March 1998, from March 2012

Dear Rebecca,

Can I call you Rebecca? I know you haven’t told many people that name. It’s one of the names mom and dad chose for you before you were born, one you’ve been using in your head since mom mentioned it while working on that genealogy project with you. I know it’s a private name for you right now, but things change. I promise they do.

This letter is coming from the year 2012, fourteen years in the future. You’re thirteen, I’m twenty-seven. You’re exploring your identity on the Internet, trying to figure out what “transgender” means and whether it applies to you. I’m writing about my identity on the Internet, trying to explain to others what “transgender” means and how it applies to me. And, from that perspective, I wanted to write you this letter.

Don’t let anyone tell you who you are. You know who you are. You know what you are. Doctors and therapists and family can help with that journey, but that can’t decide it for you. They also can’t do it for you. I know you’re dying for someone to step in and take the lead, to transition for you, to tell you what to do. And you’ll find doctors and therapists who will help along the way. But no one does it for you.

Put another way: it doesn’t get better. But you will make it better.

You won’t magically transform overnight. You won’t wake up one day and be the girl you want to be, the girl we both know you are. But you’ll get there anyway. You’ll get there by standing firm and standing tall and saying, “I know who I am.”

A few pieces of advice.

First, stand up for yourself. There will be lots of people who question your decisions – either out of love or out of ignorance or a combination of the two – but you know better than them. Don’t let their volume win over your identity.

Second, try not to care what other people think. This isn’t because there aren’t important people whose opinions you should value. Rather, it’s because the things you’re now worrying about — being perceived as a “real girl” and transitioning and all that extremely scary stuff — isn’t as scary as you think it will be. People are too wrapped up in their own shit to fret about you. It’ll all turn out OK.

Lastly, trust your allies to help you. You have some awesome friends and family, and some more awesome friends are around the corner in high school. Take advantage of them. Try stuff out, even if you’re not sure about it. It’s always better to say, “Well, that didn’t turn out the way I hoped” rather than, “Boy, I wish I’d done something tonight instead of sitting at home alone.”

Our positions have flipped over the years. When I was your age — when I was you — I imagined this otherworldly Rebecca, from another plane of existence, who was living this perfect, unimaginable life. Now I am Rebecca, and let me tell you: The Rebecca you construct in your mind has some good advice for you, but she also spouts some bullshit. What she says about transitioning? Listen to that. What she says about killing yourself because you’re not good enough to do it? Tell her to shut the fuck up.

Life isn’t easy, but it’s too much fun to end by killing yourself. Laughter and tears and orgasms and friendships and relationships and so many other things I wish I could be there to show you. So take a deep breath. Cry a few tears when you need to; that’s always OK. And get ready to blossom. Because, let me tell you, you’re gonna be amazing.

Much love,

Rebecca

P.S. The video games in 2012 are so great! Can’t wait to play them with you.

When I first came out to my parents as transgender, at around fourteen, I had a lot of unspoken questions: What did wanting to be a girl mean, when the whole world thought I was a boy? Could I ever be happy? How would this change our relationships? And, perhaps most important of all, how would transitioning from being a boy to being a girl work? What would that process be like?

I was lucky in some ways. I didn’t wonder whether my parents would kick me out of the house, or stop supporting me, or beat me, or any of the horrible things that happen all-too-often when trans youth come out to the adults in their lives. And when I said those terrifying words, “I think I want to be a girl,” my parents responded with love and compassion. My mom said, “We will love you, no matter what.” My dad said, “We’ll love you, whatever you are. As long as you’re not a Republican.” (The source of my own sense of humor was never a big mystery.) However, they didn’t know how to address my unspoken questions — or even know that those questions existed.

I tell this story a lot, and I do so for two reasons: First, to highlight a way in which my parents were awesome, by responding to my coming out by reiterating their love for me. But also to highlight a way in which they fell short, to highlight their ignorance around what it meant to be trans, to have a trans child. I tell the story of my coming out to focus on the difference between tolerance and acceptance, which my parents absolutely displayed, and support, which they didn’t know how to provide.

