This piece is cross-posted at In Our Times, an awesome blog collecting various queer Chicago writers and viewpoints. I’ve just started writing with them, and can’t speak highly enough of the work they’re doing.
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. Continue reading 'How to Be a Better Ally to Trans Folks in Four Steps'»
Part One of this writing exercise is here.
No fair! My feet didn't come with a flower!
Below the waist. My feet, like my hands, are slightly bigger than I’d like, hairier than I’d like, but I can’t really complain. They’re not huge, it’s occasionally obnoxious to find shoes in my size but never impossible, and hair removal has thinned much of the worst growth. I still have some patches around my ankles that I need to shave when I shave my legs, but no body is perfect. My legs rival my chest and face for the most dramatic success of hair removal. I shave my legs, much more in warm months, but don’t grow the same thick brambly forest that I used to. As of today, I haven’t shaved my legs in at least a month, and while they’re hairy compared to my shaved-this-morning face, they’re night and day compared to when I was in high school, pre hormones and hair removal. My legs are, like my arms, places of strength. I don’t run – it hurts my knees – but I bike and walk and swim and climb ropes and trees and lovers. I’ve been working on strengthening my hips, something a physical therapist said would help my knees, but don’t have much to complain about.
At the same time, my legs and arms have shrunk the most over the course of my transition. I joke that, since going on hormones, I’ve gone up two cup sizes without gaining any weight. All that mass, my previously mentioned boobs, had to come from somewhere – lots of it came from now-departed muscle mass in my arms and legs. I’m still stronger than lots of my girl friends, who knows whether as a result of testosterone or simply genetics, but decidedly less strong than I was before hormones. I’m not complaining, however, other than the occasional struggle at circus or the gym. But no pain, no gain. Or something.
Continue reading 'Body Map, part two'»
This is part one of a writing exercise about body mapping. Stay tuned for part two.
My fingers are a gateway to the world. Typers of words, feelers of skin, players of keys, graspers of all that is in reach. They are long and neither slender or fat, but finger-sized. They have hair between the first and second knuckles, between where they connect to my hand and where they bend. The hair has been hit by lasers, plucked by tweezers, shaved by blades, but still it grows back. Less and less with hormones and lasers and frustration, but still it grows.
The thumb on my right hand is larger than that on my left. My gym teacher slammed it in a door when I was in third or fourth grade. It was an accident, and he apologized, but still told me to stop crying when I went to the nurse’s office. I needed stitches under the nail, one of the most painful experiences I’ve ever had.
When I hold my fingers up straight, palm out, the middle and ring fingers pop apart, as if in a permanent Vulcan greeting: Live long and prosper, forever. It’s kind of silly, and makes me incredibly self conscious. When I wave, I make sure to do so with fingers spread. When I hold my hand out, I either cup or spread my fingers to hide this physical quirk. It’s significantly more pronounced on my left hand, presumably because I broke those fingers flipping off my bike sophomore year of college. Ouch.
Continue reading 'Body Map, part one'»
Looks so cool! I’ll be in Cali visiting family (and at a surgeon consult – eek!) but anyone in Chicago should check it out.
On behalf of SQS we are immeasurably pleased and excited to announce a joint event with the Center on Halsted called SEED: Self Education Empowerment and Defense. This wonderful workshop will take place in the John Baran Senior Center, at 5:30pm, on March 18th, 2012.
SEED is an empowering forty-five program designed for individuals of all ability, specifically for those who are trans*, queer, and/or female-identified. These communities are often the targets of physical and emotional harassment and violence. We will teach participants the skills to avoid these situations and stay safe and in control. A member from the Center’s Anti-Violence Project will speak about developing less violent and more affirming environments and relationships.
Our instructors are trans* identified individuals of color and this program will be offered in English and Spanish. Participants are encouraged to attend in comfortable clothes and be ready to transform! We are grateful for the opportunity to educate, empower, and advocate for these communities, which are too often underserved and underrepresented.
This workshop is free and open to all who wish to attend—allies included.
SQS is a fierce grassroots collective of trans* individuals and their allies from a variety of cultures, backgrounds, and experiences. We are here to serve as a force of strength and empowerment to all—and to connect individuals to community resources. Meeting in the Pilsen neighborhood of Chicago, we are dedicated to advocacy and celebrating the simple fact that we are who we are.
For more information, please contact Van Binfa at sqs_info@yahoo.com. Visit our web page at www.sqs-tec.tumblr.com. Please RSVP to June LaTrobe at jlatrobe@centeronhalsted.org to ensure sufficient resources and materials.
I recently spoke to a group of high school students at the synagogue I’d attended growing up, and where I had my Bar Mitzvah. The workshop went really well, and the students seemed receptive and open to what I was saying. I’m speaking next week to a group of seventh grade students, which should be fun, too.
