Transgender Male Privilege

Hello My Dear One,
     When I transitioned from female to male I had a lot of expectations. I wanted to feel like myself. I wanted to feel appropriately masculine, manly, male, or whatever I imagined that was at the time. I wanted to walk through the world finally being seen as who I really was. I wanted people to treat me the way that they treated other men. I wanted people to stop wondering what my gender was, and to accept the one that I presented. I thought that being male meant that things would be easier for me as I continued on my journey in life.
     And I was correct about life being easier in many ways. Yes, there were people who knew me prior to and during transition who struggled with my new voice, my new look, my new body. But, for the most part, becoming physically male was indeed a step up. Not surprisingly, being a white male in America is more than just good, it's like being better than everyone else.

All. Of. The. Time.

     Initially, I was struck with the injustice of how women were treated in a more visceral way than I ever had before. Although I knew that misogyny and harassment were part and parcel of my daily life, I didn't have the male perspective to see all of the moving parts and pieces. The intentional disrespect, the intentional and unintentional dismissals, the painful inequalities, and the underlying disregard for women that so many men have. And yes, there are good men out there, but even they, even I, don't see all of the ways in which we treat women as less than.
     Recently, I have found myself aware of this problem again, and the way in which I use male privilege in my daily interactions. It's true, after 13+ years living exclusively as a male, I now take for granted that I will receive better service, be treated as though I know more, and be expected to occupy space as though I own it. I walk into settings where being a man is an advantage, almost all settings really, and I run with it. I can claim my rightful place as better than, simply by entering the room. And after 30 years of having been treated as significantly less than, simply because I was a woman, I will admit that it feels good.
     But, I am a transgender man, not a full member of the brotherhood. I was not born with certain physical attributes that allow me to join the club. I live with a body that is not 100% male, and never will be. Everyday, I am reminded that I am not like most other men I meet. There are discrepancies between my anatomy and my gender presentation. There are even greater discrepancies between my gender presentation and my thinking.
     After 30 years of being instructed, taught, and forced to express a female gender identity, often with disastrous results, I still question what I do in public as a man. I question my choices of vocabulary, my clothes, the way I'm standing, and the pitch of my voice. I question my order at the coffee shop. Do "real [heterosexual] men" order caramel macchiatos and lavender infused scones? And I still have fear when I enter a mens' room. I worry that someone will think that the sound of my peeing isn't quite right, and I will be questioned, or harassed, or attacked. I still fear the hypothetical man in the dark parking lot, until I realize that I am that man in the parking lot. I'm no longer supposed to fear sexual assault, rather I am now seen as the cause of it.
     So, what does all this mean for how I use my male privilege in the world? Does it make me kinder? Does it make me more compassionate? Does it make me treat others, particularly women, with a deeper respect? Do I model what it means to be a good man?

Sometimes.

     Like all discrimination and biases, it is far easier to ignore that which might change our own status. It is much more convenient to rest into privilege than challenge oneself to see the harm they may be doing. And I am no different in that respect. Being a man in the Western world affords a path that avoids many of the troubles that women face. And why would anyone pass up the opportunity to save themselves from discomfort or distress?
     Well, the answer for me is, yes, because I am a father of two sons. Two cisgender, probably heterosexual, teenagers who are rapidly becoming men in this world. And it is one of my most important duties to show them what it means to be a good man, particularly in respect to women. First and foremost that their mother is a complete and total human being. That she is a Beloved and therefore Equal Child of G-d. And before she was their mother she was, and is my partner, my wife, and my best friend. For them to truly respect her, they must also respect the relationship that she and I have. To be real men they must show love, commitment, and respect to all people.
     Is this always easy? Is it comfortable? Is it possible? No. Not always. But, it is something that must be done in order to change how we as people treat each other. Males/men, females/women, intersex, gender non-conforming, and everyone else in between is a Beloved Child of G-d. We all deserve dignity, love, respect, hope, and the knowledge that we are more than the sum of our parts. Body, mind, and soul. And that is no privilege. That is a G-d given right.

Thank you for honoring me with your continued presence along the journey.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari

Legally Crazy; Transgender Happiness

Hello My Dear One,

Recently, I gave a presentation about transgender healthcare issues as well as my personal story of transition. Largely, I keep things light with plenty of jokes, some slightly self-deprecating humor, and an upbeat attitude. Of course, I take a more serious tone when I talk about suicide attempts, losses, transphobia, harassment, and abuse. I balance the softness of the good with harsher realities of Gender Dysphoria and the process of becoming oneself.

This particular talk was especially fun and I engaged with the audience through comical descriptions of what my life has been and continues to be like. We all laughed quite a bit, and by the end it felt like we had collectively shared a special time together. It was truly fulfilling for me to be able to bring a group of people together and transform their understanding about transgender people through our conversation.

