Bathrooms Aren't a Safe Place if You're Trans

Bathrooms and locker rooms have always been a problem for me

I'm the brunette, transgender wife.

Bathrooms and locker rooms have always been a problem for me. I always thought they were problems for everyone, I guess. You can’t really have that conversation with your friends at school. “So, I was wondering, does being naked in the locker room make you want to hide?”. Not a chance I was going to have that conversation. Not knowing any differently, I assumed pretty much everyone had issues with bathrooms and locker rooms. It wasn't until years later when I started to realize that this wasn’t the case, that I understood how different I truly am.

I remember how it was back in grade school. Yes, grade school. In fourth grade, I noticed that I didn’t like it when I was in the restroom, and other kids came in. I was a little bit uncomfortable and didn’t know why. If I walked in, and other kids were in there, I would just stand around until they had cleared out, and then do my thing, and leave. If that wasn’t possible, the stalls were my friend, but since there were no doors, that only helped a little. I quickly learned to go during class, rather than between class, because otherwise, I would be late. Also, the bathroom was typically empty during class times. I always was ahead in my classes, so it was easy to get permission during class if I needed to.

The restroom on the fourth and fifth-grade side of the school had these gigantic urinals. They were as tall as I was and went all the way down to the floor. They had an oddly shaped bottom, and you couldn’t stand right up against them. You had to stand back and aim. So, the boys had this thing they did where they tried to trick other boys into seeing their genitals. They seemed to find it hilarious. It just made me feel awkward.

Transgender in Middle School

As I moved on into middle school, this all became much more pronounced. I absolutely hated using the restroom at school or in public. I think the best way to explain it would be that I felt vulnerable, and exposed, and I didn’t like that at all. Older boys in middle school are starting to develop, and are discovering their genitals, and there was a lot of horseplay and foolishness that revolved around this in the bathrooms. I didn’t want to use the boy’s restrooms, but there were no options at all. So that’s what I did because you do what you have to do.

But the worst part, for me, was the bathrooms at the school gym, both in middle school and especially in high school. After the gym, we were required to shower. Failing to shower meant an F for the day, and that adds up fast. I tried to use a washcloth and clean up that way, but naturally, that quickly brought scorn. The teacher started checking to see who actually showered, and I knew I couldn’t keep getting F’s. I knew that I had no choice but to shower.

Thus, I found myself naked in front of an entire room full of guys. I didn’t at all want to be in that room. I didn’t look at anyone, didn’t waste a second, didn’t at all like how I felt. I was embarrassed and ashamed. I felt miserable. That was the first time ever, there in the sixth grade, that I actually wondered what was wrong with me.

I became an expert at lightning fast showers. By that, I mean that at the end of gym class I ran into the bathroom, and was already in the shower when pretty much everyone else was still coming into the bathroom, horse-playing and loudly “preening their feathers”. My gym teachers told my parents that they loved that I was so motivated I even ran off the gym floor into the locker room every day. I told my parents it was the soccer player in me.

The shower had two entrances, one directly from the locker area, and a back way through the restroom stalls. I would shower as fast as possible, in the back of the shower room, and slip out the back way, and get back to my locker while the other boys were just moving as a group into the shower room through the front, horseplaying and loud. I’d be dressed and out of the gym before most of them finished, which was fine with me, because seeing them naked was pretty embarrassing too.

Transgender in High School

As bad as middle school was, high school was much worse. The guys were bigger. They were stronger, more brash, more vocal, louder, more masculine. Everything I wasn’t. Proving you were manly was the thing that was done. But, I knew that wasn't something that worked, for me. Bathrooms visits were at least quicker, since the guys hanging out in the bathrooms only wanted to smoke cigarettes or weed.

However, the showers after gym class my Freshman and Sophomore years were, to say the least, not good. There was one way in, one way out, no partitions to hide behind. I remember one time, I was sitting on a bench in the rows of lockers. I had already showered, and was trying to get dressed and get out of there. I pulled on a sock, picked up a shoe, heard a noise, and looked up. There, totally unexpected, right in front of my face, no more than 18 inches away from me, was an enormous set of male genitals. 

“Oh my God!” I heard myself cry out in shock, as I dropped my shoe. Three guys nearby started laughing. The guy right in front of me, who had simply been moving past, stopped, shook himself in front of my face several times, and moved on. I felt myself turning beet red. Quickly dressing, I was out of there.

If I were in the shower, and a guy came in, I would quickly turn away, trying to not let him see any more of me than possible. On multiple occasions I was laughed at for crossing my arms over my chest. I didn't plan to do it. It was an automatic reaction.

There would be roughly 30 guys, all naked, in the locker room, and me. Testosterone, everywhere. I wanted to be anywhere but there. I didn’t want to be around 3 naked guys in a locker room, let alone 30. I felt alien. I had heard of the concept, but had never really experienced it. I felt alone, in a room full of people. I kept trying to look at their faces, but kept noticing their nakedness, and my own.

I always had to be careful, in the shower. I was curious, and envious. Envious at the easy way they were masculine, simply being themselves, and thus naturally being what I knew I needed to be, but increasingly, failed at. Curious about the bodies, a few of which I found very interesting. But then, there would be an involuntary reaction, and oh my gosh that couldn’t ever be seen! Most of the guys were frankly unattractive to me. So, I would try to shower nearest them, and thus avoid the unthinkable. But goodness, a few of the guys were, um, interesting!

