Catching Up
In line with my previous, super positive and up-beat post, I’ve been thinking more about why I have this horrible block on viewing myself, or anything I do, in a positive light.
I know that a lot of it stems from regret and self-loathing at having waited to long to transition. I’ve mentioned how “Rebecca” used to yell at male-me to get off my/his ass and do something about being trans other than mope. But it never really worked. I have a chunk of that in the show I’m working on, and it’s sort of ridiculous – I’m playing myself (Rebecca) telling myself (16-year-old-male-me) that if I/he only took some action he’d “get to be me!” The dramatic irony is obviously that I do end up as Rebecca.
Except I’m realizing that I feel like the transition has gotten ahead of me. That, for so long, it was this secret thing that I didn’t talk about except in very private situations. The fantasized and idealized possibility of actually transitioning seemed totally out of reach. Even if I did transition, so I thought, I would never end up pretty or successful.
People tell me I’m both of those things. Objectively, I’m forced to acknowledge the second is true, even if it doesn’t feel like it, but sure as hell not the first.
I haven’t had a chance to catch up with the transition, to internalize and think of myself in the way everyone else seems to. I’m not sure how… I still feel like I’m playing pretend, putting on a costume. I’ve been bemused recently by the women in my life – coworkers, my roommate, friends – who feel comfortable sharing information about their periods with me in a way that they never would have a few years ago. They obviously see me as a woman. Why can’t I?
Themocracy
> They obviously see me as a woman. Why can’t I?
This really is a strange one to me, and I needed to write most of the second half to detangle it.
I felt like an impostor for a long time. I think I had this notion
that even if we are now the same in every physical way that matters,
growing up boy or girl made us different in ways that we can never
reconcile. Early trans. experiences re-enforced those feelings. Back
when I was still in that “stage”, I had dinner w/ Kate Bornstein. She
kept talking about men’s and women’s spaces in ways that made crossing
seem impossible, but I could never get her to actually get to the root of anything. In retrospect, I don’t think she knew the answers — she, too, was running on the same insecurities. Other trans women, hell bent on passing at any cost (including making up alternate childhood stories) told me I’d never make it — I was too analytical, too masculine in my approach.
I honestly don’t know when it changed, but I apparently no longer
think of myself internally as anything but “she”. OTOH, that doesn’t
change the fact that I’m different from most other women — or, indeed, most other people! I think the turning point started when I realized that other aspects of who I am — my skills, intelligence, hobbies, being a fiercely independent introvert, etc. — create far more distance from other people than my sex or gender.
Now-a-days, I have a different problem. I expect people to both read me as female and grok that I’m trans., and when they (especially men going into flirt mode) fail to catch the second bit, I get freaked out — not because I feel like I’m an impostor, but because it means there’s now a cognitive dissonance timebomb waiting to go off, and I’ve had enough of the resulting drama to last a life time. Fortunately, I don’t think this is a problem that all T*s need to live with; if it weren’t for other lifestyle choices, I think I’d be over this one, too.
Now, the wandering that got me to the above
.
First, a little background: I’m MTF, had my surgery in 2000, 5’10,
great figure, 3+ octave developed vocal range, and yet I live a very
“mixed” life. It’s frustrating not being able to … commit … to a pure presentation, but I think part of the problem is the one you’re facing: internally, we conceptualize gender as a fixed attribute that gets established before we are sentient and is then forever and after
immutable. On that spectrum, I think I see myself as inherently trans.
Not just man, not just woman. And the problem is that my gender is just
as legitimate as those other two choices. To be “just woman” would be to give up a whole component of who I am — not in the sense of “giving up something masculine that I like”, but instead, “giving up strengths that I’ve earned along the MTF journey”. It’s important to note that you don’t have to be trans. to find yourself looking across this sort of cultural chasm. I know several “natural born women” who are just as far from their local norms as I am, and they, too, have had to come to grips with being different.
To help me better see my own identity issues, let’s perform an
experiment. My fairy godmother visits me in the middle of the night, and when I wake up in the morning, I find something extraordinary has
happened. I’m essentially the same (my clothes still fit, most people
don’t even notice the difference), but things have changed enough that I
know that I’ve become a “real girl” — I’ve lost access to the lower
octave of my range and, oh, so that’s what it feels like to ovulate!