After I've done my storytelling portion of the presentation I open up the discussion to questions. Now, I've been asked every type of question, from biology, to psychology, to theology, and a host of other things I've never thought of. I find that there are certain constants, usually having to do with my children - what do they know/how do they feel/how has this affected them - or with surgical inquiries, or how do I reconcile my faith life with my gender identity? All of these topics have multiple answers, and I respond based on the composition of the audience, the setting, and my own personal level of vulnerability in the situation. Mostly, I stress the positive aspects of each of these and explain how transition has made me the man I am today, not just in presentation but in totality. 

This past time someone asked a question I'd never been asked before, or even consciously considered in recent memory. The preface to the question was particularly meaningful given the past year that I've lived through and my own doubts about my mental state of being.

"You seem like a really happy person. Do you think you would have been just as happy or happier if you had been born as the gender you identify as now?"

Wow. What an amazing thing to think about. And I know it took a few breaths before I answered. But, like me, it is was and is a dualistic response that I gave. "Yes and no," I replied.

Of course, my life would have been significantly easier if I had been born physically male. My sense of self was always as a male person, so it definitely would've helped to have a mind and a body that matched. I wouldn't have suffered from the deep seated sense of betrayal that I felt toward my body, and I might not have tried so hard to hide from the reality in an extra 100 pounds of fat. Dating would've been easier. Fitting in might also have been simpler, but then again, maybe not. I doubt that having a penis would've really increased my popularity, much. So yes, I suspect being happy would have been an easier emotion to access if I had not needed transition.

For the sake of full disclosure, I do have Bipolar 1 Disorder, and that plays with the neurochemistry that affects my emotional wellbeing. But, medications have controlled this for 15 years and my happiness now is dependent upon my outlook and how I respond to life circumstances.

But back to the no answer. Why would I say that needing to transition from female to male made me the "happy person" that I am? There are so many reasons, but the primary one is that I had to struggle through the truth that I could not live any other way than as myself, as a man, as the person I am in the world everyday, or I would have chosen not to live at all. It was the horror of finding myself with only 2 choices - transition or suicide - that built the foundation for the happiness that I have today. It was the process of finding that who I am is right and good. It was the risk of losing all that I loved, my wife, my children, my family, my faith community, everything and instead finding them all stronger and happier as I transformed into this body and this person.

My life now is based in the knowledge that I am a beloved child of G-d. I believe that my transition is a gift from G-d that helps me to have greater love and empathy for everyone else. I feel in my core that I am called to experience this transition as part of my journey to being more fully human, and to more fully knowing the Divine that guides my life. This is the basis for my deepest happiness and for how I live as myself each moment that I have. And I am thankful for each one.

Thank you for being part of the happiness that infuses this part of my journey.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

Ari

Legally Crazy, Transgender in a Psych Ward

Hello My Dear One,

Nearly four and a half years ago I had to choose between driving into a telephone pole or allowing myself to be taken to the psychiatric section of a hospital. Although this was far and away one of the most difficult decisions I have ever had to make, there have been many more that required far deeper introspection, risk, and personal loss. All of these times have involved life and death, gender identity, and the Beast of mental illness that coexists in my being. 

In an inpatient psychiatric hospital ward there is a total loss of autonomy. It is the relinquishing of one's freedoms, including the right to sleep without observation, or have shoes or shoelaces. Then watching those shoes get relegated to a locked closet until a supervised group walk. Sitting at a table, working on a large coloring page [many years before the "adult coloring books" became popular for stress relief] and going to the nurses' station to have your colored pencil sharpened. Why? Because electric pencil sharpeners might be hazardous to your health. And the loss of control of what you, what I, could eat, could wear, when and where conversations were allowed, and even when and what television programs could be watched. 

It was and still is soul crushing. And it was and still is sad. And when it was over, when I returned to my normal life, there were years that passed where I still wondered what happened. There are voids in my memory. There are gaps in my timeline. And I continue to consider how many different ways the story could've gone. In the end, my reality will always be altered by the madness of Bipolar Disorder One, Anxiety, Depression, Mania, and neurochemical wiring and firing that continues to blast holes through the memories within my mind.

Of course, there's that whole Gender Identity Disorder, transgender/transsexual piece of my life. The added complication of mind and matter, of a mental gender and a physical sex that do not align. A divide between who I am and how the world sees me, then and now. 

I am a man, but I am also a transman. I am a person who has lived in both genders. I have thirty years of life experience being treated as less than because of my biological sex and my gender presentation. I have another twelve of being seen for who I am, being treated as better than I am, yet always remembering what I was. It is never as simple as boy or girl, even when it is.

