year ago I decided to try a new dance class, in a style I had never danced before – modern. I didn’t really know what to expect, and was rather anxious as the time to leave for class drew near. I had planned to go with a friend, which made me feel a lot more comfortable, but at the last minute she had to change her plans and texted that she would not be able to join me. I debated for some time whether to go anyway. Finally I decided to get in the car and drive to the studio, telling myself that if I got there and didn’t feel comfortable, I could always turn around and go home.

I ended up staying, and am so glad I did.

The dance style and the teacher were both new to me. I’d heard great things about Coley, but on that first day of class I had no idea how much I would come to love her.  I grew to love her classes, quickly adding her lyrical class as well (which became one of my favorite classes in my four years of dance.) Lying on the floor, stretched out in an X shape to begin class became normal. I even reached a point where I no longer dreaded when she would call out “Conditioning” and lead us in a series of movements to strengthen our core muscles (though I do recall groaning the first few times after I realized what this word meant when she said it!)

Working with Coley helped free me to express myself in new ways through movement. Her classes challenged me without leaving me frustrated. I took to heart her mantra “story over steps,” and found freedom to dance with my whole self, pouring my story into the steps, no matter how well I mastered them.

Coley became much more than my dance teacher. She became a dear friend. This strong woman radiates a serenity that permeates the space around her, even as she exudes creative energy. She cried with me, laughed with me, rejoiced with me. She helped me grow as a woman. She helped me strengthen the core not only of my body, but of my identity. Such friends (of which I am blessed to have a number!) are a precious gift.

Now Coley is moving on, pursuing the next step in her dream. I am delighted for her, but my delight is bittersweet. I shall miss her classes each week. I shall miss her unique way of encouraging us as dancers with the simplest words. I shall miss her reflections on life, movement, and beauty each week. I shall miss her.

I’ve said good-bye so many times in my life. I’ve given up thinking that eventually it will get easier. It never does. Even before my last class with her tomorrow I’ve shed many tears thinking about her departure. I’m not ashamed of that. After all, she’s the one who shared with me that “My tears do not negate my strength.” I cry because the bond we share is deep, and our love for one another strong. I cry because she has played such a key role in helping heal my soul. I cry because she is a beautiful person and I shall miss her active presence in my life.

Thank you Coley for all you’ve brought into my life. Thank you for your friendship. Thank you for being the beautiful soul that you are, and for sharing that life with me. Our bond doesn’t end, even though we will not have the opportunity to get together as regularly. Go knowing that you are deeply loved and I will always cherish you. This is not the end. It’s merely the beginning of the next chapter.

Not Only My Loss

The end of the school year has come, and it is irrelevant to my life. For the past four years I lived and breathed on the academic calendar as I taught middle and high school students. (For many years more I dealt with the academic world with my children’s schooling, which is also not an issue now.) It is a rather weird feeling, actually, to not be tied to a school schedule. In some ways I love it. But parts of me miss working with the students, because I really loved that as well.

I haven’t written much about my job that ended last summer after I came out. It’s a painful memory, because I didn’t want to leave it. I was good at it and I enjoyed it. My students liked my classes. Many kept taking German or Russian more than the year or two they had originally intended because they wanted to be in my classes. We had that much fun. Yes, we worked hard too. I had high expectations, but I made learning fun and gave students confidence that they could be successful at a second language.

I taught in an online school, so you would think that my gender identity would be relatively irrelevant. Had I taught this year my students would have heard the same voice they had heard the previous year. I had no intention of “pushing” an agenda on them, though I would have been honest and open about who I am. But the school was a conservative Christian school that largely works with homeschooling families, and they were definitely not keen on having a queer person like me in their program. Realistically, most of my families probably wouldn’t have responded well to my transition either, and since I was paid per student, I might have found myself in an untenable situation economically. So I walked away while my health and well-being were still intact. It was a difficult decision. Not only was I leaving something I loved, but I was doing it because of prejudice.

