Sometimes I worry that my essays will not speak to the needs of this community. More specifically, my worry is that only a small number of participants will find value in what I say. One reason I suggest that possibility is how strongly I now identify as a woman. Some readers probably would admit that they (i) do not identify as women, (ii) do not believe a “man” should ever to allowed in women-only spaces (thereby admitting that either they see themselves as a man or don’t mind violating their own views on the subject when they need to use a bathroom or changing room), (iii) believe they are appearing as women as a form of personal or artistic expression, or (iv) are still exploring their identity and cannot decide how they identify. As someone who identifies as a transgender woman, I may therefore be a minority within a community that is itself a minority of the general population.
If you have read what I have written lately, you will know that I am happily married (we are in our fifth decade), and that I live about half my life as a woman. Because I am married, and my wife does not identify as a lesbian, I cannot be myself around her or in social circles we frequent together. Therefore, I cannot change my “sex” on any legal document and remain married. I would rather die than give up my amazing life partner, so that isn’t going to happen. Still, I need to feel whole, and for that reason I am on female hormones. The result has been amazing, and I do not ever want to go back to a life without them. The changes the hormones have wrought mean I cannot safely change clothes in a male changing room. Moreover, I feel discomfort when using a men’s bathroom, even when appearing as a male. It feels like a microaggression from society, yet I soldier on, using only stalls and trying to get in and out as quickly as possible. A toilet is after all just a toilet, I remind myself, wherever it may be. I also admonish myself that when you have to go, it is wisest to choose the least worst option rather than suffer renal failure!
When I am in a women’s bathroom or in a women’s changing room or in other spaces intended or specified as “women-only,” I am always deeply respectful. Why wouldn’t I be? If I want to be accepted, I must accept an extra burden to go above and beyond. That means never showing the part of my body that would be out of place in those spaces, much in the way that one might hide a mangled limb not out of embarrassment, but simply to avoid causing another person discomfort. To be clear, it would do violence to me under these circumstances to insist that I use only changing rooms and bathrooms that align with my legal documents even when it is Lisa who is going to the bathroom or doing the changing. And if I were to be sent to a jail for any reason, I would expect to be in a space for women or (at a minimum) a space where I am segregated from men. Otherwise, I would be in danger. Anyone thinking otherwise is either being unrealistic or completely calloused.
Yet, the messaging I am getting from society in general these days is that I am violating a basic law of the universe by living as I do. Many individuals focus on biology, forgetting that biology is complex, including not only reproductive organs, but also the brain, the genetic code, the ways the genetic code “signals” the brain and the body, and the development of a person from birth to adulthood. They throw around the word “biology” as if it is binary, fixed, and immutable. None of us are the same “person” today as we were at birth. We have lost all those cells and have created new ones. Some of us have had to have joints replaced and organs removed, and some of us have undergone cosmetic surgeries. Focusing on just the reproductive organs as reflecting a person’s “biology” is overly simplistic. Most importantly, for me that argument completely ignores the way my own brain has developed, and the way that my body has responded to my brain. I object vehemently to characterizations (or should I say “mischaracterizations”) of my identity as objectionable. I am a human assigned male at birth due to one (observed) exterior sexual organ. I do not identify as a male. I am so much more than a single organ, which is only a small lump of flesh and blood. Let me add my opinion that focusing on that single organ fits neatly into a misogynistic view of our world. Everything gets defined by that organ and the power it gives to anyone possessing one. No wonder all the gender identity issues today focus on transwomen, not on transmen. No one is horrified at the thought of a “woman” invading a male-only space, but people are outraged about the thought of a “man” invading a woman-only space.
Because I know some readers here do not believe a “biological male” (their term) should be allowed into women’s-only spaces, I would love to hear arguments for why you think that way. You would be surprised how many of those arguments are rooted in a sense that males are superior to females. The arguments often devolve to something akin to “males are the predators in our society” (and so women need a place safe from men), or that women who have been abused by a male need a safe space away from males (may I raise my hand here, as someone who was physically abused by a male and needs the same kind of safe space, if what society is creating is a safe space from predators?), or that “God created only males and females” in the Hebrew Bible (thereby establishing the gender binary, not only for society but for each individual person, forever). An offshoot of this final argument is simply the “argument from biology,” which I challenged earlier in this essay as impossibly simplistic and deterministic. In any case, I am well endowed (!) with the mental faculty to take on these arguments. I must, because presented as they are and with the results they intend, they damn me forever.