I would like to think that I’d just let out a great sigh of relief,
but if I really think about it, first, I would probably totally freak out about my voice. It’s that personal to me.
… Wow. I knew I had to respond to this post. May have to have a little cry now. Gimme a sec
.
Okay. Back
. Going on 10 years post-op, and still this stuff
lingers. That’s why these discussions are relevant. See, I look in the mirror every day, and just stare into that reflection. Way back when, mirrors were evil things, but now I have a giant huge one. The
accomplishment I see each day is simply mind blowing, and yet, what of the creature behind those eyes. It’s definitely a she — of that, I have no doubt — but she is also someone who has suffered a lifetime of abuse, and it has hardened her. Oh, she is jovial and loving and supportive and sharing, but she never lets her guard down, and the masculinity in her clothing is a warning broadcast to all that says “I will never be weak again; I don’t take that shit no more.”.
As Leslie Feinberg writes in Stone Butch Blues, “We never switched
clothing. Neither did our drag queen sisters. We knew, and so did you,
what was coming. We needed our sleeves rolled up, our hair slicked back, in order to live through it.”, and I think that’s how I often still feel.
Those are the features that keep me openly presenting as trans. — as other. How else can I explain them? How else can I honor the work I put into becoming me? Part of me would really like to never have to deal with any of this again. Please, just drop me into a life with no sexism and no STDs, where I can be as smart and sexy as I please. But experience has been a hard teacher, and I still don’t have faith enough to live that freely (tho I keep getting closer, and that, too, is scary).
The hard work has always paid off; if my gender history is destined
to fade away under other accomplishments, it will, and I might one day
find myself taking a young T aside and totally spinning her head when I
tell her that I was once in the same place, and you will get through this, just a dear friend once did for me.
Thank you so much for your post. It’s given me lots to think about.
Exactly! I’ve had these moments of feeling like, “How could anyone who didn’t know me before I transitioned possibly understand me? They’re missing the context of this huge event in my life!” I’d imagine that’s something that lots of people experience with big life changes – moving, marriage, death of loved ones, etc – but it’s something I’ve had to work to try and get past.
In terms of the visit from the fairy godmother, that’s also something I’ve thought about a lot. Would I be willing to give up the hard fucking work I’ve done, the fight to get where I am, for something I really want and a much easier path? My experiences as a trans woman – both growing up, transitioning, and now living full-time as a woman – have been so pivotal in shaping who I am. Would I want to give that up?
I’m pretty sure the answer would be yes, but it’d be a tough decision.
Anyway, thanks again – it’s really helpful to hear of other people who have been in a similar place.
Really should post on this, but two small points for the present.
First there’s the fact that we’re in those two processes whilst in transition ; artificial socialization learning and performance, and the assimilation of those aspects into our natural selves. Too little of the former and we feel stuck. Too little of the latter, and maybe we go into states similar to the one you’re describing. And, naturally, hitting the centre spot only rarely happens.
On a more general level, I’ll often picture the cis – trans divide in terms of the former being born on land, building a normal house in a place of their choosing, and taking ‘place’ for granted. Trans, and you’re pulled into the water and either construct some sort of cross dressing houseboat or be swept to the sea. ( Myself I was just peacefully walking by a cliff edge and this gale blew up and… but thats something else). So, for me , the construction of gender identity is building a ship, not a house. It may have engines and sails and travel all over the place, a la Kate Bornstein, or it may be scuttled on the fringes of a beach, a la HBSer. The compromise between motion and mooring is our own to make, but it can’t be as fixed as a cis person, if only for the fact that we can’t unlearn all we know of the gendered world, of the seas we navigate.
That’s an interesting metaphor, particularly because it speaks to the idea that you can’t become “un”trans. That is, there are people who feel that they no longer fit the terms transgender or transsexual after completing their transition; being trans was a medical issue that was “fixed,” end of story.
I try to respect the wishes of people with a “trans history,” but I have to say I never quite understood it. What you’re saying, that you can’t unlearn or forget experiences from being mis-gendered, is very much part of the reason why the idea of a “trans history” has made me uncomfortable.