Between the pink and the blue

Nonbinary gender symbol by lilfoxieroxie@tumblr

A few days ago on the TGIMormons mailing list, a member named Cassandra posted some beautiful thoughts on the challenges we face as members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints who experience some measure of gender incongruence. I liked it so much, I wrote a much longer reply than usual (full disclosure: usually I just lurk over there, and don't post much at all, so any reply from me is going to be longer than usual). Anyway, I thought her initial comment and my reply would make a good fit for here on my blog:

First, I want to make it clear that I sincerely believe that transsexuality results from divinely-inspired natural processes that are designed to maximize diversity among His children. Diversity is good and healthy. (Ditto for androgyny and other points on the gender map)

...

In a gender context, the challenge inherent to androgyny is hammering out one’s own path that will bring them to joy and exultation. Androgynes can’t use either the “male” or the “female” cookbook.

— Cassandra, TGIMormons Yahoo group

I was really happy to see her include androgynes in her very thoughtful post! Yeah, the more I ponder on my unique position along the gender spectrum, the more I think that's where I fit. Which is weird, because that makes me something of a minority, even among the transgender support groups I've joined online!

Often androgynes get forgotten about, I think, because most Trans folk have a very clear picture in their head of which camp they should be in, pink or blue. It's taken me a while to slowly come to the conclusion that I'm uncomfortable in the "blue" camp not because I want to be in the "pink" camp, but because I know, somewhere out there, there's a "purple" camp!

Like Cassandra said, neither a pure-male or a pure-female cookbook would feel perfectly "right" to an androgyne, and indeed I do bounce back and forth a bit in my interactions with my ward family members. For instance, I tend to lean a little more toward femme topics and interests when I'm talking with other kids' moms while waiting for my kids on Mutual night. Then when I'm in a gathering with other Elders, I gravitate to the guys that, like me, have a deep disinterest in sports, cars, guns, and movies full of explosions (there aren't that many of us). So either way, I'm able to carry on a conversation with my fellow ward members, and I think I get along reasonably well with everyone, but it's rare when I'm able to really connect with anyone, and I don't have many what I'd think of as close friends (not saying "oh poor me" or anything, just stating a fact).

I guess another way to say that is to say this: I find myself smiling and nodding a lot, simply choosing not to disclose when my thoughts and feelings don't line up with the gendered expectations of others. Sometimes, I'll speak up in Sunday School or Priesthood if I feel things need to be clarified — the notion of the Prosperity Gospel," for example, sneaks in every now and then, and certain interpretations of the Proclamation on the Family — but often I have learned to just keep my big mouth shut so I can keep my foot out of it!

Someday I'll find that purple cookbook... or maybe I'll have to be the one to write it...

Pet peeve of the day: "LGBT"

So I'm listening to NPR on my way home from work the other day (yes, I'm the "crunchy granola" sort of a Mormon) and a story came on about a group in Los Angeles doing outreach to the Latino community, particularly around the issue of parents supporting their adult gay and lesbian kids when they come out. Overall it was a good story, and I certainly sympathize with the efforts of this group to promote family love and understanding, but I have one issue: I don't think they ever actually said the words "gay" or "lesbian!"

I know — crazy, right?

The reporter, and everyone they interviewed, all seemed to bend over backwards to instead refer to this as an LGBT effort. That wouldn't bother me if this group actually addressed trans issues... but I don't think they do.

Le sigh.

Perspective from a Spouse

So while I was slaving away at how to write my "coming out to D.W." posts, a new voice appeared on the blogging scene, one who I'm really excited to share with you, my dear readers. Her name is Elizabeth, she blogs at A Purple Picket Fence (love the name), and she's the young LDS wife of a transgendered spouse!

Unlike the occasional post by a loving, supportive spouse on a t-person's blog (which I appreciate too, don't get me wrong!), this is the reverse: it's HER blog, and she's telling things from HER perspective. So far I'm really enjoying it. Go. Read.

Telling my Sweetheart (part 2)

So last Friday night, D.W. surprised me by picking me up at work for a really sweet date night out! It was fun and spontaneous and romantic and very thoughtful. She knew exactly what we needed as a couple, and it was wonderful.

As our date was in the "big city," we had a lot of time in the car to talk, and at one point she asked me when I was going to finish telling the story of my coming out to her. "Even though I know how it ends," she said, "I still want to read it!"

