There are two issues to consider if I stopped taking hormones. First, and most simply, the physical effects. Right now, I’m taking testosterone blockers (to help negate the testosterone my body is producing) and estrogen (to help push my body toward the hormonal norm for women). As such, blood tests taken on me right now would show a hormonally normal and balanced woman: lots of estrogen, a little testosterone. The effects of that have been physical and emotional: I grew boobs, lost some muscle mass, my body hair thinned out a bit, and I’ve become more emotional.?????

Were I to stop taking those pills, my hormone balance would slowly start shifting toward typical male: mostly testosterone, some estrogen. My breasts would ‘deflate’ a little – though not a ton – and I’d regain some of that muscle mass I lost. Likewise, my body hair would become a bit more aggressive, and my emotions would swing back from easily expressed to slightly more difficult to access. These are all pretty objective measures, and something I’m comfortable stating with some certainty.

From a mental health perspective, though, it’s much harder to determine exactly what would happen. My living and presenting as Rebecca, as who I know myself to be, has been a huge boon to how I feel about myself. I realize that identity isn’t 100% related to my physical body, but certainly some of it is. As such, were I to stop taking hormones, I’m confident my mental health status would begin to plummet back towards feelings of depression and suicide. Whether I would give into them would probably depend on the situation: if I felt there was a good chance of being rescued from the island, I’d try to stick it out. If I believed I could never go back on hormones, there’s a good chance I would take my own life.

In this way, I like the analogy of being on hormones like being on insulin for diabetics. There’s less of an obvious correlation between taking the pills and being healthy, yes, but there is a direct connection between my being on hormones and having good – and not suicidal – mental health.

The (basic) text of the piece is below, but I first want to talk about the experience of the performance. It was a nice space, maybe 60 or 70 people, so not too overwhelming. Likewise, I could see everyone, something I really like when performing. My current show, Trans Form (obligatory: only two weeks left – buy tickets today!) has a section where I change in and out of different tops, and am in a bra for a few minutes, but tonight was a whole different realm. It was scary, it was nerve-wracking, and it was incredibly empowering.

I’ve talked before about being topless while trans, and a follow-up conversation I had with my dad. I’m still seriously thinking about going topless sometime next summer as a political act. I consider tonight part of that, of saying, “I get to define who I am, and what about my body I reveal, not anyone else.” It also felt very much to be a way for me to state pride in and power over my body, to celebrate it and refuse to have it be hidden.

There wasn’t really a sexual component, though, which was interesting to discover. I wasn’t expecting there to be, but I discovered a big difference between empowerment and exhibitionism, at least for myself.

I’m still reflecting on all this, and coming down off the high of a performance that went well, so I’ll probably post more about all this later in the week. I’m having difficulty putting into words exactly why using my body in performance in this way felt so good, made me feel so good about myself. As those thoughts start to settle, I’ll definitely fill you in. In the meantime, here’s the basic text of the piece I did. For those of you who have been around for a while, you’ll recognize a lot of the text and stories comes from other events I’ve posted about.

As a transgender woman, something not many people know much about, I’ve chosen to become an advocate and educator on behalf of myself. As such, I’ve spoken to a lot of high school and college students. This past spring, I was speaking to a high school group in the area. I love high school students: they’re old enough to ask good questions, and young enough to not realize they ‘shouldn’t’ ask certain things.

This one group had been great, and was asking a lot of good questions. As an example of how funny people can get when you’re freely saying ‘penis’ and ‘vagina,’ though, I’ll give one hilarious example.

A student, near the end of the discussion, worked up the nerve to ask, “You, um…you said you hadn’t had…the surgery yet, right?”

I feel like, in an educational setting, it’s important to be straightfoward. “No, I haven’t.”

“But you, um…” (He was super awkward) “You…like girls, right?”

“I identify as a lesbian, yes.”

(Huge pause.) How would that…if you did have the surgery…how would that…work?”

Without saying a word, the girl in front him – with a look of utter disdain and disappointment - turned around and waved her fingers in his face, displaying one way that “that” could certainly work.

Another question the kids asked, and something I’ve been asked before, is whether or not I regret anything about transitioning. Usually my answer is either a simple “No,” or to say that I regret not transitioning even earlier. And, indeed, that’s the answer I gave these students.  But the question was bouncing around in my head the rest of the weekend. It was the first beautiful weekend of spring, a weekend that reminds you Chicago will eventually have warm weather and going to the beach doesn’t seem quite so far out of reach.

