Dear readers, today I went to the Meadows Festival in Edinburgh to sell some fortune-telling cupcakes in support of Non-Binary Scotland, which is a really exciting community group supporting non-binary identifying people (who don't identify as strictly female or male). The rain poured down, but I came home with all my cupcakes sold and having danced and felt pretty good.
Unfortunately, it wasn't entirely without incident. In the spirit of cupcake deliciousness, I had decided to wear a red sparkly tutu. It was ostentatious, it indicated that I was a fun, care-free spirit, and I was talking to strangers (this is necessary if one wants to sell cupcakes). And unfortunately, combine that with assumptions about festivals, and you get some people who decide that you're fair game to hit on.
I'd just read Everyday Sexism earlier, so when an older man started getting touchy feely, I recognized the signs right away. He used the pretense of buying a cupcake he didn't want. He started asking aggressive questions about the fortunes and doing that whole "how do I know I'm going to get what I paid for" attitude to try and put me on the wrong foot. He paid for the cupcake then didn't take it, so that I felt obliged to stick around. He wanted me to read his palm as an excuse to touch me. He wanted me to sit down so that he could be behind me (and do god knows what). He kept persisting in trying to touch me, while I did all in my power to avoid it.
His friends stood there, watching the scene unfold. I knew that if I walked away or got angry, they would tease me or decide that I had no sense of humour. If I blushed and got embarrassed, they would enjoy the sight. If I complained about what was happening, I would be the weird one who was reading too much into the situation or who couldn't take the banter. So instead, I simply remained polite, didn't do any of the things he wanted me to do, and then, when he realized I wasn't going to cave under the pressure, drifted off. He seemed put out and embarrassed in front of his friends, because an attractive "girl" had quite pointedly rejected his advances. He had lost out to me in a battle of wills over whether or not, despite my wishes, he could have access to my body and my attention. It wasn't a battle that I should have had to win.
Putting it another way: He was pretending that what he was doing wasn't inappropriate, so I also pretended that he wasn't doing anything inappropriate, while making sure he had no access to *do* anything inappropriate. And it unnerved him, because he was bullying me, and bullies can't stand someone standing up to them.
It was when I was dancing a little while later that I noticed another man in his 60s, who has previously made sexual comments to me, standing directly behind me. He could have just been enjoying the band, and for a little while, I tried to have fun anyway, with him there. But after a few minutes, I realised that I didn't have to be self-conscious, I had no reason to be, and I didn't have to put up with feeling defensive because of his presence. So I walked away for a bit. When I came back, he had left. It was a relief.
Straight men like these are so adept at this kind of manipulation, to varying degrees. The "I didn't mean anything by it" defense or the "I was just joking" retort or "Why are you being so serious," while covering up that actually, what they're doing is aggressive, boundary-crossing, and wrong. The good old boy network and the patriarchy ensure that they are the ones who always win the argument. Thankfully, my life experiences, feminism, and the Everyday Sexism project have taught me the tools to recognize this behaviour, and not to be cowed by it. This is why we need the tools of feminism.
May everyone who comes across this kind of horribleness find the strength to stand up to it. It is such an empowering feeling.
Saturday, 7 June 2014
Tuesday, 6 May 2014
Small Autobiography
Hey, thought I would post a thing that I wrote for a recent non-binary workshop that Non-Binary Scotland did.
I didn’t know I was trans until I was 19 years old, though I had inklings throughout my life that something was wrong—I just didn’t realise how inauthentic I was being until I stepped out of the closet I was in. I just thought it was my turbulent childhood, or feeling British but living in the US. I felt pressured to grow up into a “young lady” at my posh private all-girls high school in Ohio (I was there on a scholarship); when I discovered that I was attracted to other girls, I felt relieved to be able to step out of the straight-jacket (pun intended). It took going back to Britain, and a few difficult life events, to discover what the problem was. I went to university, wrote “transgender” on the housing form even though I had misgivings, and changed the name I went by after a week. There were a couple of metaphors I used to think about this change: I finally found a platform that I could stand on and call “me.” I let the tiger out that had been snarling in its cage, and it started rolling around in the grass.
