My Complicated Relationship with Halloween

I didn’t bother with a Halloween costume this year. I spent the day traveling to Phoenix and back for a luncheon, at which Halloween costumes would have been most out of place. I spent the evening at home, making dinner and waiting for the kids to come around trick-or-treating. (I had 9 total visitors. Ours is not a high-traffic neighborhood.)

Only once as an adult have I really put together a Halloween costume. For most of my adulthood, as a devout Christian family, we didn’t celebrate Halloween. We didn’t find it compatible with our beliefs. In addition, leaving in cultures that do not observe Halloween made it unnecessary, though some of our fellow Americans would sometimes organize a “Harvest party” around this time of year so our kids could enjoy the Christianized version of Halloween. (When I was teaching, I had a student who had put together a costume for her church’s “Reformation Day” party, which struck me as both a sad and creative way to Christianize Halloween.)

Because Halloween wasn’t a part of our family or religious tradition, it’s not that significant to me, even though the religious objections no longer hold any significance for me. I’m just too lazy, cheap, or uncreative to bother with creating a costume. Not to mention that I have issues with putting lots of make up on. I did pull together a costume a few years ago, before I came out publicly. I borrowed a friend’s tutu – the pancake style flat tutu – and paired it with a leotard I had bought. I also borrowed her pointe shoes, which unfortunately were too small to wear, so I tied them together over my shoulder. I added a tiara to complete my ballerina costume, something I had longed dreamed of being. It was the first time the real me poked out of the closet, and the response I received convinced me that the world was not ready to accept me. I sidestepped the negative and inquisitive comments I received in person (we helped at our church’s Harvest day party and later to my parent’s dance studio) and online (where I actually posted a couple pictures.) I claimed I was just having fun for Halloween. But the truth, which I hadn’t fully admitted to myself yet, is that Halloween gave the perfect excuse to express what was inside without too great a risk. That is often the case for closeted transgender people. I could fully and openly express what was really inside but minimize the pushback by claiming that it was just a Halloween costume.

Maybe that’s the reason I don’t feel a strong inclination to put on costumes for Halloween. Having hidden for so long, having pretended to be someone I wasn’t, I don’t want to pretend anymore, even if it’s just for fun. On the other hand, I can definitely think of some costumes I would really have fun dressing up in. Maybe next year.

The Power of Storytelling

“The ability to tell your own story, in words or images, is already a victory, already a revolt.”

Rebecca Solnit in Men Explain Things to Me

In April I wrote about sharing my story on stage, an experience that was both terrifying and incredibly empowering. Since then I have shared stories two more times with the same show and once with another, each one of them, as Rebecca Solnit describes it, a victory. I only became aware of storytelling as a form of expression in February, when I heard some women share stories as part of the first annual Women’s Comedy Festival in my city. That encounter led me to check out the regular show of Female Storytellers, a fantastic group of badass feminists who have been gathering once a month to share their stories for over five years. My storytelling experience in April was my first time on stage at FST!, as we affectionately refer to it (pronounced like “fist” – one you tell a story you become part of the FSTerhood. It’s awesome.)

FST! has become a standard part of my monthly routine. Whether I am on stage or not, I want to be there the second Wednesday evening each month. Every show I hear five or six powerful stories from women around a particular theme: one month it was “Choices,” another it was “Act Your Age.” Next month’s theme is “She Persisted.” The theme gives some focus to the stories, but each one is unique, coming from the lived experience of the storyteller. Some will have you laughing. Others will bring you to tears. Many do both. Each storyteller has her own style and rhythm. The audience is incredibly affirming and supportive, and each in their own way is drawn in and connects with the story differently.

FST! forms a community in which women are empowered to use their voices. In a society that has always marginalized and silenced women, and which seems currently to be regressing in what limited progress it had made toward equality (and not just for women), creating space where women can tell their stories is, to again quote Solnit, “already a victory, already a revolt.” As we share our stories, particularly those who share the stage, but including those who listen, we establish a bond that makes connection possible.