The fact that she asked me that, and the fact that we were even able to talk about it on a date, should tell you something about how things are going. ;)

Anyway, like I said last time, I wasn't really surprised by her initial reaction to my emailed "hey, I'm trans" letter (ouch, it still bothers me that it happened that way), but it hurt all the same.

She felt lied to. She felt like I'd been dishonest with her all these years, which in a way I guess I have, at least concerning this one thing that I've been keeping from her. (Although in fairness, that's because I was denying my own transgender nature as well, basically putting my fingers in my ears and going "LALALALALALALA," like that could actually drown it out)

She told me she wasn't entirely surprised. As I mentioned last time, she'd caught me dressing a few times early on in our marriage, and of course she knew I shave my legs, so she'd always kind of wondered if things weren't really over.

She was angry. She was worried about what was going to happen to our marriage, to our kids. All her future plans for growing old together seemed in jeopardy.

All of these are fears I shared, of course.

After her initial email reply, we went back and forth a couple of times through email, but I suggested that we really needed to talk about it face to face, and she agreed. Meanwhile, I encouraged her to go visit my blog and my friends' blogs (thanks, you three!), and cautioned her against looking at too many other things on the Internet, because there were so many different ways of looking at our situation, and most of them wouldn't be very helpful to her.

I don't really remember the rest of that work day. I just remember being worried about what was going to happen to us and our family.

That evening was pretty tricky too, because we had to act like nothing was going on until the kids were asleep. Finally, we got time to sit down on the bed together and talk face to face.

That afternoon, in spite of my warning, D.W. had done some Internet research, and as I feared, a lot of what she read freaked her out. Rightly so: trans folk tend to have a much higher suicide rate, divorce rate, and a raft of other challenges no one in their right minds would willingly take up. Fortunately, she'd also read Laurie's, Christi's, and giantC's blogs, so she saw that the two of us weren't alone in the darkness, and she saw three people with very different life circumstances but surprisingly similar approaches to our common challenge. So to my friends with the courage and willingness to blog difficult things: thank you!

(well, honestly, at first she wondered why I'd tell my troubles to perfect strangers and not to her. But when I explained that I needed a safe haven where I could work through my feelings and figure things out first, thus saving her undue stress, she understood)

Now, a quick aside... right about the time I started this blog, when I first began to recognize that it was possible to reconcile my transgenderism with my faith and family, I started trying to "Metro" up my appearance a little. I put more effort into skin care and shaving, got some new (guy) clothes in brighter colors / softer fabrics, and - this was a big one - I started growing my hair out. I've worn my hair super short for years — military short, pretty much — and I felt like it was important to the overall image I wanted to convey that I have more nicely-styled hair, perhaps a tetch on the long-for-a-guy side (think Josh Groban or Orlando Bloom). When I told her that this was what I was aiming for, she didn't yet know about Arcee, but she went along with it, because I think by that point she knew I was having a midlife crisis or something.

I tell you that to tell you that once she knew what was going on in my head, this apparently sudden shift in my attitude made more sense to her. And for the most part, she was understanding, except for one little detail: dressing en femme.

To be blunt, the idea of me dressing skeeves her out. As we talked through all the ins and outs of what the reality of my transness means to us as a couple, this was the one thing on which she wouldn't budge: no more dressing like a girl. Go as Metrosexual as I want, sure... but dress like a man! (whatever that means these days... I mean, you can't really say Russell Brand and Sean Connery have anything even remotely in common, yet they're both "dressing as men") Anyway, that was her concern: could I give that up?

Well... yeah. I love her and the kids more than I love myself (which I guess means I'm not a "true" Metrosexual, since one of their defining characteristics is narcissism). But would it be easy to give that up? Don't count on it! That said, I've found some strategies that are working okay so far, which I'll be blogging about soon. This is very much a case of us feeling our way through the dark together, and it's going to take time.

The important thing is, now D.W. knows, and we're working through all the implications of my transgenderism, however it solidifies, together. Over the past few months since our initial conversation, we've had several others like it, and she's beginning to understand what I told her that first night: I'm still the same person she married, now I'm just a little more free to express my whole self.