Being an ally to trans folks isn’t simply about being accepting and tolerant. It’s not just acknowledging that trans folks exist, even going so far as to say that maybe they shouldn’t be discriminated against. It’s about taking an active stance around issues of trans equality and being explicitly supportive of trans people in your life, as well as those who aren’t in your life. But what does that mean? Lets take a look at some of the basics.

Step Zero: Don’t Deny Someone Else’s Reality

The first thing about being a trans ally — something really before the first thing — is to know when to keep your mouth shut. You know you’ve failed at this if you find yourself saying any of the following:

Step One: Educate Yourself

So, you’ve learned to keep your mouth shut. Awesome! You’ll go far. The next step toward being a strong trans ally (and the first real bit of work) is to transform yourself into an informed trans ally. To do that, you need to educate yourself. This is hard for lots of people: admitting ignorance and working to fix it. It’s especially hard because you — as an ally-in-training — need to remind yourself it is not the responsibility of Generic Trans Individual to educate you. Bumping into someone that you heard is trans at some social event does not give you the right to grill that individual about gender theory or what’s between their legs, in the same way straight people don’t have the right to ask gay or lesbian individuals, “Wait, how does sex work?”

So educate yourself, and don’t wait for others to do it for you. A few resources in that direction: Not Your Mom’s Trans 101 is a great primmer, particularly because it addresses things like gender binaries, self identification, and the obnoxiously persistent myths that “Sex is between your legs and gender is between your ears.” Go read it. Maybe even a few times, until it starts to make sense. You can also check out Trans 101 at T-Vox, or at the Sylvia Rivera Law Project.

This doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ask questions. It means that you should know when and where it is socially appropriate to ask questions. For example, I’m an educator. I love talking about gender, identity, what it means to be trans — all that jazz. However, I’ve chosen to be an educator, and put myself in the role of teacher. If you’re in a situation where it wouldn’t be appropriate to talk about what’s between your legs, you probably shouldn’t be asking about anyone else’s business. If you don’t know what something means, Google it. (For example, Wikipedia has a solid article on what cisgender and cissexual mean.)

Step Two: Begin To Speak Up

So, you’ve read through some Trans 101 websites. You’ve got a grasp on gender identity, cissexism, why you shouldn’t use words like “tranny” and “shemale.” Now what?

Begin to flex your ally muscles. This can be incredibly simple: Call out the next transphobic joke you see on TV. (Family Guy and early seasons of How I Met Your Mother are two places where trans women are consistently the butt of jokes.) Mention to your friends how that’s bullshit. Ask your friends or coworkers or whomever to stop using words like “tranny.”

It really is that easy. Being an ally isn’t scary, but it does require some courage. One of the coolest experiences I’ve ever had was I saw a straight, cis, frat-going, sports-playing friend of mine stop a conversation he and another friend were having to say, “Wait, you’re making really problematic assumptions about gender.”

He was being an awesome ally.

Step Three – Go Big or Go Home

Now that you’ve educated yourself and know enough to call out basic transphobia among your friends or peers, it’s time to step up your game. In your own life, this can be things like asking your employer why there isn’t a gender-neutral bathroom at your workplace. (Or complimenting them if there is!) Checking if trans issues are covered in your health insurance plan. When filling out forms, ask why there are two check boxes for gender or whether gender is required for the form at all. (Hint: It usually isn’t.)

If that’s not big enough, start to look at the local, state and national level. Does your community have protections for trans folks? Chicago, Cook County and Illinois all do. Huzzah! But the Federal Government doesn’t.

Likewise, while repealing Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was incredibly important, I still can’t serve in the military because I’m trans; it’s an immediate medical discharge. Organizations like the Sylvia Rivera Law Project, National Center for Trans Equality, NYC’s Audre Lorde Project and Chicago’s Gender Just are all places to look for information about specific policy issues, as well as donation and volunteer opportunities.