Telling our stories is also therapeutic. There are many types and degrees of trauma, and not everyone should be addressed by telling one’s story publicly. But in certain situations, the very act of sharing one’s story can be a step of healing, as well as potentially offering hope to someone else. I often experience a moment while listening to other’s stories, when I feel “Me too” – the recognition that I am not alone in my experience. Our stories are unique, but the commonalities between them are strong as well. Solnit expresses it in these words:

“To tell a story and have it and the teller recognized and respected is still one of the best methods we have of overcoming trauma.”

I have certainly found this to be true.

The first time I attended a FST! show, I went alone. I sat in the only chair available by the time I arrived, which happened to be isolated from all others in a row by itself, accentuating that feeling of being alone. Nonetheless, I was glad I went. By the next month I was on stage myself, and I’ve never looked back. After 8 months of attending and participating in FST! shows, I’ve connected with this community of women (men are welcome to attend as well) to the extent that, whether I go to a show alone or not, I know I won’t remain alone, because I am sure to run into friends whom I’ve met at FST!. I’ve formed friendships with women I might never have crossed paths with otherwise, who enrich my life and fill my world with energy and color. I look forward to interacting with them both at and outside of the FST! shows.

I’ve had friends from the FST! community who have moved away from here for various reasons. Invariably one of the things they miss is this powerful community of female storytellers. I think every community would benefit from a group like this. I’d love to see a growing movement of circles of women telling their stories publicly, empowering themselves and others to not remain silent in a world that keeps trying to silence them.

And if you live in Tucson and haven’t checked out a FST! show, you most definitely should. I’d love to see you on the second Wednesday of the month at the Flycatcher on 4^th. Check out the Female Storytellers website at www.fstorytellers.com

Don't Erase Me

Recently a friend shared a report on Facebook highlighting disturbing trends related to sexually transmitted diseases. This person introduced the report with the statement: “If you are sexually active (and I hope you are)…,” which immediately gave me pause. I think their intentions were entirely positive, but the addition of the phrase “and I hope you are” displayed a common misperception about sexuality: healthy people are sexually active. This comment erased an entire group of people – those who are asexual. It erased me and my experience, because I am asexual.

We live in a culture with an underlying assumption that all healthy people are sexually attracted to someone else, and that satisfying that attraction is a natural and essential part of being human. That sexual orientation may be heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, pansexual, or some other form, but it involves a basic inclination towards sex. Asexual people, however, do not experience sexual attraction. It doesn’t compel them, draw them to particular individuals or motivate their decisions and actions. To tell an asexual person that you hope they are sexually active is to tell them that you hope they are acting against their natural orientation, which I would define as fundamentally unhealthy.

Yet asexual people are routinely erased from the picture of sexual orientations, because people assume that everyone is sexually attracted to someone and if they are not, then something is wrong with them. It’s time to recognize that this is neither true nor accurate.

Asexuality is a healthy, normal, natural sexual orientation.

Being asexual doesn’t mean I’m not interested in relationships. Far from it. I love connecting with others. But I am not attracted to others sexually. I can admire another woman, find her very attractive (not only physically), but the attraction is not primarily a sexual one. I am not aromantic, which is another identity that exists in this complex world. Aromantic people do not experience romantic attraction. Someone who is asexual can also be aromantic. A person can be aromantic and not asexual. The two aspects of identity are distinct, though related. (The two are often referred to in shorthand as “ace” and “aro”.)

I’ve hesitated to publicly acknowledge that I am asexual. I have thought about this long and hard before affirming it for myself. I have several friends who pushed me to reflect carefully on my sexual orientation in light of my transition. They did not want me to prematurely draw conclusions about my sexual identity and cut off what they understood to be an important part of human experience. I appreciate their care and their desire to help me understand myself well. I also appreciate that in the end, they accepted my conclusion that I am, indeed, asexual. I didn’t decide this lightly, or quickly. It may seem ironic to some, given that I was married for almost 25 years and have two biological children. But being ace doesn’t mean you will never have sex, or even that you don’t enjoy it when you do. It just means that sex is not what attracts you to a person nor connects you in a relationship. In retrospect, this was a significant issue in my marriage, though I didn’t recognize it at the time.

