Stepping Out

I did something last week that I haven’t done in the nearly two years since I came out: I took a personal vacation and left my home town. In the past two years I have left my city only twice: once to visit Bisbee with my daughter, and once to travel to Yuma with my co-workers for a meeting. Both were day trips. Last week I left my city for four days – three nights away from my home, my bed, and the relative security of the community I know and love.

I hadn’t traveled sooner in part because I felt anxious about visiting new locations, uncertain how I would be received and whether I would feel comfortable and safe there. This may strike you as an irrational fear. Irrational it may be, but it is a valid fear nonetheless when you are a transgender woman. Our country is not currently an overall friendly, welcoming environment for the transgender community, and I live in a largely conservative state. There are places in my state I would strongly hesitate to visit alone. I’ve reached the point I am relatively relaxed in my home city, but the prospect of being in a new environment definitely generated some anxiety. If you cannot understand this, welcome to cisgender privilege. I did choose to visit a couple cities in my state that are considered to be more progressively minded  -- Flagstaff and Tempe --  which lessened my concern. However, I could not go with full confidence that I would be welcome and safe. Thankfully, my anxieties were allayed in both cities, which boosts my courage to eventually venture into other new locations. Each new foray is a growth step for me.

This trip also marked a milestone for me because I traveled solo for the first time since my divorce. Those who know me well know that I am a very social person. I like being with friends. After 25 years of marriage, I am also not used to taking trips alone. Sure, I made the occasional business trip by myself, but for 25 years I never took a leisure trip alone. I’m used to having someone accompany me. I would have welcomed a friend joining me on this trip, but none were available, so I decided to explore the world for myself. And I had a wonderful time.

I received a number of suggestions and recommendations for things to see and do in Flagstaff. After all, it’s a charming mountain town, not so far from the Grand Canyon and a number of other interesting sites. On this trip, I chose to remain local. I arrived in town on Thursday afternoon, parked my car, and didn’t drive it again until I left town on Saturday afternoon. I didn’t set an agenda for myself. I did have breakfast with a friend one morning, and I spent some time visiting with some people at the university, but most of the time I passed in solitude, even when surrounded by people. I read a lot, worked on my cross stitch, took a walk in the forest, and just relaxed. It was one of the best vacations I’ve had.

On my way home I stopped in Tempe to see another friend, one of the most beautiful souls I know, whom I have missed since she left town earlier this summer. Between my time in Flagstaff and my visit with her I returned home with a heart filled to overflowing with contentment, peace and joy. I need to do this more often. I may not always be able to go somewhere else to find it, but I want to make sure to create space for reflection, solitude and stillness. As a social person, I forget that my soul needs these as well. It doesn’t require going somewhere exotic, which isn’t a possibility for me at this time in my life anyway. It may mean taking an evening and heading to a quiet coffee shop (better yet, a tea house), where I can read or journal, or maybe create artwork. The thing is to make that time.

I've always been Andrea

A friend reached out to me after reading my most recent blog post. She asked how I would like my friends who knew me before my transition to talk about our shared experiences prior to that time. Since she and I, along with her husband a several others, had spent a summer traveling in Europe during college, we have a lot of shared memories, along with a number of pictures to accompany them. When the two of them see those pictures, or reflect on some aspect of that trip (or other experiences we shared over the years), they find it difficult to think of me as anyone other than the person they knew at the time, even though they have been fully supportive of my journey.

Ultimately I cannot control how others speak about me outside of my presence, but I appreciate their desire to respect who I am, even when I am not present. Her question also helped me express some thoughts I have ruminated on concerning how I perceive and speak of my own past. Initially, it felt like that was someone else’s life, one disconnected from my current life. This feeling still persists at times. But the more I have thought about it, the more I’ve come to understand that everything that has happened in my past was my life, Andrea’s life. It wasn’t the life of some stranger. It was Andrea’s life, unfortunately lived without recognizing herself and unable to truly express herself. I’ve been Andrea all my life. I’ve only recently had the opportunity to acknowledge that.

When pictures enter the conversation, things become more challenging, because it’s harder to look at old pictures of myself and see Andrea. But it is Andrea in those pictures, just forced to live in a very different shell. In time that may help me look at old pictures of myself more freely. In the meantime, it helped my friends view those old pictures differently as well. They can recognize that they took that trip with Andrea. She just looked a lot different back then.

