Trying not to Wallow

I have always been one to wallow in self pity.

Not usually openly. In my own head.

I often times find myself thinking, “well what if they knew the whole story.” “If only they knew what they were doing,” and many others. The point is, I am often the victim in my own story. Internally, in my own head, I think of myself as the underdog. I have a hard time appreciating the good things, I have an easy time focusing on negativity.

The last six months have exposed that. I have come to openly pity myself. I have become the source of my own woe. Things have happened that are unfortunate. Things have been done to me by others that are incredibly damaging and hurtful. I’ve had my worldview rocked, a lot in the last year. There are certain lessons I’ve learned that will have consequences for a long time.

Those are all facts though, those events happened. You can’t choose if someone will doing something negative to you. You choose to perceive it negatively.

I was trying to claw back my innocence. I was trying to undo the damage that had been done to my perception of reality. It is one thing to know how the world works, it’s another to experience a world that doesn’t want you.

You can’t undo pain, you can’t undo hate. You can’t undo the shitty and awful things that people will do to you. You can only refuse to accept it as a negative or a positive. It is merely something that happens.

It is incredibly hard for me to look at any of the events I’ve talked about here, and not feel the sadness, and loss that each of those caused me. The isolation, and differentiation. We are social creatures, we crave acceptance and love. Being denied it, feels negative. I can’t afford the luxury of continuing to feel sorry for myself.

there is no transgression that will ever teach the perpetrator their lesson. Nor is their a final accounting of any wrong. Not everything is balanced, not everything works the way we wish it did. Ultimately, the only thing we are responsible for is yourself, and how we perceive the world.

So I’m going to do my damnedest to act positively for my own sake. While also accepting that which I can’t control can’t control me. I will be free in my own soul.

 

Discrimination: Could You be so Kind as to Sanitize your Identity for Me?

I’m a little disappointed that this is a post I even have to write.

Being gay is not a choice. Being trans is not a choice.

Yet, I have had to endure multiple conversations, one of which I discussed here: Discrimination: Why Do You Need To Be Different?  that centres around a central theme. That my identity is something to be sanitized (the word that was used, and in all honesty pretty fascist sounding) in a professional setting similarly to ones politics or religion.

Whether or not one can remove themselves professionally from politics requires answering the question of what defines what is political, Which frankly, reality is political, so I don’t hold a lot of stock in that idea. Sanitizing ones political identity would require having no opinion whatsoever on the very nature of society and how to exist within it. Which would render ones ability to give advice non-existant.

That’s not the point I wanted to make however.

I recently started reading Transgender History by Susan Stryker. I’ve been enjoying it thus far, learning a lot for sure. There’s a quote I read that I think sums up my point “All too often, there is a tendency to be concerned with the rights of homosexuals as long as they somehow appear to be heterosexual, whatever that is.” This quote itself taken from Marc Stein’s City of Sisterly and Brotherly loves: Lesbian and Gay Philadelphia 1945-1972. 

If one substitutes transgender people and cisgender people into that quote I still believe it works. Basically, so long as one doesn’t disturb the norm, one may be rewarded with conditional acceptance, assuming one accepts the conditions, continues to uphold them, and praises the situation regardless of how good or bad it may be.

So let’s get into the story itself.

I had a conversation with one of the partners at my firm yesterday about business development. In which I made the point that I’d like to be more welcoming and open to the LGBTQ+ community. This was among other very valid points. If you’re new around here, you may be surprised that my desire to work with and help a community that has been historically disenfranchised from the modern financial system, and as such are systematically disadvantaged was not met with enthusiasm.

So I wasn’t surprised, but even more unfortunately, but perhaps illuminatingly, was how the conversation progressed. The partner I was speaking with made his case that as a professional we should refrain from causes so as not to alienate anyone. That attempting to appeal to a specific group is exclusionary to other groups. That appealing to someone, and to make a comparison he used politics or religions, based on their beliefs limits who you can work with and ultimately your overall ability to work with all people.

