I find myself spending a significant amount of time explaining gender identity to a wide variety of people. Some are just curious. Some are exploring their own gender issues. Some are potential friends or future lovers. Then there are those would like nothing better than use the conversation as an excuse to be confrontational and the means to gather information to exclude us from certain circles.
As a transgendered person, there seems to be no way around the discussion of gender. Being unique is an integral part of our existence. The fact that society is not quite prepared to deal with us, necessarily requires that we educate friends, acquaintances and even strangers in the hope being that armed with correct information they too will educate others and thereby potentially reduce the extent to which we are villified and discriminated against.
The quandary with the discussion lies in the imperfection of our language. When coupled with the amount of misinformation about us, which is taken as gospel, breaking through these fables or an individual's preconceived notions is often difficult and time consuming.
Transgenderism/transexuality seems to be understood mostly through either sensational talk shows or via journal articles written by those who study us or profess to treat us. These methods of disseminating information are often biased and full of misinformation stemming from the preconceived notions of the writer/host or the fact that the information used to form a particular conlusion has come from unreliable source(s) or both. For example, older articles in mental health journals are unreliable as they are based on information obtained through patient interviews or questionnaires. In the days before the earth cooled, gender reassignment surgery used to be accessible only through gender clinics. In order to be accepted as a candidate at the clinic you were required to undergo an interview process as well as a complex questionairre containing a variety of personal and probing questions which, in my opinion, have nothing whatsoever to do with gender identity. [It's none of your damned business what I fantasize about unless I choose to tell ya about it and I ain't shy in that regard].
Some people were denied treatment by the gender clinics for giving the "wrong" answers such as "I'm an FTM attracted to men" (i.e. gay). It does not take a rocket scientist to figure out that word spread as to what the "right" answers were. Consequently a number of the answers which have been provided over the years are blatantly false. Satistics and responses were taken as the gospel truth. Theories were postulated based on this incorrect information, yielding a number of misconceptions about us. For instance, not all of us were suicidal nor are we all straight nor do we have a secret handshake. The result is that those of us who were trying to get information about transition from these sources were left to unravel the half truths about us while forced to continue uttering the party line to ensure access to treatment.
The fact of the matter is that misconceptions get communicated to others or get created when the listener relies on myth or assumes that all transmen are the same and want the same things. The uninformed often understand transgenderism through clinical terms such as "gender dysphoria" or via the old standard of being "trapped in the body of the opposite sex". The term "gender dysphoria" has always left a bad taste in my mouth. It sounds like a disease or an ill fitting suit. Perhaps the fact that the phrase has been bandied about by health care professionals as if illness were the only reason for our existence that has me deadset against the d-word.
Language is not adequate to explain the depth and magnitude of what it feels like to be transgendered. Describing ourselves as "trapped" does remain one of the simplest means of conveying the reasoning behind the alteration of our birth bodies. It comes close, but falls short of the mark. For me there was a sense of feeling trapped, but I did not feel "trapped" within my body or "dysphoric" so much as I felt trapped by the expectations that accompanied other's perception of me as female. Growing up I did not identify as either male or female, but I could not totally escape the dictates of gender. My family and society perceived me as female and as such I was required to go into the "girls" restroom. It was an unspoken expectation that I would learn to cook, clean, sew, settle down, have kids, and things of that nature. I rebelled. Well not totally. I like to eat, so I eventually learned to cook. It's not gourmet caliber fare, but no one has complained. What is sad is that it took testosterone to make me comfortable enough to do some things which were expected of me as female. Gender has no place in defining activity, just as it has no business in defining career.
My self imposed gender blinders which served so well during childhood were shattered at puberty. The growth of my breasts and the commencement of a menstrual cycle was devastating. I knew that I was different, but I did not know how or why. It bothered me a great deal. I was told that my tomboyishness was just a phase. When I discovered that I was a lesbian, I thought that I had discovered the answer to why I was different. Here I had found a number of women who I had something in common with. I again was told that my lesbianism was just a phase. For a time I found succor within that community. While comfortable with my sexual identity, I remained uncomfortable with myself. I felt as if I were wearing a mask. Some piece of the puzzle was missing, but I just could not put my finger onwhere the piece fit let alone what it looked like. Something remained missing for me, but what? I found what I thought were the answers to the feelings of diversity, but again found myself unique within a particular group.