It was either the first or second time I went home after that, that I came out to my parents(/aunt n' uncle). We were nervous about my aunt's relatives' reaction, as they are very rural and very Lutheran. In the end, nothing too dramatic happened with my extended family—I did get my most religious uncle recommending ex-gay therapy and wanting to have a chat with me, but generally they write their letters and cards to “Andy” and leave the issue alone. My brother, who came out as gay, got a lot more trouble—but, as I pointed out to my Jehovah’s Witness mother, there’s nothing about taking hormones and calling yourself “ze” in the Bible. Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t even think being trans is sinful, just that we’re deluded and probably caused by lack of correct parental influence.
At first I thought, or kind of assumed, that I must identify as male. Non-binary people confused me and I thought their pronouns were strange. I thought they were just being middle-class and PC. I started taking testosterone—a nurse was supposed to show me how to inject it, but refused on the grounds that I didn’t like being outed in the waiting room and therefore must not really be trans—so I asked around, and a local transguy who I’d never met before showed me how. I had to trust that he knew what he was doing. Hormones made me feel better about myself and let me “pass” more to the general public as something other than female, and also made me less interested in feminine people and more interested in masculine/male ones. Weird, I know, right? Even now, my hormone level seems to influence my sexuality to a substantial degree.
About a year after I started taking testosterone, I came out to myself as non-binary. I realised that being male felt narrow and constraining, too; while when I was being too “female,” I felt itchy, angry, and out of control, when I felt too “male,” the world became grey and depressing. Also, I liked having boobs! So I came out, again, I suppose; fortunately, the environment was supportive, at least among the trans people at my university, so it hardly felt like a transition at all.
It took me years to figure out how to live in this new identity, a task I’m still struggling with. At various points, I decided suddenly that I’d been mistaken, that I wasn’t really trans, that I could live as a woman, and stop taking hormones. In each case, it only took a couple of weeks of mental and physical distress to remind me that that wasn’t true. But we as non-binary people purposefully don’t give ourselves roles to fall into. That is a good thing, but it also leaves us kind of adrift when it comes to social relationships that others have a pattern for.
Last summer, I went to Norway to volunteer on organic farms. I made the decision to be in the closet, and allow others to believe I was female, for the entire time I spent there. For one thing, I was visiting elderly distant relatives, and for another, I was so tired of always having to struggle against the binary. In some ways, I felt more relaxed. People assumed they knew how to deal with me. I was a “normal person” who fit into the system of things. Living in someone else’s house, I felt like I could be a role model to younger women who looked up to me, and that is something important. But, of course, longer term, that would never work. It was a holiday, but it wasn’t me.
There are a lot of difficult things about being non-binary; it’s really very isolating having pronouns and a gender that most people don’t get. There are also some really good things, such as, for me, having perspective on what it means to be in different roles. I have moved through society as female and male, and as neither (though mostly that ‘neither’ meant that most strangers and some friends tried to figure out which one I "really" was.) This is my advice to anyone who wanted to make life as a non-binary person easier: Learn the correct pronouns and try to get them right (practice with other people, practice in the mirror, etc.). Try not to use any gendered language with me/us. And relax. I appreciate the effort. That is the most important thing.
I didn’t know I was trans until I was 19 years old, though I had inklings throughout my life that something was wrong—I just didn’t realise how inauthentic I was being until I stepped out of the closet I was in. I just thought it was my turbulent childhood, or feeling British but living in the US. I felt pressured to grow up into a “young lady” at my posh private all-girls high school in Ohio (I was there on a scholarship); when I discovered that I was attracted to other girls, I felt relieved to be able to step out of the straight-jacket (pun intended). It took going back to Britain, and a few difficult life events, to discover what the problem was. I went to university, wrote “transgender” on the housing form even though I had misgivings, and changed the name I went by after a week. There were a couple of metaphors I used to think about this change: I finally found a platform that I could stand on and call “me.” I let the tiger out that had been snarling in its cage, and it started rolling around in the grass.
It was either the first or second time I went home after that, that I came out to my parents(/aunt n' uncle). We were nervous about my aunt's relatives' reaction, as they are very rural and very Lutheran. In the end, nothing too dramatic happened with my extended family—I did get my most religious uncle recommending ex-gay therapy and wanting to have a chat with me, but generally they write their letters and cards to “Andy” and leave the issue alone. My brother, who came out as gay, got a lot more trouble—but, as I pointed out to my Jehovah’s Witness mother, there’s nothing about taking hormones and calling yourself “ze” in the Bible. Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t even think being trans is sinful, just that we’re deluded and probably caused by lack of correct parental influence.