The problem in that statement is that comparison of my gender identity and sexuality to what are inherently beliefs. Though I’m aware choosing ones politics or religion are often complicated by culture, geography, familial ties and many other factors. They do represent a choice. One may be born into a family in which it is likely they will be Christian, they are however free to choose their religion.

I did not choose my identity, I can not sanitize it like I can my religious beliefs when I come to work. My political beliefs don’t often make it into a conversation with a client, however it’s much more difficult to avoid mentioning my family, whom my wife makes up a major part.

This type of thinking reduces those who fall outside of a social norm. I’ve read articles discussing a similar concept racially as well. The effects of ‘professionalism’ and it’s norming standards on people of colour. An example is that natural hair is considered unprofessional and a sign of deviance. Which it is not.

The irony is that this partner also recognized that he himself fits the stereotype of what clients consider a professional. He is an obviously white male person, with a white beard to express age. He is quick to out himself as straight by mentioning his wife. He is clear in his presentation as male. He has not sanitized himself of his own identity. Why would he? His identity is an acceptable one, it fits within his concept of professional. While openly acknowledging that his own stereotypical example of an advisor fits a ciscentric,  heteronormative, white world. He can’t make the mental leap that what makes him a stereotype is exactly the type of privilege he needs to acknowledge in order to accept me.

I don’t represent a stereotype of what people consider a financial advisor. I am obviously trans, I am openly gay, I am very obviously young, and I am a woman. None of these are opinions. How I present myself is as a woman, my age, is in a general sense visible, and as I have to explain to most of my clients, the man on the phone was me. So I can’t really sanitize those facts out of the equation.

So disappointingly I now have the unfortunate task ahead of me of explaining to someone who should know better. That my identity is not a choice, and that he needs to stop considering it one.

 

Lonely in a Crowd of People

I made a trip to a nearby city this weekend. We were there to visit with friends and try out different restaurants. It was a fun weekend.

The highlight, was a bookstore/sex toy shop. Not that i had any particular interest in the sex toys, not that there’s anything wrong with those that do. Nor was I particularly looking to look at books at the moment. I was pleasantly surprised when I saw them. I even bought a book on trans history I’m looking forward to reading.

No the most enjoyable feeling was being in a place I felt I belonged.

Even before being out of the closet there are very few places I ever felt safe and comfortable. Since coming out those places are equally sparse, though I am guarded in a different way publicly.

No, being in a queer friendly space was a wonderful feeling, and I truly mean queer friendly. Not a place that won’t kick you out for being gay or trans. I mean a place for queer people to feel welcomed and wanted. The store was busy, they had a sale going on. Didn’t matter, I felt like I was in everyone’s way and it was still relaxing and refreshing to be in there. My wife remarked “Wouldn’t it be amazing if everywhere felt like that.”

I’ve talked about a lot of the negative feelings I’ve had, I’ve said that I’m learning to be okay with not being okay. this is all true. There’s a lot of fear and loneliness in my life. Though there are people in my life, very few people understand what I’m going through. I don’t have anyone to talk to.

I shared a look of understanding with the cashier at that store who was trans, that warmed my heart and made my day. Just a few seconds of interaction with someone who understood and I could share this burden with. That small moment made me feel lighter.

Loneliness doesn’t mean you’re completely alone, with no one to talk to. It can sometimes be that you’re in the middle of a crowd that can’t hear you, no matter what you say.

Sharing a moment of understanding with someone is sometimes all it takes to find a bit of balance.

 

 

It’s Okay Not To Be Okay

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what being okay feels like. It doesn’t take reading many of my latest posts to see that things are not going well for me. It’s been an incredibly challenging and difficult six months.

In the last six months:

I came out, changed my name, the whole thing. went from pretty much full time in the closet to fully out of the closet. So fast I think I gave myself whiplash. It’s been incredible, but it’s made a lot of the other challenges seem much more difficult.