In retrospect, I wish that I had kept a meticulous journal. All that I have are memories which grow more and more imperfect with the passage of time. I did recently find some miscellaneous thoughts which I had managed to jot down way back when. One such writing stated:
"This `aloneness' is not loneliness. Far from it. It corresponds to my keen ability of not fitting in anywhere. I like to be my own person. A person not motivated by the mass mentality. Unfortunately this process is alienating in and of itself. I can not shut out society nor do I want to on the whole, but having people around does not always alleviate the feelings of alienation. Am I so different? What I wouldn't give to learn what others perceive of me. I could stake my life that the person that they perceive is not the real me. Maybe when I cease in my refusal to perceive myself will others gain the ability to truly perceive me. No matter how hard I try I am still insulated in layers of protection. . ."
The above passage was written in November of 1988. It's all pretty clear to me today, but back then I was just walking through a maze, trying desperately to find the way out. The feelings of alienation did not stem from my race. Race had never been an issue for me in that it was not what made me feel different than others. Plus there were a lot of other hispanic kids at school. Sexual orientation was not the basis for the alienation either. I had already come out and had a girlfriend when I wrote the above passage. I was happy in the relationship or so I recall. The feelings of alienation came from being in the world at large. It was a silent misery that I acknowledged from time to time, but did not discuss with anyone. Some thoughts and feelings are even too private to state aloud. The extent of my blindness is visible in retrospect. Then again all hindsight is 20/20.
At some point I came to the realization that I had body issues. I wanted to be more muscular than I was. I wanted facial hair. I convinced myself that I wanted these things, but I told myself that I did not wish to be a man. I once walked around the house with a dildo on while my girlfriend was on vacation, but that of course was merely butch curiosity (at least that's what I told myself). I told her what I had done when she returned. She got a very quizzical look on her face and asked, "do you wish you were a man?" I vehemently denied it. How could I admit this to her when I could not even admit it to myself. At that time I was aware of the existence of drag queens and I had heard of sex changes, but I had no idea that there was anything even remotely to me.
I had one gynecologist have the audacity to tell me that I could take hormones to reduce the amount of body hair that I had. In other words, body hair on women was unsightly. What she wanted me to do was take estrogen or something of the like to treat the fact that I appeared to have a high concentration of androgens running through my system. It made me angry that she would throw her preconceived notions as to what was attractive in women. As a proud butch, I declined "treatment". While I had body image problems, hirsuiteness was not one of them. In fact I wanted more body hair. I did not return to her, but I do sort of regret not checking my hormone levels at the time.
Unbeknownst to me, I came face to face with an FTM at a cowboy bar. There was this cute short baby-faced guy who I hadn't seen before. He seemed sort of shy and what the hay, I asked him to dance. We and a few other regular dance partners became quite close and hung out for awhile. The only thing that seemed odd is that he never ordered anything to drink, not even mineral water, and I never saw him go into the bathroom. Later another woman disclosed to me that he was FTM, as if that would shock me into not wanting to pal around with him anymore. I told her that I didn't really care and that who he used to be was none of my business anyway. I filed the information. I just wasn't ready to face the possibility that I could be trans.
I later came out into leather and found that I had the opportunity to play with gender a lot more than was permissible in a vanilla relationship. I was never quite a separatist, but up until that time the majority of the people in my life were women. When leather became a part of my life, the presence of men became more and more common. We discussed our sexuality. I discovered male pornography. I read books and magazines, rented sex videos and discovered that there was a big difference between heterosexual, gay and lesbian porn. The straight flicks were boring. The allegedly lesbian scenes were ridiculous and more than likely written or scripted by straight men. The sex in these movies left a lot to be desired. The lesbian movies were better, but did not hold my attention for long. The women were much more appealing than in the straight films, but they didn't seem to be having very much fun. The men, well, the men were incredible. Here on the screen were guys actually enjoying themselves or doing a damned good job of faking it. This is not to say that all male porn is exceptional. It's not. I just found it more stimulating and exciting. Maybe it's because the sight of two men were novel to me. Maybe it was the fact that we were disimilar.