And I realized, I really missed being able to go to the beach topless.

It’s sort of a shame: back when I was presenting as male, was hairy, didn’t like my body, I could display it in the tiniest Speedo I should so desire. But now that I have undergone hair removal, grown breasts, like my body, I have to cover it up whether or not I want to.

Last may I was in the hospital to get my gallbladder removed. (This is the point where I removed my shirt.) You can see the scar – here’s where they removed it, and here and here and here are where they inserted the camera and tiny tools. I was in the hospital from a Monday to Friday – the longest I can remember ever being in a hospital – and it gave me lots of time to think about my body, what it means to be trans. My mom stayed by my bed the entire time. Afterwards I asked her why, said I was an adult and could take care of myself, and she said all the stories I’d told her about trans people mistreated by the medical community made her not want to let that happen to me.

And it’s true: It would have been easy for a doctor or nurse or administrator to refuse to respect my identity; to listen to what’s between my legs instead of what’s in my heart.

Being in the hospital also made me think about what it means to be strong in one’s body. I was weak, literally to the point of being unable to sit up or go to the bathroom on my own, and I had lots of time to reflect on what discomfort can do to a person.

When I got out of the hospital and healed up, I was finally able to go to the beach. But not topless. I did some research, and found that the City of Chicago doesn’t allow for women to show their nipples. Men can. I could when I was presenting as male, hairy chest and all. But now, presenting as a woman, I could be ticketed. If I’m really unlucky, I could be arrested. Taken to jail. The criminal justice system doesn’t have a history of treating trans people very well. It’s all too possible I could be beaten, raped, killed. Yesterday was the Transgender Day of Remembrance, memorializing the dozens of trans and gender non-conforming people killed this past year, and countless more who weren’t reported. I’d love to get arrested and argue with a judge about what it means to be a man or a woman, but am scared of the potentially dangerous ramifications.

All tor doing something as simple as removing my top. (As I say the line, I removed my bra.)

I really want to make a stink, to try and get a ticket. I thought long and hard about whether or not I should do that, this past summer. Because what does it mean to be a man, to be a woman? My drivers license says “F,” but only because I lied at the DMV. My insurance says “F,” but only because I left that section blank and they assumed “Rebecca” means “Female.” My birth certificate says “M,” but only because Illinois requires The Surgery before changing it. Which of those documents ‘wins?’ And why doesn’t my own stated identity factor into it?

All my life I’ve been told it means this to be a man, this to be a woman. You should feel this way about your body, not that way. This document doesn’t match that document doesn’t match what this person says doesn’t match what that person says doesn’t match what I see on TV doesn’t match what my family tells me doesn’t match what the government tells me.

But I get to decide what my body means. How its gendered. I get to decide what my flesh signifies to the world, not the other way around.

“Your story really touched me, because I could relate to so many of the your experiences, both the positive and the painful. I think what you’re doing is great for our community, and hope that you keep going strong!” – Shannon

“What I really loved about your performance was the honesty. It is a really great piece! In addition, I found your story very compelling.” – Fonda

I’m leaning towards Uncovering the Mirrors for a few reasons. First, I think it’s a bit more Fringe-y. That is, because it’s less straightforward and linearly narrative, I think it might fit better with the concept behind most Fringe festivals. (And it had a great reception at Chicago Fringe.) I also think it’s a show that is a bit more emotionally and artistically interesting to me than Trans Form, because the material is more recent and more raw. In that vein, I think Uncovering the Mirrors has more room for improvement and for the insertion of new material and new concepts for me to address.

I think I’ll sleep mull over it for a little while – the earliest any of the applications are due is in December – but I’d love any thoughts from any of you who saw either show, or took time to watch the show videos up online.

As I was observing the story workshops this year, I kept a particular eye out for the relationship scenes present in a few of the stories being examined. Inevitably, they all involved male/female relationships, just as they have in the past. But this year, much more than in years past, it really bugged me.

I acknowledge that having a gay relationship in a story – particularly with high-schoolers – will often mean the focus of the audience is on the gay-osity of the story, at the expense of everything else. Likewise, if the purpose is to teach students to portray stories on stage, adding issues of gender and sexuality will complicate and distract from the primary purpose for most students. But I’m not straight, I’m gay. The straight-osity is distracting for me. And, statistically, we probably have a few students who aren’t straight in our high school class of eighteen kids.

