Holding a mourning ceremony
I saw my therapist, Laura, last night, and we talked about my feeling stuck; that I’m unable to get past grieving for the life I ‘should have’ had if I’d transitioned earlier or not transitioned in the first place. I was also thinking about something from Questioning Transphobia:
In other words, we need to see the woman in the pre-transition photo of a trans woman, the man in the pre-transition photo of a trans man. That, and only that, will help begin to dissipate the painful and fraught relationship so many of us have with photographs.
Queen Emily was specifically talking about photographs, but I think expanding the idea to the rest of my life makes sense, too. That is, from my comment on that post, “It’s much harder to view my history and experiences prior to transitioning as an integral part of who I am now; as a foundation upon which I’ve built up rather than a weight which drags me down.”
I’ve talked before on this blog about how valuable I think ceremony and ritual are, in theory, but that I’ve had a really hard time putting them into practice for myself. That is, I think it’s awesome that someone else might a Bat Mitzvah or create their own ceremony (religious or not) to celebrate their transition, or as a right of passage. But when I think about creating something for myself, I feel silly. I feel contrived. I feel like I’m playing at being an adult, like I don’t have the authority to say, “This is the ceremony of passage, to mourn what is lost and celebrate what is ahead.”
Laura turned the question of a ceremony around on me, though. My last show, Trans Form, was ultimately about celebrating who I am and casting a hopeful eye to the future. What if my next show is about mourning who I was, and grieving for what I had to experience?
That seemingly obvious question really opened up the horizons of what I’m “allowed” to do. Because I feel totally unprepared at the thought of construction a ‘real’ ritual or mourning, a ceremony that I would ask friends to attend. But I feel totally prepared and “allowed” to construct a theatrical piece about it, and invite an audience to come watch it.
(At this point, I realize how backwards my theatre training has made me in some respects. I’m honestly considering a public demonstration of grief, on stage, as less scary than a private gathering. Artists are weird.)
Themocracy
I totally get this. Before accepting my queer status and my OCD, my life was hell, and I don’t have fond memories. And it’s hard when talking with my friends who want to remember high school and talk about how awesome those days were when all I can think about how painful it was and how much I missed out on life by not getting help and then accepting myself earlier.
And don’t think your weird! Ok, well, I’m a writer, so I guess I’m an artist too…because I can write anything about myself on paper, but can’t ever tell my friends directly. But anyway, you’re not the only one who thinks that way.
Glad I’m not too crazy
That’s totally it, and what I’m trying to figure out how to get past. I’m thinking some sort of ritual/ceremony/performance will help, hopefully. It’s probably a feeling of loss or regret that never totally goes away, but it’s overpowering me right now, and that’s not good.
No, that’s not. I look forward to seeing how your performance helps you. Maybe it’ll give me some ideas.
yo, i’m not unsympathetic, but you’ve got to stand outside your head a moment.
i don’t get what the mourning is for? old you? how much did you value old you? if you mourn old you, what does that mean for new you?
i have to ask – if you’re grieving, what, exactly, are you grieving for? your loss of choices? every aspect of getting older is about loss of choice (until one enters the crone phase, at which time my mother informs me there’s a certain sense of liberation, unless you’re Jane Fonda). i’m not sure what you’re driving at with this ritual thing.
if it’s grieving for not being male any more (and from everything else you’ve written, i’m pretty sure that’s not it), then that’s another matter. but if it’s just from a closing off of options, or a farewell to childhood, or whatever, or even about saying goodbye to your photographic past, then – not to intimidate you crestively – you’d better have a way of talking sbout that loss that’s outside your personal experience. there’s been some really great art about saying goodbye to one’s earlier life – really great art – and you’re possibly setting yourself an impossibly high bar trying to deal with that.
am i missing something?
hmmm. okay, re-reading (i do that – apologies for the misdirected post above). grieving for what you should have had? isn’t that a bit like having muscular dystrophy, and grieving for not being a tennis pro? how much do you think you’re going to get out of that?
i get the thing about the photographs. i just don’t think it’s worthy of your talent. it’s a little bit “grey gardens’. which is fine if you’re the mayles brothers, and not so good if you’re edie.
No apologies needed! That’s exactly it – “grieving for what you should have had.”
Honestly, I don’t know how much I’ll get out of it. If there’s a better way to get past that regret and feeling of loss, I’m completely open to it. But I know that, right now, I’m not able to get past it. I feel consumed by this regret at not having transitioned earlier, and like I’m totally frozen by the sensation my life should (somehow, mostly indefinably) be ‘better.’
I’m consciously aware that this is not a productive way to think. I am successful: I have accepting and loving friends and family; a good, steady, job; artistic success. I’ve just been utterly unsuccessful at getting myself into that frame of mind, and away from “Woe is me.”
I think there’s a difference between your muscular dystrophy example and transitioning. It’s like, I know I could never be a tennis pro, that’s not who I’m meant to be. It’s a job, it’s an achievement, so if I don’t make it, I can fill that by having a different job or achievement.
Sexuality or gender, tho, is like saying, “This is who I’ve always been, I just didn’t realize it before.” And so you get angry at your past self for not being your true self, for being unhappy just because you weren’t you. It’s different being unhappy because of something you can’t do.
The thing is, I think we get kind of committed to therapeutic models because whatever we’re experiencing is new territory for us, but others have gone there before, and there’s something that seemed to work for them, and so we’re likely to try the conventional thing. But ultimately it does have to be something that works for you. And sometimes if you’ll really look at your own instinctive practices, you discover that you’ve been developing your own coping skill or therapeutic practice all along. I remember realizing in my early 20s that backpacking was like therapy for me. I got from it what my friends got from counseling or meditation or whatever. I think I had felt almost guilty prior to that because many traditional counseling situations just don’t work well for me. But realizing that I have my own way of working through my thoughts and experiences, and that it works for me but not necessarily for anyone else, was kind of liberating. So now I’m both more cautious and more liberal with the words “therapy” and “therapeutic.” One person’s therapy is another person’s awkward uncomfortable totally-not-helpful experience, and there’s no reason why we should even try for a one-size-fits-all approach.
And on the topic of theater training making you backwards in this way… I’ve often thought that a performance that’s labelled as and understood to be a performance (as opposed to the myriad other performances we engage in every day) gives the performer a certain kind of distance that you wouldn’t get from an unscripted private gathering. Even though the subject matter of the performance is intensely personal, and public aspect of the performance gives you a little distance from your audience, if that makes any sense.
Totally!
And I agree with your second point as well. The idea of a formalized, scripted performance – regardless of how informal or casual the actual event may be – removes some of my fears about having a totally casual get-together and/or something that I’m labeling as ritual or ceremony. I know what I’m setting out to do has the exact same goals, I’m just wired in a way right now where doing it as a performance allows it to be less ‘real.’ To have lower stakes.
Maybe that’s ultimately a counter-productive way to go, but it’s where I feel the most comfortable right now.