The Joyous Buffet of Negative Feelings

Thus, I got the joyous buffet of negative feelings. Embarrassment, humiliation, shyness, fear, vulnerability. Best of all, I got to ask myself over and over again, what in the world was wrong with me?!?!? Why did I feel like I did? Why did I like what I liked, and dislike what I disliked? Have you ever hated yourself?

I still have massive problems with men's restrooms and locker rooms. I guess some things never change. There's fear. Nervousness. Am I going to be safe? Am I going to be accosted? Have I been in that restroom before? If so, what's the fastest way to go in, get to a stall, get done, and get out?

The reality is that there are those among us who, like me, have to pause for a moment, before entering that bathroom door, and steel themselves against what could happen in that room, before pushing the door open. Every. Single. Time. Something has to change.

An Eagle Scout?!?

1983

I was a Boy Scout. I started when young, with the Cub Scouts. I went all the way through the BSA, becoming an Eagle Scout, and a leader in the Order of the Arrow, which is an honor group within the Boy Scouts, to which you must be elected by your peers to join, and then becoming an Explorer, and finally, an Assistant Scoutmaster. Now, if you were not involved with Boy Scouts, those terms might not mean much to you. Suffice it to say that if it could be done in the Boy Scouts, at that time, I did it.

Some of it was fun. Some of it was challenging. Some of it was boring. Some of it seemed foolish. Some of it seemed pointless. Some of it was amazing. But through it all, I found myself feeling, over and over, that I was a fish out of the water. I felt awkward, at times exposed and vulnerable, at times embarrassed, at times weird. I am not sure I much felt like I belonged. But I tried so very hard to fit in. The worst thing of all that was that though I often felt like a fish out of water, I felt like I had to be successful in the Boy Scouts. I had to. My brother was in the same troop and excelling. My Dad had been a scout. It was expected of me

Boys to Men

The Boy Scouts of America (now Scouts BSA) in my childhood was what made boys into men. Camping, rappelling, hiking, rock climbing, canoeing, archery, rifle shooting, plant identification, tracking, all sorts of things. When I was young, I wanted so very badly to fit in, to belong, to become the man I was supposed to be becoming. Nothing else seemed to be in the cards for me. I excelled in the Boy Scouts, earning the highest awards I could get.

But over and over, it seemed to be a fool’s errand. Summer camp was especially awful. Yes, that’s the word, awful. I had to stay in a tent with a boy. Between that and the pool and the shower house and the stupid skinny dipping or shower games, I was so uncomfortable and felt so exposed. I had no choice in those situations, but my hands were shaking the whole time, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at anyone. I tried really hard not to participate in the roughhousing, and so forth. So, everyone else got to play "let’s laugh at the weird kid".

I guess the thing that most pervaded those situations was the feeling of shame. I felt like I was a failure at becoming a man. I felt like something must be wrong with me for how I felt about stripping in front of the guys when they all just yanked off their clothes.

I very much enjoyed hiking, and many of the activities were interesting. I liked being challenged. I liked learning. But I didn’t like being there, with the guys, like that. The feeling of being out of place was so strong. But at the same time, the need to work harder and harder to become the man I was supposed to become was pounding on me. The feeling that I was failing at doing what it seemed everyone around me was doing so very well pounded on me even worse. So, I worked at it even harder.

More Boy Than the Other Boys

When I achieved Eagle Scout in 1983, there was a lot of attention. Honestly, the world was a different place then than now. There was a big public ceremony, held at the church I attended, and I dislike being the center of attention. Several respected people from the church, from the Boy Scouts, and from the community got up and talked about what a great young man I was, an example to other boys, and then they read a congratulatory letter from the President of the United States, Ronald Reagan. The theme through it all was that I was an example for other boys to emulate, that I was more boy than the other boys around me!

Then it was time for me to get up and talk. Have I mentioned that I don’t like being the center of attention? But there didn't seem to be a choice. Anyway, I got up to talk, and my hands were shaking, and my voice was shaky and weird. People told me later they thought I was going to cry. That’s because I really was about to cry. Not because I was feeling so happy and proud. No. That would have been nice, actually.

I didn’t feel like I was any of those things they were saying about me. I didn’t want to be an example for boys. I didn’t even want to be a boy! Heck, I was amazed they let me in the Order of the Arrow, it was for boys! Then my brain heard those thoughts echoing in my head, standing up front in that church, and said to itself “wait, what?!?!?” and went to the blue screen, and my mouth froze, and it took me a few moments to shake those thoughts off and reboot. My Dad told me later I was smart, pausing to gather my thoughts before speaking. Yeah. That’s what I was. Smart. Pacing myself, you see. Thinking before I spoke. That's what I was doing. Sure. 

Oh Yes, I'm the Great Pretender

Not for the last time in my life, I felt like I was pretending. On a day that was supposed to be the crowning achievement of my life to that point, all I felt was that I wanted to be anywhere else but there. I was standing there, at the church pulpit, a few hundred people looking at me, and I wanted to cry. But I couldn’t do that, no matter what. There was no way in the world I could do that. So, I was the boy I was supposed to be. I talked.

It was awful.