Such a simple thought, but such a powerful change in perspective: I’ve always been Andrea. I don’t have to think of my life so much as a before and after. I’m the same person. Only now I finally get to be a whole person.

Reclaiming my past

I received my college diploma yesterday, 21 years after I earned it. To be more accurate, I received an updated diploma yesterday, because I did receive one when I completed the degree. But that diploma no longer fit me. It did not correctly identify the person who had earned that degree, and who is proud of having done so. I buried that old one in a box and never looked at it. But I wanted to be able to affirm my accomplishments from my life prior to transition, so I finally took the plunge and ordered a new one.

The process was surprisingly easy. Last year, when I was looking for employment, I had contacted the university about updating my academic records. The university’s website had indicated that no changes to names on academic records were allowed, until I saw the fine print that made an exception for those making a gender transition. Yes! A couple phone calls and a copy of my court order and doctor’s letter later, and I had an updated transcript with my proper name. At the time I didn’t have the extra money to order a new diploma, so I let that rest. Until now.

Reclaiming the past is an ongoing process for me. I’ve written about this earlier this year. Deciding what to do about academic records, employment history, accounts established under my former name, all of this takes time and energy, more so than one might think. The most difficult aspect I encountered was when I needed to update my resume and references while looking for work last year. Because I hadn’t worked locally for a long time, I needed to use the references from my teaching work and my overseas work, all of which involved Christian organizations. I couldn’t list them as references without informing them of my transition, in case a potential employer contacted them. Those were some awkward conversations, though they went better than I had anticipated (other than the one co-teacher who insisted on trying to convince me that I was making a very unhealthy decision and a former supervisor who never returned my message asking him to be a reference.) The reality is, one doesn’t just “come out” one time. It’s an on-going process. Maybe someday I’ll be done with it. Maybe.

My new diploma now hangs for all to see on the wall of my office. It’s a small thing, in a way. But for me it’s a big thing, because it’s another step in reclaiming my past. Just because I lived it under a different name and another identity that wasn’t truly me, doesn’t me that I didn’t live it. Those are still my accomplishments and memories.

And for those who take issue with the university I earned my degree at, I’m not ashamed of it. If I can find the courage and confidence to live openly as myself, I can also confidently acknowledge my Sun Devil roots, even here in Wildcat land. I think for many of my friends this part of my identity is probably a bigger issue than my being transgender! (And in my defense, I include this picture of me wearing my Arizona Wildcat scarf at the Arizona Wildcat soccer stadium cheering on the womens’ soccer team. When it comes to Wildcats and Sun Devils I am definitely non-binary.)

Back from Camp -- Oh what a weekend!

I left for camp on Friday excited but anxious. This evening, freshly returned from camp, I am exhausted physically and drained emotionally, but my heart overflows with such love and joy after this amazing weekend.

(Out of respect for the privacy of camp families, I will not post pictures of them. I did take a selfie each morning to commemorate my weekend.)

Saturday morning

My wordsmithing skills encounter their limits as I try to express all that I felt and experienced this weekend, and all the emotions, memories and thoughts that continue to run through my mind even now. I had worried whether I would successfully connect with the children and youth. As so many of you assured me, my worries were unfounded. I thoroughly enjoyed interacting with them during activities, over meals, hanging out on the patio. These are great kids, and I am so glad they are now part of my life.

Sunday morning

I went wanting to give to the families attending camp. I received way more than I gave. I found a welcoming, diverse, supportive family, a community of families of many different designs united above all by the desire to create a society in which their children – transgender, non-binary and gender creative – can safely and fully express their unique identities. As they work toward this, they face many challenges from outside – restrictive laws, unsupportive schools, hostile relatives – as well as the challenges of developing home environments in which all siblings feel loved, valued and supported, and offer that to one another. As someone with children of her own, I am familiar with that challenge. As someone who is herself transgender, I am painfully familiar with many of the challenges their children face.

I applaud these parents. They are fierce warriors for their children. They are also so warm and welcoming. Their support for one another and their passionate love for their children (ALL of them, and that was very apparent) inspire me. I also particularly admired the siblings I met at camp, who despite the usual inter-sibling issues, fiercely supported their gender diverse sibling(s). Among the many enjoyable conversations I had over the weekend, some of the most insightful were those with these siblings as we talked about what their own journey and experience has been.

