There has been something missing here of late. Regular readers might have noticed their reading material has strayed into the mundanity of rural life and random political rants. This is a transgender person's blog, so where's the tranny content, damnit!
The answer's a bit complex. On a simple level I do not wish to simply churn out an endless transition diary or scorecard of the glamorous and exciting transgender lifestyle, whatever that is. In my view the best offerings from this sphere are those from bloggers who happen to be transgender, rather than those from transgender bloggers which can get rather stale.
But on a more complex level there are issues that need to be confronted, yet that it is difficult to talk about. Things that involve my wife, for example. I feel that while I can talk about myself in specific terms it is unfair on her to talk about her in the same way in a forum on which she can not speak for herself.
So what can I talk about. Guilt, I guess. All the walls, roadblocks and barriers behind which I've spent most of my life hiding have now fallen away. My wife has made it pretty clear that we'd both be better off were I to move forward. I can do it too, I'm confident in the world presenting as female. I shock myself with how well I manage at it. I don't have to deal with wigs or trowel on the makeup, I have an employer with whom I could transition tomorrow and nobody would bat an eyelid and I live in a place that's about as good as it gets to be transgender.
Yet I'm hanging back from the edge of the abyss, scared even to peer over it.I've really tried these last few years to hang in there, to manage this condition and find a way to be the husband she deserves, and to move forward would be a betrayal, a failure and a waste of all that emotional investment.
Some people write endless screeds justifying why they should transition. Maybe they need to convince themselves it's the right thing for them to do. I guess I've known for years it was the right thing to do and I've done the opposite, trying to convince myself that it's the wrong thing for me to do. That was a big waste of time, wasn't it.
In January, I'll be seeing my specialist at the GIC again. By May I'll have been with them for a couple of years and they'll discharge me if there's nothing more they can do for me. So I have a few months in which I have to make up my mind. If I want to transition under their care then January is the time at which I have to start. Not the end of the world, for theirs is not the only path through this mess, but a pretty stark choice nevertheless.
You see, if you are going to transition it has to be for the right reasons. I've seen enough people doing it for all the wrong reasons, caught up in the pink cloud, and I have no wish to emulate them. The pink cloud has long ago departed for me, but I need to have better justification than avoidance of a delay in the medical pathway. There is more at stake than just my path here.
So there we go. I'm standing on the edge. I don't need pushing from either direction and surprisingly thanks to the help of my counselor and others things are pretty good all round, but I can no longer dodge the decision. I'm beginning to think it'll probably be a yes, but that's by no means certain.
Strangely enough, that admission in itself brings a feeling of relief. Unexpected, that.
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Saturday, 1 September 2012
Sunday, 31 July 2011
On respect
It troubles me at times as I observe the more fractious among our wider community in the real world, on forums, and in the blogosphere, that I am witnessing behaviour that can only be damaging. I've been through several stages in my reaction to the squabbles of others, through annoyance and depression and back to annoyance again, but now I am just sad to witness disparate factions tearing themselves apart. It doesn't have to be this way.
You may well have seen last week's T-Central poll. It was a course of action we decided upon in response to some very personal invective directed at one of our number, and it concerned our deletion policy. It was interesting to read some of the responses to it from other bloggers. I posted fairly similar explanatory comments in my usual (I hope) reasoned style on the blogs criticising our action and was rather unsurprised when some of them weren't published. Now who's the censor.
A few people said they would have done things differently. Someone suggested splitting up the T-Central list into categories. I don't think that would work, not enough space on the page and a nightmare alphabet soup of definitions to contend with. With my wicked sense of humour I wondered whether three categories would suffice, The Trannies, The Definitely-Not-Trannies, and The Trannier-Than-Thou. But that, though mildly amusing, would not be appropriate. It would put me firmly among those who prompted the poll, because it would make me guilty of a lack of respect.
Important word, respect. Sometimes I think we don't see enough of it hereabouts.
Respect is about separating who someone is from what they are. Simple, isn't it. The what concerns identity and path, the who concerns personality and actions. By all means attack someone for their who, but leave their what out of it. Because who concerns the individual while what concerns everyone else like them. Insult a whole group in your attack on an individual, and respect has long departed from the equation.
Might I propose a rule of thumb in this sphere?
If you wouldn't go somewhere in the context of a natal man or woman, don't do so in the context of a trans man, woman, genderqueer, androgyne or other identity. Whatever they are. People are different, get over it.
