How can you be a lesbian and be with a man?!

Of all the comments made here and at John Aravosis' post (I read all on my blog because I actually have to pre-approve them before they're posted but I did not read all AMERICAblog because they were giving me intestinal distress) one keeps coming back to me: 

It was just a little snippet at the end of a comment: 

"It makes me wonder. The author, in not realizing why a womens-only space wouldn't accept a trans man (because they view him as an equal male?) and also as still ID-ing as a lesbian, seems to not take the male-ness of her spouse as seriously as the sponsors of the dance do."  (bold added by me.)
 When A. and I first started telling folks about his transition, they always asked: does that mean you're still a lesbian? Most of the time I'd laugh it off and joke well, I'm kind of a failed lesbian: I'm so bad at it that I'm with a man. Get it? Yuck Yuck. 

Then it started to be less funny. Because I started asking myself the same questions. And the answers were not readily apparent. In fact, I'm still in that process. They demand digging down to my very core with deep questions, like: what am I? Who am I? What am I attracted to? Who am I attracted to? What is love? What does it mean that this person who I thought was a woman ( albeit a very masculine one) and had a female body, now is identifying as a male and has a male body. 

Beautiful image courtesy of Leland Francisco

When we first entered this, I identified as bisexual. Because I have had attractions to both men and women. But when I unpacked that – looked at it little deeper – the truth is, I haven't had a relationship with a man since college. And even then, it was not so great.

Part of me wants to stop writing right now because I'm feeling vulnerable. But I also feel like it's important to say this stuff so I'm going to go for full exposure.  Besides, I've written about it before. 

The first time I kissed a woman (in college) changed everything.  I got to experience that aha moment of pure joy and revelation. I suddenly understood the whole hullabaloo about sex. Oh…. I get it now!  lightbulb moment. I'm sure many people can relate.  Sometimes I shudder to think about  people who've never gotten to experience that.

 But does this mean I am a six on the Kinsey scale? No. But I'm probably a 4.5 to 5. 

And guess what? I didn't CHOOSE my orientation any more than you did, or any more and A chose his gender. I don't want to get into a discussion about how we came to be our gender and sexual orientation. But I can tell you that I did not consciously set out one day to become attracted to women. I just was. I just am. And A. did one day set out to become a man. He just was. He just is.

So he is respecting my sexual orientation and I am respecting his gender. Telling me that I should no longer identify as who I am is just as bad as telling him he no longer should identify us who he is.

I'm not sure why this is so complicated.

Now as for us,  we are dealing with our own issues with sexuality and attraction on our own terms.

Gendercops beware: you've been infiltrated

Many  people who read my post here, at helen boyd's post here and here, and John Aravosis' post here (HUGE thanks to these two by the way) seemed to read something like this: OMG a dude wants to break into our women's space! And he's a not just a dude. He's a straight dude who has ton's of places where he can hang with his girl.

Art courtesy of Samir Luther

Be grateful he's transitioned and move the fuck on. He's not a lesbian anymore. Get out of our women's only space and stop being so damned selfish and ruining it for all of us who need that space. 

Um, I'm paraphrasing and in some cases exaggerating, but that was the sentiment. 

So what about that response bugs me?

Beyond the obvious (calling me selfish, etc.) was the more subtle. When I wrote that blog post, I was trying to express how I, the lesbian PARTNER of a trans guy, was feeling about being cut off from my community. It hurt. It hurt way worse than I could ever have imagined.

But most folks addressed the issue as if my transman was the one banging on the door. Don't get me wrong: he was upset that a community he's been a part of and supported for decades simply gave him the boot. (Not to mention that while it was NOT a PFLAG even, it was raising money for that organization). But I was trying to explain how being a partner of someone who has transitioned is very tricky. In some ways, his sudden visibility means that part of me is suddenly invisible (my gay part) He's well-aware of this tradeoff. And I'm not upset with him. It's hard for me but I absolutely want him to be authentic. He's a much better person for it. It's no one's fault. It's the way it is. 

