They fight for us, but they don't want us

 Something has really been bothering me lately, and it all started with our local Transgender Day of Remembrance celebration (November 20, every year). I was technically part of the planning committee, but I had a very rough time the last few months, so my only real contribution was a video montage of names, faces, and stories about those whom we lost this past year.

As I compiled the list of names of my transgender brothers and sisters who were murdered from January to November, I got more and more depressed. More of us were killed this year than any other year in which transgender murders were tracked -- 29. Transgender men, transgender women, black, and white. And those are just the ones we know about. So many of us are posthumously misgendered and misnamed that the story never bubbles up to the wider community. Worldwide there were so many names that the reading seemed to go on for an inordinately long time. There wasn't a dry eye in the house.

That was depressing enough, but then came the event. Mind you, it was a very lovely celebration of life and remembrance of those whom we lost. But the audience was missing something - lesbians. We had transgender and genderqueer/gender-fluid representation--and in some cases their parents. We had straight people, and we had gay men. But I didn't see one lesbian from the community there (and we have a sizable lesbian community here). We had a good turnout, but no lesbians from that group.

I couldn't help but wonder, is it always going to be this way? They fight for us (at Pride, in marches, in righteously angry rants on Facebook), but they don't want us. Are they afraid of us? What is the problem exactly?

To be fair, the venue got double-booked. The large lesbian Meetup group in our community had been planning to have their Thanksgiving potluck on the same day and time but were bumped. I think it's likely that the group either relocated the potluck on the same night or just didn't know about us (despite the fact that our event was listed on our local LGBTQ center's various social sites and was in the newsletter). At least that's the story I'd like to believe.

And then I thought back to our local Pride festival this past summer. I had asked the group's leader, on behalf of our trans community group, if we transgender folks are welcome at their gatherings. I've known this woman since before I came out as trans.

She looked at me for a long moment and said, "If someone is a woman and is a lesbian, she can join. Otherwise, there are other groups out there."

Ouch. Segregate much?

So did they know about the celebration and reject it as being "not their issue" or did they completely miss the memo? I'll never know the answer to that one, but here's another example of this kind of segregation.

I'm taking a cruise in February on Olivia (it's a lesbian travel company). When I married the crazy woman, we went on an Olivia cruise. It was great. They really do a nice job. So when I decided to book another trip, I naturally thought of Olivia again. This time I'll be a "solo", meaning I'll travel alone and will share a room with another solo. They have special activities for us and try to get us to mingle. I remember seeing the solos having a blast together when I was on my honeymoon and felt a little jealous, so I'm looking forward to this.

(Have you wondered yet why a trans-guy is going on an Olivia cruise? Ask your questions now!)

Olivia has a closed Facebook page for each vacation where we can chat and get to know one another before the trip, now less than 60 days away. It was in that chat group that the lesbian and transgender issue reared its ugly head again.

A transgender woman had booked herself on the cruise, but then she found out that Lisa Vogel is going to be aboard as one of the speakers. She was upset, so she created a post in the private Facebook group, wondering if she should cancel. She voiced her concern about Olivia hosting such an anti-trans speaker.

To catch you up, if you don't know, Lisa Vogel was the head of the now-defunct Michigan Women's Music Festival (Michfest), which had a 40 year run. It was a Very Big Deal (TM) with the lesbian community. In 1994, by Vogel's own admission, a transgender woman was turned away, but she says that was the last time it happened. Now, Vogel may not have turned any other transgender women away, but I'm sure there was a lot of pressure from the festival-goers for trans women to stay away. Just read the comments in the linked article to see what I mean.

My feeling is, Olivia welcomes everyone, but if you're uncomfortable, then don't go. Because really there is nothing worse than shelling out $2000-3000 for a vacation and being miserable on it. Honestly, I'm a little wary of it this time around, too, so I plan to blend in as much as possible. (I've started taking DHEA, which metabolizes in the body as testosterone, but otherwise I'm not on any hormones.) I'm even going to shave my legs before the cruise, because I don't want to be conspicuous -- and I haven't shaved the dark hair off my legs in over a year.

I responded to her post and encouraged her to come if she thought she could deal with the odd folks who might be rude. I told her that I'm trans but that Olivia doesn't discriminate against us. Not everyone was so nice. There was a thick slice of people who weighed in on the "what is a real woman" topic, and there were those who defended Lisa Vogel and said they booked because she is going to be a speaker on the trip.

