A List of All the Reasons Transgender People Shouldn't Have Equal Rights

 A List of All the Reasons Transgender People Shouldn't Have Equal Rights:

Pronoun Changes

2019

I started out life with male pronouns. but one day, my wife and I put 2 and 2 and 3 and 1 and 5 and 4 and 3 together and figured out that I am transgender. That'll wreck your pronouns in a hurry.

I wanted to avoid the whole hog rush into changing genders that so many people experience, and make sure that each step made sense for us. Part of that was trying to figure out what pronouns to use. I wanted to get it right. So, I initially decided to think on it, not make a quick change, and continued using male pronouns.

As it became increasingly clear that I was not a cisgender male, I switched to using they/them/their as my pronouns. This caused some issues for my wife because without intending to, she would switch back and forth from he/him/his to they/them/their in conversations. I felt bad for her because she was trying hard, but errors were so easy to make. 

This continued while I explored whether a more accurate situation for me was non-binary, or female. Honestly, non-binary would likely have been more simple for me, since I had a male body. As time continued, I stayed in that niche for several months but was increasingly thinking I was actually female. One day, in conversation, I mentioned something about being non-binary and my wife laughed and said "Why don't you just admit it?"

"Admit what?" I asked.

"Please," she retorted. "You're more girly girl than I am!"

She was right. I am.

Later that same day, talking with our therapist, I told her that I wasn't non-binary, but actually female. She laughed, and said, "I was wondering when you'd decide that. It's pretty obvious"

We used they/them/their for another few weeks but then began phasing in she/her/hers. This accelerated to the point where we began using it more publicly when we filed for my name change.

Now my wife is comfortable referring to me as she/her, and I have coworkers who have never known me as anything other than she. People still slip sometimes, but that's normal, and they're getting better all the time.

I took my time, figured out what felt right, and then went for it. That was the right approach, for me.

Panic Attacks

1978

When I was a child, I experienced something painful. Literally painful. I was having chest pains, with difficulty breathing. I felt tingling in my fingers, sometimes I would feel sweaty or chilly. It happened at odd times, with no real cause, and I never knew when it was going to happen.

Of course, I told my parents. Honestly, they didn't believe me. Even when it eventually happened in front of them, they thought I was faking. But, it kept happening, and I remember my mom at one point telling me they were going to waste money to take me to the doctor so he could tell me it wasn't happening.

A few weeks later, I was seen by a doctor. He ran a few tests and told my parents that he thought I was just under physical stress, caused by eating too much, and not getting enough sleep. Mind you, I got more sleep than most of my peers, thanks to my extremely early bedtime, and I was skinny and always hungry.

My parents immediately cut my food back even more, and began requiring an earlier bedtime. It didn't help at all.

In the same period that this was happening, I was going through a period of strong dissonance. I was feeling really out of place, and so many things were starting to feel wrong. 

Thankfully, the chest pain and difficulty breathing slowly got farther between episodes. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, I am aware that what I was experiencing were the symptoms of panic attacks. they were really scary. 

I still have panic attacks sometimes. Usually centered around something scary to me. For example, during my time in the Army Reserve, I sometimes had panic attacks before drills in which I knew I was going to have to go into locker rooms. 

Panic attacks are scary. If you experience them, I can't begin to encourage you enough to seek aomeone to help. 

My New Hairdresser

 2017 - 2018

 

My first hairdresser having taken a job out of hair care, we went in search of someone new. A few visits to have my hair done proved disastrous, and we decided we need to be seeking for someone in a more expensive salon.

We visited a salon at a local mall, and once in the chair, I was again nervous. My wife was all over this, explaining what we were after, and why, and from the grin on the hairdresser’s face as she talked about how she’d want to go about it, I knew she was fully on board.

That first visit, she fixed the damage that Great Clips had caused. On subsequent visits, she crafted my hair as it got longer and longer, making sure that we stayed noticeably inside the line before each month’s drill.

Each time, when she was done, she and my wife went over with me how best to achieve the look she was creating. Hearing my wife say “Wow, that looks really good” was awesome!

If you're trans, and don't see a hair stylist, please consider it. Feeling good about yourself really helps with self esteem. 

Diane

 1980

 

Middle school is an awkward time for a lot of kids. In any school, there is that one girl who suddenly blossoms, becoming mesmerizingly pretty overnight as puberty kicked in. In our school, Northwood, the girl who suddenly went from Plain Jane was Diane.

Late in 6^th grade, Diane suddenly had noticeably large breasts, and better shaped legs than the girls around her, and she was suddenly pretty, too. Her breasts weren’t just noticeable. They were large. It seemed to happen overnight, but I’m sure that the reality was it was over a period of months.

The guys were evenly split on her. Half of the boys had no interest in girls yet, and the other half worshipped the ground she walked on. The girls also seemed conflicted. Many were so mad at her they could spit, and at the same time, the girls all seemed to want to be her friend.