You may remember that I have stopped using the term “passing” as it relates to my identity and refer now to my “acceptance” by others. I don’t like the term passing because it sounds like I am trying to assume an identity that doesn’t belong to me. But I am not trying to pass myself off as anything other than myself. Let me underscore the point: I am not a “male” trying to pass as a “female” so that I can “invade” women’s spaces. When people accept my identity, I feel good. I have been fortunate for the past six or seven years to receive acceptance, which means that I use women-only spaces safely and without objection, with cisgender female friends and strangers alike. My hormones have given me more confidence, which serves as a strong feedback loop for acceptance. And I know that the hormones have turned on and turned off different cell signals in my body – all of which results in greater acceptance.
Lately, I have been reading again a book first published in the early 1960’s called “Black Like Me.” It is about a civil rights reporter who decided he needed to have a “real life” experience as a Black person, if he was going to write honestly about what it was like to be a Black person in America before the Civil Rights Era. With the help of a dermatologist, he took medication which, when combined with ultraviolet light, turned his skin dark. He enhanced the look with dye and by shaving his head so his hair wouldn’t give him away. In other words, instead of a Black person “passing” as white, he was a white person “passing” as black. I was fascinated to read again his reaction to seeing himself in the mirror for the first time with dark skin. He describes seeing in the mirror the face of a stranger. “He in no way resembled me – the transformation was total, shocking,” said the author (John Howard Griffin). He went on to say that he had expected to see himself disguised, but he felt imprisoned in the flesh of an utter stranger with whom he felt no kinship. He indicated that even his senses went through a change so profound that it filled him with distress, and his inclination was to fight against all those feelings. He knew with certainty that there is no such thing as a disguised white man, when the black won’t rub off. The completeness of the transformation appalled him. He became two men: the observing one and the one who felt “negroid” (his term) into his depths. He immediately felt lonely, because the person he knew was now hidden within the flesh of another.
As I read those words again, I was struck by how honestly they reflect the feelings of someone forced to live an identity that is not their own. If anyone reading this essay wonders where they fall on the transgender spectrum, I suggest that they reflect on those words and see if they have ever accurately reflected how they feel when they express themselves as a woman. A person who strongly identifies as a male, if forced to live full-time as a woman, would be horrified by the prospect. It would go against everything they know about themselves. They might be willing to be on stage for a night, or allow themselves to express some feminine sentiments, or briefly wear clothing they enjoy, but they couldn’t imagine being put in a position where they couldn’t take off the costume and return to being “him” whenever they wished. Psychiatrists once required a real-life test for transfeminine males who wanted to transition for this exact reason. They wanted their patients to see for themselves what it felt like to be unable to change back. I believe reflecting on the question can help all of us think through where we land on the transgender spectrum. There is no wrong answer. Presenting the extremes is an exercise used to help with self-discovery, not a litmus test for where anyone belongs.
For the record, I absolutely love being able to express myself fully 24/7, and I have done so for a month or more at a time on more than one occasion. I find that I have a bit of depression when I am forced back into my 50/50 lifestyle after these periods, although I dash the depression by reminding myself why I make that sacrifice. I love my wife and family and value the part of myself that prioritizes them. Still, my truth remains: I am naturally a woman.
Now perhaps you better understand why I like the word “acceptance” rather than “passing” and why I am strongly opposed to efforts to prevent transgender women from using the facilities that are safest for them, both physically and psychologically. Those who think of their own gender as immutable in the same way that John Howard Griffin thought of his race will never understand me. From them, therefore, I ask for understanding and a willingness to hear my personal story. If they will listen, perhaps their opposition will fade. And you, dear readers, I would ask only that you continue to examine your own views, stay true to yourself and be kind to others.