Alas, this seemingly nice woman canceled her trip. I guess the folks who responded and made her feel like an "other" created just enough proof of what she feared that she decided it wasn't worth the anxiety.

Some other transgender women are going to be on the cruise, and I'll be there. I'm hoping we all have a good time.

But what about Vogel? She co-founded a movement. And that movement, about "womyn-born womyn" and such, doesn't want transgender women polluting their pool. I can agree with Vogel on one thing - a transgender woman does not have the same experience as does a cis woman, and vice versa. But I could say that for everyone. None of us has the same experience as the rest of us. I freely admit that I will never know what it feels like to be born in a male body and to grow up with the kind of pressures (and JOY) that a boy feels as he goes through life with such privileges. But neither can a cis-male know what it's like to be a transgender male, taking nothing for granted and making a thousand decisions on how to suddenly start living in his truth.

Vogel will be speaking on the cruise. That's a fact. I will be on the cruise (knock wood). I might sit in on the talk, just to hear what she has to say when she thinks she's speaking to only "womyn-born womyn." I like to hear the other side, because I really do want to understand this. It is only through understanding and communication that we can change things.

I honestly think that the lesbian community is the last hold-out. We have been on a roll for the last eight years or so, making such great forward progress as the collective "LGBTQ community" when in fact, in some ways we hold our own prejudices and discriminate among ourselves. How can we ever expect to make further progress with the country at large if we have all this in-fighting? And let me tell you, the acronym may look inclusive, but our "community" isn't always so. Ask any bisexual person how many times they've been challenged about whether they are just experimenting and plan to run back into the arms of the opposite sex when things get tough. Ask any transgender person how awkward it can feel to be among people who are supposed to be the strongest allies but really just want us to go be with our own kind. 

I get it. I get what Lisa Vogel seems to be about. The anger at our patriarchal society. The need to feel powerful somewhere. I get all that, but what does it say about us if we can't reach our arms wide and embrace each other, knowing that we all struggle so mightily against a wall of false morality, conservatism, Republican tactics, and religious dogma? I scratch my head and look to my lesbian neighbors...

Et tu, Brute?

~ Jude


NOTE: 
Please enjoy the video I put together for our event, and consider attending a Transgender Day of Remembrance in your community next November. We need your support. You never know if the next life lost will be that of a friend, a family member, or a blogger.

[DISCLAIMER: I in no way mean for this to be a judgment on all lesbians! I'm just mulling over what the problem could be. I welcome your feedback and comments.]

Sunday Thinking

This is a hard one to compose, and when you read it, you'll understand why I haven't written in a while.

I can't do it.

After 54 years on this planet, I can't wrap my head around changing my body now -- risking what's left of my good health with hormones and surgery. Or changing my gender at work, going through the fear and the turmoil of being conspicuous and exposed in that way. Or being misgendered, attacked, or humiliated in public. Does that make me a chickenshit? Maybe. I certainly have the utmost respect for people in my age group who have transitioned. For them, the danger (of suicide) in staying the same was greater than the danger of transitioning.

Ultimately each of must decide what path to take. No one person has made this any harder than the other for me, but there have definitely been bumps in the road. The closeness I've enjoyed with some people in my life has vanished. But you can't let another person decide for you. You just have to take those baby steps and see. For me, it was the baby steps that showed me I can't go forward with transitioning. But I will likely still change my name. I've never liked my birthname, and I love the name Jude. So there you go. That's my nod to the process.

If I were 20? Yes, I would transition. I think. I would have to actually be 20 again and decide then. If I were 30? Probably not, unless my life were very different. By age 30, my youngest child was in kindergarten, and none of us every want to make life harder for our children. My concern for my son has factored into this a little, although he has been nothing but supportive. It was a harder pill to swallow for my ex-husband.

I think I was inspired by so many older people coming out. I thought it was finally the right time for me. You see, inside nothing has changed. I am more male than female. I wish I had been born into a male's body. I don't like how people treat me when they look at the outside. While I don't think I'm particularly attractive, other people have found me so, and they try to put me in a "femme" box. I let them get away with it for awhile if I'm falling for them. And then something in me wakes up from the fantasy of a perfect little nest and says, "What the hell is this?" I couldn't be femme in a marriage to a man, and I refuse to be so in a marriage with a woman. But I've had three relationships with women in a row in which they tried to put me in that box.

Lesson learned - know thyself and be thyself.

