Anger, Fear and Tears

Yesterday my friend and I visited the Holocaust History Center. This is the same center that left me completely undone when I first visited it a year and a half ago. We went back because the museum had a special exhibit on display this year that I wanted to see before it closed at the end of the month. The exhibit, entitled Invisibility and Resistance: Violence Against LGBTQIA+ People explored the history of oppression and discrimination against the LGBTQ community in Nazi Germany and around the world today, including within the United States. It was a simple exhibit, but amazingly powerful nonetheless. When I reached the timeline listing the known transgender murders from January 2017 through April of this year, with a little description of each person and the known circumstances of their death, I had to step away and cry. It wasn’t that I was unfamiliar with these deaths. It was the visceral impact of seeing them visually laid out on a timeline, all of them collected together in one place. And these are only the deaths that are known within the United States. After collecting myself sufficiently, I stepped back up to the exhibit and carefully read each individual’s story, wanting to honor them by recalling their lives and remembering their names.

As we drove home from the museum, more tears came, along with a wave of anger. I look at the exhibits in that museum, exhibits describing how genocide happened not only in Nazi Germany but continuing around the world today, and I consider my own country – with shame. This is not the country I believe in. This government and those who support it do not represent the values that I cherish, nor the values that I think truly make America great (recognizing that we have all-too-seldom upheld them). I listen to the rhetoric coming from our illustrious Führer and cringe as he describes people as “animals” and various countries as “shitholes.” This is the language of dehumanization. It’s language designed deliberately to make it acceptable to exterminate people who are not wanted. It’s not just hate speech. It’s a frightening step towards wholesale genocide. Yet too many people don’t just sit idly by – they applaud and support it. Have we no historical memory?

People speak of their pride in being American. I would like to say I’m proud, but at present I’m most definitely not. How can I be proud of a country that views as criminals immigrants who have lived for years as members of our communities, casting them cruelly back to a country many of them scarcely know? How can I be proud of a country that refuses to welcome refugees, even when many of them are refugees as a result of our foreign policies? How can I be proud of a country that separates children from their parents at the border, in the name of some misguided idea of “national security?” How can I be proud when so many voices proclaim that they are pro-life but then have only “thoughts and prayers” when our children are gunned down time and again? Those same “pro-life” voices also refuse to provide support to mothers, families, and children in need. How is this “pro-life?” How can I be proud of a country that exalts wealth and power over compassion and kindness? I cannot. I grieve for what this current regime is doing to this country. How long till it begins forcibly rounding up those it considers “deviants” and “criminals” without cause, simply because they don’t correspond to its idea of what America should look like? In fact, this is already happening around us. I see these actions and hear the words spoken by our powerful politicians (I won’t call them leaders) and my anger swells. I cannot understand a political ideology that so cruelly abuses and discounts human lives.

My anger comes not just because I am transgender – though of course I stand with my community against the incessant attacks and actions designed to exclude us from civil society. I foresee continued efforts to make our very lives “illegal.” Standing with my own community is not sufficient though, because this wave of calculated ostracism encompasses so many groups. We must stand together. I stand with the larger LGBTQ community. I stand with women, with people of color, with immigrants, with refugees and those seeking asylum, with all who in various ways are being demonized and dehumanized by those in power. At the moment I still enjoy the freedom to live and speak openly and I will use that on behalf of all victims of oppression and violence. Should the time come that my voice is silenced, I hope others will speak on my behalf. I’d like to say I’m not afraid, but I am. I still have hope, because I know the people who surround me and see their commitment to justice and equality for the marginalized groups of our society. But I see the darkness that comes against us and realize that I might become one of its victims. Nonetheless, I will not be silent. I will not hide. I will not hope that I can pass through this storm unscathed. I must bear this cross for those who are unable to do so.

Encountering Bigotry

I attended a commencement ceremony at a local high school the other evening because I had some scholarship awards to present as part of my job. In fact, it’s one of my favorite aspects of my jobs, but this was the first time I would actually present the scholarships on stage. And I felt anxious.

I didn’t feel anxious because I had to be on stage. I’m fairly comfortable with that by this point, after sharing stories in four storytelling shows last year. I rather like being on stage. I was slightly concerned about mispronouncing the student’s names, and about not knowing how the logistics of the evening would run. Above all though, I was anxious because this was an unknown environment. It was very public, and I would be very visible, even if only for a few moments. Those factors combined to make me anxious; not disfunctionally anxious, but the low-level kind of anxiety that saps your confidence and leaves you hesitant. Perhaps this strikes you as overblown. I’d like to agree with you, but when you’re a transgender person, being in a very visible position in a public setting where you don’t know how people will respond to you can be deeply disturbing. I shared my anxiety with a couple people prior to the event and left for the school encouraged by their words of affirmation and support.

As my moment to present approached, I focused my mind on the confidence I have developed over the past couple years. I certainly was capable of making this presentation. Ultimately it wasn’t about me anyway. It was about the students. My name was called by the student body president who was hosting the program (and who pronounced my name correctly, with a beautiful Spanish roll on the r!), and I walked onto the stage. I announced the awards, invited the three students to receive their certificates, and just like that it was over.