Step Four: Evangelize

Now that you’re an awesome ally to trans folks, enlist your friends to become the same. And don’t let them get away with saying it won’t impact them. If gender expression isn’t included in non-discrimination laws, you might be protected from being fired for being a lesbian but could still be fired for being “too masculine.” If gender expression isn’t included in anti-bullying policies, a student might be protected from being called “faggot” but not from being told he “looks like a girl.” Being a strong trans ally ultimately means being an ally to the entire queer community, as well as all the folks out there who aren’t queer but are read as being a little bit “different.”

So, step up. No time to waste.

I was reminded about this when my mom sent me a link to a Chicago Tribune article titled Study: Family ties cut suicide rate for LGBT youth. In fact, my parents responded on a similar script to what the article suggests:

[One of the study authors] said parents can make a difference. It’s important parents respond with love and acceptance from the moment their child tells them he or she is gay, and that’s true even if parents need time to process the information.

“You can say something like: ‘I’m glad you shared that with me and I love you no matter what. This is new for me and I have to think about it, but I want you to know that I loved you before you told me and I love you now,’” he said.

It certainly took my parents time to process. I’d say it actually took them about ten years, from when I came out to them around fourteen to when I was asking all of my friends and family and coworkers to call me Rebecca when I was in my mid-twenties. In all fairness to them, I wasn’t transitioning for most of that time. I wasn’t really talking to them about being trans, or my developing trans identity.

And maybe I wasn’t always as patient as I could have been. I’ve had my issues, particularly with my dad. But he’s come around, too. My performances have helped him understand what I’m going through, which has been incredibly rewarding to see. And he has gotten really into the festivals and tours I’ve been involved with, which feels really good.

And for all my frustrations with my parents, I never doubted their love. For all the times I’ve been driven to tears, I never worried they would kick me out, cut me off, beat me, abandon me. Even when it felt like they were never going to understand, I didn’t think for a moment that they were going to do any of the more horrible things that families can inflict on their queer kids.

In looking for some of the posts I linked to above, I came across this post from June 2008, where I discussed my fears of buying women’s clothing at Target, and some frustrations with my dad.

And now the only ‘boy’ clothing I have left is some old boxers and shirts for sleeping, and my dad readily introduces me as his daughter.

Who said nothing ever changes?

The discussion was particularly interesting to me because I’ve had such a complex and conflicted relationship with privacy in my own life. For many years, I was closeted. My trans identity, my identity as a woman, was a private, secret, thing. Cause for feelings of shame and embarrassment. Forays into femininity were clandestine and brief. Coming out to people was an event something which required forethought and planning as I chose to make a private aspect of myself slightly more accessible.

Now, much of what was private in my life is public: this blog highlights my experiences with gender, sex, sexuality, and more. My artist website, http://www.rebeccakling.com/. My upcoming show (obligatory plug – buy tickets now!). So (as I did once before) I called in to share my views.

Specifically, I was curious about Professor Nippert-Eng’s view of disclosure as an act of power. She discussed how privacy and secrets are often viewed as a way to control our lives: by making decisions about who knows what, we can regulate relationships and how emotionally close people are able to get to us (or not). I said that, as a minority, I feel there’s a certain power in disclosure that might not be obvious to people whose experiences are more generally understood. Disclosure can act as a way of staking a claim in a larger culture, a prominent reminder that I, as a (whatever), am here and won’t be going away.

This has been a big part of me choice to perform and blog and speak so publicly. It’s partially an act of activism, but it’s also an act of power for myself. A way of saying, “I’m going to share my identity so strongly, any objections will be rendered irrelivent.”

Dr Nippert-Eng readily agreed, while pausing to note the important part is voluntary disclosure. She highlighted the Rutgers’ student suicide as an example of non-voluntary disclosure was anything but empowering.