My ex-wife really put me into that femme box, and that was probably one of our biggest problems. I wanted to be myself, do things for myself, and wear the pants in the family, but she wanted to take care of me and never let me do anything around the house. As soon as she moved in with me, she began taking over all the things I had done for myself (like mowing the lawn). That proved more damaging, as when you're chronically ill you need to keep moving and keep pushing your limits. If you sit still all the time, you'll suffer much more. Soon, I was in a bad migraine cycle, my fibromyalgia was worse than it had been in years, and my medications were increased by 4 new prescriptions. Of course I chafed against her solicitations, but as I got sicker, it was a downward spiral and actually needed her help.

She probably made way too many excuses for me with her friends, because they took a dislike to me. I didn't want to be coddled or pitied or have excuses made for me, but I didn't realize the extent to which that was happening. When I was well, I went to gatherings. When I wasn't, I didn't. To find out that these folks had taken an unfair opinion of me - when they didn't really know me - hurt so much, and it made me angry. I was angry with my wife for doing that to me. When you're already feeling like an impostor (looking too femme when you don't feel that way), the last thing you want is to have anyone pitying you or making judgments about you that paint you as a malingering, frail woman because you don't choose to go to their every event -- such as trapeze school with the group. Ai-ai-ai....Imagine my brains being insulted that way when they're already fighting migraines that - no shit! - lasted for a week or more.

Here's who I am in a nutshell:

I'm a homebody, an introvert, and an intellectual. My time is best spent reading, writing, learning something new (that doesn't involve acrobatics), having good conversation with intelligent people, and thinking! That mostly takes a good deal of solitude. I like my solitude unless I plan ahead for an outing that I really want to attend. If I plan to do something fun, I enjoy it thoroughly. I can't be forced.

The writer in me has been quiet. I'm trying to get that person back to the forefront.

Somewhere I have a photo of me at 10 years old, seated at the desk in my brothers' old bedroom in front of a manual typewriter, my left arm in a sling. Because a teacher had encouraged my writing the previous school year, I got a typewriter from my dad and started writing a rather juvenile novel about teleportation of a band and some of the concertgoers to an Earth-like planet. Tapping out the words one-handed, I dreamed of being as far away from my life as I could get, starting over on another planet with no parents, no angry authority figures, just my friends and I, and the band. Yes, it was a silly thought, and I was a silly girl trying to figure life out. I had posters of all these musicians all over my walls. Like Amy Ray once said in an interview, I thought I had a crush on David Cassidy. I grew up to realize that I wanted to be David Cassidy.

No matter how silly it sounds, I finished that novel. Never did anything with it, but it was my accomplishment that summer. Later in my school years, I wrote screenplays, poems, and essays. I even produced a satirical newspaper that was available to my schoolmates for a dollar. I sold those, as well as little dolls I made of yarn and sequins, and hand-drawn pictures (in ink) of astrological signs or people's names ("Ricky + Nancy 4-Ever!"). Would that I could finish a novel now. Or publish satire. Or even draw the way I once could. Life has a way of taking the stuffing out of you, but you can find it again.

This is all to say that although I feel myself to be one of the guys, and always have, I am going to have to be content with what God gave me to work with. I need to focus on the things I can control and not on the things I wish were different. I will put my energy (and money) into enjoying the years I have left and will continue to live in my truth - that I have a strong male energy and do not want to be put into some ridiculous "female" role of someone else's design. I will focus on my path in life, as a person who is meant to write. You don't have to be a certain gender for that - or for most any other thing in life.

But I could always change my mind someday. We'll see how it goes, shall we?

Peace, Jude

Tumbling

I'm not going to make the same mistake again. When I came out as lesbian a number of years ago, I felt the need to put up a facade for the people in the LGBT community who questioned whether I was "really" gay, or if I was bisexual, or fill in the blank. Being challenged like that is really uncomfortable when all you really want to do is be yourself and find your community. It surprised me to find out that there was just as much pressure in the gay community to adhere to certain norms as there are in the straight community. So I exaggerated, sometimes, my definitions and accepted labels that maybe didn't fit me.

Truth is, I felt I must be a lesbian because I was attracted to women, but there was so much more about me that seemingly had no explanation. What about the fact that I railed at being labeled "femme" (because people need to place those labels, yes they do)? What about the fact I still related more to men than to women, yet I was surrounded by women who were somewhat uncomfortable with straight men? I'm generalizing a bit here, but I have run into many women who have had bad experiences with men and just don't like being around them.

