Change of Plan
A reader asked:
‘Are you getting more comfortable with being out as a trans woman?’
Whoa! Hold on there!
Actually, I don’t consider myself to be ‘out’; at least not yet.
Until now, I’ve kept my identity a closely guarded secret. I’ve been careful not to reveal my surname or any other traceable information. I’ve not published any photos of myself. I don’t even reveal which continent I’m on. If I’m on a continent. Maybe I’m on a boat.
I am a woodworked woman. I live ‘in stealth’. As I wrote in The Kindness of Strangers, ‘For the past quarter century I have lived the life of a cis woman…The people in my life don’t know I’m trans, and I don’t know any trans people.’
Or I didn’t. That has now changed.
Last weekend I attended the Gender Odyssey conference in Seattle. I also wrote and presented a story. I was under the impression that it would not be recorded, but when I arrived at the appointed time there were video crews setting up. As I said in Part 2 of Conflicted Romance, ‘As so often happens, for me at least, the moment got in the way of the plan.’ Without fully considering the ramifications, I signed the releases and let them livestream my talk.
So far there’s just the one video, with relatively few views. If I do nothing, I think it’ll just fade into obscurity and nothing in my life changes.*
The decision I’m struggling with is: Do I take any further action in this direction? Thus far only a handful of my regular readers have found the video, but those few have reacted very positively. It feels like, for them, seeing me, hearing me, has enhanced our connection, made me more ‘real’, if you like. That can only be a good thing, right?
Perhaps I should announce the video to my readership. Perhaps I should begin using my real portrait as my avatar. My writing is very personal, and so I think making our relationship more personal is a good thing…right?
I do, of course, want my private life to remain private. And stealth. I have no desire to be treated differently to any other woman. I have lived ‘as cis’ for nearly three decades and I like it like that. I remember all too well what it was like being ‘other’. I was ‘other’ for the entire first half of my life, and I went to great extremes and paid a high price to leave that behind. I’ve no interest in returning to that hell.
But then I have to ask myself: Why am I doing this thing? Why am I writing? Why did I stand up and speak at the conference?
At first, I wrote only for myself. I had come to a crossroads in my life and had (have) difficult choices to make and a lot to sort out. I’ve always been a writer, so I wrote, looking for understanding and solutions.
But then something happened. I published a story, on a whim, and a conversation started. I heard from other people who were at their own crossroads, who were faced with their own choices, who were struggling to sort their own lives. What I had to say resonated with them, echoed in their lives, made them want to reach out to me. I’d spoken, and they replied.
This was unexpected. Before I appreciated what was happening, my reason for writing had changed. What had started as an anonymous exercise in reviewing my own life had become a public display of that life. I had become caught up in the conversation and changed what I was doing, almost without realising it.
When I signed up for the conference, it was only with the intention of listening: I went to see. When I was invited to speak, that intention changed; I then also went to be heard. And I found myself being seen.
After that, the conversation became face-to-face and even more personal. The intensity of direct interaction was astonishing, validating, illuminating. For the first time I saw, in person, the reactions, the resonance, the effect of my words, my story, acting in people’s lives. The conversation was no longer anonymous. It became personal. Very personal.
There is nothing quite like having a stranger, in tears, grab you and hold you, no longer a stranger.
Being visible, for the first time, seemed to have value in itself. For the first time, the intentional visibility of women like Janet Mock, Laverne Cox, and Geena Rocero didn’t seem quite complete madness.
As I said in my talk, ‘I’ve been stealth so long, I’d rather forgotten I wasn’t cis’. That is hard to leave behind. Indeed, I am not ready to leave that behind, and may never be. But am I ready to peek out from behind the curtain? Is a more personal relationship with my readers worth the risk? Will being more visible improve lives? Will being more visible worsen mine?
I don’t know. I am caught up in the conversation. My heart says ‘go forward’, my mind says ‘hold back’. Perhaps unwisely, I usually go with my heart.
What do you think? Would ‘seeing’ me bring us closer, make a difference to you? Let me know, in the comments below or on Facebook or Twitter. Thank you for listening. Let’s have this conversation.
❤ — Allison
[Update: I’ve now made my decision. My Gender Odyssey talk, story and video, are now available here.]
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