But why now, so many years after my committal into that place, is it in the forefront of my mind? Why I am ruminating on this time in my life? Is it a distance or a near proximity to the places and events of 2012? Or is it related to the current political reality show that has become the United States government? Certainly, the attitudes and legal battles that have been given new venomous lives, are causing anxiety within me, within all of us who know what it means to fear for our own safety because who we are.

But, I believe that it has to do with something far more subtle than a global ethos or a cultural zeitgeist. It is a more nuanced thing, more fluid, like gender itself, that has brought me to this place of contemplation.

It was gossip about a person who had battled some form of mental illness or addiction as having "been in the psych ward," rather than taking appropriate care of their children. A hand was raised to the side of the mouth when the words were uttered, signifying a tidbit of information too private to speak at full volume, but too juicy not to share. It was as if the damning nature of such a fate was like an accident scene that one doesn't stop for, but cannot help but gawk at as it's passed. 

Shh, don't tell, don't say the words that might make me sound crazy. Keep them hidden in the recesses of shame, stigma, and silence. Keep quiet, keep still, pretend that it doesn't happen to people "like us." Ignore the gut-wrenching pain of the unmerciful torturers, the beast of mental illness, and the judgement of a world that makes you the beast. 

The irony I suppose is that in all of this, the transgender part of me had little or nothing to do with the medical and psychiatric care I needed. It wasn't my gender that was the problem, it was untreated Bipolar Disorder One, a disease that doesn't distinguish or care who you are, or how you are viewed. Indeed, it really doesn't care about sex, gender, sexual orientation, race, ethnicity, religion, political affiliations, age, or anything else. If you are mentally ill, it is a sickness in your brain, not in any of the packaging. 

And for the week I was inpatient, my gender identity was disclosed by me to only one other person, who also happened to be transgender. Surprisingly enough, that person was there for neurochemical reasons too, and the transgender identity was as irrelevant to their treatment needs as mine. 

Of course, being transgender, when labeled with a psychiatric diagnosis of Gender Identity Disorder for treatment purposes, i.e. hormone therapy, surgical procedures, etc. is by definition a mental illness. And with that, many people are in psychiatric facilities for depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, and suicide attempts because of that designation. Yes, being transgender can cause you to wind up in a psychiatric setting, but it doesn't mean that it will, or that it should.

And there's the crux of the issue. If and when I disclose my mental illness and my gender identity, they become inextricably linked for people who understand little or nothing about either one. I end up inhabiting the fear that my credibility, or that even my value as a human being is diminished by these coexisting forces in my life. 

Simply put, do people think I'm crazy because I'm trans, or I'm trans because I'm crazy?

I don't know, and I probably don't want to know.

What I do know though, is that right now, the juicy gossip, the truth, the lies, and the inaccuracies about all of us who are mentally ill, or are transgender, or are in any way different is affecting us daily. Anger/Fear at the "other," and at each other is nothing new, but the ability to spread it so fast and so far is. Words can be emissaries of love and hope, or violent harbingers of physical harm to come. With technology and media that travel at the speed of light, it is often difficult to know if the threats are real, or are merely the rantings of a scared and lonely person, suffering in their own state of depression. 

Either way, our anxiety rises, our rational selves erode, and our love for our neighbors is relegated to theory rather than practice. We cannot even see those we disagree with as our neighbors. It is safer to keep them as enemies, risking degradation of us all, rather than a little bit of humanity for just one person. That is crazy. 

The author in blue.

It's funny really, that when I was in a psych ward, transgender and all, the people around me, the other "crazy" ones treated me as a true neighbor. They applauded during a group therapy session when I said that I'd finally agreed to start taking medication. What a crazy way to experience unconditional love. 

Thank you for always being there on this legally crazy transgender, and sometimes psych ward filled journey with me.

Be well, love your neighbor as yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

- Ari

Of Real Transgender Dignity

Hello My Dear One,

I am back at work, special education in an elementary school setting, and I have spent the past weeks learning the ropes in a new building with new colleagues. At work, I interact with a wide variety of people, and as their and my perceptions intermingle, I catch glimpses of how I walk through the world. I see things in myself that I might not otherwise as my words and actions are reflected back to me in others' reactions. If I'm lucky it shines a light onto an issue I have been unable to name, especially one that hurts more than I can admit.

This time, it began when I started examining how and when I focus on the details, or whether I focus on the whole picture of my life. Mostly, I get stuck in the details, but sometimes I can see a blurry panorama where all those pesky pieces fit together and there is a wholeness to my life.  But sometimes it's not just my view that matters, and that's what I've been exploring most recently.

You see, there are people in this world who focus more on the details of my life, making my transgender identity the only thing they can see in or about me. One detail of my life becomes the whole picture. And when this happens, part and sometimes all of the picture of my dignity is lost within the ignorance, the unknowing, and sadly, the transphobia that surrounds me.