If I meet a natal man or woman in the street or at work, I do not metaphorically peer into their underwear to speculate on their genitals. Even though there is an extremely wide variation in naturally occurring genitalia of both varieties. I don't question their gender identity, they are presenting as male or female therefore I accept them as such. Though I may sometimes privately question their sartorial choices I don't attack their appearance either. Some natal women are ugly, have hairy arms, or big feet.
And similarly if I meet a trans man or woman I don't attack their paths. I don't misgender them and I don't get inside their underwear. It matters not to me what they get up to in the bedroom or whether or not they have forgone the ability to write their names in the snow. I would prefer people didn't behave this way towards me, so why should I think I can do it to someone else? We are all different in this sphere, and while I often see paths which I think are unwise I express my reservations privately. Identities are myriad and personal, and are not to be turned into pejoratives.
If however I meet someone who is an arsehole, I will treat them accordingly. Because being an arsehole is about the who, not the what. I will respect them to the extent that the language you will see me using here will be lucid and not profane, but I have no worries about attacking them on the basis of being an arsehole. Being an arsehole is independent of identity.
Part of me feels rather sad that I feel I have to write this piece. To enumerate what should be self-evident, particularly within a minority all of whose members are likely to have experienced such a lack of respect from outsiders.
But then again I guess there are arseholes everywhere. I'm sure none of you would wish to be among them though, would you.
You may well have seen last week's T-Central poll. It was a course of action we decided upon in response to some very personal invective directed at one of our number, and it concerned our deletion policy. It was interesting to read some of the responses to it from other bloggers. I posted fairly similar explanatory comments in my usual (I hope) reasoned style on the blogs criticising our action and was rather unsurprised when some of them weren't published. Now who's the censor.
A few people said they would have done things differently. Someone suggested splitting up the T-Central list into categories. I don't think that would work, not enough space on the page and a nightmare alphabet soup of definitions to contend with. With my wicked sense of humour I wondered whether three categories would suffice, The Trannies, The Definitely-Not-Trannies, and The Trannier-Than-Thou. But that, though mildly amusing, would not be appropriate. It would put me firmly among those who prompted the poll, because it would make me guilty of a lack of respect.
Important word, respect. Sometimes I think we don't see enough of it hereabouts.
Respect is about separating who someone is from what they are. Simple, isn't it. The what concerns identity and path, the who concerns personality and actions. By all means attack someone for their who, but leave their what out of it. Because who concerns the individual while what concerns everyone else like them. Insult a whole group in your attack on an individual, and respect has long departed from the equation.
Might I propose a rule of thumb in this sphere?
If you wouldn't go somewhere in the context of a natal man or woman, don't do so in the context of a trans man, woman, genderqueer, androgyne or other identity. Whatever they are. People are different, get over it.
If I meet a natal man or woman in the street or at work, I do not metaphorically peer into their underwear to speculate on their genitals. Even though there is an extremely wide variation in naturally occurring genitalia of both varieties. I don't question their gender identity, they are presenting as male or female therefore I accept them as such. Though I may sometimes privately question their sartorial choices I don't attack their appearance either. Some natal women are ugly, have hairy arms, or big feet.
And similarly if I meet a trans man or woman I don't attack their paths. I don't misgender them and I don't get inside their underwear. It matters not to me what they get up to in the bedroom or whether or not they have forgone the ability to write their names in the snow. I would prefer people didn't behave this way towards me, so why should I think I can do it to someone else? We are all different in this sphere, and while I often see paths which I think are unwise I express my reservations privately. Identities are myriad and personal, and are not to be turned into pejoratives.
If however I meet someone who is an arsehole, I will treat them accordingly. Because being an arsehole is about the who, not the what. I will respect them to the extent that the language you will see me using here will be lucid and not profane, but I have no worries about attacking them on the basis of being an arsehole. Being an arsehole is independent of identity.
Part of me feels rather sad that I feel I have to write this piece. To enumerate what should be self-evident, particularly within a minority all of whose members are likely to have experienced such a lack of respect from outsiders.
But then again I guess there are arseholes everywhere. I'm sure none of you would wish to be among them though, would you.
Thursday, 21 April 2011
Feminist blogs: like a work-safe erotic computer game
Back in the 1990s I worked in the computer game business. I shared an office with a bunch of games testers, young late-teenaged blokes whose job was to play computer games all day. It was a colourful atmosphere with more than a whiff of unregulated testosterone and other substances about it, and though I am very glad to have moved on those days still conjure a slight sense of nostalgia.