Mind you, she couldn’t help going through the changes her body was experiencing, and I have no doubt that she was spending a lot of time experiencing negative emotions associated with what people were saying about her, and about how she was feeling, physically.

I remember one day in science class, that Diane, who was sitting at the table right behind me, was the subject of conversation. It was one of those conversations about someone that is carried on right in front of them, while pretending they’re not there, and can’t hear. The conversation was about her breasts, how stupid she looked with those big things, how she was a freak and a loser because of her body, how she felt she was better than everyone else because she had tits, how she clearly was a slut because she showed her breasts off (you know, wore the same tops every other girl in school wore), etc.

This went on for about 15 minutes, despite the presence of the teacher in the room. We were doing activities, so the teacher, rather than lecturing, was in the front of the room, at his desk. I remember feeling increasingly bad for her. Finally I couldn’t take it any more, and turned around and told them to stop it, that they were being mean. There was a shocked silence for a moment, and then some laughter, and a comment that “look, the wimp is defending the slut”. But they stopped, which shocked even me.

The kid I hung out with in middle school at that time, Mike, he asked me what my problem was. All I could come up with was that it was wrong, talking about her like that. He seemed to find that odd, to the point that by the end of that year, we were no longer talking. 

Diane seemed to appreciate it, though. For the rest of 6^th grade, I had a sort-of friend. We were in different social circles, but she would talk with me, and I always got a smile and a wave.

 

Caught

2017

 

In the barracks in California for training, I had adopted the tactic of showering late at night, by which I mean 2 in the morning, because at that time, everyone was asleep. I also showered on different floors, because it seemed less likely someone I knew would see me if they went to the bathroom.  It worked well and kept me in a position where I was relatively safe showering, as a transgender person in a barracks full of men.

I wasn't super far into transition at this point. I had shaved legs, and painted toes, though the color was very near skin tone, and hard to notice. But still, I tried to play it as safe as possible. 

This night, I was finished showering. I had heard another shower start, and thus knew another person was present. I dried off quickly, and headed out. On the way out, I passed the other person’s shower. I stopped at the sink for a moment to trim my eyebrows. Done, I took of my towel, and quickly dried off my face.

At that moment, the shower behind me opened, and the other person stepped out. I was in the act of turning to leave, and turned toward him as he stepped out. I had never seen him before. He was tall, and goodness, was he built! I noticed in a moment his powerful chest and arms, water glistening on his skin. My eyes dropped down his chest to his flat, muscular stomach, and then oh my god, to his dick, hanging between his strong legs. My gaze just kept traveling, drinking in what I was seeing. I was mesmerized. I have no idea how long I feasted on him with my eyes.

“What the F-!” the harsh voice snapped me out of it, and I realized with a horrible, sinking feeling that not only had I been checking out every beautiful inch of him with my eyes, but I had been caught doing it. He was glaring furiously at me.

He called me a sick f__k, and yelled at me to get out before he kicked my butt, and I cried out and darted out of the room. I wrapped my towel around myself as I hurried out, hearing him cursing me from the room behind me. I remember being thankful as I went down the hallway and the stairs in a mad scramble that I didn't pass anyone.  In my room, alone in the dark, I laid there in my bed and cried.

I was lucky, and I knew it. That experience could have ended very badly.

Thankfully, within a few days I was on my way home.   

The Wargame

 1994

 

I was in the Army, participating in a wargame in the New Mexico desert. The armored vehicle I commanded was undergoing mechanical issues. So my driver, and myself, were left with the vehicle while the attack continued away from us. Maintenance teams in general were overwhelmed, and I found out later our unit's maintenance team was captured. We were there, by ourselves, for a week.

The desert heat was oppressive through the day, and the nights, by contrast, were rather frigid. So, my driver and I spent the days sweltering. We quickly got smelly, and thus made sure we bathed each day. Now, my driver would simply bathe right in front of me, but I just plain couldn’t do the same. I was very uncomfortable with the idea of undressing and washing in front of him. Each morning, when it had warmed up a bit, I would take the portable shower we had, and go around to the front of the armored personnel carrier, and shower where I couldn’t be seen.

He found it a bit odd, and teased me a bit. In his southern twang he'd say "What's the matter Sergeant?". But I couldn't tell him. He'd try to be silly, pop around the side of the personnel carrier. But I always coverd my chest, and that just made him laugh harder. 

Naturally, because my life so rarely goes right the first time, when our First Sergeant and his driver stopped by after that week to replenish our food and water, where was I? Yep. Showering. 

I wish I could say that showering got easier. But unfortunately, it didn't. 

But the worst part of the experience was yet to come. My driver and I noticed one morning that a lot of tarantulas were around. Next thing we know, we were surrounded with them. Some sort of migration. The desert was black and moving. The stuff horror movies were made of. 

At least the showers stopped. We spent three days on top of our armored personnel carried, fending off spiders.