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(Inter)national Coming Out Day
Oct. 11th, 2022 02:10 pmPutting together all the Facebook stuff takes a lot of effort, and I'm kind of low-effort lately?
But I just wrote this.
For National (international, really) Coming Out Day: about being a transwoman.
I didn't realize I was in the closet for so long. I've been out about a couple of gender and sexual minority statuses for nearly as long as I've been aware of them. About being bi/pansexual since I noticed at the age of 23. I was out about being agender basically as soon as I read about the term in my early thirties. But in fact, I've been in the closet about being trans for longer than either of those things. I was in the closet to myself.
There were a lot of hints and suggestions that I can see clearly in retrospect. At the same time, I never had a very strong sense of gender. I was male-by-default for a long time because my kind of body is typically perceived as male by society. I wasn't very attached to it though. Even in my twenties, I'd often thought that I'd be just as happy if I'd been at the other end of the sex spectrum. And in a little inner voice, I'd sometimes add that just maaaaaybe I'd even be a little happier that way. But in the end, it didn't matter that much because I didn't exactly *object* to the body I had. I just didn't really feel attached to it. I doubted I'd feel very attached to a "female" body either.
When I read Riki Wilchins' "Queer Theory / Gender Theory" in my early thirties and learned about agender as a concept, I latched on to it immediately. This made intuitive sense to me. Society seemed so hung up on this whole gender thing, but it had never really mattered to me. Why did it matter so much to other people that they turned it into a force of oppression to police the way other people live their lives? I didn't want any part of that, and rejecting gender entirely was the best way to remove myself from it. Rationally, I came to see gender, even as a spectrum between the arbitrary points of "male" and "female" as a problem because that spectrum still privileges those points by defining everything else by its relationship to them. People deserve to express themselves in any way they feel is right, and these social constructions of masculinity and femininity should be left to fade away to well-deserved obscurity.
But there were other reasons that I identified as agender. Those reasons didn't fit in with my rational analysis of the situation, and while I was kind-of-sort-of aware of them, I just...ignored them, I think. This is a bit hard for me to think about and express clearly because I'm still working at acknowledging that my emotions about things can have their own validity, even if they are in conflict with my rationality.
Underneath the reasons that made so much rational sense were some sneaky reasons tied to my feelings. If was agender, I could incorporate fem elements in my appearance, and nobody could tell me I was failing at being a girl because I wasn't actually trying. It was a "you can't fire me because I quit" approach. Actively acknowledging that meant acknowledging that gender meant something to me, and that was hard, so I rarely did.
Buried even deeper, because of its inextricable connection to toxic social constructions of femininity and beauty, was my feeling that I couldn't be a girl because I'd never "look like a girl." I wasn't cute enough. I shouldn't even try.
I'd certainly never be as cute as, for one example, Stephie, the trans girl in Assigned Male Comics, which I sometimes wanted to read but often didn't because it gave me a mental ache that I couldn't integrate into my experience.
I've mostly only realized that last portion, that I was avoiding trying to be a girl because I thought I'd never pass, in the past few years because to even consciously think it made me feel misogynist. Like one of the oppressors telling other people what gender is and is not. I would never tell someone else who and what they can and can't be. But that internalized transmisogyny means I'm always ready and waiting to tell *me* who and what I can and can't be.
At this point, I'm pretty sure that who and what I am is a basically binary trans woman. I still hate that so many people are trapped by socially constructed ideas of masculinity and femininity. Rationally, I still kind of wish those constructs didn't exist. But I also *love* it when I'm treated the way social expectation would suggest women should be treated. I feel forms of joy that I don't think I've ever felt before. Far beyond the little glimpses of that joy I got from wearing a skirt, or having my hair braided. I honestly don't think I will ever reconcile this conflict.
I feel connected to myself in ways I'm not sure I ever have. I care about my gender. I care about my body. These things *mean* something to me in ways I didn't think they ever would. A hell of a lot of pain comes with that too. I never thought I experienced dysphoria about my body, and that was part of why being trans didn't make sense to me. In reality, I was just kind of...disassociated from my body. Now I'm not. Now I see all the ways that my body does not look the way I want it to, and my voice doesn't sound the way I want it to, and it hurts like fuck sometimes.
And the joy is still worth it. I asked Miriam recently whether being a girl makes her happy. It doesn't, really, She knows that she *is* a girl, and is 100% secure in that knowledge, but it's just something that is. It's not like that for me.
I never had that security, and what I feel now about my gender is profound joy, and deep fear that I'm going to be bad at being a girl, that my own appearance will never make me happy, and that I will never be able to just be me, as I am, in general society, without being an object of interest or ridicule.
And the joy is still worth it.
I've been scared of taking up metaphorical space, socially, my whole life. I hate asking for things, or complaining about bad service, or making phone calls, or trying to organize social events...anything that is me asking people to do something, anything, to accommodate me. And being trans means taking up vast amounts of that metaphorical space. It's terrifying sometimes.
And the joy is still worth it.
I guess my two messages for coming out day are these:
For the folks who are scared to be who they are: I hope you can find a way to be who you are regardless, and that you can find that joy that I have.
For the folks who aren't part of any traditionally closeted minority group, who may not have anyone in their life to learn about this joy from: be joyous for other people's joy. Let people be who they are. Be part of making the idea of coming out a thing of the past by making it unnecessary. The joy is still worth it for me, but wouldn't it be great if it didn't have to come with all that pain and fear? You can be a small part of making that joy accessible to the people in your life. Isn't that a beautiful thing?