Part of this, I think, is coming from the bad taste in my mouth left from the recent transphobia I experienced. Still waiting to clear up some things before I really post about that, but it’s made me more aware of my minority status as a trans woman and a lesbian. So I’m feeling a bit more confrontational than I once was.

But I also want to know if it’s possible to find a balance, of allowing kids to portray non-heterosexual characters without it being A Big Deal. I want to be able to direct pieces – even in high school – about People Like Me without the entire process turning into a discussion on what that means. (Just like we’re directing pieces with straight characters without it being a big deal.) Is simply an unrealistic and naive desire?

Uncovering the Mirrors – Pt 3 – The Land of Gender from Rebecca Kling on Vimeo.

Uncovering the Mirrors – Pt 2 – Letter to Dad from Rebecca Kling on Vimeo.

Uncovering the Mirrors – Pt 1 – Movement Sequence from Rebecca Kling on Vimeo.

'Till next year!

First and foremost: the Fringe Festival was AWESOME! It was great to perform, fun to volunteer, a blast to be able to see other shows, and an all-in-all wonderful experience.

Some Fringe thoughts, in no particular order:

Selling out on Saturday night was really wonderful. The Festival started off rocky for me, because on Tuesday night (the last rehearsal) I was very cranky, unsure if I would ever get off book, exhausted by dealing with technical issues, and at the edge of tears (and occasionally over the edge). Wednesday night (opening) went well, and it was good being able to improve on the show each night. Saturday night was both the strongest show and the largest house, although I finished off Sunday with a really strong show and a good house as well, which was great.

I performed at the Temple Gallery, home to Posterchild, which was great. The two people who lived there were lovely, and generously opened their home (and badass performance space) to us. Chatting with them and bonding with their cats made the Festival seem that much more community-based, and I’m excited to see Posterchild perform in Andersonville in a few weeks. The stage managers assigned to the venue, Rose and Amanda, went above and beyond, and I was lucky to have ‘em.

Part of being an artist at a Fringe Festival is going to see other shows, and I was able to see a bunch (of which I’ll try to give more mini-reviews later this week): Skinny Dipping, Christmas in Bakersfield, Playdating, Bridges, Peter Panties, and Inner Cartography, just to mention a few. They ran the range from really fantastic to kind of unfortunate, but it was cool having a single festival where anyone and everyone was performing.

I was also able to hang out with a bunch of other artists and volunteers. I volunteered in Temple Gallery on Thursday night, which let me meet people and see the other three shows in that venue. That – and connecting with artists throughout the festival – was a good idea, since as a solo performer I wasn’t able to go out with my cast or anything. I successfully made both local and non-local friends, and was glad to be able to have people to hang out with at the bar.

Ahh, the bar. The after party every night was at Honky Tonk BBQ, and consisted of good but WAY TOO LOUD music, and yummy and reasonably priced drinks. (Ace Cider is fucking delicious.) This was a great mingling place, too, and I got good advice on how to pursue future Fringe Festivals and some other festivals and conferences to look into. It was also fun exploring Pilsen a bit – it’s a cool neighborhood, but I (being a north-sider) don’t have much opportunity to head down there.

From chatting with other artists, they said that the whole festival – being the first Chicago Fringe – was a bit disorganized, and I could understand their points. For example, having shows at 4PM on Wednesday and Thursday really makes it difficult, if not impossible, to get good audiences. It might be better to push the last show of the evening to 11:30PM, rather than start so early. Likewise, the volunteers were all great and dedicated, but not always the most organized. But the artists seemed forgiving, and everyone I met was really nice.

I’m now starting on my To Do List, which included this post. (Other To Do highlights: researching conferences and festivals, putting together more posts, updating my website, and more!)

Stay tuned, and it’s nice to be back.

Rebecca Kling’s 40-minute solo performance begins with her miming her way through her morning routine—shower, makeup and swallowing a comical number of pills. She repeats it over and over, the ritual becoming more and more abstract. The transgender performer’s piece returns to this motif several times, as ritual is one of the show’s defining themes (the title is a reference to the Jewish mourning ritual of sitting shiva, during which a house’s mirrors are covered). Kling’s exploration of her experience as a transgender person and her transition process meanders a bit, and as is so often the danger with the solo-confessional genre, it teeters in places on the edge of navel-gazing. Kling is a charming presence, and she explains her struggle to own her gender identity compellingly. In fact, I wish she’d do more direct connection with the audience. Bits and gags like a “build your own ritual” instructional-video sequence serve to distance us. —Kris Vire