To be honest, I've always known that my transgender identity can be troubling for people. My intersex condition was a place of absolute shame and fear as a teenager and young adult, as I was forced to hide the physical characteristics of my maleness and pass as a female. It was a job that took all of my effort, my strength, and very nearly my life. As I began to transition from presenting myself to the world as a female to the true male that I am, each day brought a growing sense of self worth and pride. Knowing who you are, and that it is OK to be that person, is the greatest liberating force that I believe there is. But freedom comes with a price, and in the hetero-normative world that I live in, the cost is largely counted in dignity.

Each and every day I encounter some form of transphobia, be it on the large scale of the daily press, or on the most minute scale, when a coworker treats me just a little differently than others in the workplace. I revel in reading stories of transgender people in articles and profiles on the internet, but I dread the anonymous comments section that will usher in a flood of ignorant, hateful, and bigoted opinions about transgender individuals. Mostly, these comments are directed at the person featured in the article, yet all too often the sentiment blurs into a more encompassing worldview. Personal attacks become blatant attacks on an entire population, and I am a member of that population.

So too, when colleagues fail to know, learn, or use proper terminology in regards to LGBTQIQ people and issues, I may feel attacked, even when the intentionality isn't as obvious as the faceless haters hiding behind their computer keyboards. But when we are face to face with someone, we are less likely to be confrontational, instead, choosing a more subtle or passive aggressive form of discrimination. So, when I hear a coworker refer to a lesbian parent as the "father figure" of the couple, I raise my defenses, and question how safe I am in my workplace. I fear that there is not true support of who I am, and that my gender identity is a liability. And the underlying transphobia and intolerance seep into my consciousness. 

Despite years of living as myself, I am not immune to the vitriol that is projected onto me, whether directly or not. By engaging in life, I willingly engage in the positive and negative aspects of it. But what does it mean when it's personal? Why is the dignity of transgender people like me important? And why does it hurt more when I experience a loss of transgender dignity, than when it's the economic injustices, religious biases, and political beliefs that I may be attacked over?

Dignity. Being good enough. Being worthy. Being.

The word dignity comes from the Latin dignus "worth (n.), worthy, proper, fitting" from PIE *dek-no-, from root *dek- "to take, accept."1

The word dignity represents a concept that is thousands of years old, and at its most basic root level, tells us to take, to accept whatever is being offered to us. And in so doing, we receive what someone else is offering us. We take in the gift of someone else, and we accept it for what it is. It is affirming the worth of our own, and of each other's gifts. It is saying that who I am, who each one of us is, is worthy of acceptance, regardless of all other factors.

Ideally, we treat everyone we ever meet this way, holding their dignity as a precious and inherent right. But in reality, we treat others in ways we would never want to be treated. We judge, we condemn, we withhold forgiveness, we act in selfish, scared, and harmful ways, as we reject that which we cannot accept. We reject the different. We reject the other. We reject ourselves when we fail to see the Beloved Child of G-d in all people. By denying dignity we reduce each other to little more than soulless vessels. 

So, is there a difference between transgender dignity and inherent human dignity, when the bodily vessel is the actual matter at hand? Does the indignity matter more or less when transgender is the issue? What is the cost of dignity? 

I believe that there is a difference and that it matters because each transgender person has willingly entered into battle with themselves, their fellow human beings, and their G-d to become whole. Because I have chosen to be myself and have worked hard, risked everything, and lost much in order to live as the man I am. Because every transgender person I have met has done this too. And even though the cost may be unquantifiable, the ability to bear another's dignity is as great as any love there is.

I did not choose to go through years of therapy, surgeries, support groups, private and public scrutiny, and the loss of family, friends, and jobs, because it would be easy. I knew full well the tasks ahead of me, and I faced the truth, that my survival was worth more than the love and acceptance of others, even those closest to me.

I decided that I was worthy of living. I affirmed my own dignity, accepted who I was, who I am, and took it. I met myself where I was, and from there I was able to become who I needed to be.

A transgender man of dignity.

And that's why transgender dignity means all that it does to me, and I suspect for other transfolk as well. With the help of G-d, we have shaped, created, and loved ourselves into being. We have taken and accepted the bodily and emotional selves that we could no longer live as, and have made the whole people we are called to be. And when that self is criticized, overtly or with the cover of an almost imperceptible slight, as a transgender person we are cut more deeply, because we have worked so hard to be that self.

In the end, I know that I will continue to face discrimination as a transman, and that even when I am long dead and gone, there will be those who will reduce my life to my transgender identity. There will be those who will know my biology, but never know my story. But each day that I get up and choose to take and accept what those around me have to offer, I grant them, and I am granted with dignity. We are all worthy of G-d's unending acceptance of us, and we are all called to share that worthiness with every uniquely wonderful child of G-d.

Thank you for offering your gifts to me, and for accepting mine on this journey.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari



1 http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=dignity