Bought and opened a business with my wife and her business partner. This was another incredible moment. Incredibly rewarding, incredibly fulfilling, incredibly stressful, and incredibly difficult. Things are looking like they’ll be incredibly positive n the end but it’s been a crazy ride.

My grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, nearly died in treatment, and since recovering. Has largely walked away from our relationship. It’s been difficult to watch her rewrite our shared history and painful to see her refuse to acknowledge me. Family is a difficult topic for me but my grandmother was often my rock that kept me engaged. It’s hard for her to now be the one pushing me away.

On the other side of the equation is other family members who wanted nothing to do with me have tokenized me to fuel their petty ‘progressiveness.’ It’s difficult when you want a connection to family, and when things are hard and you need support. You don’t get it, you find a way forward without it, and when you’re interesting or whatever it is they come back for some reason I don’t understand. I don’t want to push people away, but where were you when I needed the love and acceptance to come out? Now that I’ve found myself on my own terms independently, your chance is gone. I’m having a hard time sorting out my feelings on this one.

The whole probation/creative dismissal/discrimination/incompetency thing professionally. I’ve talked enough about this one in other posts, needless to say this is the most unnecessary source of stress in my life and yet generates the most.

There are other little and big moments but those are the big themes. As the saying goes when it rains it pours.

So I’m adjusting to a new world of generally not being okay. Work eats up most of my time and energy, I feel like I’m professionally holding on by the skin of my teeth most days. Which takes away the time I need to handle my emotional well being. Which feeds into more stress. I’m exhausted and stressed all of the time. I regularly stress vomit now. I worry I’ve made a mistake. Not in coming out, but in my understanding of my capacity. In the closet I had such a stranglehold of my emotions. I was always so in control. It was difficult for me to feel anything, so I generally didn’t feel bad.

So the whole emotional instability thing is something I didn’t really know how to handle. It’s not something I had experience with. Coming out was like exposing my soul to briny air. Sure it’s fresh and clean but the salt burns like a seeping wound.

The last six months have been incredible, I truly mean it, I’m capable of using a thesaurus, but incredible is the word I want. It’s been so many different things, and it’s changed me. I think for the better. I’ve never felt so alive.

Unfortunately being alive is incredibly painful. It might be awhile before I’m alright again. Which is okay, because in the mean time it’s also fine to not be okay.

I read an article by a transwoman years ago, she wrote it in the early 2000s, and the basic premise was, if you’re going to lose your entire life, your livelihood, all of your relationships, everything of value and meaning in your life by transitioning, should you transition? Her answer was that you should be very careful about how you answer that, because that’s not a cat you can put back in the bag.

I’ve always taken this to mean that you need to put your whole life up against the consequences of coming out. Coming out is difficult, being authentic is more painful then it should be. There aren’t many relationships I’ve had to walk away from, my wife knew very early in our relationship what my identity was. I came out to friends slowly over time, and only lost the ones that time was already taking. I had a life before coming out that I was reasonably sure was going to be intact after coming out. Yet I’m still buried in a miasma of problems and misunderstandings and other unnecessary stresses.

I don’t regret coming out, and I don’t think I will. But I think I can safely say that you can never know the consequences of transitioning until you’ve walked into them. Which means even if you do transition. I think it’s prudent to be okay with not being okay. I know I’m learning to be.

Discrimination: Why Do You Need To Be Different?

I want to have a discussion about privilege today. It’s a topic I’ve somewhat avoided because I have a difficult time quantifying it at times. My own lived experiences are all I’ve known, so from my perspective, life is as difficult and easy as it has been, knowing that some people have it easier and harder is easy to understand, but difficult to really put into words.

But then I had a conversation with one of the partners at my firm, and there was a lot to unravel and work through, but one of the topics we discussed centered around privilege, and I don’t think he understood it at the time. He was pretty openly flaunting his privilege, and wondering why I felt a need to be different.

The example the conversation started with, was a man that my boss had worked with a long time ago. The man worked in the office next to my boss and for two years he had no idea he was gay. Which my boss took to be a sign of ultimate discretion and professionalism. Because your sexuality shouldn’t matter right? So he didn’t disclose he was gay, so that’s a positive!

