Hi. My name is Nora, and I am a transgender woman. I 'officially' began my transition on June 21, 2018. That was the day I walked out the door of my house and introduced myself to the rest of the world. In other words, that's the day I began living full time as the woman I had come to realize I was. I was 52 years at the time. The understanding of my true gender identity had come later in life than usual, perhaps; but the truth of gender dysphoria is that there is no 'usual'. Before that day, however, my life as Nora had already started to take shape. I had begun telling friends and family what was going to be happening. Especially important in that process were my conversations with my two (young adult) daughters. I also did a lot of clothes shopping.
It's now November, 2019, and my life is good. I am mostly happy and content as Nora. My transition from male to female is perhaps the most emotionally fulfilling, intelligent thing I've ever done. Further, and this is directed at the many misguided, ill-informed, and frightened nincompoops out there, it is one of the sanest things I've ever done. Which brings us to the point of this essay. If you are reading closely, the word "mostly" from above probably jumped out at you. I have grown both weary and angry at the plethora of malicious and ignorant misinformation that is directed towards the trans community with mind-numbing regularity, from a variety of different groups whose one commonality is the stupidity and shamelessness with which they spout their drivel. I'm here to set the record straight.
Let's begin by dropping in on a recent taping of the television game show Jeopardy.
(Fade in)
(Fade out)
So here's the point. Many critics believe that being trans isn't a real thing. They claim that thoughts of gender dysphoria are the products of mentally unstable minds. In other words, they claim the brain of a trans person is already defective, and, as a result, produces defective thoughts of being transgendered. Problem is, none of these titans of idiocy have camped out in my brain. (Or the brains of other trans people, for that matter.) How can they claim that my mind is defective, without taking a little stroll around my head so that they might better understand my story? As Alex and the Jeopardy writer's have so succinctly pointed out, the biggest difference in the brains of trans and non-trans people is the fact that only transgender people tend to wonder about being transgender.
Let me be clear. I am not claiming that trans people couldn't benefit from the assistance of mental health professionals. Only that we're no more or less fucked up than the general population. It is true that the percentage of trans people in therapy is much greater than the general population. ("Ah-Ha!" claim my foes, "She just admitted we were right!") But you try to make your way in cultural environment where many people treat you with disdain, hostility, and violence that ends in murder far too often. No wonder we're in therapy - we need help dealing with all the hostile ignorance the world throws our way.
For you doubters out there who think my brain is defective, or that I "chose" to be trans, I offer up my own journey. Hopefully, by the end of it, you'll realize how little "choice" had to do with it. For most of my male life, I was a frustrated cross dresser. That is to say, I very rarely dressed in women's clothing, although I did think about doing so frequently. I believed this to be a sexual fetish, and nothing more. I wasn't proud of it, though. In fact, I was hugely ashamed. I desperately wanted to be rid of these thoughts, and a vicious circle developed because I couldn't. In an attempt to distance myself from these thoughts, I pushed them away from me and did my best to bury them deep. In other words, I never thought about, or examined them in a thoughtful manner; and for certain, I never talked about them!
In 2015, when I was 49 years old, I took stock of my life. By most measures, it was good life. I was in a stable marriage (although my wife would die, unexpectedly, in early 2016). Our two children were healthy, strong, and accomplished. However, there was a little "tickle" in the back of my head that left me vaguely unsettled. Among other things, I had struggled all my adult life with finding stable employment - a situation that I was at least partially responsible for. I decided to see a therapist. I also decided that I would be completely honest for the first time, and divulge, to another living person, my crossdressing fetish.
Many things happened over the next few years. The first significant event occurred when I reluctantly, and with great hesitation, told my therapist that I had a fetish for women's clothing. "So" she responded, rather nonchalantly. In that moment, the mountain of guilt that I had built up over many years began to dissolve. After a time, she referred me to a therapist who dealt almost exclusively with issues related to gender identity. You see, by this time, my therapeutic journey had begun to consider whether or not gender dysphoria was the source of the little"tickle" in the back of my head.