At first I thought, or kind of assumed, that I must identify as male. Non-binary people confused me and I thought their pronouns were strange. I thought they were just being middle-class and PC. I started taking testosterone—a nurse was supposed to show me how to inject it, but refused on the grounds that I didn’t like being outed in the waiting room and therefore must not really be trans—so I asked around, and a local transguy who I’d never met before showed me how. I had to trust that he knew what he was doing. Hormones made me feel better about myself and let me “pass” more to the general public as something other than female, and also made me less interested in feminine people and more interested in masculine/male ones. Weird, I know, right? Even now, my hormone level seems to influence my sexuality to a substantial degree.
About a year after I started taking testosterone, I came out to myself as non-binary. I realised that being male felt narrow and constraining, too; while when I was being too “female,” I felt itchy, angry, and out of control, when I felt too “male,” the world became grey and depressing. Also, I liked having boobs! So I came out, again, I suppose; fortunately, the environment was supportive, at least among the trans people at my university, so it hardly felt like a transition at all.
It took me years to figure out how to live in this new identity, a task I’m still struggling with. At various points, I decided suddenly that I’d been mistaken, that I wasn’t really trans, that I could live as a woman, and stop taking hormones. In each case, it only took a couple of weeks of mental and physical distress to remind me that that wasn’t true. But we as non-binary people purposefully don’t give ourselves roles to fall into. That is a good thing, but it also leaves us kind of adrift when it comes to social relationships that others have a pattern for.
Last summer, I went to Norway to volunteer on organic farms. I made the decision to be in the closet, and allow others to believe I was female, for the entire time I spent there. For one thing, I was visiting elderly distant relatives, and for another, I was so tired of always having to struggle against the binary. In some ways, I felt more relaxed. People assumed they knew how to deal with me. I was a “normal person” who fit into the system of things. Living in someone else’s house, I felt like I could be a role model to younger women who looked up to me, and that is something important. But, of course, longer term, that would never work. It was a holiday, but it wasn’t me.
There are a lot of difficult things about being non-binary; it’s really very isolating having pronouns and a gender that most people don’t get. There are also some really good things, such as, for me, having perspective on what it means to be in different roles. I have moved through society as female and male, and as neither (though mostly that ‘neither’ meant that most strangers and some friends tried to figure out which one I "really" was.) This is my advice to anyone who wanted to make life as a non-binary person easier: Learn the correct pronouns and try to get them right (practice with other people, practice in the mirror, etc.). Try not to use any gendered language with me/us. And relax. I appreciate the effort. That is the most important thing.
Tuesday, 22 April 2014
Let's play doctor
Erm, I mean, let's play "going to the doctor while trans." Which is what I did today.
Mostly went in to tell him I was switching GPs, but also was hoping that he would write me a letter saying that he had seen me a few times, and that yes, I was in fact trans, and had been prescribed hormones before, to avoid difficulty. He said that that wouldn't be necessary, my medical records would be transferred over, which would take 7-14 days. Later on, though, when looking through my records on the computer, he realised that they contained no reference to my testosterone at all.
I have been waiting for a year or so to see a specialist at the Edinburgh trans clinic. Someone recently mentioned that they might not even *have* a specialist in Edinburgh at the moment, which is why it's taking so long. So, I told my doctor, I would like to be referred to the Glasgow clinic instead (which is where a lot of the Edinburgh trans community go anyway). He said that he couldn't do that, it's the Edinburgh's clinic's job. I said, hmm, lots of Edinburgh doctors seem to do this anyway. And oh, by the way, could I also get a prescription renewal for testosterone. He said that no, we'd already talked about this, he can't prescribe it to me, the specialists have to do that. I said actually, he'd told me that he'd be happy to prescribe it, and that he didn't see why I needed to see a specialist after all. He said, oh.