Except it wasn’t.

Having completed my presentation and having no compelling reason to linger for the rest of the ceremony, I slipped out of the auditorium. I stopped in the restroom so that I could drive home comfortably. While sitting in my stall minding my own business, I heard a woman and a child, a girl if I were to assess solely on the voice, enter the room. They were talking about the previous presenter – meaning me, and how surprised the student receiving the award (whom I understood they knew) must have been when they saw and heard me. The older woman told the child that people like that (me!) are just confused and don’t understand how god made them. She went on to say some other things, including that all you could do for people like that (me!) was “have pity on them and pray that god will help them get straightened out.” Her tone as she spoke struck me as very condescending, annoyingly so, given that I was the subject of her remarks.

They had no idea I was in the restroom. I wanted to complete my business in time to come out and confront them, but was unable to do so and they had left by the time I was done. It’s probably for the best, because by that point I was seething with anger over the insults she had so casually thrown at me. It doesn’t matter that she didn’t realize she was doing it. That she would speak that way about someone like me when she thinks she is in private testifies to what’s in her heart. I felt such rage as I drove home – thankfully I didn’t take it out on any other drivers – and I spent much of the remainder of the evening working to release that emotion so that it didn’t consume me.

Obviously it still bothers me, though my fierce anger has burned off. This wasn’t just a matter of someone expressing that they disagreed with my views, or that they disliked the way I dressed, or some other attribute about me. This woman’s words invalidated my very existence. In her mind, I am a mistake. I don’t deserve to live as the person I am. She knows nothing about me. She has never met me, spoken to me, learned anything about my character. She dismissed me based solely on her beliefs about what makes someone a man or woman. I would have liked to tell her that I am not confused about my identity. I’ve never been more clear and certain about it. I don’t need to get straightened out. I’m just fine as I am. I hope that the child will come to understand that the words this woman spoke that evening were untrue, that they came from a place of ignorance and bigotry. I hope that the students I spoke to recognize the diversity of human identity and expression, that they affirm and promote it, rather than perpetuating narrow lies.

While the evening could have turned out far worse for me, in ways I don’t even want to explore here, it was still a rude reminder that transgender people have a long road ahead before our lives are fully accepted and validated in society. I am fortunate that all those who are close to me (of course!) and all the people I regularly interact with –  at work, in stores, in my daily life – accept me for who I am. I rarely experience overt hostility and bigotry in my city. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I wonder how many people say things behind my back like this woman did when she thought she was in private. It most certainly is more than it should be, which is none.

This incident reminded me why I am so public about my transgender identity. I will continue to proudly, boldly and confidently represent my community in the public sphere. I want everyone I interact with to see that we are not ashamed of who we are. We have every right to live our lives openly and freely. We threaten no one by our existence. My life is a protest against those who would banish us from civil life. My life is a witness to the basic dignity and humanity of transgender people. We are not confused. We are not broken. We don’t need to be fixed. Don’t dismiss or disregard us. Take a chance and get to know us. You might just be surprised by what you discover.

A Brave New Spiritual World

Recently my friend Bethany presented me with a delightful gift: my first tarot deck. She and I had been talking earlier in the week about oracle cards and tarot decks and she offered to loan me a book she had found helpful in learning about tarot, an offer I gratefully and gladly received. Then she surprised me with the gift of my first deck – the very deck I had told her had captivated my interest for some time with its amazing images. I feel like a child to whom a vast treasure chest has been opened. I hardly know where to begin, but am so eager to dive in deep.

Coming from an evangelical Christian background, I have had to set aside a lot of baggage just to reach this point of exploring tarot. It fell under a strong taboo because it dealt with the occult. It reeked of Satan and dabbling in it was a step on the road to hell. Numerous other spiritual practices received the same judgment. I would not have considered touching these practices because in my mind they were associated with false religions, and all false religions were ultimately of the Devil. I was committed to the narrow way that would lead me to heaven. Although I would not have acknowledged it for most of my life, my religious beliefs were saturated with and driven by fear: fear of displeasing god, fear of missing “god’s will,” fear of straying from “the narrow path,” fear of exploring new and different spiritual expressions. Fear.

As I wrote 18 months ago, I no longer claim to be a Christian. I no longer adhere to the teachings of the Bible, nor consider it to be anything more than a collection of religious writings reflecting certain views of the divine-human encounter. I find that the Christian worldview, particularly as practiced in the United States at present, does not satisfy my spiritual understanding. But I am still a spiritual person.

I don’t hold to any specific set of beliefs about the divine. In fact, any religious or spiritual practice that carefully and narrowly delineates and defines what is “correct” spiritual belief and practice inherently repels me at this point. I’m tired of trying to live within a set of rules defined by someone else, claiming that it represents the divine order. What I value are approaches to spirituality that offer tools to help me connect with my inner self, with the goddess within me and the divine energy within the universe. Tarot is one such tool. Contrary to the impression I received about it in my former life, it doesn’t predict what will happen to me. It doesn’t even tell me what I must do. It stimulates my reflection. It takes me inside myself to help me make my own decisions and act on them. It functions very similar to what prayer and the bible used to do for me, without the pressure of having to determine and follow “god’s will.” I must take ownership of my life and the choices I make. The tarot only provides suggestions and guidance for what various choices may bring into my life. I have so much to learn, and my understanding at present is still so basic that I may well look back on these words later and laugh at how simplistic they are. But this is a profound step for me.

