I get knocked down
Growing up transgender
There is this masochistic part of me that whenever I hear it said that something is impossible responds with “challenge accepted.” This is rarely something that leads to any real achievement. The typical result is frustration on my part. Being transgender, I have frequently heard other transgender people being asked the timeless question of “What does it feel like to be like that?” I’ve found the stock answer for this question to be that if you aren’t trans than you can’t understand. Initially I just nodded and agreed but gradually the masochistic part of me that just loves to be frustrated growled and grumbled and insisted that this was not the case. This is my attempt to do the impossible.
This project was, of course, doomed to failure from the start. I can only write from my perspective, which is that of a Caucasian trans lesbian. Every transgender person’s experience is unique to them and they each have their own experiences and opinions. Many of them do not exist as strongly on the binary as I do and I fear that in writing this I might imply that their experiences are invalid or that I can speak directly for them. I can only speak for myself and hope that, in doing so, I provide insight into how it feels for some of the many transgender people out there.
[Fair warning, I will switch between first and third person depending on whether I am describing my personal history or discussing abstract ideas.]
I didn’t start out with the intention of this being autobiographical but I feel that this may help give some context and understanding, so I’ve chosen to use my life experiences as a framing device. If I’m going to use my life as a framing mechanism, than I should probably start at the beginning. By beginning, I mean the very beginning. I’m talking about my first memory. It has had a telling impact on my life. I don’t remember my exact age and while some details are vague, some are surprisingly clear. It started with me being given a present. My grandfather gave me a jacket. It was thick, dark brown, and had a fluffy tan collar. I was very happy about it when I put it on. I don’t remember what the precise event was but there were several other adults around. When the laughter started, I knew immediately that I was being made fun of. I didn’t understand why they were laughing at me. I was small and surrounded by giants, family and strangers, that were laughing at me. After I took the jacket off I learned that it had cowgirl printed in large letters across the back. My youngest memory was learning that if I wanted to be loved and respected by my family then I could not act like a girl because that made me a joke.
Communicating is like breathing. Most of the time you aren’t even conscious of doing it. When a person walks into a coffee shop they communicate with everyone in there. This is done with body language, if by no other means. The clear majority of communication, like breathing, goes completely unnoticed, handled completely without conscious thought. Another thing people forget is how complex communication can be. Upon walking into that same coffee shop a person will likely need to participate in more direct communication with people. Imagine that you are standing in line and a person next to you looks over and smiles at you. How do you respond? Likely, it would be a hard question to answer until I described them in detail down to and including their gender. Even if it was a child it would probably still be hard for you to decide precisely how you would choose to interact with them until I told you whether it was a girl or boy. Being as it plays such a big role in communicating with them does it not also stand to reason that these factors will play just as big a role in how you interpret what they communicate to you? The brain is clever and can quickly determine how to communicate with people. Unfortunately, due to the need to do this quickly, the brain jumps to conclusions and can be wrong. If you are receiving communication from one type of person but your brain is mistaking them for another then this communication will pass through the wrong filter and you will most likely misinterpret it. This does not make you prejudice, only human.
I was, I believe, about seven when I decided that dying wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I used to collect things that I thought I could use to poison myself. Fortunately, due to my youth, I would have likely just made myself sick, but I took great comfort in knowing that I had a way out. Instead of a stuffed animal or blanket, my greatest comfort was my little improvised suicide kit. It was a reminder that it would have to end someday.
Communication is as crucial for the mind as breathing is for the body. The higher rate of emotional issues faced by transgender people is often attributed to the amount of prejudice they face. Everyone forgets how damaging simple isolation can be to the human mind. It can be as painful as hunger or thirst and as panic inducing as suffocating. This inability to communicate can act like an invisible bubble that keeps you isolated even when surrounded by people. It is no less painful than being locked in solitary confinement. This is what it is to prevent someone from transitioning and living as their true gender. It is no less than emotional torture.
[Old name] appears to be a suspicious, guarded child who is also hostile, oppositional, anxious, depressed, etc. — excerpt Student IEP age 9
On the 25th of April 1992 I sat alone in my room at the age of 12 and quietly snapped. It wasn’t a loud thing. My mind just broke. I’ve often equated it to having a fuse blow in my mind. Nobody noticed that I didn’t cry anymore after that. That is what surprises me in retrospect, because I used to cry a lot, but after that day I couldn’t cry for 23 years. The price of living without the constant pain that would have destroyed me was that everything was at a distance for me. As a teenager, I turned to drugs to try to feel something. I never really cared what they did to me. I gradually forgot what it was to feel real joy but always found a way to keep moving forward. I did not become a complete sociopath. I still felt love and empathy but everything seemed to be at a distance.
This is possibly the hardest concept. It is hard to consider being unhappy a privilege but it is, when considered in comparison to not being able to feel at all. — Personal journal entry date unknown
All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players — William Shakespeare
If the world is a stage, then being transgender and not living as your true gender can feel as if you are trying to perform a play without being given a script, while the entire rest of the cast are veteran performers who have all played their parts before. While playing this part, you are expected to perform to the same standards as the other actors. Every missed que or flubbed line brings down immediate derision from all directions. Participating in group activities is nightmarish. It is equivalent to being asked to step onto a stage and declare in front of a crowd that you are a freak.
“You run like a girl.”
“You throw like a girl.”
“Why can’t you be more aggressive?”
It is never the words themselves that cause discomfort but the look in people’s eyes when they say them. The look varies in between dismissive and disgusted. It is a look that subtly reinforces the feeling of being wrong, of being somehow fundamentally broken. It reinforces the feeling that you are less than human, because “normal” people don’t have a problem with this stuff. Gym class becomes on especially traumatic experience once a transgender person reaches an age where they become more aware of their body. You are first expected to expose the body, which already makes you uncomfortable, around people of the opposing gender, humiliate yourself by performing poorly at sporting activities, and then repeat the process of exposing yourself. It is often easier to simply shut down and refuse to participate. It is the difference between being difficult or being an outright freak.
I have been gifted with a very accepting family, for which I am eternally grateful. Coming out as an adult I have seen widespread acceptance from them. My sisters have both given me more than they realize. It isn’t easy but I have to be honest with myself now, since I couldn’t be as a youth. Growing up, I was consumed with jealously. I saw them both living and being accepted in a way that I could only dream of. It is difficult to think of all the things that I could have shared with them. They never rejected me, I had rejected myself. I can only hope that eventually I will find a way to be a good enough sister to make up for how awful I was when they thought that I was their brother.
When people ask what it feels like to be transgender, the answer doesn’t appear to be impossible to answer so much as dynamic. It should be clear that transgender people are all individuals and therefore the answer will be different for all of us. That shouldn’t have to be said, but sadly it often does. I don’t believe that it is impossible to understand, because the emotions we feel are not new constructs. Most people can understand loneliness, rejection, jealousy, and yearning. Feeling like you are not understood is not something that only happens to transgender people. The difference comes in how perpetual these feelings are and how badly society stigmatizes transgender people for simply trying to connect with people in a way that everyone else takes for granted. We are faced with the decision of never being seen and loved for who we truly are or risk widespread ridicule, rejection, or worse.
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