Month: March 2019

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.

Fear is silence, silence is fear

I want to talk about fear.

I have had to accept over the last year that for all my guile and wit, what has really ruled my life is fear.

Originally it was fear of being outed, as I got older it was fear of the unknown and fear of failure.

Now that I’m out, without the singular fear of being outed to overwhelm the others, I’m left with the other structures of fear I’ve built up in order to survive.

Living in a world that doesn’t accept you, doesn’t want you, and would rather you not exist is hard. It’s exhausting. I read a little quote recently, it said “Every breath a trans person takes is an act of resistance.” I want you to think about that for a second. Because it’s true, by continuing to exist there are a lot of people who are offended, whose worldviews are challenged, and ultimately, who are enraged.

Only Homogeneity will ever be enough for those that desire a homogeneous society.

Existing is a burden at times, life gets every one down. It’s hard, and its messy.

Living in constant fear however, is exhausting. Everything takes on a greater scale when you’re trying to just survive. Every minor problem is intense. You are forced to live in a position where you can never make a mistake. You must live perfectly, and without flaw. Though you are flawed further by this process. It’s a horrific way to live.

Professionally, all of the troubles and trials I’ve faced have been laced with a singular fear. The fear that I wasted a decade of my life on a career that was doomed to fail from the beginning. The idea that no matter what skill and expertise I bring forward it will never be enough.

I’m afraid that I will always be defined by what I am, not who I am, not what I can do, nor why I do it. It’s a terrifying thought.

I’m afraid that no matter how hard I struggle, I will work twice as hard, only to fail while others succeed. That I will then try thrice as hard, and only fail harder, and fail myself.

I feel as if I am floundering at times, gasping for a breath I can’t get. Hoping for a moment of peace to find clarity. Trying to find context within the miasma of bias and hate, and to see through the fear in others eyes.

I wish I could see past the betrayal in men’s eyes. Men who swear there is no boys club, yet resent that they allowed me in. Men who swear women are equal, yet feel betrayed I saw past the curtain. Men who tell me they are modern and accepting, yet now guard every word they say to me. Men who feel betrayed and lied to, yet hurt me every day and wonder why I am broken and bleeding, forcing my own feelings of shame and betrayal into hiding.

Fear forced me to hide who I was, for many years. I hid who I was even from myself. Being honest and open is hard, it makes it possible to be hurt in the first place. But I don’t want to be ruled by fear. I want to be more then that. I want to be my own person, I want to breathe my own air and speak my own truth.

Fear forced me into silence. Silence is what kept me in fear.

If every breath is an act of resistance, then let every word be an act of rebellion.