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New England Transgender Pride March: Thoughts from a straight ally

I discovered this thought-provoking blog post from Jendi Reiter:

The first-ever New England Transgender Pride March took place this weekend in Northampton, and I was there with my “Episcopal Church Welcomes You” rainbow tank top and a digital camera to capture the pageantry. I was hoping to blend into the MassEquality contingent, but they were scattered around other groups this time, so I just milled around looking like I knew what I was doing, and took lots of pictures. Next thing I knew, someone had handed me a bunch of purple and white balloons, and I was marching behind the lead banner, shouting “Trans Pride Now”.

Go read the whole thing! You’ll be glad you did. 🙂

Trans and Proud

Beginning in the fall of 2006, as I began to plan for my transition and think about what the future as Abby would be like, I always felt fear when I thought of those moments in public when people would realize that I am transgender or transsexual (I used both terms depending on the situation). I felt that same fear when I went out in public as Abby, watching carefully for disapproving glances and listening for rude remarks everywhere I went. As time passed and I didn’t see those glances or hear those remarks, I began to believe that I could live in this world as Abby without “being detected,” in other words, I thought I could “pass” without notice. As that belief grew, I became more and more confident in myself and more and more comfortable with my decision to transition. When I finally transitioned, my fear of being “clocked” as transgender was as great as ever, but, based on my experience, I believed that the risks of that actually happening were tiny, if not nonexistent. Without that belief and the concomitant belief that I could escape the shaming, harassment and even violence that is often the experience of my trans sisters and brothers, I doubt I would have transitioned.

A very curious thing has happened since then, however. Beginning only two or three months after my transition (on May 14, 2007), I began to realize that I am proud of who I am and of the many challenges and the tremendous pain that I overcame to learn the truth about myself and have the courage to live that truth as I do today. Today, I don’t bring up the fact that I am trans with most people. However, when it’s relevant or the moment can be used to teach about trans people, especially that we’re not freaks or perverts but people not so different than most, simply striving to live in peace and with a modicum of happiness, I am willing, and I do, tell people about my past. Yes, I still feel a tinge of fear each time I tell someone for the first time but I have never yet allowed that fear to stop me from revealing the truth of who I am, and I hope I never do. Considering the fear with which I began this journey, I am constantly amazed at the comfort that I feel with the knowledge that I am trans and my willingness to share that information with others whenever and wherever it might help to create greater understanding and acceptance of trans people.

For example, a few weeks ago, I had lunch with a woman friend from my Course in Miracles study group. I have never discussed being trans in that group (they’re nearly all women) because it has never seemed necessary or appropriate. However, based on a few things this friend had said to me in private, I was confident she would be comfortable with that information. How did I know? Well, when I first told her that I was applying for a job in Washington, D.C. with the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, after congratulating and encouraging me, she asked if I had seen an article that had just run in the NY Times the previous week about trans men attending women-only colleges. Given that she, not I, brought up the topic of trans people, and given her other comments about that article, not only did I conclude that she would probably be open to the information that I am trans, I also assumed that she had already figured it out and was trying to communicate her knowledge to me in some kind of “code.” So, a few weeks later, we decided to go to lunch. I went with the intention of telling her about myself and even believing that things transgender were likely to be a major part of our conversation. As it turned out, however, although we talked about many things, including my job application, an appropriate opening to bring up that topic didn’t appear until we had talked for more than an hour. For reasons that I no longer recall, I began telling her that, back in the 1970’s, after graduating from college, I had worked on a “hotshot” crew fighting forest fires and even, for one summer, as a smokejumper (those are those crazy guys – back then they were all guys – who jump out of perfectly good airplanes to fight forest fires). She responded that I must have been one of the first women to do that. Recognizing this opportunity for what it was, I told her, “Well, actually, I wasn’t a woman at the time.” After looks of surprise and then understanding crossed her face, I added that I am a male-to-female transsexual. The rest of our conversation was about being trans, what it means and what my experience has been like. (As it turned out, contrary to what I thought, she hadn’t figured out that I am trans, although she had had some suspicions.) At the end of our conversation, she simply congratulated me for finding a way to peace in my life and praised me for my courage in following my truth, which, at least among women, is the typical response of those who learn about my past. (During our conversation, I told her about the challenge that transgender children face and about Trans Youth Family Allies and my friend Kim Pearson, TYFA’s Executive Director, one of the best friends that transgender children in the U.S. have. Not too long after, my friend talked to Kim and is now volunteering for them. Now, that’s the kind of happy ending I like!)