I’ve moved on with my life. Thankfully I found new work and have established myself in a new field. I think of my former students though. I never had the opportunity to say good-bye to them, much less to explain the reason I didn’t return last fall. That troubles me deeply. I am also saddened by the thought that those students lost an opportunity not only to keep learning from me, but also to have their worldview expanded. That’s part of what education should be about, being exposed to ideas and learning to think critically for oneself. Unfortunately, the school I used to teach in had a different understanding, one that circles the wagons against anything coming from a different worldview. Yes, I see the world through a different lens. But having me as a teacher isn’t going to make a student transgender. It might help students understand what that means (and perhaps give support to any who are trying to come to terms with their own identity) – which is precisely what I was told I must not do under any circumstances.

I wish the best for my former students. I hope that my replacements (if they ever found a replacement Russian teacher) were good. I hope they will succeed in high school and in life. I hope that as they interact with the wider world they will discover a richness and diversity that they did not encounter in their earlier years. If any are reading this, please know that you may always contact me. I’d love to hear from you.

Sometimes when I talk about losing this job, people express surprise that my gender identity could result in that. Yes, it can. There are still not any clear and definite protections for transgender people in employment rights, nor in most other rights. Some courts have upheld protections for us based on gender discrimination, but under the current administration (chaos would be a better term), the limited protections we have enjoyed are in grave danger. One’s ability and opportunity to work should not depend on whether one conforms to an arbitrary standard of gender normality. Equal protection under the law must extend to the transgender community, just as it should extend to all minority and marginalized groups.  Our fight for full civil rights has only begun.

Reflections on Mother's Day

My day began with several text messages from dear friends, wishing me a Happy Mother’s Day. My heart filled with joy as I read their messages, for they affirmed something vital about me.

Even as I lay in bed thinking about when to get up, or whether to get up, I had been pondering my connection to this day. What makes a mother a mother? Am I a mother? These questions led to a fair amount of reflection. I imagine that some people out there, maybe even some reading this, would argue that I am not a mother. After all, I didn’t physically give birth to my children. But if that’s the primary criteria for determining whether a woman is a mother, then a lot of moms are excluded.

I could launch into an extended discourse on what it means to be a mother, or on the connection some draw between motherhood and a woman’s fundamental value, or a host of related issues. But I don’t feel inclined to tackle those questions today. They’re important, but for me, at this moment, the most important thing is the conclusion I reached even before my friends sent their wishes. I am a woman. And I have helped raise two children from infancy to young adulthood. They remain and always will remain my children. That makes me a mother, and I am proud to own that identity.

When I shared this with one of the friends who had texted me, as we ate brunch together, she expressed surprise, not because she had any problem with my owning this part of my identity, but because to her there had been no question about it at all. It hadn’t even crossed her mind. To her there’s no conflict in my identity. That’s a good thing. It just took me longer to get where she is, because when you embrace your identity later in life, you get to work through a host of issues that cisgender people don’t deal with.

Even as I have settled this question for myself, I think about other transgender parents, particularly those who identify outside of the gender binary. We have two holidays celebrating parents, representing the two poles of the traditional gender binary. What do you do if you don’t identify as one or the other? Being a parent is a vital, important and challenging role, and for those who identify as male or female, Mother’s Day and Father’s Day give us opportunity to celebrate that role. I’m pondering how we can expand our understanding of parenthood to be more inclusive. I don’t suppose having a “Parent’s Day” or more specifically a “Non-binary Parent’s Day” is going to gain much traction, but maybe it needs to. As we move towards being a more inclusive society, it’s time to think of how we can adapt our celebrations to reflect that.

Happy Mother's Day as well to my amazing mom, who has been a source of support and strength to me throughout my life and particularly over the past many months of this journey. We've had a lot of fun growing closer together and allowing our mother-daughter relationship to flourish. This is what love looks like.