I need to see a specialist, because there are many doctors who won't prescribe hormones without knowing that I've been seen by one. The last time I moved to Edinburgh, it was in an emergency situation, because my psychotic ex-flatmate/landlord kicked me out. Soon after, I found that I no longer had any medication left. Now, I *won't* say that she stole it to sell it, partly because that might open me up to legal trouble, and, well, it might not be true. But I found the bag it was in, the bag was empty, and I know she'd been in my room when I wasn't there because she'd left all my groceries in the middle of the floor. She was facing the prospect of being broke because I would no longer be paying her rent. Make your own conclusions.
So when I went to the local doctor in a hurry. I didn't have any proof of address, because I was staying on someone's couch. The doctor, fair enough, didn't have my medical records in front of him. But he didn't need to refuse to give me my medication by comparing it to giving me illegal drugs. I ended up having to ask a friend to give me some of his supply, which he thankfully did. Yes, this is not allowed. But it was the only way I could get the medication I need to take.
I've actually seen a specialist in the UK, by the way. I went to one in Belfast, after several months of waiting. He had his assistant go through a questionnaire, looked at it for less than five minutes, and then informed me that what I had wasn't transgenderism, probably just "some cross-dressing thing." This was, apparently, because people's genders can't fluctuate, they remain static. That is the way things are, you see. His recommendation was that I be taken off of my medication and monitored to see what happened, because apparently I would settle into some kind of single gender state. This is all terribly scientific, I'm sure. And that is the main reason why I left Belfast.
Doctors seem to think that transpeople choose to be this way. I'm not surprised; everything in our culture says that this is not something necessary to us, it's something we do because we're difficult, because it's a sexual thing, or a PC thing, perhaps. You can't measure being trans, at least not yet; it's one of the things that interests me about being trans--that, unless you're intersex, it's an entirely internal, subjectively knowable state.
The Sun and their horrible readers think that we shouldn't be burdening the NHS with our superfluous medical problems, or should I say "demands." bit.ly/RJasMV Or maybe it's just the older ones of us who have been to jail who shouldn't expect to have our basic medical needs met? According to comments on a similar photo, the NHS doesn't have enough money to give cancer treatments to everyone who needs them. I highly doubt this, but apparently, it's not the fault of the funding bodies that are slashing badly-needed funds; it's that some of us, the ones who aren't socially desirable, are asking for too much, too frivolous. Am I deserving enough? Well, according to many of the doctors I've met, apparently not. Or perhaps we just don't deserve to exist at all.
NOTE: It's this bad in a country with (for the moment) free health care. In the US, if you don't have medical insurance, you have to pay for the months of going to see a psychologist yourself, before you even go to the doctor to get a prescription, whereupon even with insurance most companies won't cover things like hormones and surgery, so you'd be paying for it anyway.
Mostly went in to tell him I was switching GPs, but also was hoping that he would write me a letter saying that he had seen me a few times, and that yes, I was in fact trans, and had been prescribed hormones before, to avoid difficulty. He said that that wouldn't be necessary, my medical records would be transferred over, which would take 7-14 days. Later on, though, when looking through my records on the computer, he realised that they contained no reference to my testosterone at all.
I have been waiting for a year or so to see a specialist at the Edinburgh trans clinic. Someone recently mentioned that they might not even *have* a specialist in Edinburgh at the moment, which is why it's taking so long. So, I told my doctor, I would like to be referred to the Glasgow clinic instead (which is where a lot of the Edinburgh trans community go anyway). He said that he couldn't do that, it's the Edinburgh's clinic's job. I said, hmm, lots of Edinburgh doctors seem to do this anyway. And oh, by the way, could I also get a prescription renewal for testosterone. He said that no, we'd already talked about this, he can't prescribe it to me, the specialists have to do that. I said actually, he'd told me that he'd be happy to prescribe it, and that he didn't see why I needed to see a specialist after all. He said, oh.
I need to see a specialist, because there are many doctors who won't prescribe hormones without knowing that I've been seen by one. The last time I moved to Edinburgh, it was in an emergency situation, because my psychotic ex-flatmate/landlord kicked me out. Soon after, I found that I no longer had any medication left. Now, I *won't* say that she stole it to sell it, partly because that might open me up to legal trouble, and, well, it might not be true. But I found the bag it was in, the bag was empty, and I know she'd been in my room when I wasn't there because she'd left all my groceries in the middle of the floor. She was facing the prospect of being broke because I would no longer be paying her rent. Make your own conclusions.