All of this is simply a lead-in to quote a blog post by my friend Callie about being trans and proud. Yesterday, she wrote about her struggle to find a way to attend this weekend’s Trans Pride March in Northampton, Massachusetts and be “present at the event, present in a visible and potent way,” given her obligations to care for her parents with whom she lives as their son. As she wrote, she discovered the message that she would have carried there if she had gone: “that pride is pride, lifting us when we actually embody our best possibilities, which, I hope, is the goal of the transgender quest.” Today, she wrote the words she would have spoken at the March if she had gone and been asked to speak about the experience of being trans, as she has many times before. Here is part of what she wrote:

We are not gathered to say that we are proud to be trans. Our being trans is an accident of birth, just another way some people are born.

No, we are gathered here to say that we are trans and we are proud. And in a society that works hard to shame non-normative people into silence, that is a remarkable thing to say. We have taken the shaming and the ostracism, taken the threats and the fear, taken the abuse and the separation, taken the pounding that tried to keep us down, taken the brickbats and the bombs, and we have emerged. We have emerged alive, we have emerged thriving, we have emerged proud.

And who are we not to be proud? Are we not children of the creator as much as any other human on earth? Do we not have the possibility of wonder written into our souls? Do we not have the spark of life burning in us?

Many people still tell us that we should be ashamed, ashamed of who we are, ashamed of our choices, ashamed of our very nature. They tell us that by being visible we can corrupt their children, make the world safer for sexual predators, offend those who value fear and obedience to the norms over expression. They tell us that we are indulgent and challenging, and we should be very ashamed of who we are.

But we gather here together to say this, to share this: It is possible to be trans and proud. And, in fact, any trans person who has created a whole, integrated and healthy expression in the face of such shaming, has a great deal to be proud of, transcending the internalized self-loathing to come out into the sunlight of such a bright June day!

* * *

We are proud of the transpeople who are out today, showing themselves as valuable members of society, just doing the everyday work. They challenge the lessons that all transpeople are sick and broken, and show that we can be as potent as any human when we come from our own gifts.

* * *

We are proud of the history people like us wrote, and proud of the future that we can imagine, where kids can actually be who they are, bringing out the best of them without being shackled by compulsory gender that puts genital configuration over the power of their open heart.

We are here today saying that yes, yes, yes, it is possible to be trans and to be proud.

And that is a message that there is no going back from. It is a message that all need to hear.

And it is a message we need to carry in our heart every day.

It is possible to be trans and to be proud.

All I can say to that is “hear, hear!” And thank you, Callie, for these words and for reminding me today that I am proud of who I am.

A recent study that we all should read!

I found the link to this study along with a copy of the paper at Transgendernews, a yahoo group. Here’s the link.

http://www.intersexualite.org/Zucker_boys.html

I think you’ll find it quite enlightning about Zucker’s real agenda, but you should read it and make up your own mind.

Amber

Review: ‘Transvestite Wives’ on BBC America

Edited to add: “Transvestite Wives” will also be shown again on Sunday, July 13, 2008 at 6:00 PM, if you missed it the first time around.

Last night, I caught the premiere of BBC America’s “Transvestite Wives” episode in their BBC America Reveals series. From their website:

Transvestite Wives looks at three transvestite relationships, as seen through the eyes of their wives and partners.

In the Scottish Highlands, Sheila discovered seven years into her marriage that her husband Dennis was a transvestite. In Newark, 20-year-old Sam, is embracing her 40-year-old partner Chris’ tranny lifestyle; and in Barnsley, Robyn, who has struggled to be accepted for her weight problem, at last finds happiness with her cross-dresser husband Dean.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised from the title, but none of the relationships had the trans partner in full-time mode. The couples were shown in both same-sex and opposite sex modes, although in the case of Sam and Chris/Rachel, we saw only Rachel for the majority of the episode.
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Summer is here…again

Life seems to seep back into normalcy after questing in Oblivion for over a month. It seems like all the NPC’s in Tamriel do not seem to have a problem with Laura, actually they are very nice and throw in lots of compliments. I’ve been called Champion, Divine Crusader, Demon(Daedric) Slayer and a good citizen. Even the tough looking(and very handsome) legion soldiers have a nice word for me, even though they seem a little bit curt as they go around their business. But this is not a blog about my geeky accomplishments on the PS3. It is not about a sensational 360 comeback or some ground breaking news. Nah, just me writing some sentences cuz I enjoy writing. I want to get back to the groove. before I get caught in the next quest, of course. And, before I go on vacations and see my kids for summer. Life seems to be getting busier outside the internet all the time now.

