Caution: Trans At Work

I still remember vividly the day I went full-time (trans term for no longer presenting as your assigned gender at all). I was meeting with my boss and the director of HR. I was shaking uncontrollably, crying even though I tried to stop myself. Telling the people who literally held my family’s financial security in their hands that I’m transgender was one of the scariest experiences of my life. Luckily, I didn’t lose my job and my company supported my transition. I say luckily because that’s not always the case for a lot of trans people and gender identity is still not a federally protected class.

At that point, I got to enter the exciting world of being “the trans person” at work. I won’t go into all the things that happened to me since then because I go off on personal tangents too much here as it is and I want to get to the meat of the topic. Short version: it has plenty of ups and downs but has overall been a rewarding experience. Coming out at work is scary. It’s also a very different experience from coming out as any sexual orientation other than straight. Coming out as transgender at work is like coming out in any other environment: the people around you also have to go through a transition.

See, telling your coworkers or family your gay shouldn’t (in a perfect world) justify a need for them to treat you any differently. Telling a co-worker you’re gay, bi, pan, etc. should begin and end with them saying, “oh, that’s interesting”. It’s just a facet of your being that others might not have known, like the fact that you watch baseball or collect die-cast cars. Coming out as transgender, on the other hand, is a completely different ball game. Transition comes with a slew of new realities for everyone to get used to. Your clothes change, your appearance changes, your name and pronouns change; and it’s a jarring experience all around. I have friends and colleagues that I’ve known since before I came out. For my female friends, we used to part ways when we got to the bathroom doors. Now I follow them in there. I know that has to be disruptive to them, not because there’s something wrong with it, but because it’s a new experience; it’s not what they’re used to.

One of the most important things to remember about transition, be it at work or anywhere else, is that you don’t do it alone. The world around you has to adapt to the new you. This is why your coming out is especially hard on parents (something I have to remind myself of constantly). This doesn’t excuse those who refuse to adapt to the changes. Your coworkers, friends, and family should respect your transition because it’s just the right thing to do. Still, it can make you feel guilty for putting them through it (more on that later).

One thing I tell people who are trying to come out at work (or really anywhere) is that there are three stages. Again, this isn’t like being gay where you just tell someone and move on. First is the fact that, in order to live authentically, you have to tell everyone who is a part of your life prior to transition. It doesn’t matter if you know them intimately or by name only; if you want to be you all the time, you have to have that conversation with them. That is an exhaustive, scary process…and it’s only step one!

Years ago I worked as the overnight manager of a retail store. I presented male at the time. I had a Facebook page where I presented authentically and my employees discovered it. It didn’t go poorly though. They all respected it just fine. Still, my boss on the day shift didn’t know and I was in no hurry to tell him. Therefore, I was only at the first stage of coming out at work: where people know but nothing else changes. No one called me Faith. I wore a dress shirt and tie to work every night. I even had facial hair (sometimes). They still called me Joe and still referred to me with male pronouns. They knew I was trans, but knowing was as far as it went.

It wasn’t until I came out to HR (at a new company by this point) and requested to be authentic at work that I was able to reach stage two: presentation. This is where things really get interesting. It’s when your wardrobe changes, your name badge says something different, etc. It’s scary, yes, but it’s also freeing. I can’t tell you how relieving it was to reach a point where I didn’t have to watch how I sat, how I spoke to people, etc. Transgender people who aren’t out often try to keep their mannerisms in check, feeling the need to act masculine or feminine in order to maintain the illusion that they identify with their assigned gender. Once the presentation level of being out at work is reached, you’re able to drop the act.

Of course, even after you complete this second stage, the final stage still looms: acceptance. Everything about coming out is a challenge, but this is by far the hardest part. After I came out at work I had conversations with my co-workers about my gender identity and what it meant for them. Remember, you don’t transition alone. They have to make changes too. Things mostly went okay, but I remember one woman turning up her nose at me and saying “transgender isn’t a real thing!”. For as long as I was at that store (was transferred a few months later) she refused to accept my gender identity. She always called me Joe, even on the P.A system. She referred to me with male pronouns. It made me extremely uncomfortable and I wanted her to stop, but it was hard to muster the courage to confront her about it.

This goes back to my earlier point about feeling guilty. I felt guilty making her change herself to accommodate me. After all, this was supposed to be my issue, not hers. Did I have the right to demand this of her? Well…yes! I absolutely had that right! She didn’t choose this but neither did I. So I confronted her on it. I demanded she call me Faith and use female pronouns, especially in the company of others. I held my ground. This was not a selfish act. I had every right to be myself at work as she did. If I called her…I don’t know…Frank, and used male pronouns when addressing her, she would find that incredibly rude. This was no different.

This is why the last stage of coming out is so hard. Not only does it require the most confrontation, it might never end. It’s still public knowledge among my company that I’m transgender, and so far it hasn’t been a problem anymore after my issue with that one woman finally ended. But new people come to work with us all the time. They’re going to find out I’m transgender. What if they have a problem with it? What if they want to tell HR that they feel uncomfortable peeing in the same restroom as me? What if they refuse to refer to me with female pronouns? I’ll have to have this same conversation all over again.