My lovelife changed drastically during this period of discovery. My girlfriend and I picked each other up in gay bars and enacted fantasies. I had always been attracted to both butches and femmes, butwould up in relationships with femmes. Butch on butch was frowned upon at the time. I spent my free time with butches either at cowboy bars or at a local bar once a week. My girlfriend decided that I needed to explore butch on butch a little closer and set up a rendesvous for me. Later, in her mind it portended the beginning of the end of our relationship.
It was at a leather conference amongst a sea of butches that I discovered that there were formerly butch dykes who were identifying as FTM and taking hormones. My entire world crashed in on me. What I had relied on in forming the foundation of my identity was no longer true. I began to examine my life in greater depth. I knew that I was on the horns of a dilemma and that I had been blind to the fact that I was transgendered. The sign posts were all there. It's just that before they had been written in a foreign language.
I returned from the conference and, along with a couple of friends, began attending what were then quarterly support group meetings in San Francisco. It did not take long for me to start therapy, painstakingly wait the requisite three month convincing my therapist that I was trans, then proceed with the taking of hormones.
I don't feel alienated anymore, but I am not disillusioned enough to believe that there are sufficient pockets of acceptance for us to survive without turmoil. The feelings of being different no longer haunt me as they did. For the most part I celebrate my differences. While I still do not totally and completely fit in any one place, including the FTM community, I doubt if anyone ever really does fit totally and completely within one group. There is always something that sets people apart. While similarities are desirable as a means of support, I for one do not wish to be surrounded by people who think, feel, and espouse the same dogmas. A healthy difference of opinion can be like a breath of fresh air.
Who really gets to define community and who gets to say who stays or who goes? We no longer living tribal villages where exile meant death or small towns where being run out on a rail or tarring and feathering were ways to deal with those who were different from whatever the norm was perceived to be in that community. Gender is not bipolar. Being transgendered does not necessarily mean that the individual is moving from one end of the gender spectrum to another as if linear were the only way to view the world. Gender is as varied as Chinese cuisine. There are a number of tasty and succulent dishes available. Dykes began to understand that misogyny was not a prerequisite to being FTM. That becomeing FTM does not require a betrayal of the matriarchy or anything else of the sort. We did not become the enemy although we continue to pose as convenient targets.
For me transition (for lack of a better word), was about the total and complete dichotomy between how I perceived and felt about myself and how the world at large perceived me. I did not give up one for the other although there are a number of people who will argue that I did. As far as I am concerned, I became a more well rounded person. That's not to say that everyone taking hormones is well rounded or that it's the way to get there. As my journey continued, I became less angry and more satisfied with my life. My level of negativity dropped. How can you explain to someone who does not wish to hear that being transgendered is not a cop out? That it is not an easy way to live. That it has it's burdens as well as its blessings and that it has those only because it happened to be the right thing for me. There is a tendency to believe that hormones will make it ALL better. It doesn't. That life will suddenly be perfect. It won't. Hormones, transition, etc., are not the end all and be all of the problems that accompany life in general.
Hormones just helped my body correspond to the mental image that I had of myself. In time, I developed better self-esteem and gained peace of mind. However, peace of mind is not without it's price. My feelings of self acceptance were bought and paid for by outward discomfort in certain situations. That's a good way of explaining my gender identity. Before hormones, my discomfort was internalized. Now it's externalized. Certain social situations will trigger discomfort. For instance, I used to be completely at ease in women's only space. My identity and physical appearance as a dyke made it okay. I no longer feel comfortable in these settings.