But I just wrote this.
For National (international, really) Coming Out Day: about being a transwoman.
I didn't realize I was in the closet for so long. I've been out about a couple of gender and sexual minority statuses for nearly as long as I've been aware of them. About being bi/pansexual since I noticed at the age of 23. I was out about being agender basically as soon as I read about the term in my early thirties. But in fact, I've been in the closet about being trans for longer than either of those things. I was in the closet to myself.
There were a lot of hints and suggestions that I can see clearly in retrospect. At the same time, I never had a very strong sense of gender. I was male-by-default for a long time because my kind of body is typically perceived as male by society. I wasn't very attached to it though. Even in my twenties, I'd often thought that I'd be just as happy if I'd been at the other end of the sex spectrum. And in a little inner voice, I'd sometimes add that just maaaaaybe I'd even be a little happier that way. But in the end, it didn't matter that much because I didn't exactly *object* to the body I had. I just didn't really feel attached to it. I doubted I'd feel very attached to a "female" body either.
When I read Riki Wilchins' "Queer Theory / Gender Theory" in my early thirties and learned about agender as a concept, I latched on to it immediately. This made intuitive sense to me. Society seemed so hung up on this whole gender thing, but it had never really mattered to me. Why did it matter so much to other people that they turned it into a force of oppression to police the way other people live their lives? I didn't want any part of that, and rejecting gender entirely was the best way to remove myself from it. Rationally, I came to see gender, even as a spectrum between the arbitrary points of "male" and "female" as a problem because that spectrum still privileges those points by defining everything else by its relationship to them. People deserve to express themselves in any way they feel is right, and these social constructions of masculinity and femininity should be left to fade away to well-deserved obscurity.
But there were other reasons that I identified as agender. Those reasons didn't fit in with my rational analysis of the situation, and while I was kind-of-sort-of aware of them, I just...ignored them, I think. This is a bit hard for me to think about and express clearly because I'm still working at acknowledging that my emotions about things can have their own validity, even if they are in conflict with my rationality.
Underneath the reasons that made so much rational sense were some sneaky reasons tied to my feelings. If was agender, I could incorporate fem elements in my appearance, and nobody could tell me I was failing at being a girl because I wasn't actually trying. It was a "you can't fire me because I quit" approach. Actively acknowledging that meant acknowledging that gender meant something to me, and that was hard, so I rarely did.
Buried even deeper, because of its inextricable connection to toxic social constructions of femininity and beauty, was my feeling that I couldn't be a girl because I'd never "look like a girl." I wasn't cute enough. I shouldn't even try.
I'd certainly never be as cute as, for one example, Stephie, the trans girl in Assigned Male Comics, which I sometimes wanted to read but often didn't because it gave me a mental ache that I couldn't integrate into my experience.
I've mostly only realized that last portion, that I was avoiding trying to be a girl because I thought I'd never pass, in the past few years because to even consciously think it made me feel misogynist. Like one of the oppressors telling other people what gender is and is not. I would never tell someone else who and what they can and can't be. But that internalized transmisogyny means I'm always ready and waiting to tell *me* who and what I can and can't be.
At this point, I'm pretty sure that who and what I am is a basically binary trans woman. I still hate that so many people are trapped by socially constructed ideas of masculinity and femininity. Rationally, I still kind of wish those constructs didn't exist. But I also *love* it when I'm treated the way social expectation would suggest women should be treated. I feel forms of joy that I don't think I've ever felt before. Far beyond the little glimpses of that joy I got from wearing a skirt, or having my hair braided. I honestly don't think I will ever reconcile this conflict.
I feel connected to myself in ways I'm not sure I ever have. I care about my gender. I care about my body. These things *mean* something to me in ways I didn't think they ever would. A hell of a lot of pain comes with that too. I never thought I experienced dysphoria about my body, and that was part of why being trans didn't make sense to me. In reality, I was just kind of...disassociated from my body. Now I'm not. Now I see all the ways that my body does not look the way I want it to, and my voice doesn't sound the way I want it to, and it hurts like fuck sometimes.
And the joy is still worth it. I asked Miriam recently whether being a girl makes her happy. It doesn't, really, She knows that she *is* a girl, and is 100% secure in that knowledge, but it's just something that is. It's not like that for me.
I never had that security, and what I feel now about my gender is profound joy, and deep fear that I'm going to be bad at being a girl, that my own appearance will never make me happy, and that I will never be able to just be me, as I am, in general society, without being an object of interest or ridicule.
And the joy is still worth it.
I've been scared of taking up metaphorical space, socially, my whole life. I hate asking for things, or complaining about bad service, or making phone calls, or trying to organize social events...anything that is me asking people to do something, anything, to accommodate me. And being trans means taking up vast amounts of that metaphorical space. It's terrifying sometimes.
And the joy is still worth it.
I guess my two messages for coming out day are these:
For the folks who are scared to be who they are: I hope you can find a way to be who you are regardless, and that you can find that joy that I have.
For the folks who aren't part of any traditionally closeted minority group, who may not have anyone in their life to learn about this joy from: be joyous for other people's joy. Let people be who they are. Be part of making the idea of coming out a thing of the past by making it unnecessary. The joy is still worth it for me, but wouldn't it be great if it didn't have to come with all that pain and fear? You can be a small part of making that joy accessible to the people in your life. Isn't that a beautiful thing?