Hurricane Season is here again, and I went shopping for some stuff, plus I wanted to upgrade the bathroom. My cleaning supplies had been depleted yesterday, too. K-Mart gets my business because it is close to my house. As I was browsing the shelves looking for a good sunblock for work, three gay black guys pranced into the aisle were I was. We made eye contact and smiled. I was not going to give them any reprobatory looks, as some of the latin women usually give to someone who does not conform to their standards. I have noticed this for a while now, black girls smile at you and don’t mind, the white folk just see that your green bills are as good as any. But latin women seem to give you the stare down, like they are not affected by the rule that staring is rude. I don’t like to generalize and I know that I am stereotyping, but what happened next got me into thinking that the way we are educated and where we get our education is important. As I approached the rows of cashiers I detected a familiar face. I had seen her during Pride and at the Townhall Meeting for TERI, our local TG group. Her name is Dawn, and she is a F/T woman in her late 60’s. I understand why she didn’t look up and waved hi at me, but instead, kept her head down and tried to hurry up. The latin woman behind her was giving her the stare down. I got behind this lady and tried to make contact with Dawn, but she scurried off quickly as soon as she paid. After she left, the woman laughed and tried to make the young black cashier girl join her in the fun. The black girl only smiled politely as she looked my way. That woman was still laughing when she turned around and saw me staring her down. Latin women are short and my stare down at 5’9″ was pretty effective for her height. I know she glanced back in disapproval of my attire. I may not have been wearing make up but my tight jeans and my long hair screamed androginous( I had just plucked my eyebrows in the morning, too) All I can say is that my sneakers, jeans and t-shirt matched, a lot had to be said of her outfit, let’s leave it like that 😛

Now, I don’t think this was by any means my heroic deed of the day, I’ve slaughtered colonies of goblins and vampires in Cyrodil, and cleaned up the caves and highways of Leyawiin from bandits and highwaymen. I was actually, more pissed off at the dude who took my parking space at home! But I am well aware that we still have a long way to go. Don’t let your guard down, not just yet 🙂

Ms Kitty and I

Glad to be here!

Hey everyone! I just wanted to take a moment to introduce myself here on TRANScendGENDER. My Name is Kathryn, and I began taking my first concrete steps towards transition a few months ago. Since then I have jumped in feet first. I guess after 30 plus years of hiding my true self, I can’t wait to let her out and set her loose on this world of ours! Since that time, I met some great people through a local TG group, one of those people being Tiana. Tiana got me into Yahoo 360°, where I really began to meet other girls from the larger Trans community. While not perfect, 360° did get me in touch with a lot more girls, and enabled me to feel like I was really a part of a larger community. For those of you I have already met, thank you for making me feel welcome, both on 360 and here, and for those of you I have not yet met, I look forward to getting to know you and sharing our stories and experiences. I am convinced that as long as we have each other, there is nothing that we cannot overcome in this wild and crazy world of ours. We just have to be proud and be strong!

 

Kathryn

Good news, bad news, the same news?

The intrepid reader may recall that in my last post here, I was talking about the resurgence of my sex drive to some extent.  Well I may have found out why this is happening, although I find it hard to believe myself.

Tuesday, the 20th, I had an appointment with my Endocronologist at the Milwaukee V.A. hospital.  Of course, they did the usual blood tests, I finally got them to do an estradiol test along with the T test and liver and kidney function tests.  I got my test results back on Friday, and, either they tested the wrong blood, or something is really messed up with my testie function.  The T test came back in the mid 500s, I think it was 548 or something like that, the range being 250 to 1000 for a normal male.  The estradiol test came back at 38, below the normal level for post-menapause.  If these numbers are correct, it explains my sex drive, but it also means that my body has developed a resistance to spiro.  I’ve been taking 100 mg daily for over a year now and my last T test last fall showed me at 111.  Also, I’ve been on the Vivelle Dot patch, the .1 size, the largest they make, for more than 6 months, and 2 mg of Estrofem for at least 6 months before that.  So, why is my estradiol level that low and my T level that high?  Do I need to get them removed to solve this problem?  A better question would be, can I get this done through the V.A. health system?   After all, I’ve only thought about having them removed for, oh, about 20 years now.  It just costs so much for basic things like this!  Ugg!

I said, go away sunshine

Mom ended up asking me to send the letter, anyway, but, I had scrapped the original this morning, and ended up sending this instead.

Sorry, but I am not going to send that letter. But I will say this much….

The fact that (brother) and I are at odds is because of his actions and words he has directed at me. His saying he would have me arrested if I attended the family reunion last year. His calling me a liar, and a narcissist are other reasons why he and I are at odds. The fact I was told to not contact his kids is yet another reason. His actions and feelings towards me are not your responsibility. He’s a big boy and no one else can tell him what to do or how to think. You did a good job in raising us with the values we needed and then it was up to he and I on how to implement those values into our adult lives. I am in no way saying that I mastered all those values, either.