So when I went to the local doctor in a hurry. I didn't have any proof of address, because I was staying on someone's couch. The doctor, fair enough, didn't have my medical records in front of him. But he didn't need to refuse to give me my medication by comparing it to giving me illegal drugs. I ended up having to ask a friend to give me some of his supply, which he thankfully did. Yes, this is not allowed. But it was the only way I could get the medication I need to take.
I've actually seen a specialist in the UK, by the way. I went to one in Belfast, after several months of waiting. He had his assistant go through a questionnaire, looked at it for less than five minutes, and then informed me that what I had wasn't transgenderism, probably just "some cross-dressing thing." This was, apparently, because people's genders can't fluctuate, they remain static. That is the way things are, you see. His recommendation was that I be taken off of my medication and monitored to see what happened, because apparently I would settle into some kind of single gender state. This is all terribly scientific, I'm sure. And that is the main reason why I left Belfast.
Doctors seem to think that transpeople choose to be this way. I'm not surprised; everything in our culture says that this is not something necessary to us, it's something we do because we're difficult, because it's a sexual thing, or a PC thing, perhaps. You can't measure being trans, at least not yet; it's one of the things that interests me about being trans--that, unless you're intersex, it's an entirely internal, subjectively knowable state.
The Sun and their horrible readers think that we shouldn't be burdening the NHS with our superfluous medical problems, or should I say "demands." bit.ly/RJasMV Or maybe it's just the older ones of us who have been to jail who shouldn't expect to have our basic medical needs met? According to comments on a similar photo, the NHS doesn't have enough money to give cancer treatments to everyone who needs them. I highly doubt this, but apparently, it's not the fault of the funding bodies that are slashing badly-needed funds; it's that some of us, the ones who aren't socially desirable, are asking for too much, too frivolous. Am I deserving enough? Well, according to many of the doctors I've met, apparently not. Or perhaps we just don't deserve to exist at all.
NOTE: It's this bad in a country with (for the moment) free health care. In the US, if you don't have medical insurance, you have to pay for the months of going to see a psychologist yourself, before you even go to the doctor to get a prescription, whereupon even with insurance most companies won't cover things like hormones and surgery, so you'd be paying for it anyway.
Thursday, 27 March 2014
Internet Dating as a Trans*person
TW: transphobia
Soooo, recently I was talking to someone on an internet dating site (I won't tell you which one). The conversation kind of went like this:
Me: Hi, saw your post, sounds interesting. Blah blah blah hope to hear from you soon.
Him (having seen that I am genderqueer on my profile): Thanks for your message... would you please let me know your birth gender and whether or not you are pre- or post-op? Not that it matters, but I like to know people well before we get involved.
Me: Well, I don't really like answering those questions, but I'm FTM-spectrum and [personal details about my physicality].
Him: Ok. Your gender status is not a problem at all, by the way. Thanks for being honest... etc.
Me: Actually, you're being transphobic and I think I'll (as per usual) try again elsewhere, sorry. I hope you try educating yourself in the future.
Yeah, if you asked a "normal" cisgender person what their genitals looked like on a first message, they would rightfully think you were a creep. And then to tell me that my gender is not a problem for him. Um, thanks, I'm glad you're not bigoted. However, as a transperson, I am expected to disclose extremely personal things about myself and my body because people think they need to know these things--this is by no means the only person who has asked me these questions, which is why all of my profiles on various sites generally carry a "please don't say these things" disclaimer.
Apparently, if I'm trans, what's between my legs trumps all else in determining whether someone is attracted to me--not, say, whether our senses of humour match or whether we're interested in the same kinds of things, or, if my body was *really* that much of an issue for you, whether you would be interested in spending any time getting to know me regardless. If I decline to answer, I'm being dishonest, because they feel like they can't make out my "real" gender by my profile. I'm less entitled to personal boundaries. They feel entitled to know. Perhaps they want to protect themselves from that stereotypical trans assailant, like the eponymous Lola from the Kinks song, to take only one example.