This time I'm wiser. I'm not going to exaggerate the depth of my dysphoria or the length of time I've felt male in order to fit into some kind of norm in the trans community. Some people have indeed felt their dysphoria from a very young age, but I wasn't one of those kids (at least I don't think I was) who said, "I'm a boy. I want you to call me Jude." What I do remember are the battles.

I wanted a pair of jeans, and not those silly girl jeans but real Levis! Oh the fights I had with my mother over that. Finally she caved in and got me a pair...of girl jeans. Not enough pockets. Ugly material. Not sturdy. And I looked horrible in them, because I was a chubster. I dealt with my emotions by eating. Still do.

I wanted to hang out with my older brother, wanted to work on the old Dodge Dart in the driveway with him (I won that battle - and he taught me to go through the motions of driving a stick in that musty old car). I wanted to go to work with my brothers on Dad's construction sites.

I was lousy at sports, though, other than rollerskating and a little basketball, so you wouldn't have seen me as a tomboy in the traditional sense. It was much later that I learned I have Chiari Malformation, possible Ehlers-Danlos, and tethered cord. No wonder I've been a clumsy galoot all my life. No track or softball games for me--more like software.

If you knew me back then, you would have seen me as rather girly, because I grew up in a strict, Southern Baptist household that had clear rules for the boys and the girls. We girls didn't get to do much. We basically had a dress code and As one of the younger children, I had to deal with the increasing violence and craziness in my parents' marriage, and that meant the iron fist came down even harder. It's disheartening to know that if my father were alive, he would want to see me destroyed. He would disown me. There wasn't much I could ever do that pleased him.

So you would think that with as much as my parents pushed me to be feminine, they would want me to like boys. I guess there was a timeline for that, too, but it was unspoken. (My mother married my father when she was 17 and he was 24.) When I was 15, there was a boy at school who caught my eye - or rather I caught his. He was so beautiful, with his lightly tanned skin, blue eyes, white blonde hair, a pukka shell necklace resting on his hairless chest. We met in my favorite class - English. Because he was always in trouble, he had to pull his desk over by the filing cabinet, away from everyone else on that side of the room but, as it turned out, closer to me. Sometimes my eyes, as they scanned the room, met with his, and he would flash a half-smile my way. At least once, I turned to look behind me to see who he was smiling at. It didn't dawn on me for awhile that he was looking at me. He was what I later realized was my "type" - feminine looking, with long hair and beautiful features.

Our flirtation continued for a little while. (I can honestly say it was the first and last time that I was ever distracted from an English or literature course, as they've always been my favorite subjects.) This beautiful boy and I actually got to the point of exchanging phone numbers, and he told me he would call me that evening, a Friday.

While my mother hung out the laundry that afternoon and my sister played on the swing set, I sat - flushed and breathless - in my room, waiting for the old black rotary phone to ring. I had pulled it as far into my room as I could, but the door would have to stay open.

It finally rang, and the beautiful boy and I made awkward and sweet conversation...for about two minutes. Then the call waiting tone interrupted us. I asked him to hold while I took the other call. It was my father, saying he would be home late. Getting Dad off of the phone as quickly as I could, I returned to my halting conversation with what I hoped would be my first boyfriend. But I neglected to make that second click.

For those of you born after 1980 or so, here's how we had to do the telephone thing. To pick up a call waiting, you pressed the switch hook once. To return to the original call, you pressed the switch hook again. If you were lucky and had conference calling capability, that first click simply brought all calls together. You had to press the switch hook twice to cancel out of that extra call. That was my mistake. My father was listening in on my secret call, and I was, after all, only fifteen.

Soon, Dad was shouting at me to get off the phone with that BOY and that he'd be right home. I was in big trouble. Not only had I been caught talking to a boy, but now Dad was coming home straightaway when he had planned to work late. Not good. I had to go into the backyard, with my knees shaking, to tell Mom what had happened, and then SHE was made at me, too, because now we were all going to get it. Her lack of supervision had resulted in me being a little slut, daring to talk to a member of the opposite sex at such a young age! That beautiful boy and I never talked on the phone again. He moved on.

Instead of continuing to try and find a boyfriend, I became friends with boys and hung on the phone with my girlfriends for long hours. Dad did not object to that.

