Transgender Means So Much More Than Changing Your Body
I never thought something so personal would become so public. Going to the bathroom as a transgender man has always been an issue for me, one that I, like many trans individuals, have desperately tried to keep private.
But the issue became part of a very public national debate in April when North Carolina passed a law forcing people to use the bathroom that corresponds with their birth sex — not their gender identity.
It brought one of my worst nightmares to life. The law sent shock waves through the trans community. The implication: “Normal” people needed protection from us. What about us needing protection from intolerance and ignorance?
Cisgender (or non-transgender) people don’t have to think about where they’ll go to the bathroom — not like we do in terms of being safe and free of harassment, even violence. Every time I used a public restroom before I fully transitioned, it triggered this overwhelming inner struggle for me: Which one should I use? Which one would people expect me to use? Am I safe entering the bathroom of the gender that I identify with?
I had good reason to think this way. I’d been a victim before, berated and shoved out of club restrooms many times in my Eugene, Oregon, community. Similar acts of private humiliation became public for so many trans individuals when North Carolina passed that law.
I’d had to struggle so much already, grappling with my gender identity, coming out and transitioning. And the North Carolina law only served to remind me of how far we have to go.
Born This Way
I knew my entire life that I was different, but I didn’t know exactly how or even the word for what I was.
That changed when my best friend asked me to be her man of honor at her wedding — not maid. At age 25, I knew that to fit properly into a tux, I’d have to bind my chest. After doing some research online, I ordered a binder and tried it on as soon as it arrived.
When I saw myself in the mirror, with a flat chest for the first time, it felt like the Earth stood still. I knew — with such clarity — who I was. I took off the binder after a short time because I couldn’t breathe in it any more. But as soon as it was off, I fell into the deepest depression of my life. Knowing I was trans meant I couldn’t close my eyes anymore. I’d have to face myself, my family and friends and, one day, my colleagues.
When I saw myself in the mirror, with a flat chest for the first time, it felt like the Earth stood still.
My first concern was for those closest to me: my partner and loved ones. After two years of therapy and having coming-out conversations with my loved ones, I turned to work.
I was terrified. So many trans people leave or are forced out of their jobs when they transition. But I had my dream job — working at tech firm Symantec — and I desperately wanted to keep it.
Revelations at Work
“One of our staff members will be undergoing a major change in their life.”
That’s how the email to my 300 colleagues began.
When it was sent, I felt like the wind had been sucked out of me — out of the entire office.
For months, we’d planned for this moment.
I’d earlier approached my manager about my transition. When I told him I was a transgender man, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. He was completely supportive but had no clue what to do.
This was in 2009. I was going to transition on the job in front of Symantec’s 21,000 employees, the first in recent memory.
Since, we had no local chapter of our employee resource group (ERG), SymPride, we were on our own. Symantec appointed an HR person to be my primary point of contact and my manager found a LGBT Professionals Yahoo group to help with the basics. Two transgender individuals from the group shared with me their coming-out emails to colleagues. I used one as a template for my own.
“While this change is of a personal nature, it is also one that may be surprising to many of you, and may even be uncomfortable to some,” the email about my transition read. “Cass will be taking a major step in a gender transition where he will fully assume his life’s role as a man.”
One colleague even offered to escort me to the bathroom: “If you need a buddy to make sure you’re safe, I’ll be that guy.”
After the email was sent, people came to my desk, giving me hugs or encouraging words. Later, a network of colleagues tasked themselves with correcting others who used the incorrect pronoun for me — since I was still too timid to do it myself.
And one colleague even offered to escort me to the bathroom. The email had noted that I would be changing restrooms. He approached me, asking when I planned to make the switch.
I said I didn’t know but thought I’d do it when people regularly identified me as male. And he replied, “If you need a buddy to make sure you’re safe, I’ll be that guy.”
I couldn’t have felt more supported. I knew that when I was ready, this person would be there. This simple gesture reduced my anxiety and in the end, I didn’t need his help: his backing had given me all of the confidence I needed. Shortly after, I made the switch.