I hesitated to share this publicly because I fear that people will confuse being asexual with a lack of interest in intimate relationship. Or, conversely, they might think that they would never want to enter into an intimate relationship with an asexual person because, well, what about the sex? Refer to the previous paragraph: for me, at least, being asexual doesn’t entirely preclude sex. It just means that sex is not what attracts me to another person and not how I’m going to feel connected and fulfilled in a relationship. Asexual people are capable of meaningful, deep, intimate relationships with allosexuals (those who have any sexual orientation other than asexual). They just have to figure out together how to express intimacy in a way that meets the needs and desires of both. And isn’t that what a healthy relationship is about anyway?

I share this now because I’m tired of being erased from the picture of human sexuality. I’m tired of feeling like I’m inadequate or abnormal because I don’t experience sexual attraction. I’m tired of being a hidden minority. I want people to understand that being asexual is not a problem to be fixed, just as being transgender isn’t. I affirm my sexual orientation as a basic part of who I am.

If you want to learn more about asexuality, I recommend the website of the Asexual Visibility and Education Network: www.asexuality.org. It’s a good starting point. I am open to questions as well about what it means to be asexual, though of course I cannot speak for everyone who is ace.   

Things that Make Me Happy

Things that make me happy (in no particular order):

• Talking with a friend
• Listening to my cat purr
• Lying in bed on Sunday morning listening to the silence in the house
• Saturday morning ballet class
• Evening sunshine on the mountains
• Crisp autumn mornings
• Lunch with a friend
• Investing my time and energy in the welfare of my community
• Reading a good book while curled up on the couch (or anywhere, really)
• Working on my cross stitch
• Petting my cats
• Watching a ballet performance
• A beautiful flower
• Seeing others happy
• A pretty dress
• Listening to a favorite song
• Dinner with a friend
• Listening to the empowering stories of other women
• A clean bathroom (not so much the process of getting it clean)
• Watching the fish swim in my aquarium
• Monday evening lyrical dance class
• Visiting my hair salon (and talking with my amazing stylist!)
• Going out with a friend
• Anything with a friend
• Breathing
• Moving
• Being alive

Taking the Next Step

October is a special month for me. Not only does it mark my physical birthday, it also marks my birthday as myself. This year I celebrate the second year of my open and full life. Looking back, the transformation I have undergone in the past two years amazes me. Just the changes in the last year astound me. I look at my life right now and have so much to be grateful for. I have a stable job with great co-workers, doing good in our community. I have good health and enjoy being active. Many wonderful people enrich my life. I invest my time in energy in people and causes that matter to me. My life matters (as many of you have kindly reminded me!) I am a rich woman.

Nonetheless, I need to take another step in my journey. I hesitate to share this step, because it strikes me as intensely personal, surprisingly so, given that I have strived to be very open and vulnerable in my writing and my life. I think this step feels more personal because it has to do with my body, and in particular with the parts of the body that I was raised not to talk about – the private parts, as we always said.

It’s also hard to talk about my body because to do so is to focus on the part of me that still brings shame, that I want to hide, that embarrasses me and makes me uncomfortable every time I stand in front of a mirror. Although I know I am a woman and that my anatomy doesn’t define that, I also feel an internal disconnect (dysmorphia) between who I am and a basic part of my physical appearance.

I need to address this dysmorphia. I need to reshape my body so that it does not cause me shame and distress. I need to undergo surgery -- specifically, gender confirmation surgery (in my case, often referred to as “bottom surgery.”)

I have thought about this for some time now. I’ve talked about it with a few friends. Recently I had a consultation with a well-regarded surgeon who has done many of these operations. Before I left her office I knew that this was the step I need to take now.

My goal is to have the operation in February. If you want to know more about the procedure, you may search online to find information. I prefer not to go into details here. I am thankful for the friends I have spoken with about this who have been very supportive. They have affirmed my decision and expressed their willingness and desire to walk with me through the process. I know I do not take this step alone, and that brings me great comfort.

Unfortunately, this operation will not be inexpensive. Although I have health insurance through my employer, I do not yet know how much, if any, of the procedure it will cover. At best I will still be left with a substantial bill, which I must pay in advance. But I know this is the right step for me now and I believe that the money will be there. I will move forward in that confidence. I would appreciate any support you can provide to make this happen. I have set up a GoFundMe account, or you may contact me directly if you would like to help. In the next couple months I will be organizing some fundraisers if you happen to live nearby. I’ll share about them on my Facebook page and here in my blog.

I look forward to the day I wake up to a body that doesn’t fill me with shame.