These sorts of stories are typical of my youth and probably resulted in my continuing to stuff down my feelings. If only my parents knew that my best girlfriend and I had fooled around from the age of 5! Jen and I were both born into strict Baptist families, so I suppose we had to get it where we could. It took me years to acknowledge our relationship for what it was, though. It was not okay to be a young dyke in the 70s. I had relationships with men, too, including a long marriage to my best friend and father of my children.

Each person I've known, lover or not, gave me something special, and I hope I did the same for them. I find I can have an attraction to people of any gender identity, although I tried not to feel that when I was deep in the lesbian community.

(It is worthy of note here that at least one of my former hangout groups is not open to allowing trans-guys like me to attend their outings. Lesbians only, which can include trans-women who like women. So many labels, so many rules!)

I know some people who say they would die if they couldn't transition, that maybe they would commit suicide. Well, I'm not sure that's the case with me. Although my depression has gotten better since I came out as trans at Christmas, this is all still a work in progress for me. All those small confessions to people I felt safe with over the years, all those moments of wishing I could be done with being a girl, all those times of feeling so damned awkward and out of place...they've all come down to this. I finally have the opportunity to make that change. I can finally stop trying so damned hard to look the part and be something I'm not.

To say that I know exactly where I'll end up and how I'll feel would be naive and foolish. No one can know that. What I do know is that I'm going to play it as it lays, giving myself full permission to experience the richness of this later-in-life self-discovery that's happening to me. I'm single again and able to explore all of my feelings without fear that I will upset someone else's happiness. I'm going to be like a tumbleweed, unencumbered and always moving, always exploring and picking up knowledge as I blow along this path.

Peace, Jude

Some things I look forward to

It's a beautiful day in Maryland. The temperature is a just right 59 degrees with low humidity. The sun is kissing the trees, and I've just pounded my way through rocky soil in the flowerbed to put in some bright yellow Asiatic lilies and Monrovia lavender. A bagful of weeds is out of the way and tossed. Were it later in the day, it would be time for a cold one!

While working in the yard, I thought about some of the things I have to look forward to in my new life. Here are a couple of them.

I look forward to being more physical...
Getting physical with the outdoors is something I haven't done in quite a while. I do it when the mood strikes me and when I'm feeling up to it. Even though I had a wraparound headache this morning, I pushed through because I needed to be out there in that beautiful morning air. I needed it in the way the body needs nourishment. My soul needed it.

Some people tell me that on testosterone you feel more physicality, and a need to be out there doing something. Those of us who have been bathed in estrogen since puberty might not have as much strength and endurance as those bathed in testosterone. (I say "might not" because I know plenty of very strong women!) I used to feel the need to be working in physical jobs (construction, hardware store) before I had children, because it felt so good to know I could lift a 50-lb bag of fertilizer for a customer. It felt good to know I could hang drywall with the best of them. Lifting weights was fun for me.

Along the way, I have had injuries and illnesses that have changed my path. My life is more sedentary, with at least 8 hours a day spent working at a desk. My dog and I get out for a couple of walks a day, which is great when it's not raining, and I occasionally do things like yard work, although it's more of a courtyard than the huge yard I had at my old house. It has been irksome, to say the least, to have to slow down and be this sedentary. I want to be out there being physical in the world, and maybe the testosterone will give me the energy to be that person again.

I'm not expecting miracles. After all, T can't fix Chiari malformation. It can't heal a fused neck. Will the weakness I feel some days be less and less? I hope so. It can't fix arthritis, but will I have more strength and endurance? Maybe.

One of my doctors told me I can't do 5Ks anymore because of the arthritis in my knees. I don't run, but I do a 3.4 to 3.6 mph pace. Even that was too much, he said. Yesterday there was a color run in town, and on my way home from an appointment, I saw some tired folks, splattered with colored chalk dust, crossing the road. I was so jealous. I told my son I want to start training to do 5Ks again, knees be damned. I LOVE it.

I look forward to being seen as male...
When I'm at home, I am a man. I dress as a man, but it's more than that. I feel it, deep in my bones. I browse online for trendy men's shoes and clothing. I want to be a stylish man. Some of the first clothing I bought was kind of lumberjack style--flannel shirts over t-shirts over baggy jeans. I bought a nice pair of bowling-style shoes in brown leather, and some briefs for underneath. Now I've got some nice polo shirts and fitted jeans. I look nice when I go out. Beyond jeans, though, I want a couple of nice suits. I want some stylish, button-down shirts, dress shoes, and snazzy ties. I have never been so excited about clothing. What kind of man do I want to be? A stylish man.

