Number 195

 In For a Penny...

If I mention "socialized gender roles" to you, do you know what I mean? They're the type of behaviors that folks typically attribute to one sex versus another. They are also behavior expectations that folks assign to one sex versus another. I could provide many examples - from the sublime to the ridiculous - but I respect my audience too much to do that. Y'all know what I mean. Besides, that's not what I'm really writing about today.

I'm writing about using the women's locker room at the local Y. 

Now to be clear, no matter your opinion of transgender folks, my body, in its unclothed (and out-of-shape, "put down the french fries, Nora") state, is a woman's body. You're welcome to think that I'm nuttier than a fruitcake for believing I'm a woman (You're wrong, but you're still welcome to think it), but my vagina, vulva and breasts send the world a clear message: This is a person that should use the women's locker room at the local Y.

Given my frequent claims of womanhood, the intricacies of my body, and a legal status that declares my sex as "female," you might be wondering what the issue is. It's just this, for the first 50 years of my life I was indoctrinated with the idea that I was unwelcome in any women's locker room. Any move towards entry was unethical, illegal, and un-gentlemanly. Even a quick 'sneak-peak' as I walked past was considered poor form. In other words, the issue is in my head. And just to clarify, I'm not concerned about being seen by other women in a state of undress - after everything I've been through surgically in the last few years, I'm no longer much concerned with who might see me naked - it's overcoming the notion that it's taboo for me to see other women unclothed.

Because I desire to get into shape, and would love to do so by swimming, I need to get past this psychological impasse, because I'm fairly certain no one at the Y, employees and members alike, want to see me change into a swimsuit in the lobby.  I've discussed this a great deal with my therapist. She told me in her calm and caring way: "Nora, I challenge you to accept that you have as much right to be in that space as any other woman."

So I came up with a 'baby steps' approach to help get me to a point where I feel as comfortable as any other woman in the locker room. According to my cis female friends, the answer to that is "not very," but, once again, I trust that my audience knows what I mean. The first step was this: I'd walk in, have a pee, wash my hands, and walk out, looking down the whole time. This worked great the first few times, but then it finally happened. On my third trip I caught a glimpse of a woman in just her underwear.

Uh-oh. But then the most wonderful thing happened. Nothing. Alarm bells did not go off. I was not immediately struck blind by two lightning bolts from the heavens. 

In the aftermath, I decided it was time for a few more 'baby steps.' I was going to wear my street clothes to the Y, and change into my workout clothes in the locker room. Which I did. When I entered, I found a quiet alcove all to myself. I got out my workout gear, and began to change, staring straight ahead the whole time. Almost immediately, my hearing and peripheral vision told me that someone else has entered the area. As it turns out, I'd parked myself in front of her locker, so, still looking forward, I shifted my things out of the way.

"Oh! What a pretty bra!" she exclaimed. I looked down. I was wearing a functional, white Vanity Fair number - that couldn't be it - so what is she talking about? As it turns out I'd brought my fuchsia sports bra that day, and it was lying on top of my workout togs. It was this bra that caught her eye.

"Where did you get it?" she asked. 

When I recovered my ability to speak I tell her "Title Nine."

"Does it hook up the front?"

"Uhh, no. It zips." ("Please let this be over, please let this be over, please let this be over," I'm thinking in a continuous loop.) But no, because my hearing and peripheral vision told me that another woman had entered the area on the other side of me. As it turns out the two women were friends, and the bra conversation continues to the point that I needed to offer the second woman a discreet look at my undergarment (which is, by now, under my t-shirt).

Now as it turns out. The previous day I had been at Target, and while looking through the clothes on clearance, I had purchased a rather flamboyant pair of pink yoga pants. (They were only $6.99, how could I not buy them?) Would it surprise you to find out that my yoga pants then became the topic of conversation? But by now, I had entered a sort of "what the hell" kind of mindset. They either realized I was a trans woman and didn't care (yay!), or they thought I was a cis woman (yay!). But mostly, neither one of them was concerned about my presence among them (big yay!)

"Yes," I replied, "I was at Target, and they just jumped into my cart as I walked by."

At that, I finished tying my shoes, grabbed my water bottle, smiled, and left for my workout. I guess it's time to start planning for a swim.