The Scarlet Letter “T”
But some things didn’t go as smoothly with the transition at work.
When I went to see my doctor for an annual checkup in 2011, I learned that my health insurance wouldn’t cover my care. The letter “T” in my medical file identified me as transgender, and medical care for trans people wasn’t part of Symantec’s healthcare coverage.
I was angry and hurt. And I realized this didn’t only affect me but every potential transgender employee at Symantec. I would have to do something. This is how I became an activist, the man with the megaphone.
Getting someone’s attention at Symantec was initially challenging. Again, like my manager, the person I first reached didn’t seem to know what to do. I next took a different tactic: I did some research and learned that the Human Rights Campaign was changing its Corporate Equality Index award in 2012 and would require transgender healthcare for a company to get a 100 percent score — something Symantec had received for many years.
I then shared this detail with as many higher ups and HR executives in the company as I could. The head of global HR immediately reached out to me and asked for my feedback as she negotiated a new insurance package that would get me the coverage I needed. Although the new coverage wouldn’t begin until 2012, I felt seen, heard and supported.
Though I ended up paying out of pocket for my medical expenses — as well as crowdsourcing, taking out loans and charging up credit cards — the next person to transition at Symantec had their procedures covered because I had spoken out. It was an incredible feeling to see change come that quickly.
Experiencing the Gender Divide
I knew tech was a male-dominated field long before I entered it. But the difference in how men and women are treated in tech really became clear after I transitioned.
When I trained as a woman in technical support, I learned to always show my work. When you’re a woman, it’s ingrained; it’s the way things are done. How did you get this result? Show your work.
But once I transitioned to a man, I was told I didn’t need to show my work. Period. No debate. In fact, I was actually asked not to.
I knew tech was a male-dominated field long before I entered it. But the difference in how men and women are treated in tech really became clear after I transitioned.
My work, skills and knowledge hadn’t changed. The only difference was my gender presentation. Suddenly I was trusted more — because I was a man? I was really upset by it. To this day, I still show my work because I want people to learn how to troubleshoot problems on their own. My job is to teach people to fish, not just provide them with fish. I take this seriously.
Who else would experience that difference in behavior, who else could see it and call it out except for those who are transgender? There’s so much more to being transgender than just changing your body.
It’s Not Over
My success in coming out at work and getting health coverage for trans employees emboldened me.
Once the quiet introvert, Symantec was just the tip of the iceberg. I have since created two organizations in Eugene to help transgender people: Trans*Ponder, a transgender support and resource organization; and Transgender Education and Awareness Services (TEAS), an organization that trains local businesses on gender diversity to give them the tools to treat transgender people with dignity.
I recently finished helping Symantec craft its official transitioning in the workplace guidelines for transgender individuals. Every company should have one. It outlines the steps involved for transitioning from the employee’s standpoint, management, and HR — giving each the information, contacts, and tools necessary to achieve a smooth transition. My experience will help ease the transition of other transgender individuals on the job, and that makes me feel I am doing my part to bring about positive change.
It’s a reason I keep telling my story: to help create personal connections so those who don’t worry about bathroom choice will care about why we do.
While such progress is encouraging to me, we still have a ways to go. For example, all of the single-stall bathrooms at Symantec need gender-neutral labels. We’ve rolled these out on some campuses, but until we have them on every campus the work is not done.
But I know we’ll get there. When I first learned about the heated debate over the bathrooms across the nation, it initially struck an all-too familiar chord of fear. Then, the federal government stood up for us, just like my colleagues did for me, inspiring a sense of hope and giving the community confidence that this too shall pass.
It’s a reason I keep telling my story: to help create personal connections so those who don’t worry about bathroom choice will care about why we do.
Though these situations often get worse before they get better, I have confidence that our voices are finally being heard, and the T in LGBT is a valued part of the conversation.
Illustrations credit: Cal Tabuena-Frolli