There's the little problem of boobs, though. Mine aren't small, and I'm not a small person. I have wide shoulders and fat around the middle. But out of the desire to hide these books, I bought myself a chest binder. I have two problems with it--I'm claustrophobic and I have asthma. What if it's too tight on my chest? I live with my son, so I'm afraid I'll get in the binder (or halfway in) and no be able to get out. (I really don't want my son having to rescue me from a piece of clothing!) I might have to go to Plan B, which is to get a waist binder with a Velcro closure that I can easily put on and take off -- alone! Spending all that money on a binder I might never wear was still worth it. It was a step in the right direction.

I want these boobs gone, but from everything I've heard, I can't have any gender reassignment surgery until I've been on hormones for a year. That seems unfair, but I guess I have to live with it. Once I get through my divorce and cataract surgery, I hope to get an appointment with an endocrinologist who will help me out.

Minus the boobs and plus facial hair, maybe I will finally be seen as male in public.

But all these bathroom bills, yeeez!

Right now I don't feel safe using the men's room because I don't pass well (therein lies the rub! Many gender non-conforming people have no intention of trying to "pass," so where do they pee?) I have yet to start on T. But I get double-takes sometimes going into the women's room. I wish there were just gender-neutral bathrooms everywhere. I would use those. 

I look forward to my new life...

...and all of the joys it may bring me. At the very least, it will bring me the feeling that I am in a body that more closely matches how I see myself in my mind. And what won't be great about that?

Peace, Jude

Gender vs. Sexuality

Dear reader,

I've had a lot of questions from folks who want to understand some of the different terminology that goes along with being trans. There are many posts and articles out there that explain it all, but maybe you want to hear it from me!

What you'll learn from this post are that gender and sexuality are completely unrelated.

• You can be male and be heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, asexual, etc. 
• You can be female and claim any of those labels*.
• You can be a trans guy like me and claim any of those labels.
• You can be a trans girl and claim any of those labels.
• Oh, and you can be gender-nonconforming/gender-fluid and claim any of those labels - or none!

* I say "claim the label" because not everyone wants to be labeled. It's a matter of choice. 

Merriam-Webster defines gender as (a) sex or (b) the behavioral, cultural, or psychological traits typically associated with one sex. (M-W defines "sex" as the state of being male or female.)

Aha! B is where we get sticky. We have that word "typically". In our society, we have norms and expectations based on what we expect out of a gender. When a person doesn't conform, we throw labels at them. "An effeminate man," a "tomboy," a "mannish woman," and so on. I have a bit of that being thrown at me. I've been referred to as "femme" many, many times. I tried so hard for so many years to conform to the sex (gender) assigned to me at birth that I got a little too good at it. People wondered why I got angry when they repeatedly teased me about being femme. I HATED IT! But I couldn't let go over the disguise. 

What this definition doesn't tell us is that there is a biological sex assigned at birth, and there is a gender that is between our ears. What is in our brain trumps what is between our legs - but people seem to be overly concerned with what is between our legs! 

I was assigned the female sex at birth. My body has the characteristics of a female. My gender, however, is male. Between my ears, I have always been male. My feelings about myself and how I should fit in the world are male. When I finally acknowledged that and embraced it, my heart grew lighter, and lots of things made sense to me all of a sudden.

It's hard to explain that to someone whose physical sex characteristics match the gender they feel themselves to be in their mind. To put it simply, my outsides have never matched my insides. I feel better when I present myself in male clothing, with a male haircut, doing typically male work. It helps ease the dysphoria I experience. 

As for sexuality, M-W describes it as the sexual habits and desires of a person. I think that's pretty accurate, so we'll go with that. 

I spent a good part of my life married to a man (and I had my fair share of sexual encounters with men in my youth). I also had sexual encounters with women. I spent the last 20 years fantasizing about, flirting with, and sleeping with women. For a while, I defined myself as strictly lesbian, because I couldn't imagine sleeping with a man again. That was before I came out as trans. Now I don't know who I want. I guess if I had to have a label, I'd have to call myself bisexual. But I'm not even fond of that label, because even that feels like it ties me down. 

Do I like men again because I appreciate how they look, because now I can openly identify with them? Do I like them because I'm attracted to them? I don't know. It might just be whatever floats my boat in the moment.

Everyone has their own sexual habits and desires. For some people, like Caitlyn Jenner, they haven't quite figured it out yet. She hasn't decided if she wants to date men or women. I say try both! See what works for you!