I never expected you to be June Cleaver or Carol Brady, but I do wish we could have been closer to the point we would have shared more with each other, emotionally speaking. All those times I went straight up to my room I wish I would have instead gone to sit by you and hold your hand and tell you that I loved you. I wish I would have told you how confused and depressed I was. You had a lot going on in your own world and I incorrectly assumed you didn’t need to hear my “feelings” because even to me those feelings were seriously enexplainable and I thought they would eventually go away. It is painfully clear to everyone now that those feelings stayed and continued to grow stronger.

There were signs of my struggles, perhaps. I spent a lot of time in isolation in my room. The nights I spent out on school nights. The days I missed completely or partially from school, especially my senior year. I barely graduated on time with a 2.0 GPA and if I hadn’t passed government class with a D- that year I wouldn’t have even graduated. It’s not your fault I abused alcohol and drugs to the point of being high almost all the time. Before or after family gatherings I would smoke pot so that I could make it through whatever thing we would have going on at the time. When I was maybe 16 or 17 I remember passing out drunk at the kitchen table with you & (step-dad) sitting there only to find you both gone when I woke up. My plate still sitting there. Sure, I was a good enough kid I guess, but, even the good ones make poor judements. Not everything is just “a kid being a kid”.

When (step-dad) and (brother) would go at it I would sit in my room crying my eyes out swearing that I would never allow what I said to get me in trouble like that. I refused to allow my speaking up to result in being whipped with the next limb off the tree. For pete’s sake I was nearly whipped just for sniffing too much. Bury my feelings is what I learned from those days, but, anything that gets buried so deep still has a good chance of rising to the surface eventually.

I will never again make the mistake of presuming how you may feel, Mom. From where I stand I have only assumed that you are not interested in anything I am doing here in Columbus because of the fact everything I do revolves around me being Karen M. Patrick.

Is the idea of me living as the person that gives my life purpose and meaning really so awful for you to not try and be happy for me? How I dream of the day that you and I can sit, hug and have a good cry with each other over all of what we have been through together, and seperately.

Mother nature is a mad scientist and I am merely the result of one of those experiments. My being the way I am today is not your fault, and I cannot say it clearly enough how you are not to blame for who or what it is I am. This may freak you out but as I get older I see more and more of you in me.

I love you mom,

Karen

Sunshine go away today

Mom’s response to my letter to my aunt:

Listen Marcus,

Don’t ever presume to know how I am feeling because you never will and never can!!!!!!!

I remain,
Your Mother

I am truly going to miss the “person I thought I knew”.

So, I wrote a long letter to mom last night but don’t think I will send it because it seems the more honest I am the more trouble it seems to cause. This is an uncomfortable place to be stuck in.

The words I heard the night I was forced to out myself to my parents still ring in my ears from time to time. They were very specific words that one doesn’t forget when they seem to be directed at you. Words like disgusting, sinful, evil, satan, ridiculous, impossible are words that can come back to haunt a person. Until I hear something dispelling those feelings what else am I to presume? This is a question that surrounds my very existence. At what point will I no longer hear the words that hurt me so much? I hear them when I am awake. They invade my dreams at night. I cannot escape them. I am a tortured soul caught between self-acceptance and self-loathing.

(sigh)

A Slight Case of Cognitive Dissonance

My long-suffering significant other and I went to see Iron Man a couple of weeks ago. This, in itself, is not out of the ordinary: we’re movie people, so we see a lot of them. About halfway through the movie, though, I suffered a bit of a blow to my basic epistemology.

The set-up: I try to watch movies at the theater in one sitting. Sometimes, this isn’t practical: drinking one of the 55-gallon drums of soda they sell at the concession stand and expecting to make it through Titanic (all that water!) is probably foolhardy. Lately, I’ve had trouble with this because spironolactone is a pretty effective diuretic, so halfway through the movie, I had to relieve myself. I made a bee-line to the restrooms only to be stopped short. I momentarily didn’t know which one to use. Actually, this isn’t quite true; my first instinct was to use the ladies’ room, but I stopped myself from actually bursting into the ladies room. There was a brief and very disorienting sensation of confusion as I had to wrestle my brain into the mindset of my gender presentation.

At this point in time, I’m still pretty manly. I usually have some growth of beard to accommodate my electrolysis schedule, so I was in total “guy” mode when we went to this particular movie. And yet, I felt the planks of my gender presentation fall away beneath my feet. It was profoundly weird. I surmise from this episode that the hormones I’m taking are doing a big number on my brain. I also wonder about the dichotomy this suggests in the old mind/body problem. I’ve always “known” that I was a girl, or rather, that I should have been a girl, but this episode suggests that my neurochemistry DIDN’T “know” that I should have been a girl prior to being told so by hormonal intervention. Is this an example of the ineffability of consciousness divorced from the body? Is gender identity parsed and scattered through different sections of the brain, some more aware of it than others?

Y’know, I don’t know. And some of the implications of these questions trouble me.

Cheers.