There are those who claim that you can not have your cake and eat it too, but how much of this is sour grapes. I identify as both woman and man. I am a faggot and a dyke [this was true in the late 90's when I originally wrote this article, but that's not how I feel today (2005). I could not bring myself to editing this out because that would have erased a part of my life that was very important to the person that I am today]. I support the right for each person to make their own choice. Male and female are not mutually exclusive as perceived by society. The fact that intersexed communities are becoming more and more vocal about this is assiting change for ourselves. It is bothersome that life is not peceived in such a fashion. I get the sense that this is what runs through the majority of the women's minds who seek to ostracise us from the lesbian community. On some level they feel that life is easier for us than it is for them. That we are traitors or some other such nonesense. That can not be further from the truth.
What is disconcerting is that I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time explaining to gays and lesbians that I did not choose to be this way, just like they did not choose to be homosexual. The only point where choice is involved in is choosing to do something about it. Perspectives change, whereas before I needed to justify my identification as a man, I find myself now justifying my identification as a dyke. While I continue to identify as a dyke, have dyke friends and lovers, the fact that I have facial hair and am clearly read as male, makes being in that space with a bunch of strangers somewhat awkward. What I used to do is to immediately take my shirt off when I entered women's space. My breasts tended to take the charge out of the facial hair. It did tend to reduce the amount of ruckus.
The awkwardness does not stem from how I feel about myself, but that my mere presence seems to make certain women uneasy. That in turn makes me uneasy. Suddenly it was as if I was always on the defensive. Such an attitude can rapidly interfere with a good time. It's easier if there are a large number of people who know me in the room. That allows me to socialize and relax in the space wile others leery about my presence in the space have time to chill. What is most interesting is that those who are the greatest disturbed by me, won't come up and talk aboutwhat it is that is bothering them. It always runs beneath the surface and certainly behind your back. I absolutely abhor it when a dyke I am dating or am friendly with has her sexual orientation called into question. It's guilt by association. Anyone who speaks out in my favor or who does not follow the politically correct whims of the community of the moment is out on their ear. I think that type of behavior is petty and foolish and is being openly practiced on the east coast of the United States.
What is most interesting is that the lesbian community which is now tolerant of butch femme relationships allows most butches to get away with far more than they would allow genetic men to get away with. Some of the efforts to get rid of us stems from feeling of betrayal or somehow that we have life better than they do. While that may appear to be true it is not the whole story. No one is immune from crime. Yes, men have less to fear walking down the street, unless that man is perceived as gay then the likelihood of being bashed makes him at risk. With testosterone comes the increased risk of heart disease. There is a possibility of liver malfunction, of polycystic ovaries, of male pattern baldness, but I would not trade these possibilities for the shadow life that I was living before. The men make more money line also fails. We are required to disclose our work histories. Histories which are often checked and are not possible of being corroborated except in the most fortunate of circumstances. Having to contact prior employers to inform them of a name change, so that you can try to get a job that you might lose if someone discovers who you are does not sound like privilege to me. The manner in which society is structured forces us to either deal with whatever crap flies in our direction or to hide our past in the hope that it never sees the light of day. The process is not a fun one.
I feel the same level of discord in men's only space, but for different reasons. My appearance will not cause any distress, but inevitably there is clothing optional space or a hot tub or sauna or something of the like that will make me uncomfortable. You see I still have all of my original parts. So in either situation the possibility that I will be ostracized is a given. How I chose to deal with it is not. I have found that if I refrain from taking offense or becoming emotionally involved in whatever the dilemma becomes and am willing to discuss my views and opinions, the results are much better.
Change happens either through patience or revolution. I'm too tired to fight, but am far from patient. Some people just won't get it, but mostly folks are willing to talk. It all boils down to a body image thing.
So why did I even bother? Well, there are a lot of reasons. I wasn't happy before. I felt alone and isolated. Sometimes it was loneliness. Sometimes it was akin to depression. I felt like an imposter walking in the world. The person who I was, was not the whole me. I was incomplete. It affected my life and my relationships. I now feel whole. I'm not really going from one place to another. I'm here where I should be. There are joys and pains as with everything else. Life is not about the destination, its all in the journey and what you learn along the way.
Copyright October 22, 1995
By Michael M. Hernandez
All Rights Reserved
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