And if the ignorant don't ask me questions, it's generally because they have already assumed that I'm their version of female-identified MTF, like, say, Rayon from Dallas Buyer's Club, infamously portrayed by Jared Leto--"a man who wanted to live his life as a woman" in his own words, "not... the real thing" in the director's words. A while back, I posted a personals ad to a Scottish LGBT magazine, also labeling myself trans* and genderqueer. All the men that have replied have assumed that I am a transwoman looking for a gay men to have sex with (!) and one kept calling me "butterfly." Sigh.
So I had to add yet another disclaimer to said internet dating profile, after the "I don't like to be called these things" one, and the "please don't be a tranny-chaser" one, saying "please don't ask me questions about my body." I am getting tired of adding to the list of things I don't want cispeople to say to me. I really wish that getting people to see me as a human being wasn't such a minefield sometimes.
Soooo, recently I was talking to someone on an internet dating site (I won't tell you which one). The conversation kind of went like this:
Me: Hi, saw your post, sounds interesting. Blah blah blah hope to hear from you soon.
Him (having seen that I am genderqueer on my profile): Thanks for your message... would you please let me know your birth gender and whether or not you are pre- or post-op? Not that it matters, but I like to know people well before we get involved.
Me: Well, I don't really like answering those questions, but I'm FTM-spectrum and [personal details about my physicality].
Him: Ok. Your gender status is not a problem at all, by the way. Thanks for being honest... etc.
Me: Actually, you're being transphobic and I think I'll (as per usual) try again elsewhere, sorry. I hope you try educating yourself in the future.
Yeah, if you asked a "normal" cisgender person what their genitals looked like on a first message, they would rightfully think you were a creep. And then to tell me that my gender is not a problem for him. Um, thanks, I'm glad you're not bigoted. However, as a transperson, I am expected to disclose extremely personal things about myself and my body because people think they need to know these things--this is by no means the only person who has asked me these questions, which is why all of my profiles on various sites generally carry a "please don't say these things" disclaimer.
Apparently, if I'm trans, what's between my legs trumps all else in determining whether someone is attracted to me--not, say, whether our senses of humour match or whether we're interested in the same kinds of things, or, if my body was *really* that much of an issue for you, whether you would be interested in spending any time getting to know me regardless. If I decline to answer, I'm being dishonest, because they feel like they can't make out my "real" gender by my profile. I'm less entitled to personal boundaries. They feel entitled to know. Perhaps they want to protect themselves from that stereotypical trans assailant, like the eponymous Lola from the Kinks song, to take only one example.
And if the ignorant don't ask me questions, it's generally because they have already assumed that I'm their version of female-identified MTF, like, say, Rayon from Dallas Buyer's Club, infamously portrayed by Jared Leto--"a man who wanted to live his life as a woman" in his own words, "not... the real thing" in the director's words. A while back, I posted a personals ad to a Scottish LGBT magazine, also labeling myself trans* and genderqueer. All the men that have replied have assumed that I am a transwoman looking for a gay men to have sex with (!) and one kept calling me "butterfly." Sigh.
So I had to add yet another disclaimer to said internet dating profile, after the "I don't like to be called these things" one, and the "please don't be a tranny-chaser" one, saying "please don't ask me questions about my body." I am getting tired of adding to the list of things I don't want cispeople to say to me. I really wish that getting people to see me as a human being wasn't such a minefield sometimes.
Thursday, 20 February 2014
it begins
Hello, I decided to start yet another blog because a) I hate posting on facebook and b) I want to be a curmudgeon without my friends having to deal with it all the time. Also c) it would be nice to talk to people who weren't on facebook, too. Here are my political and sociological thoughts on various subjects. I don't know how long I will keep going with this, but it might make me feel better to rant about things.
Observation number one: do people now follow their pets around with cameras all the time in the hopes of making a viral video? I dunno...
Observation number two: all these remakes, rehashes and period productions seem to me merely tools to ensure that we can keep straight white people at the forefront of our media without it seeming uncomfortable and raising questions. Well, you see, there *were* no out queer people or people of colour in that place at that time (there actually were), so we can justify keeping them out.
Observation number one: do people now follow their pets around with cameras all the time in the hopes of making a viral video? I dunno...
Observation number two: all these remakes, rehashes and period productions seem to me merely tools to ensure that we can keep straight white people at the forefront of our media without it seeming uncomfortable and raising questions. Well, you see, there *were* no out queer people or people of colour in that place at that time (there actually were), so we can justify keeping them out.
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