She took things a step further, though, saying that the gay marriage debate as a whole is in some ways a debate about disclosure and what should or shouldn’t be secret. Marriage is a public declaration of a relationship, and one which operates most successfully with community and government sanction. I hadn’t thought of if that way before, but I can see Dr. Nippert-Eng’s point that gay marriage wouldn’t be an issue if gay couples didn’t feel the ‘need’ to disclose their relationships. The old argument of “I don’t hate gay people, I just don’t want them to flaunt their gayness.” But rather than come from a perspective of why homosexuality “should” be secret or shameful, she was acknowledging the power that comes from a community saying “This isn’t something that we view as negative. It’s OK to be open about XYZ.”

Viewing the personal as political in this way, and identity politics as an issue of privacy and secrets, won’t drastically reshape how these issues are dealt with. But it was a nice feeling of validation to have my on-air comment about the power of disclosure, in opposition to the power of secrets, shape a conversation heard by others. And it reinforced my own sense of purpose in the conscious disclosure I’m choosing to partake in, in many areas of my life.

(The segment from 848 can be downloaded from their website, here.)

Coming out of the closet isn't always easy...

There’s a post, Out Open, Closed, and In, at The Spectrum Cafe, that caught my attention. It’s about the spectrum of ‘outness’ trans people can choose to have: Out, Open, Blended, Closed, In, and Stealth. Dyssonance’s full definitions in her post, but briefly:

• Out – someone who makes a point to have ‘trans’ as part of their identity
• Open – someone who is willing to discuss their trans status, but not go out of their way to highlight it
• Blended – “[being trans] is a non issue — something that isn’t a topic for discussion unless the discussion is specifically relating to something important for themselves”
• Closed – “They don’t want people to know they are trans, and usually being closed is more a matter of simply not having had control and being put into a position that prevents them from being In”
• In – “In folks are what we have long called “stealth” — but stealth carries with it connotations of hiding, of deception, of intrigue…”

It’s an interesting scale, and I’d agree more useful than simply saying someone is Out or Stealth.

I’m pretty obviously Out. If you’re in doubt, just Google me or look at my website. My trans identity is part of my political and artistic identity as well, and I’ve found value in living my life that way.

But I’m privileged enough to be able to do so. Financially privileged. Socially and familialy. Educationally. Racially. And, to be frank, in my ability to present myself as and be perceived by others as a woman. As one of the commenters on Dyssonance’s post says…

It’s nice for a trans person to say, “I’m closed” or “I only tell a few close friends or community people” but the reality is, if other people know you’re trans (or have extreme suspicions) then what does that personal status mean? Yes, I this is verboten to say, but I’ve known trans people who looked believably like their gender, claimed they were in stealth, and appeared as women yet spoke like a baritone/bass. So now it becomes, not just how one personally experiences their private information, but how it interacts with what others know about you and might not ask you about, might ask you about in supportive way, might be curious about

That’s a tough issue, and part of what makes being trans so difficult: there’s a direct correlation between how others perceive you and how In or Out the world will let you be. It sucks, and I’m certainly pushing for a world where that isn’t the case, but perception is on equal footing with presentation for how others will interact with you.

The goal is, I guess, to make sure your presentation matches what you think it should be, and let everything else wash over you. Easier said than done, no doubt, but something I’m striving to achieve every day.

That’s been my general coming out tactic lately, and I think I’ve mentioned it once or twice before on this blog. Today, K paused (awkwardly, I felt) and said, “Oh, yeah.”

I like “You know I’m trans, right?” because it gives me – the one coming out – some amount of power. It’s absolutely a leading question, which means there’s a social impetus on whoever I’m speaking with not to say, “No! Oh my god! You’re trans!?” The pressure is there for them to agree, say they knew I was trans, and move on.

At the same time, I’m coming to dislike using this as a way to come out (or verify that I don’t need to) because of that same pressure. I always want the response to be, “Oh, wow. No, I didn’t know that,” because it’ll make me feel better about my presentation as a woman. (It’s happened on occasion, but not frequently.)