There are other areas I want to explore as well. I appreciate the friends who have come into my life, bringing a diverse set of spiritual understandings and practices. I want to learn from you. I want to explore your practices and see how they fit into my spirituality. I welcome invitations and opportunities to join you. I don’t want to force my way in, nor do I want anyone to try to persuade me that their particular spirituality is THE right one. I’ve had enough of that already. My sense of being completely ignorant of other spiritualities hinders me from boldly stepping out, but I sincerely want to learn. What I value in any religious or spiritual practice is the extent to which it enables me/us to connect with our inner selves, to affirm our inherent worth and dignity as divine beings, to find and share wisdom, and to incorporate all this into the way we view and interact with one another.

I look forward to setting out on my spiritual journey. This too is an act of courage for me. I’m not used to making my own course. I’m used to reading, listening and applying the teachings of others to my life as I try to follow the narrow path. I’m now in a brave new spiritual world. I appreciate all those who, like Bethany, offer tools, resources and wisdom to assist me along the way. I accept that in the end, I must take responsibility for myself and create my own path. There will be mistakes, failures and missteps along the way, but it’s all part of the process of learning and growing. Let the adventure begin!

Healing from Trauma

I fell down the stairs at work yesterday. I had gone upstairs to collect the office mail from the mailbox, and as I descended back to the basement (euphemistically referred to as the “garden level”) suite where our office is located, my foot caught on the top step. I quickly realized, “oh fuck, I’m not going to be able to catch myself!” and found myself lying on my side at the midway landing of the staircase. The mail was strewn all over the place and I was in pain. I’d like to think I looked really graceful in my fall, given my dance background, but I probably didn’t and at that moment, it didn’t matter. I felt the pain radiating from my shoulder into my head. My jaw hurt. My head hurt. I wasn’t sure how severely I’d injured myself.

I lay there for several minutes, not sure whether I could get up or if I even could. Then I began to realize that I might well lie there some time before anyone would happen to encounter me. We’re a small organization and our staff is pretty much the only ones who use the stairwell to the “garden level.” I decided that I needed to pull myself up and make it into the office. My coworkers sprung quickly into action and within 30 minutes I was at the urgent care clinic. They really need to drop the urgent from their name though, since I was there 4 hours in order to have a few x-rays taken and be given a bottle of muscle relaxant pills. They should also drop the "care" from their title, since they managed to misgender me several times during the course of the afternoon. They can keep the word clinic though.

As I told a friend about this unfortunate experience today, she encouraged me to take the necessary steps to heal the trauma. I thought I had been doing a reasonable job of that, but she pointed out to me something I had not thought about: that this event included a level of emotional trauma that needed care as well. This might seem overstated. After all, I didn’t break anything. I’m quite stiff and sore today, but with proper care and attention, my aches and pains will heal. Why would I need to consider emotional trauma?

She reminded me that in talking about the event, I had mentioned that I had felt very alone and fearful in the minutes I was lying on the ground in the stairwell. I didn’t know if anyone would come for me. I didn’t know how long it would take until I was found if I couldn’t get up. This is a vulnerable, traumatic moment, though it may not seem like it on the surface. In fact, this touches one of my deeper fears as a single person, particularly as a single woman: What if something happens to me and I have no one to help me? I wrestled with a similar question going into my surgery earlier this year. What if no one is available to support me? When a couple close friends had their plans change and could no longer be there as they had offered, it felt deeply traumatic. When one friend delivered the news, I broke down sobbing. Feeling alone and without help is not a pleasant feeling. It’s traumatic.

Healing lies, for me, in remembering that I am not alone, that there are friends who are there for me. Yesterday, my friend and co-worker quickly volunteered to take me to urgent care, then stayed with me for the next three hours while we waited. When she had to leave, another friend rearranged her schedule to come be with me, then brought me home while her husband picked up my car from the office where it had been left. Their family made a complete adjustment of their evening plans to be there for me. Their expression of love provided a powerful response to the trauma of feeling alone in that stairwell. The many expressions of care and concern I received online last night and today also speak healing to that wound.

Trauma is not always visible. It’s also not always prompted by some massive incident that we would normally label “traumatic.” Trauma can happen in brief moments when something deep inside of us is triggered. It’s different for each person. The words of my friend helped me recognize this and affirm it in my own experience. I would not have thought to heal the emotional trauma of yesterday before she called attention to it, because I wouldn’t have thought about it. But it would still have been there, adding another wound to that deep fear inside me. Recognizing it, addressing it and bringing healing to it allows me to not add that fresh layer of internal pain. It’s not such a small thing after all.