First and foremost, this blog is about whatever I want it to be on any given day. My head is usually a turbulent sea of overthinking and this offers a nice release valve to let some of those thoughts escape. But one of the main reasons I wanted this space was to document all the little thoughts, feelings, and moments of transition that you don’t necessarily learn from broader reading on the subject. Sure, you can easily get information about how hormones will affect your body or get testimonials on coming out to loved ones, but life is just full of smaller yet more powerful moments that completely catch you off guard and toy with your emotions like nothing else.
Case in point, today’s topic. This is one of those little things that maybe no one else thinks is worthy of an entire blog post, but life is all about the little things. When you’re transgender, there are some experiences that are just unique to your situation. Cis people just don’t think about them. Hell, trans probably didn’t think about them until they experienced them (I know I didn’t!). If nothing else, I hope this serves as some sort of validation to the little things other transgender people might be thinking but don’t know how to express and hopefully give cisgender people a glimpse into our reality.
Before you come out as transgender, the world can be a depressing place. I’d liken it to standing in a glass box and watching the world go on around you while you’re closed off, but it’s actually worse than that. When you’re having to present as an inauthentic gender, it’s more like wearing a Halloween costume every day and having the world interact with it as if it were really you. It’s physically and mentally draining to literally perform every day of your life, and when you’re in that space transition can seem like it will be the magic moment when all of those burdens are lifted away.
‘If I could just transition, everything would be fine’: I know I’ve thought that many times over the years. And, yes, while transitioning is a wonderful thing and I personally think it was the best decision I ever made, it isn’t the magic cure-all I was blind enough to think it was. Unlike the old saying, the grass actually is greener on the other side, but that doesn’t mean it’s free of weeds and the occasional thorn. There are realities to the post-coming out experience that you just never think about until you’re living that life.
Case in point, dealing with the past. I don’t mean that in the broader sense it probably sounds like. Sure, the past is obviously going to affect you in many ways. After all, you have a whole world you have to reintroduce yourself to. I never realized just how many official documents and accounts had my male name on it until I got it legally changed and had to go correcting all of them (still not even close to done on that, by the way). No matter how much you try to distance yourself from the old you, they still cause various hiccups in your life from time to time.
That’s not what I’m talking about here. I’m looking smaller in this post, at the little details of life never enter your mind until you’re in the moment. At least for me, envy has always been a big part of the transgender experience. Even before body dysphoria kicked in in my early 20’s and cemented the fact I’m trans, I grew up being envious of girls. The lives they lived just always seemed more interesting, more fun, to me. When I dreamed of transition, I imagined finally getting to be a part of that world. I imagined going out with female friends to go shopping or out to lunch. We’d swap stories and help each other pick out cute outfits. Everything would be great. Years later, I’m finally getting my wish. I live to shop and love just spending a day out with my female friends. I’m one of those old farts that still prefers buying things in a store rather than online because the act of shopping is fun for me. We’ll buy, we’ll eat, we’ll gossip; everything is perfect.
Well, not exactly. See, I’m in my early 30’s. I started transition about 3 years ago. That means that, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, Faith has only existed since 2015. Until then she was locked away in the depressed mind of some guy named Joe. He’s the one with a past. He’s the one who went to high school, went to prom, went on dates, partied like only a teenager can, and basically did all of those things you can only do when you’re single and don’t have to worry about adult responsibilities. When I’d go out with friends and we’d be sitting around talking, inevitably people would want to tell stories from their past. After all, back then was when you did all of the fun stuff, right?
These are the moments when my fun new normal crashes down and my mind fills with flashing billboards saying, “YOU ARE TRANS!”, “YOU ARE THE DIFFERENT ONE HERE!”. I want to participate in this. I want to tell stories and join in the fun. But Faith doesn’t have a past: Joe does. Joe’s stories don’t match Faith’s new reality. This puts me up against an uncomfortable choice: I can either participate by telling Joe’s stories and let the dissonance take everyone out of the moment, or I can just keep silent and not participate in the conversation.
I read a great article a few weeks ago (tried without success to find it again so I could link it) written by a trans woman feeling a similar way. She talked about experiencing a new kind of dysphoria: not one of an inharmonious body, but of an inharmonious life. She was herself now, yes, but she was a woman picking up a life where a man left off. It really struck something with me. When we come out to our friends and family, one thing often stressed that we’re still the same people, but that’s not entirely true. Joe was a quiet, introverted man who poured himself into his retail job to climb the corporate ladder. He did that to try and push me down. I, on the other-hand, am an outspoken social butterfly who wants to work in counseling or some other office job. Joe’s past clashes with my future, but I have to take over the life he left me.
So what to do then? Do I tell Joe’s stories or just pretend I came into the world as a 31 year old? It can be depressing. Transgender people have enough happening our lives to constantly remind us we’re not like most of the people around us. We get practically no representation in media, and when we do it’s rarely positive. Clothes aren’t always made with us our bodies in mind. We have to see doctors our cis counterparts don’t (I’m dreading the fact that regular prostate exams are in my not-too-distant future). The world constantly reminds us that it was crafted without taking our existence into consideration, and we somehow have to find a way to fit in.
This is usually the part where the great solution comes in, but I don’t have one. Not all problems have a fix. Sometimes just talking about them, admitting to them, is all the therapy you’re ever going to get. I will never have the experience of growing up socialized as a woman. My prom stories will always involve wearing a tuxedo. I will never escape that I’ve been a best man but not a maid of honor. That’s my reality. The only thing you can do is embrace how your experience makes you unique. I’m a woman whose wife had to show her how to put on makeup; that’s pretty unique. I’m a mom who will be able to teach her son how to shave when he’s old enough; that’s pretty unique. It’s not a story that matches everyone else, but that can be okay too.
There is comfort in mundanity, in the simple knowledge that experiences are widely held and therefore generally understood. No two people have the same life experiences, but we find connections in what we have in common. Being trans in a cis world means it’s harder to find such connections. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t any.
So what do I do when people are bringing up the past? Well, I usually tell one of Joe’s stories. Does it “other” me? Yep. Does it make me feel different? You bet. It hurts a little, and it probably always will. But it also serves to remind those I’m talking to that there’s no wrong way to be a person. My male past doesn’t diminish my feminine present. What I’ve gone through doesn’t define where I’m going. Everyone has things in their past they wish they could change, but those experiences do shape you, and you wouldn’t be you without them. That knowledge doesn’t make the hurt go away, but it does let you find power in it. The world needs more variety anyway. We need more stories that challenge what is widely accepted as “normal”. When you dare to face your past, you can offer that challenge.