I’m curious how (or if) other people handle similar issues? I consider my work environment (at this job, specifically) to be somewhere I’m comfortable enough to joke about my trans identity. At the same time, I needed to make explicit that aspect of my identity to K. Or did I? I obviously could have either kept my mouth shut, or told the joke and not explain it. But I’m not thrilled with either of those options.

What would you have done?

Then, I met up with a friend for her trolley party.

Not a great picture, but undeniable proof of trolley-hood

I’m not totally sure why she was having a trolley party – I think a friend of hers was in from out of town, which is as good an excuse as any – but a bunch of people I knew from Northwestern were also there. One of whom hadn’t seen me since I’d transitioned, and clearly didn’t remember who I was.

She introduced herself as Becca, I thought initially because she remembered me but wasn’t sure how to ask about my new name. We agreed that our spelled – Rebecca – is obviously right, and every other variation is wrong. We continued chatting while at one of the bars along the way (we alternated between trolley cruising and stopping at bars) and she mentioned that she knew the hostess from Northwestern. I said I did, too, and kind of awkwardly mentioned that she and I knew each other from Northwestern, too.

“Wait, what’s your last name?” she asked.

“Kling,” I replied, “Rebecca Kling.” She paused, trying to remember. I finally offered, “Did you know [male name] Kling?”

“Oh yeah, I remember him! Did you two get married?” This honestly wasn’t the reaction I was expecting, and made me laugh.

“No,” I continued. “I used to be him.”

A look of confusion spread across her face for a quick second, and then she broke out into a huge grin. “Oh, there you are!” She reached out her hand to cup the side of my face. “You’re so beautiful! There’s your face!”

It was sort of a surreal experience, but a really delightful one. The number of people I need to come out to has gone down over time (obviously) but I still get tired at the thought of coming out to someone I haven’t seen in a few years. In this case, I had a moment of worrying over what her reaction would be, only to be utterly surprised and buoyed by the reality.

It was, my roommate later commented, like the moment in Hook where the Lost Boys accept Peter back:

The rest of the evening was also a blast. How could it not be, with a kick-off like that? Don’t have tons of pictures, but these are from going back to one of the hostesses’ apartments post-trolley:

Intriguing...

Dun dun duuuuuuuuh!

Hey friends!

This is kind of an uncomfortable email for me to write, but it’s something that I’ve been thinking about and need to address:

Please don’t out me. That is, please don’t tell people I’m trans.

I love you all. I’ve said this over and over again: I’m privileged, blessed, and really fucking lucky to be surrounded by friends like you. In a world that isn’t too kind to people outside the norm, you all pretty much shrugged your shoulders when I came out. Not because it wasn’t important to me, but because it didn’t change our friendships.  I really value that. I love being able to have conversations and debates, to share joy and sorrow, with people who I’ve known for years, and who have known me.

But staying in Chicago after high school and college has also made transitioning occasionally more work than I’d like. To pick a really easy example, I went to the bank yesterday and the teller was the mom of someone I went to elementary school with (and not someone I particularly cared for, at that). She knew she sort of recognized me, but totally didn’t know how to respond to my presentation as Rebecca. It wasn’t a problem, and she was respectful, but it kind of threw me out of my stride to have to say, “Yeah, I’m going by Rebecca now…”  Even though I love Chicago, and am glad I’ve stuck around, having to be reminded of that pre- and post-transition disconnect takes its toll.

That’s a big part of the reason I’m asking you not to out me: while I’m working on being proud of my identity as a trans woman, I don’t always want to have to deal with it. It’s part of who I am – a big part of who I am – but it’s not the only part that’s important.  And I’m 100% confident that all of you feel the same way. But (as I said) you’ve known me for a bazillion years, and see who I am as one continual person. For a lot of people, though, when they’re told someone is trans, that part ‘wins’ against all the other parts of their identity.  People have this tendency to totally shift their mental perception of a person when they learn that person is trans. I’ve seen it happen: pronouns immediately switch, awkward and rude questions start to get asked, and (in extreme cases) the trans person gets beaten, raped, or killed.