It’s not enough to just be out at work. It’s not enough to just present authentically. If you’re not being validated by your peers, you’re still in the closet, and they don’t have the right to force you in there. If someone dead names you or misgenders you, you have the right to call them out. Don’t back down. You’re not asking for the moon, and it’s a simple change for them that can mean better safety and mental well-being for you. If someone tries to tell you you’re in the “wrong” bathroom, bluntly tell them they’re wrong. You’re not hurting anyone and going into the other bathroom puts you at risk of harassment or violence. Is all of this easier said than done: of course it is. But, is it important to do it anyway: absolutely.

Like I said, coming out at work is really scary. We don’t live in a trans-friendly world. Still, the risks are worth the reward. I still remember how proud I was the first time I walked into work with “FAITH” written on my name-badge. It was a moment of triumph. I didn’t have to leave my truth at home. I didn’t have to shy away from who I was. That’s what pride is, and pride can give you the courage to stand up for yourself. And always remember, when you’re out at work you’re giving people a new perspective on transgender people. You might be the first one they’ve ever met, and that’s a huge responsibility. If you cave when they demand to keep misgendering you, they’ll go on to do it to the next trans person they meet. If you let them bully you into the wrong bathroom, they’ll call out the next trans person they see come out of the stall next to them; feeling justified in their notion that they’re “wrong”.

When you punch the clock, remember that a whole community of other proud transgender people stand behind you. We’re counting on you to represent us at your business just as we represent you at ours. Don’t take that responsibility lightly, but take joy in the fact that you’re making the world a better place just by being in it.

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The Girl Without a Past

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.

What Coloring My Hair Did For Dysphoria

Like many transgender people, I experience something called body dysphoria. That can seem like a weird term to anyone whose either not experienced it or not heard of it. Basically, body dysphoria means the person I see in the mirror doesn’t match the image of myself in my head. Think of it like Neo from The Matrix when his appearance changes once he’s in the computer simulation to the way he sees himself. (By the way, that movie was written by two male siblings who later both came out as transgender women so…yea…it’s basically one long metaphor for the trans experience told through the lens a sci-fi shoot’em up.)

Body dysphoira is something you’d assume goes away when you transition, but it doesn’t. Through hormone therapies and various medical procedures, a transgender person’s body can go through an amazing metamorphosis. Estrogen thins body hair, enlarges breasts, and softens skin. Testosterone produces facial hair and deepens the voice. I’ve been on HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy) for just over a year now and I can tell you that the difference a year makes is astounding. Actually, let me show you…

Me before HRT.

Me after 1 year of HRT.

Pretty drastic, hu? It still blows me away sometimes when I look at the pictures side by side. However, there are a lot of times when I look in the mirror and see…well…this guy…

Believe it or not, that was ME! That was me prior to coming out as transgender. It looks nothing like me now, and yet I still see that face sometimes when I look in the mirror. How is that possible? Well, dysphoria plays a role. See, prior to starting transition I’d been watching that man’s face stare back at me in the mirror my entire life. I didn’t like it, but it was what I was used to. It was the face of a man, no denying it. Seeing a face like that and knowing it was mine was a big source of anxiety and depression for me. I didn’t want to look like that.

See, the problem with HRT is that it’s a very slow process. These aren’t magic pills (or injections depending on what your doctor prescribes). It takes a long time to see change and, when you do, they’re very subtle. I didn’t look back at any old pictures until I’d been on HRT for about 6 months and even then I was shocked by the contrast. Like anything that changes slowly, you don’t notice the change unless you compare it back to the original image.

That’s all well and good, but I can’t just keep holding up a picture of that guy next to me every time I look in the mirror. If you don’t experience gender dysphoria you have no idea what kind of emotional havoc it can cause. What you see in the mirror can be distorted by your mood that day. Some days I think I look very womanly, even without makeup. Other days I can be dolled up like a damn princess and still see that guy looking back at me. It’s a frustrating thing to go through, especially when you’ve got friends and family trying to encourage you by telling you how good you look. It’s great that they see it, but what matters is if you do.

Well, I think I found a little trick to help. My birthday was a few days ago and I decided I wanted to do something I’d never done before: color my hair. I did it for a couple of reasons: first to just do something fun and new and second to cover up the ever-increasing number of gray hairs I was seeing.

…getting old sucks…

I wen’t with a bright red and instantly fell in love with the new look. It was hot!

Changing anything drastically has a tendency freshen things up. It can alter your mood, outlook, thinking…anything! However, I soon noticed a positive aspect of the change I wasn’t expecting: it helped my dysphoria. The more I thought about it the more sense it made. Unlike the effects of HRT, coloring your hair is an instant and dramatic change. Depending on how drastically different your chosen color is from your natural one, it can make you look like a completely different person, and that was the key. By skewing my reflection so much so fast, I was able to look at myself like a brand new human being. This new person in the mirror, I’d never met her before. I’d never grown up as her. She’d never had to live as a boy. She wasn’t familiar, and because of that, I didn’t notice her masculine features as much.

I’m not saying it went away entirely. My eyes still focus sometimes on my wide jaw or boxy chin. But the difference in hair color makes them less noticeable. If you’re reading this and thinking this is a sure-fire cure for body dysphoria, please adjust your expectations. Still, I wanted to share this experience in case anyone out there like me is looking for a way to really shake up the person they see in the mirror. If you’re like me and struggling to focus on the minuscule changes HRT is bringing you, go grab a box of hair dye and turn your brunette blond, or your blond red, or whatever. Give your hormones an unfamiliar canvas to work their magic on. Like me, you might be surprised by the results.