So let’s break that down a little bit, because that story has a lot of elements that break my heart. The first of which, is that straight people feel absolutely no hesitation in discussing their straightness. my boss who told me this story, has told every client I’ve ever sat in a meeting with about his wife. Was that unprofessional of him? I don’t think so, it’s a relevant and relatable piece of his life. We are generally made better by our partners, not diminished.

So the assumption that this former co-worker of his was professional for not disclosing his sexuality, is part of the whole structure that keeps workplace cultures hetero-normative. What my boss failed to realize is that this man took two years to develop enough trust to disclose, a rather fundamental element of his identity. I can only presume that my boss had very quickly and early in their interactions disclosed his straightness.

That’s part of the problem with privilege, because my boss hasn’t ever had to consider whether to disclose his sexuality, because it’s socially acceptable for him to have a wife, he doesn’t notice when he does it. He has no idea that the professionalism he expects from a gay or trans person, is not a standard he himself can uphold.

Which is why the next part of the conversation, where I explained that no matter what I do, I will always be a lesbian transwoman advisor. That every client I meet with I will need to be aware of that, that I will have to hold myself to a higher standard. That I will work harder to prove myself to my clients. That in every meeting I will have to make decisions whether to disclose aspects of my life to my clients.

Because I am caught between two hard places. If I pass, and my clients correctly identify me as a woman, and then ask about my husband. I am confronted with a decision. Do I disclose that I’m gay? If I don’t pass and they misidentify me, I inherently disclose that I am trans. For the clients I dealt with before coming out, they are aware of all of this. I don’t know their opinions and feelings. So I must be guarded and receptive at all times.

What my boss doesn’t understand is that I must navigate a difficult identity with my clients. I must be aware and ready to handle situations he will never find himself in. He will never have to be an example of excellence at all times. He will never have to handle the pressure of being honest with his clients and himself, while also being respectful to the person across the table, whatever beliefs they may hold. he will never have the uncertainty that I have.

So his response that he doesn’t define himself as a straight white male advisor was pointless. Because he does. With his clients he is free to openly disclose his sexuality, and his gender. Why wouldn’t he? They’re acceptable socially, and in many cases considered preferable. Every time he mentions his wife he can do so without recourse. He can walk into a room assured that there will be no issues or concerns about his gender identity. From the way he walks and talks to the way he dresses. He informs everyone he is a male.

Yet I must walk a tightrope. When I meet a client for the first time and have to explain that ‘the man on the phone’ was actually me, while hoping I haven’t outed myself by my voice (which frustratingly seems to drop an octave over the phone, like it needed to be any deeper.)  When I have to explain I have a wife not a husband, when I have to explain to a client who doesn’t quite remember me that I’m not my own wife or sister. I have to have a discussion about gender identity and transitioning. I don’t choose to have these conversations, but I accept that they are a part of being out and openly trans and gay.

So it’s simple to say, “why can’t you be a professional and separate your personal and professional life.” Yet, that’s not how people work. Our clients expect some level of personal connection, one of the most important things I can do with a client is to develop a relationship and build trust. Without trust I can’t know my clients and I can’t advise them well. That requires a personal connection, not a professional one. Our clients need to understand who we are so they can make a decision on the motive or reasoning for our recommendations. Our competency and skills are filtered throug ha personal lens that requires them to know the type of person I am. Whether I care about them, or have concern for their hopes and dreams, their goals and objectives. That requires a personal connection.

What my boss failed to recognize, is that his definition of professional, is a straight and cis centred world view. I can’t speak as a racial minority, but I understand they can’t choose not to disclose their background if it is visible. They are no less professional then I am. Professionalism does not mean hiding who you are, it means being who you are and caring for your clients. Professionalism should mean doing right by those you are in business with. Professionalism should mean you hold to the facts and treat others fairly. Professionalism should mean focusing on the task at hand without compromising the long term vision. Professionalism does not mean being quiet about your identity. It does not mean that a closeted queer is better then an out one. Professionalism has been a shield to protect those who benefit from the status quo. If your idea of professionalism is not inclusive, then it is an oppressive ideal.