I want to emphasize that those less violent reactions – incorrect pronouns, rude questions – don’t come from bigotry. I’m not accusing everyone who uses the wrong names or pronouns with me of intolerance. They can learn – like I’ve had to, like you all have done brilliantly and in a way that really makes me proud – that being trans doesn’t have to be that big of a deal. But while they’re learning that, they may call me by the wrong pronoun. They may ask awkward questions. They may end up treating me differently. And all of those things hurt, even though I wish they didn’t and even though I’m working on not letting them get to me. I don’t like how easy it is for me to go from happy to miserable by being referred to as ‘he,’ but that’s where I am right now.

I’m also asking this of you for more than my emotional comfort. I’m asking you for my safety. I am absolutely confident that none of you would ever out me to anyone who would give me any reason to feel unsafe. But I don’t know who their friends are. Or the friends of their friends. I’ve led something of a charmed life when compared to the rest of the trans community, and ask your help in keeping me safe from potential violence and harassment.

I also want to make it really clear that I am not mad at any of you. I’ve never given this issue much thought, and haven’t really talked about it with anyone before this week. I’m open to talking about it more, and would love to chat over drinks or a game of Mario Kart. Thank you all so much for respecting this decision.

Much love,
-Rebecca

The first draft was much snarkier and less diplomatic, but a friend (hi Jess) convinced me that leading with a carrot (reminding my friends that I love them and enlisting their help) would be better than a stick (letting my friends know I’d be angry with them if they ignored this request).

This email also glosses over the more ideological issue that they don’t have the right to out me; it focuses entirely on the safety and comfort of not outing me. That was a conscious choice, even if it’s one that was difficult for me to make. Ultimately, I thought this version of the email had more of a chance of working with less of a chance of annoying any of my friends. That doesn’t sit well with me – I always prefer diving into the nitty-gritty of a discussion or argument, particularly when it’s about something so close to me – but I sort of decided to take one for the team.

If any of my friends bring this topic up with me, I’ll definitely explain my more nuanced position, but I don’t think I needed to get into it for the purposes of this email, even if I did really want to.

Bob, chuckling, gestured to me and said, “Right. He’s going to hell because he doesn’t acknowledge the big JC…” And continued talking, using the incorrect pronoun, to the point where I started to wonder if he maybe wasn’t referring to me; most people catch themselves earlier than Bob did.

But no, I finally had to correct him, “She. Not he.”

He apologized, corrected himself, and the conversation moved on. Shortly thereafter I left and went to bed.

And realized I’d never actually told Bob I was trans.

I asked Alice about it today, and she verified that she had told him at some point. I’ve never given my friends any sort of policy on this, because it’s never really occurred to me that I should. I’m so surrounded by people who knew me before I transitioned that I sort of assume people know I’m trans. (Perhaps to the detriment of my confidence in being perceived as a woman.) Alice also said she was 100% fine if I said she shouldn’t tell people I’m trans – she hadn’t really thought about it before either, but she’d definitely respect my decision if that’s what I tell her to do.

The conversation made me remember that my other roommate, Carl, (stick with the naming convention, people!) has also outed me to at least one friend of his. Carl’s friend never had the pronoun issues Bob did, so I never really gave the matter much thought, but now I’m rethinking it.

I don’t like that I care, but I do care. For someone who does performance art about her trans identity, who hands out postcards proclaiming in the show description that she’s trains, I still want that information and that part of my identity to feel like it’s under my control.

So how do I handle this? The cat’s out of the bag, so to speak, but I can definitely tell my roommates how I feel. Should I go so far as to send out an email to all my friends? That seems kind of extreme. Should I give some sort of guidelines? I feel silly emailing…

“If it’s relevant to the conversation, you’re allowed to out me.

Good: Oh, you do performance art about your abusive father? My roommate does performance art about her identity as a trans woman!

Bad: I live with Carl, who likes watching sports on TV, and Becca, who’s a transsexual.

How have other people handled this situation, when you’re out but still want some control over how others are allowed to out you?