After the workshop, I had a conversation with the friend of mine, Dinah, who runs the youth programming. We were discussing our queer identities, and how those do and don’t mesh with our Jewish identities. I brought up a conversation I’d had over the weekend, in which, while discussing Israel, someone Jewish (Sam) said, “Israel is the only place I’ve ever visited where I haven’t been a minority.”
Dinah agreed with Sam’s sentiment, and said one way she’s explained the importance of Israel to queer friends is in a context many queer people understand. As she put it, “Israel is the gender-neutral bathroom of my people.”
I’ve been thinking a lot about that concept, but I’m not sure it rings true for me.
Continue reading '“Israel is the gender-neutral bathroom of my people”'»
My parents aren’t perfect. I doubt any are. And, yet, I feel pretty lucky to have them. I’ve talked about my coming out experience, and how – even though my parents responded with love – I wish they had responded to my coming out with understanding. With the knowledge to say, “Yup. And this is what we do about that.” I wish there had been things like summer camps for trans youth, or conferences for their families, or books for parents, or any of the things that have really come to light in the last decade or so. At the same time, I feel lucky and fortunate to have the parents I do.
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.
Continue reading 'Thanks, mom and dad'»
Here’s what I’d like you to do:
- Cut open my penis.
- Remove the spongey erectile tissue. Make sure to leave the nerves and blood supply intact! We’ll need those!
- Invert all that stuff up into my pelvic cavity.
- Use that tissue and blood supply to make me a brand new clit.
- Shorten my urethra – won’t be standing up to pee anymore!
- Take the extra scrotal tissue and shape me a good labia.
Perfect! Now that’s what I want to see when I look in the mirror. Continue reading 'Cut it open. Push it up.'»
Is there a difference between health care and healthcare? Between caring for one’s health and being subjected to the medical establishment, the industry of health, the clinical experience? Is there – or should there be – such a thing as queer healthcare?
“When was your last period?”
“Do you think you might be pregnant?”
“What medication are you on? Are you on birth control?”
Those questions, most recently (and repeatedly) asked when I was in the hospital in 2010 to get my gallbladder removed. Doctors came in and asked. Nurses came in and asked. More doctors. More nurses.
To some extent, I accept the medical necessity of such questions. From one perspective, they’re affirming: the person asking assumes I’m a cisgender woman, complete with uterus, ovaries, and the ability to menstruate and get pregnant. From another perspective, they’re oppressive: they are making assumptions about my body, my identity. And for trans men, the opposite may be true: they may be menstruating, pregnant, have gynecological problems that doctors won’t or don’t know how to acknowledge and treat.
Fitting in makes other people’s lives easier. We live in a culture that says “You can be anything you want! If you can dream it, you can do it! Reach for the stars!” But when you’ve reached, when you’ve become that thing you want, can only be that thing. Not more than one thing. Not one thing one day, and something else the next. Self identification is one thing, but ambiguity (perceived or real) is something else entirely.
Continue reading 'Health. Care. Healthcare.'»
This past week I was at Butler University in Indianapolis, performing Uncovering the Mirrors and leading a workshop around trans issues. Everything went really well, and I met some great people. All in all a very good trip.
During the workshop, however, something came up that I had not previously considered. Specifically, someone asked about how trans youth are (medically) treated. I said that it varies, but that there’s an increasing use of hormone blockers to delay puberty. This allows a twelve or thirteen year old to age a few years and – hopefully – be able to make a more informed decision about transitioning. In my I-am-not-a-doctor opinion, it’s a good compromise: simply doing nothing can result in spending thousands of dollars to undo puberty, but launching fully into hormone replacement therapy opens the door to a twelve year old realizing they weren’t really trans at thirteen or fourteen.
Ultimately, I said to the questioner, there isn’t a perfect solution. Once a child realizes they’re trans, it’s a matter of picking the best choice from some bad options. Which, to be very clear, doesn’t mean that being trans condemns an individual to a life of misery. But it does, as far as I can see, necessitate some tough decisions and a difficult journey.
The questioner then posed something that has been bouncing around my brain this past week: Could allowing fifteen and sixteen year olds to be making informed consent decisions about their healthcare lead to the criminal justice system saying they were able to make informed decisions about crimes, and should thus be tried as adults?
Continue reading 'Trans youth and informed consent'»
With help from the peanut gallery. This is a mix of FTM, MTF, and general silliness, so don’t try to overthinkg ‘em. Feel free to suggest more in the comments!
I really transitioned to get into bars for free, without having to pay cover.
I really transitioned because I heard there weren’t enough women in science, and I wanted to do my part.
I really transitioned so I could drink sweet pink drinks at bars without being judged.
I really transitioned because when I paint my toes pink, I want to be a boy with pink toenails!
I really transitioned so I could wear tight pants all the time without looking like a member of an 80′s rock band.
I really transitioned because I wanted to save on car insurance.
I really transitioned because the clothes are *way* better (so i still wear BDUs and t-shirts most of the time)
I really transitioned because I was born on Stonewall Day.
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