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  1. This is the fifth in a Series of reports of the past 6 months of my transitioning. I truly need only this from the Public: No Threats, No Menacing, No Violence. A lot of rudeness is legal; & I refuse to call a little old lady Hitler for rolling her eyes at me in the ladies’ room [No, that hasn’t happened! But, y’know, tomorrow’s a new day, so…]. I’m better than that—even if she clearly isn’t. There is nothing more radical for a transgender person than this: live your truth, never forget to love yourself, & don’t let anyone (including occasionally—& very unfortunately—your own transsisters & transbrothers) get you down!! Taco Bell drive-thru. If you only knew how many minutes of my life have been in these things! I even asked MIT for a tally & all they’d say was: Numbers just don’t go that high! So, I’m head-to-toe presenting, from wig-to-heels. I’m working the voice. No, I’ve never been guilty of Mickey Mouse or Mrs. Doubtfire! Anyhoodles, I was apparently decidedly ambiguous (then, anyway) for my order-taker. I pulled up & unfortunately could hear the guy working the register, even behind those tiny glass & metal double doors separating them from we in our cars. He was leaning way over to his right, away from me, when I caught this: It’s a Man! Yeah. That happened. I felt fairly bad, I confess. On the drive home I recalled those details. He didn’t say it to my face; he was (in his way) attempting to conceal these pointless, mean words from me—this much is clear. Still, it hurt more than a touch. But I was over it an hour or so after I got home. Kroger. This was unusual & complex. It points to my unfortunate talent of being both deeply intuitive & uncannily perceptive (and effortlessly humble, to be sure!! I mean, everyone says so!!). [Moving 30+ times in your life has a way of greatly sharpening your senses, I assure you.] Ruthie & I were in the Kroger parking lot, walking towards its namesake. Their woman security guard—heavyset—was standing outside. As we approached closer, she suddenly turned ‘round, & scampered inside. Once we were inside Ruthie (Anarchist as always) just walked directly through the Self-Checkout section to go inside the store proper. Dutifully I followed, with my apologetic She’s a pistol! But I love her! -expression on my face. As I did there was the security guard, out-of-breath, smiling like having just finished laughing, as she walked past me. There was another woman, younger, a Kroger employee who was the Overseer of the Self-Checkout Area. She was smiling slightly. The whole thing felt…wrong, weird, off. But how? Once we got our stuff we were right back there at Self-Checkout, but separately; Ruthie buying her thing, & me mine. It was then that I looked over & saw the security guard again. She was at her post now, inside obviously, back against the wall, across from Self-Checkout. I looked at her briefly, assessing as my intuition & my rationality had a confab. [Moving 30+ times in your life has a way of greatly sharpening your senses, I assure you.] And then it all hit me. This is what had happened: once she saw me in the parking lot, the security guard just had to tell the Overseer about this transgender woman (doubtless, this was the term deployed, yes?) who was rapidly approaching the entrance! Get a load of this!! In her hurry & with her heft, she was a quite breathy when I walked past her. Plus, with all the chortles & yucks as she informed the Overseer, I’m impressed the poor woman was able to (barely) maintain her composure as she reassumed her post. I was very angry. It felt… INSIDIOUS. Even though her transphobia had been disguised similarly as the Taco Bell guy had been, it really bothered me. I showed nothing, however. As I purchased my groceries, I decided to deliberately lock eyes with her & maintain it as I departed for as long as I could. I did so. My look showed her nothing; no contempt, no hurt, no disgust—for there was no point to, when my stare would suffice. Her face met my face, as I made my way. Only this time I made sure she saw in me The Gaze of The Other. The only point of which was: to make SURE she knew that I KNEW perfectly well what she did, & now? That she KNOWS that I KNOW. Of these two admittedly minor/utterly legal displays of transphobia, as you’d imagine, the final one stayed with me the longest. It haunted me. Or, what it revealed to me, haunted me. Cos it wasn’t her. No. It was this: I’M ENTERTAINMENT. At least, potentially. I’m a possible show for the random rude folks of the world. The “get a load of this man in a dress!!”—guffawing gawkers. That stayed with me. It was during this time of reflection that I came up with the observation regarding rudeness & legality. It was a Reality Check to my heretofore stated ideal of No Menace, No Threats, No Violence. I don’t wanna be full of youknowwhat. I’m here a proud transwoman because of my steadfast refusal to accept the False in my life; and yet, I’ve had tons of it, haven’t I? Talking to Ruthie about the Kroger incident I told her this: 20 years ago? Ok, so I had zero idea I was born a woman. I’m trans & it was news to me. But like I would never be rude to someone—a stranger? Not a buddy? Or a family member, joking around? But a complete stranger? If me then—pseudo-self—had seen a transwoman 20 years ago? I won’t lie. I would’ve thought Oh wow! Guy in a dress! Man, that’s sure weird! I bet he’s got some kinda story, huh? But I would’ve NEVER done anything to that transwoman. NEVER speak. NEVER roll my eyes. ZERO. I would’ve been thinking transphobic crap—no doubt, ok?! But I’d NEVER breached etiquette & done what that security guard did tonight. NO WAY. Ruthie, Mistress of Understatement as always, squeezed my thigh in support & said But, you were raised right. You’re always polite—whether you were your true self or not. But a lot of people aren’t. It’s just this, I’ve decided: WE’RE NEVER NOT NEW. No matter how settled we may be in our places of work, friends, neighbors, families. There’s always the realization that going to a restaurant means DISPLAY. For you are (potentially) ENTERTAINMENT. When you’re cis & other things are equal, the odds are, this isn’t the case. Violet…is growing up. Sigh. But I’m alright with this. Now. But it means understanding & accepting that this I-may-be- Entertainment-for-some-rude-person—potential cannot be extirpated, merely accepted. So, I have: world’s worst Stoic, as I am. Instead, I focus on how I feel & how I look; there’s nothing I can do to truly prevent Random Rudeness. It is legal, so it is accepted. (Micro-Rant: Legally, what truly matters, in my view, are new/or proposed laws, be they bigoted bathroom bills or tortuously trying to stop transkids from safely using puberty-blockers, or seemingly never proposed new laws like laws banning all trans-panic defenses in courtrooms. Ugh! Don’t get me started!). Anyhoodles, to be blunt: I may’ve been actually more offended by the Kroger incident as a lifelong polite person, than as a “baby” transwoman! As Violet's famous rejoinder to Sartre asserts: Hell is not other people, Jean-Paul. Hell is other rude people. ; )
  2. Astrid