I went into camp knowing that it would be tiring. The returning staff warned me of that from the first planning meeting. They weren’t lying, though knowing that didn’t fully prepare me for the level of tired I felt by the end of each day. I think that feeling was intensified because I didn’t fully anticipate the extent to which camp would also be emotionally exhausting. I shed many, many tears during the weekend. A lot of them flowed as my own tender spots and not-so-old wounds were touched at various times. Each time someone, usually multiple someones, would wrap me in a warm hug and speak to me of how loved I am. There is no better tonic for the soul.

Monday morning

Other tears flowed as I observed the beauty of the community I had the privilege to be part of. I truly wish everyone could experience this for themselves. I think the world would be a better place. In this diverse, open community I encountered a lot of love, a lot of willingness and effort to understand, to communicate, and to hold space for different experiences. We were not all cut from a single mold, nor were we trying to fit each other into any particular model. We were a group of people struggling together to create a world that is more just, inclusive, open and welcoming of diversity.

Last weekend I felt overwhelmed with a sense of despair in light of the forces working against those of us who believe in an inclusive, welcoming society. This weekend renewed my hope. There is goodness in this world. The families and staff of Camp Born This Way demonstrated this so powerfully. I’m so glad I went and so honored to be a part of this community. I know where I will be at this time next year. I wouldn’t miss it.

Heading to Camp

In a couple hours I will depart for Camp Born This Way. This amazing camp, now in its sixth year, provides a safe camp environment for transgender children and youth, along with their siblings and parents. I’m excited to be part of the camp staff, but to be fully open with you, I’m nervous too.

As camp weekend has drawn closer, I’ve thought quite a bit about why I feel anxious. One factor arises from my lack of experience as camp staff. The last time I helped at a youth camp, I was still a teenager myself. Yeah, that’s a few years ago. Another stems from my desire to connect with these youth. I’m one of only a couple new staff. The others have interacted with these youth in monthly groups and previous camps, so they have a head start. I’ve had to remind myself to just be myself and not worry about trying to impress anyone. When I relax and let my personality radiate, it will speak for itself. Besides, I’ve raised two young adults who still speak with me, so I have some degree of ability to relate to youth.

I’m also experiencing my usual anxiety before any trip. When I used to travel somewhat regularly for my work, I would always feel some stress right up to departure time, as I checked and rechecked my packing list, trying valiantly to make sure I didn’t forget anything. This anxiety generally decreases once I depart, because at that point what’s done is done.

Last night I identified a couple other triggers that touch my identity. This will be my first camping experience as a recognized woman. It seems almost insignificant, but I’ve never had to pack for any trip since coming out, much less for a 3-day camp experience. I’ve had to stop and think differently about what I want and need to bring. Since I came out, I have slept away from my home only one night, when I stayed overnight at a friend’s. I’m not used to waking up in a space that is not my own, where I am familiar and comfortable with my surroundings and know exactly where everything I want is located.

Even more, I realized that this will be the first time I’ve shared common lodging and restroom space with others since coming out. Yes, I’ve used the toilet countless times (and that, especially initially, was very frightening), but that’s not the same as using showers and getting ready in public. It may sound trivial to you, but for me, who has always been rather discrete about my body anyway, this is quite significant. Once I thought about this, I understood why this causes me a great deal of anxiety. I’m still coming to terms with my body, and being in a place where that body will, to some extent at least, be viewed by others, stresses me. This will be a good environment in which to take this step, given the focus of this camp, but it forces me to take a step in my own growth nonetheless.

Now that my bag is packed, all that remains is to wait for my ride to arrive. I’m going to focus on the anticipation and the connections that will develop this weekend. What a fantastic opportunity for these families, and for me to share my own journey with them. I trust that on Monday, looking back at the weekend, I’ll have so many great memories and these worries I have now will have vanished. But at this moment, I need to acknowledge that they are real for me. Pretending they don’t trouble me violates my goal of living authentically and wholeheartedly. So here I sit, for the moment, with my anxieties, so that by sitting with them I can move past them.