Honestly, I feel very sexually fluid right now - or maybe it's not so much fluid as it is a dry riverbed! Going through the breakup of a marriage is hard. It takes so much out of a person. It takes away all that trust that was so hard to give. I'm not feeling generous with my heart or my body right now, although it would be nice to feel sexual again. It was a mostly sexless relationship, and I'm not a sexless person. When my relationship is good, I am a generous lover. 

So have I cleared up gender versus sexuality? I hope so. If not - just ask!

Peace, Jude

Adventures in Clothes Shopping

Since I will be traveling to Houston on Wednesday, I went clothes shopping yesterday. To this point, I've only managed to purchase two badly-fitted pair of men's jeans and a couple of long-sleeved polos, which I wear in addition to my stash of graphic t-shirts. (A large section of my old closet is filled with women's clothes that I need to donate.) It isn't that I couldn't afford new clothes; I was just avoiding the fitting room.

Yesterday, I thought, "Screw it!" and I went in search of better fitting clothes in the men's department at a major chain. I want to look decent when I go out to be with my sister as she has her surgery. I think that graphic tees and baggy jeans aren't the way to go. I wanted to try on some other pants and find something that truly fit. I wanted to stock up on some polo shirts.

I grabbed a few different brands of jeans in my size, a few polo shirts, and a nice button-down short-sleeved shirt and headed to the fitting room in that section of the store. Only one dressing stall was open, and it was at the very end of the row. Perfect. A young wife was waiting for her husband while he tried on clothes, and she gave me a double-take when I marched into the dressing room with my stack of things. The sign over the entryway says only "FITTING ROOM".

In the 10 minutes or so that I spent trying on clothes, more people gathered outside the entryway, waiting for a stall. It was snowing, raining, and sleeting outside, so indoor activities were popular yesterday. Shopping was high on that list. The parking lot was full. People were chattering in English and Spanish as they waited. When I was done, I folded up my things and walked out of the stall into a small crowd of people. All the chatter stopped. I'm being serious here. There were open-mouthed stares when I headed out, but I just walked past them like I owned the place.

Though I live in the sprawl of the Washington, D.C., metro area, my town is rather small and still contains many old-fashioned sorts. I live just below the Mason-Dixon line. If I'd been shopping in DC, no one would have batted an eye. It's a gender-neutral fitting room. I hesitate to put that in writing, because now there could be a movement to shut that down and put "MEN'S" and "WOMEN'S" over the doors. Another way to categorize and label folks who don't necessarily fit into one gender or the other. Like having a place to pee, having a place to try on clothes should be a right. It was my right to make sure my clothes fit before I spent a large sum of money on them.

I did manage to find a style of blue jeans that I really liked and which fit me well, so I grabbed another pair in a different color from the rack. The shirts all worked out, too. So I ended up with some nice additions to my wardrobe for the trip. Like most guys, I don't need a lot, but I do need a few shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans for a 5-day trip.

Thank goodness I no longer have to play that game of trying to accessorize or wear make-up (to which I developed an allergy) or take several pair of shoes. It's a relief, really. I'm learning to let go of all of those expectations that were placed on me in my family. I'm finally getting to relax into being who I've really always been -- just a guy.

But it does scare me, going into Houston. I've changed my appearance sufficiently that I might get challenged going into a women's bathroom. What will I say if I'm challenged? Put on my best girl voice and make nice? This is the place that passed a bathroom ordinance last year by scaring people, by saying that men dressed as women want to go into women's bathrooms to prey on defenseless women and children. It could happen. I'm really not being paranoid - just practical. I hate it that this has happened to the place where I grew up, but it has. I figure me putting myself out there means more people get to see folks like me NOT preying on anyone.

The bottom line, though, is that I'm going to be there for my sister. She needs me and the rest will just fall into place. At least I won't distract her with my baggy britches and teenage boy t-shirts.

Hey - you don't know my sister!

Peace, Jude

Even When There are Bigger Fish to Fry

In a perfect world, the only thing that would be happening in my life is this transition, but this isn't a perfect world.

Right now I'm going through a messy divorce, have been really sick, and am worried about my sister, who is getting ready to have a brain tumor removed. I have all these really important things to deal with before taking the bigger steps in my journey. I've even postponed seeing my gender therapist, "A", until I get moved out of my house and get the divorce well on its way. A's fees are high (and she doesn't accept insurance), so I have to work something out with her. When the divorce is final, I'll be back on my own insurance plan and can easily file for reimbursement, but it hasn't been easy in the current situation. For now, I'm seeing my regular therapist, "W", who takes my insurance. She knows me very well, but she doesn't specialize like A does. We're working through all of my feelings of heartbreak and anger over this divorce, and I certainly need to do that. But I also miss talking to A about my plans and how I'm feeling. The gender dysphoria. The fears. The hopes.