    Gender Truth Comes Out

    Gender Truth Comes Out Coming Out: A day that Etched itself forever in my memory. Date. Time. Place. I affirmed, out loud, that I was crossing over what had been a boundary. With new ways of expressing my being, my doing, my appearance. The Me Inside made careful forays of being visible to the You Outside. Coming Out: it inevitably receded into the past. Etched in my memory are the experiences that followed. Dates. Times. Places. I affirmed the precious – my gender identity – to trusted friends. What was formerly new became confidently routine. The Me Inside was consistent and always visible to the You Outside. Coming Out: and so, I continue; I come out into another year. The Swedish language has a phrase that is shared at the end of each December: God fortsättning. Happy continuation. May each of us who continue along the Path of Coming Out affirm that we made the right choice: The Old Me was my Gender Lie. The New Me is my Gender Truth. Peace, Astrid Thanksgiving 2019
  3. TrIIIy

    Mom does not approve

    I came out to my mom about 5 years ago, and from the get go she was appalled. She said that she would never stop loving me, but she did not approve of my being transgender. I realized then that my actual transition would be an uphill battle, especially since I live with her. This past week I was finally approved to start testosterone. I was SO excited! I called the pharmacy and found out that it was covered by my insurance - even better! But when I told my mother, she immediately fell into a depression/suppressed rage. She has been snapping at me about every little thing that I do and sleeping a lot. In short, I feel like a have come out to her a second time because of her reaction. It’s a major downer to my happiness of starting T. I don’t want her to be sad or angry at me, and I know that I’m not doing anything wrong, but it hurts to know that after all this time she is still so disapproving of my transition. Just needed to vent. Thanks for reading. -Trey
  4. Hi, I'm new here, I just joined the community. I am very, very happy that I can finally talk about myself. So, this year in January I accidentally came out to my mother as a transgender man. She panicked if I was kidding or not, then started to ask expected questions like "were you sexually assaulted; why do you think you would be happy as a man; why do you think that people will love you as a man; do you like girls or boys etc." I tried to give clear answers to her, but I ended up crying because I didn't even plan to come out, it just happened suddenly. I got stressed and confused incredibly fast. After that she too started to cry, and just stared at me. Later she said let's talk about it some other time. In the summer I started to initiate conversations about this with her, but she either started to cry or fell asleep while I was talking... I know it must be a lot to her, considering I never talked about either myself or anything, really, so everything came out with a force I couldn't control. Not that bad so far. Since then she started to call me by my birthname way more often than before, and calls me with all kinds of -crappy- girlish petnames possible. I want to look over that because she's my mother, she can call me whatever she wants, however much it hurts me. She acts like nothing happened. But when we converse with my sister and this topic comes up, it shows that she's been researching the surgery part of it, but talks away from me. I'm very sad that I can't talk to her, I don't want to break the good relationship we had thus far. I don't know what to do, how to approach her. Can anyone give me advice about this matter? Thank You for your time reading this!
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