I desperately wanted the solution to be anything other than being transgender. I did not want it in my life. There was never a thought of: "Well, this seems like fun, let's give it a whirl!" Such a diagnosis scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I kept trying to short circuit the therapeutic process by claiming that we'd investigated this "whole gender thing" enough, and that maybe we should move on to something else. However, slowly but surely, the 'onion' layers that made up the core of my soul, kept getting peeled back and exposed. I was fighting a losing battle with myself. Finally, in March of 2018, I started my therapy with the following declaration: "I am a transgender woman, and I want to transition." It was the first time I said those words out loud, and when I did, I felt a peace and contentment that had eluded me all my life. Finally, I had scratched the 'itch'. But let's be clear about one thing: This wasn't me choosing to be transgender; rather it was me finally acknowledging the truth. My truth.
At that, I can't help but wonder if I've changed your mind. Since there's more than a good chance that many of you are already LGBTQA+ or allies; I'm probably just preaching to the choir, but whatever. If nothing else, the process of writing this has been an exercise in helping me process the many recent changes in my life. To whit: most of my life, I've claimed that I don't care what other people think about me. Another recent therapeutic breakthrough, however, made me realize that I actually care a great deal about what other people think of me. The truth is, I care too much. I believe my 'transifesto' is an effort to reclaim my story for myself, rather than for others.
So to all the haters out there; the angry TERFs (trans-exclusionary radical 'fatheads', in my book), who erroneously think I'm a threat; the moronic social conservatives who delightfully embrace a stance of intentional ignorance; and those who are simply too lazy to try and understand something beyond their own experience; I offer the most intelligent rejoinder I can come up with: "Piss off." I cannot make you accept what I know to be true. However, I can stop you from renting space in my head, where your thoughts and negativity do me no good whatsoever.
To the rest of you: Old and new friends who have embraced me with love, affection, and enthusiasm; my family that, albeit with a great deal of confusion, accepts the new me - I have no doubt that it has been a lot to get used to after 50 years; the health care professionals that have held my hand, given me tissues, and gently guided me along; and most of the general public, who if they even notice, respond with everything from enthusiasm to indifference; I offer a very sincere word of "Thanks." The only choice I've ever had was how I chose to live out the truth. To that, I can only repeat, with a slight change, what I said many months ago: "I am a trans woman, and I choose to transition." In fact, I embrace it.
It's now November, 2019, and my life is good. I am mostly happy and content as Nora. My transition from male to female is perhaps the most emotionally fulfilling, intelligent thing I've ever done. Further, and this is directed at the many misguided, ill-informed, and frightened nincompoops out there, it is one of the sanest things I've ever done. Which brings us to the point of this essay. If you are reading closely, the word "mostly" from above probably jumped out at you. I have grown both weary and angry at the plethora of malicious and ignorant misinformation that is directed towards the trans community with mind-numbing regularity, from a variety of different groups whose one commonality is the stupidity and shamelessness with which they spout their drivel. I'm here to set the record straight.
Let's begin by dropping in on a recent taping of the television game show Jeopardy.
(Fade in)
"Alex, I'll take 'Gender Identity' for $1,000."
Answer: "If you don't spend a lot of time wondering about it, you're probably not."
Question: "What is, 'How do I know if I'm trans?'"
Answer: "If you don't spend a lot of time wondering about it, you're probably not."
Question: "What is, 'How do I know if I'm trans?'"
So here's the point. Many critics believe that being trans isn't a real thing. They claim that thoughts of gender dysphoria are the products of mentally unstable minds. In other words, they claim the brain of a trans person is already defective, and, as a result, produces defective thoughts of being transgendered. Problem is, none of these titans of idiocy have camped out in my brain. (Or the brains of other trans people, for that matter.) How can they claim that my mind is defective, without taking a little stroll around my head so that they might better understand my story? As Alex and the Jeopardy writer's have so succinctly pointed out, the biggest difference in the brains of trans and non-trans people is the fact that only transgender people tend to wonder about being transgender.
Let me be clear. I am not claiming that trans people couldn't benefit from the assistance of mental health professionals. Only that we're no more or less fucked up than the general population. It is true that the percentage of trans people in therapy is much greater than the general population. ("Ah-Ha!" claim my foes, "She just admitted we were right!") But you try to make your way in cultural environment where many people treat you with disdain, hostility, and violence that ends in murder far too often. No wonder we're in therapy - we need help dealing with all the hostile ignorance the world throws our way.