I have no time or patience for oppression.

Finding Moments of Catharsis

Catharsis is important, and in times of stress even more so.

One of the things I found most difficult of being in the closet, was that I was so emotionally repressed I could never find any release. Everything just built and built until it finally hit a point where I couldn’t feel anymore.

So… what that’s meant is that I’ve been cycling through a quarter century of pent up emotions. So when something is a little sad, it’s feels very sad, when I’m a little afraid, I become incredibly fearful.

It’s dizzying and terrifying. But it’s important, and it’s necessary. You can’t stop feeling emotions, you can only hold them in at any given moment. Eventually those feelings have to be felt. Time can lessen them, but if you hold them each time, they build on each other. Eventually your emotional reserves will overflow, and then there is no control.

Thus the title, it’s important to find ways to work through your trauma, work through your emotions, and learn to live again.

The Pain of Loneliness and Isolation

Coming out publicly has involved a lot of painful and difficult times. One of the aspects I hadn’t really considered, was how lonely I would still feel.

Before I came out to anyone, it was my burden alone, I couldn’t expect anything from anyone, because no one else knew. Which was fine, I understood that.

As I’ve come out to more people, the weight doesn’t seem to get any lighter. Sure, there is plenty of support offered, but no one knows what it feels like. I’ve talked about it before, but coming out has never felt good to me, it has always scared me, and left me feeling vulnerable and isolated afterwards. Yet, the straight and cis people in my life assume that it must feel like a burden has been lifted.

To take a tangent, I think it’s because they think it’s the same as coming clean on a big lie. That it would feel like the weight of the lie was lifted now that the truth is out. Yet though I know I had to lie to stay in the closet, I never felt like a liar. I felt like someone trying to survive. I didn’t feel the relief on honesty, I felt the fear of vulnerability.

I work a lot, and I work with a group of white, cis, straight people. Most of whom come from good families, and have had good opportunities in life. I grew up poor, I’ve been the only one to worry about myself as long a I can remember. I moved out on my own as soon as I could. I put myself through school and have had to make a lot of sacrifices to catch up to most of my peers.

So I couldn’t even really start dealing with the whole being gay and trans thing until I’d found a modicum of safety and security. Pulling yourself out of poverty is a lot easier when the world thinks you’re a straight white man. Doesn’t do a lot of good to your psyche or sense of self worth.

So most of my struggles and experiences are alien to the people around me. I’ve got seriously reduced vision in my right eye because of a treatable eye disease that could have been diagnosed sooner had I had the money to see an optometrist. Sure, $150 to see a doctor that might be able to save an eye sounds like a small amount, but there were a lot of those small things that when added up I couldn’t afford. By the time the eye was bad enough I needed to deal with it, I’d gotten through school and had a job with benefits.

No matter how far I go in life my past will always be there, and who I am and what I am will always be a present part of my life. When you regularly spend your time with people that can’t understand any part of your life, and can’t empathise with your experiences it makes you feel so very lonely.

I work with and I know a lot of good people, caring people. Yet I feel I need to isolate myself at times because I know they can’t handle my story, they can’t understand it. I know it won’t do any good to stress them out, so I go on in silence with my own pain.

People think that inclusion means creating an environment where no one experiences hate or discrimination. Yet they don’t realise that the isolation eats away at people just as easily. It makes certain spaces significantly less appealing because you know you have the responsibility and burden of holding the weight of expectation and bias and all the other negative emotions and ideas that people carry around with them. It’s hard to walk into a room and know that you are the single point of connection between everyone else’s discomfort.

It’s exhausting and lonely to be isolated like that, yet without the first person to endure that, there can never be a second to take up the weight. Eventually you hope there will be others to help you carry it all and hopefully get rid of it for good.