Because I've been so sick this week, I'll be back at one of my specialists on Thursday. Hopefully we can get to the bottom of this problem, because lately I'm having trouble tolerating food. I know that stress is a part of it, but even when I'm doing alright, I'm unable to eat much. I need to make an appointment, too, to go to Chase-Brexton in Baltimore to talk to them about whether I'm okay to take T (testosterone). I don't know if any of my health issues will block me from that path. I hope not, but some people in my life have wondered aloud if I'm going to complicate my medical problems further. I need reassurances (and a plan) from an endocrinologist.

As for my sister, I'm catching a flight on the 23rd to go out and be with her during the surgery and a couple of days of her recovery. She's not alone. She and her husband reconciled over the holidays. But she's my sister and I'm worried. She's been a great support for me during my changes. People keep telling me that this is going to be okay and that these kinds of tumors are rarely cancerous, but it's growing quickly. One of the possible outcomes of the surgery is blindness, because of the proximity of the tumor to the optic nerve. Many other possible complications. But it has to come out, because if it stays in, the worst outcomes become more likely. I'm not a praying person, but I might do some of that as she goes into the OR for the (at least) 6 hour procedure.

As I've learned from a couple of my trans friends, our transitions can take time, because we're never just dealing with the transition. Whether it be family issues, grief, job loss, money problems, divorces, or whatever else life throws at us, we're always juggling - just like you - but we have the added pressures of figuring out how to be who we are without losing our jobs, housing, family, community, or lives.

I'm lucky. I have my family and some security. I work for a company that has policies in place to protect me, but that doesn't mean there won't be complications. No one is policing it. (It's the same for trans folks as it was for women when sexual harassment became a visible issue. You have to report it and risk being seen as a "problem" in the workplace.) When I was in the office yesterday, I wondered how the guys would feel when I complete my transition and am heading into the men's room, too. They've known me as a woman since I started at the company in 2004. Certainly they see my external changes, though. I've cut off my hair and am wearing men's clothing. I no longer even attempt to wear makeup, so I get the old, "You look tired" routine, essentially what my mom used to tell me. ("Wear a little lipstick," she'd say. "You need some color!") But as to men's rooms, I think I'll probably just hold it when I can. Lots of trans people learn to hold their bladder until they can get home. I think it will be okay, but these are things I have to think about that some people don't. Not complaining, just pointing it out.

Trans folks are often victims of violent crime. In 2015, 21 transgender people (that we know of) were murdered in the U.S. -- mostly women of color -- more than in any other year. Others who were reported under their gender of birth were not included in the list, because their deaths faded into the general population. We have to be careful.

If you're not trans but want to understand what it feels like to try to deal with coming out and embarking on a transition, do this. Just close your eyes for a minute and imagine all those things that are happening in your life, all that busyness that you're dealing with, and all those cares. Now, with yourself in that busy place, imagine that your body doesn't fit. Imagine that you're wearing a person suit that shows people an image of you that isn't real. If you're a cis-female (someone who was born female and identifies as female), imagine that you're suddenly a male on the outside. You have to use men's rooms and wear men's clothing and go through your life acting like a man - but it doesn't fit, does it? Imagine that in order to appear as the woman you know yourself to be, you have to start taking hormone supplements, getting electrolysis (in sometimes painful places), seeing doctors, explaining why you're dressing differently/growing out your hair/wearing makeup - over and over and over... Not easy, eh? Sound like a lot of fun? No! But it's necessary, because that feeling of being in the wrong body - the wrong life! - sometimes is so overwhelming that you just want the pain of it to stop. 

Because, you see, even when there are really big fish to fry in your life, you still go around feeling awkward in your body. I used to be able to stuff that feeling down, but these days, my male energy is screaming to be acknowledged. I want to be who I really am before I leave this earth. So I'm juggling. And, you know, maybe that's why my stomach hurts. But I'm going to be alright. I'm taking it a step at a time. It might feel slow to anyone watching from the outside, but it is like going through puberty; it doesn't happen overnight. The result will be so worth it!

Thank you for reading, Jude.