A few days ago I was unexpectedly reminded of the testers by an unlikely stimulus, I followed a link from another blogger and found myself dipping once more into the world of feminist blogs. Though I've made no secret of my irritation with the hate-preaching sector of feminism I found the blogs I was looking at had some sense about them and I found myself agreeing with their writers.
In the normal course of events I might have done what I would in our little corner of the blogosphere: stopped for a while and left a few comments. But I found the usual page on a feminist blog: 'Advice before you comment'. Full of -isms and privileges both real and imagined, and boasts of debating gambits they found unacceptable and trolls they had seen off. I ended up thinking "This isn't worth it!" and moving on. Shame, I always like getting to know people who write well.
So how did the testers come in to this? Simple, I was reminded of the way they used to play erotic computer games. I appreciate that this comparison might be anathema to a feminist blogger, so let me explain. Back in the '90s there was a genre of computer games that involved enticing virtual women into sex. From the merely risqué such as the Leisure Suit Larry series to the overtly erotic such as Virtual Valerie, their premise was simple: do the 'right' things and you will achieve your aim, do the 'wrong' things and the virtual object of your lust will slam the door on you. Never my thing really, but to the testers who had something of the adolescent about them they were fascinating.
What was interesting was how they evolved the playing of these games. Once the initial 'Phwoarrr' factor had worn off and they'd realised that there was only a certain level of eroticism that could be conveyed in pixel form by a mid-90s PC, their focus changed from the eroticism to the chase. Not having their virtual quarry reject them became a daring game of suspense, and triggering the boot became a thrill rather than a failure. This was no solitary pursuit, instead they played as a group, clustered round the monitor offering advice and encouragement.
I was reminded of the testers on the feminist blogs because I saw the same forces at play. The feminist blogger is the unreachable prey and the bloke trolls are the hunters. They get the same satisfaction from worming their way under the radar and springing the trap that closes the door on them as the testers did from being rejected by their virtual women, the object has become to deliver the barb and the door being slammed is simply the expected consequence.
Except that unlike a dodgy '90s computer game, there is a person involved. Do these bloggers gain as much satisfaction from seeing off trolls that the trolls do from winding them up? Or do they crouch beleaguered in their eyries, convinced they are under constant threat and having their prejudices reinforced by people who are simply poking them for sport?
A few days ago I was unexpectedly reminded of the testers by an unlikely stimulus, I followed a link from another blogger and found myself dipping once more into the world of feminist blogs. Though I've made no secret of my irritation with the hate-preaching sector of feminism I found the blogs I was looking at had some sense about them and I found myself agreeing with their writers.
In the normal course of events I might have done what I would in our little corner of the blogosphere: stopped for a while and left a few comments. But I found the usual page on a feminist blog: 'Advice before you comment'. Full of -isms and privileges both real and imagined, and boasts of debating gambits they found unacceptable and trolls they had seen off. I ended up thinking "This isn't worth it!" and moving on. Shame, I always like getting to know people who write well.
So how did the testers come in to this? Simple, I was reminded of the way they used to play erotic computer games. I appreciate that this comparison might be anathema to a feminist blogger, so let me explain. Back in the '90s there was a genre of computer games that involved enticing virtual women into sex. From the merely risqué such as the Leisure Suit Larry series to the overtly erotic such as Virtual Valerie, their premise was simple: do the 'right' things and you will achieve your aim, do the 'wrong' things and the virtual object of your lust will slam the door on you. Never my thing really, but to the testers who had something of the adolescent about them they were fascinating.
What was interesting was how they evolved the playing of these games. Once the initial 'Phwoarrr' factor had worn off and they'd realised that there was only a certain level of eroticism that could be conveyed in pixel form by a mid-90s PC, their focus changed from the eroticism to the chase. Not having their virtual quarry reject them became a daring game of suspense, and triggering the boot became a thrill rather than a failure. This was no solitary pursuit, instead they played as a group, clustered round the monitor offering advice and encouragement.
I was reminded of the testers on the feminist blogs because I saw the same forces at play. The feminist blogger is the unreachable prey and the bloke trolls are the hunters. They get the same satisfaction from worming their way under the radar and springing the trap that closes the door on them as the testers did from being rejected by their virtual women, the object has become to deliver the barb and the door being slammed is simply the expected consequence.
Except that unlike a dodgy '90s computer game, there is a person involved. Do these bloggers gain as much satisfaction from seeing off trolls that the trolls do from winding them up? Or do they crouch beleaguered in their eyries, convinced they are under constant threat and having their prejudices reinforced by people who are simply poking them for sport?
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