For you doubters out there who think my brain is defective, or that I "chose" to be trans, I offer up my own journey. Hopefully, by the end of it, you'll realize how little "choice" had to do with it. For most of my male life, I was a frustrated cross dresser. That is to say, I very rarely dressed in women's clothing, although I did think about doing so frequently. I believed this to be a sexual fetish, and nothing more. I wasn't proud of it, though. In fact, I was hugely ashamed. I desperately wanted to be rid of these thoughts, and a vicious circle developed because I couldn't. In an attempt to distance myself from these thoughts, I pushed them away from me and did my best to bury them deep. In other words, I never thought about, or examined them in a thoughtful manner; and for certain, I never talked about them!
In 2015, when I was 49 years old, I took stock of my life. By most measures, it was good life. I was in a stable marriage (although my wife would die, unexpectedly, in early 2016). Our two children were healthy, strong, and accomplished. However, there was a little "tickle" in the back of my head that left me vaguely unsettled. Among other things, I had struggled all my adult life with finding stable employment - a situation that I was at least partially responsible for. I decided to see a therapist. I also decided that I would be completely honest for the first time, and divulge, to another living person, my crossdressing fetish.
Many things happened over the next few years. The first significant event occurred when I reluctantly, and with great hesitation, told my therapist that I had a fetish for women's clothing. "So" she responded, rather nonchalantly. In that moment, the mountain of guilt that I had built up over many years began to dissolve. After a time, she referred me to a therapist who dealt almost exclusively with issues related to gender identity. You see, by this time, my therapeutic journey had begun to consider whether or not gender dysphoria was the source of the little"tickle" in the back of my head.
I desperately wanted the solution to be anything other than being transgender. I did not want it in my life. There was never a thought of: "Well, this seems like fun, let's give it a whirl!" Such a diagnosis scared the ever-loving shit out of me. I kept trying to short circuit the therapeutic process by claiming that we'd investigated this "whole gender thing" enough, and that maybe we should move on to something else. However, slowly but surely, the 'onion' layers that made up the core of my soul, kept getting peeled back and exposed. I was fighting a losing battle with myself. Finally, in March of 2018, I started my therapy with the following declaration: "I am a transgender woman, and I want to transition." It was the first time I said those words out loud, and when I did, I felt a peace and contentment that had eluded me all my life. Finally, I had scratched the 'itch'. But let's be clear about one thing: This wasn't me choosing to be transgender; rather it was me finally acknowledging the truth. My truth.
At that, I can't help but wonder if I've changed your mind. Since there's more than a good chance that many of you are already LGBTQA+ or allies; I'm probably just preaching to the choir, but whatever. If nothing else, the process of writing this has been an exercise in helping me process the many recent changes in my life. To whit: most of my life, I've claimed that I don't care what other people think about me. Another recent therapeutic breakthrough, however, made me realize that I actually care a great deal about what other people think of me. The truth is, I care too much. I believe my 'transifesto' is an effort to reclaim my story for myself, rather than for others.
So to all the haters out there; the angry TERFs (trans-exclusionary radical 'fatheads', in my book), who erroneously think I'm a threat; the moronic social conservatives who delightfully embrace a stance of intentional ignorance; and those who are simply too lazy to try and understand something beyond their own experience; I offer the most intelligent rejoinder I can come up with: "Piss off." I cannot make you accept what I know to be true. However, I can stop you from renting space in my head, where your thoughts and negativity do me no good whatsoever.
To the rest of you: Old and new friends who have embraced me with love, affection, and enthusiasm; my family that, albeit with a great deal of confusion, accepts the new me - I have no doubt that it has been a lot to get used to after 50 years; the health care professionals that have held my hand, given me tissues, and gently guided me along; and most of the general public, who if they even notice, respond with everything from enthusiasm to indifference; I offer a very sincere word of "Thanks." The only choice I've ever had was how I chose to live out the truth. To that, I can only repeat, with a slight change, what I said many months ago: "I am a trans woman, and I choose to transition." In fact, I embrace it.
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