Occasionally when we're alone, she'll get really serious and ask me, "how are you?" — most of the time I can say I'm doing okay. I've had a few dysphoric episodes (my friend giantC calls them "gender freakouts", which fits), but overall, I think things are beginning to level out a bit into a new sense or normalcy. I'll talk more soon about exactly what that means and where I think it may lead, but for now, I've probably said enough.

I'm so grateful for my dear wife's love, patience, and efforts to understand something she never asked for, and probably never in a million years would have imagined would fall in her lap. I pray I never let her down.

Telling my Sweetheart (part 1)

I've been wrestling with how best to approach this post. Ever since I started blogging here, my online friends have been urging me to share my transgenderism with my dear wife (let's call her "D.W." for the purposes of this post). I knew that I wanted to share all of this with her, and that she deserved to know, but I could never seem to find exactly the right time, due to a whole pile of other stresses in our lives. Well, a little while ago something happened that forced my hand, ready or not. It's kind of involved, and is taking me a painful amount of time to articulate well, so I'm going to split it up into parts. Here's Part 1.

I was getting ready to go on a work-related trip for a few days, and had been pulling a couple of late nights trying to get ready to go. One night, as sometimes happens, I felt the strong need to dress en femme (I hate the term "cross-dress" — it just carries too many negative connotations for me, and doesn't feel like a good match for why I do what I do). I can't put my finger on any specific triggers for these feelings — they just come on strongly sometimes, while at other times it's a barely-noticeable undercurrent in my stream of consciousness. Not that dressing really "solves" anything for me, anyway — it just seems to make the dysphoria more bearable, taking the edge off things, so to speak.

Sorry, tangent. I'm like a dog in a park full of squirrels sometimes.

Anyway, I threw on an old pair of D.W.'s jeans that she'd tossed out, a comfy silk shirt from my small stash of girl clothes, and on a whim, I grabbed a pair of my sweetheart's strappy heels from our closet. Usually I wouldn't bother with shoes... after all, I'm not actually going anywhere. But, I'd recently shaved my legs, and I wanted to see how they looked on my feet (answer: meh). Once changed, I bent my mind toward my evening's tasks.

At some point while working, I kicked off the shoes, because my feet are a little too big for them anyway and, like I said, I wasn't actually going anywhere, and barefoot was more comfy. A little after that, I went into the downstairs bathroom to answer a call of nature... and fell asleep! Usually not a big deal — it happens from time to time when I'm pulling a lot of late nights in a row. Usually when it does, my alarm clock will ring upstairs in our bedroom, D.W. will realize I'm not there, and come downstairs to wake me up. I'll look a little sheepish, she'll roll her eyes at me and go back to bed, and the day proceeds as if it hadn't happened.

This time was a little different.

When the alarm went off, I heard it, realized I was still en femme, and quickly changed into my pajamas before D.W. came downstairs to wake me. I assured her that I was up, and she went back to bed. I stashed my girl clothes, returned the heels to their place, got ready for work, and left, feeling guilty that I still hadn't told her about what was going on with Arcee.

Only... remember when I said I'd kicked off her heels before going to the bathroom?

On her way to wake me up, she saw them.

... Oops.

A few hours into my workday, I get an email from D.W., asking if it was just her imagination, or if she had indeed seen her shoes downstairs, and if that meant I was getting into her things again...? You see, early in our marriage, before I'd really come to terms with my gender dysphoria, she'd caught me dressing once or twice. I'd feel guilty about it, we'd both cry a lot, then I would promise not to do it anymore, because of course we both "knew" that this was just some weird, sinful thing that I shouldn't be doing (spoiler alert: after a lot of fasting and prayer, I don't feel that way anymore... but it still skeeves D.W. out just as much as ever). So here I was, caught in the act, and being asked about it over email, no less (which is, I have to say, a terrible communication medium for this sort of conversation if ever there was such a thing)! What to do?

As it happened, I had been working on a letter to D.W. for a little while, based in small part on a similar letter my blog-friend Laurie had shared with her wife. I excused myself from work for an early (and longer-than-usual) lunch break, then shlepped my laptop over to the nearest McDonald's to partake of a salad and their free wi-fi. There, I finished the letter and emailed it in reply, all scared and nervous about what her reaction would be, then I went back to work. What else could I do?

Two hours later, she sent me back a reply. Even though I'd anticipated her reaction, it still hit me like a punch in the stomach.

To be continued in part 2...