When to Say Something?

 One trend I've noticed is that coworkers who know better have started slipping back into calling me "he" or "him". Many of these people have offices in the immediate area of my office, and we interact daily. They don't ever seem to realize they are doing it. Rather, they are reacting to my normal voice, which is in the lower range of voices. I believe it to be a subconscious thing, with no malice behind it, because I work with a group of pretty good people.

Sometimes I say something to them because I genuinely dislike being misgendered. When I say something, the person I mentioned it to is always apologetic and clearly tries to do better. Honestly, they are always startled that they had done it. 

Sometimes I get down on myself for not doing better at using the techniques I have learned in voice therapy that allow me to raise the pitch of my voice. It is possible to do, but honestly, it takes a lot of concentration to maintain that higher pitch, and in longer conversations, it hasn't seemed worth it. 

Then, when I get down on myself for not doing better, I get down on myself for getting down on myself, because I shouldn't have to do better. 

Sometimes I don't say anything to them, but rather, simply cringe just a bit inside. Sometimes I worry that I will be perceived as being difficult if I make too many corrections. I don't want to be the person people tread carefully around when they speak to me, if that makes sense.

Gender is such an awkward thing to navigate when all the slots on the slot machine don't line up. There is unrealized privilege for those whose slots line up; a jackpot of sorts, wherein they don't have to navigate the dissonance and the fallout of that dissonance. I say it is unrealized because when things always make sense to someone, that is so unremarkable to them as to not be noticed. Thus, they find it difficult to understand those whose slot machine is a little different, and they respond without thinking as though no one experiences dissonance. 

We see this all the time when a group of friends or coworkers are walking somewhere, and one of them has just a bit of a mobility issue. Everyone walks happily along, while the one friend slowly fades back a bit, because they simply cannot move as fast. Eventually, the friends notice and stop to wait for their friend to catch up. They apologize, and start off again, albeit a bit more slowly. Yet, within moments, they are proceeding at their precious pace without even realizing it. Does the person with the mobility difficulty keep saying something? Do they struggle along in silence?

In the same way, people react to the gender they perceive through the fog of their own lens, rather than the actual gender of the person. It'd just be nice for it to happen a little less at work. 

I Don't Know...

 I had taken a new job. It was a good job, great benefits, and an excellent opportunity in the field my degree is in. The employer is also LGBTQIA+ friendly in general. My new coworkers did a great job of adapting to a transgender woman joining the team. They integrated me quickly, nailed pronouns every time, asked good, non-invasive questions, and made me feel welcome. In my first few weeks there, I probably met 500 employees, and it went well. Until it didn't.

I'd been there about 2 weeks, and was with a coworker walking through a facility I was responsible for, so I could learn more about the building.  I'm a safety person, and I have responsiblity for multiple buildings. 

We were pretty much done, and were walking through the lobby to go to the elevators so we could go to the executive offices. That would enable me to meet the Associate Director for that facility. Keeping a good working relationship with him was important. 

As we walked across the lobby, the receptionist saw me walking, and thought of something she needed to ask my coworker and I. Though she had been introduced to me about half an hour prior, she called over to us, saying "Excuse me, sir. Ma'am. I don't know what you are."

I'm not going to lie. That was a kick in the stomach. Suddenly, I was wondering if this was the job for me, if I was truly accepted, if there was a lot of hidden bigotry I somehow hadn't picked up on. The culture of the organization we work for is such that she'd have really gotten in trouble had I reported what she said. I didn't report her.

Fast forward a few years. I've probably had over a hundred conversations with her. She seems a good person. Last week, I brought up our first meeting, and reminded her of what she said that day. I explained how I had felt, and that there are still days I hear her say that. I didn't do it to be mean, but rather, because I didn't want to keep holding it against her.

She was shocked, and apologized profusely. What stood out to me in that moment was that I was the very first trans person she had worked with, and she didn't handle it well. Since then, I've seen her interact with multiple gender diverse employees, and she is clearly a good person. So, as in so many other times, I was able to change someone's heart simply by existing, and helping someone see that trans people are valid.