But it's absurd to say he's no longer part of a community because he's suddenly visible.

Which leads me to the second point: he did not suddenly become a man. He simply chose to honor who he's always been and bravely transition medically so that his insides and his outsides match.  A. has ALWAYS been a man. Since birth. He's just always been stuck in the wrong body. (I'm not speaking for all transgendered people. God knows, I'm not expert. I just know our experience.) Which means, you know what? That, he, a MAN has been attending lesbian events for YEARS. He just didn't have a male appearance back them. So he already infiltrated. 

But it was cool, right? Because he looked like a woman. And you know what? I know for certain he wasn't and isn't the only one. I didn't go to the dance, but I'd put all my money on the fact that there were a few female-appearing folks there who really were men.

What I'm saying is that these spaces that proclaim to be for women only have been one big illusion.

Splitting hairs, am I?

Think about it. 

Now that I understand gender a lot better than I did even a year ago. I get it. Just because you look like you're a woman, doesn't mean you are. Just because you look like a man doesn't mean you are either. In fact, many people do not fall on this binary scale of gender. Genderqueer, asexual... etc. Even Facebook gets that. So this idea that you can throw a single-sex event is kind of antiquated. 

But let's say you're cool with people simply identifying as male or female and choosing it for themselves. Fine. How the hell are you going to enforce it?

Are you going to tell that super butch looking person who is packing but appears to have breasts somewhere under that binding and plaid button-down and speaks in a lowish voice that she (or is it he?) is not welcome? What about that woman who has visible beard stubble, an Adam's apple and sounds little like Johnny Cash? Are you going to tell her she's not welcome?And hell, what do you do with that person who walks into the door and looks, well like both genders... or neither one? 

To those who tell us that A. and I are now a straight couple and we have plenty of places to go where we're welcomed, I'm tempted to give the big fat middle finger. But I'm trying to have a rational conversation here (even if it's just one way). So I'll say this. We are NOT a straight couple. That's the whole point! I'm basically a lesbian and my partner is a transman who had found a home in the lesbian world for many years. Do you really think that we'd be at home in a straight world where the price of admission would be to stay in the closet about who we really were, lest we offend someone, or godforbid, make someone feel uncomfortable? Or worse? Think this through, people: let's go with it. A and I go to a dance. It's straight. We dance. We have a great time. We meet lots of wonderful straight couples. We make friends. Then in conversation I slip and call A. "she" because it happens. They figure it out. And maybe they're not such nice people. Maybe they're offended that we basically deceived them. Maybe they just don't like queers. Maybe they decide to beat the shit out of A. to prove a point. Maybe.Yeah, we'd feel so welcome at that place. Thanks lesbians. 

When you tell us to stay out of your community, you're actually telling us: go back into the closet and please for goddsake, stop making us feel so uncomfortable. Because that was the reason given to us for staying away: seeing a person who looked like a woman dancing with a person who looked like a man would make women feel uncomfortable. Because obviously that's a really good reason for exclusion. We all know that we should never offend.

Yeah, I'm pissed. Because I thought of all the people I know, lesbians, who have been oppressed, mistaken for straight and dealt with narrow-minded shit their whole likes —at least they'd understand what it's like to be excluded, to be shunned, to be told they're something that they're not, to be excluded. Many do, but many don't. 

One person who I considered to be an expert on the topic (well more than one) told me that hey, this wasn't a lesbian-only dance. This was a woman-only space and that straight women were welcome. And even *they* couldn't bring their partners. To that I say bullshit. Two things: if a straight woman is attending an all-woman's dance on Valentine's day, she either isn't really straight or doesn't have a date. A straight woman who is dating a straight man really does have many places she can attend while being completely authentically herself. So she's choosing to hang out in a mostly-lesbian environment. Good for her. I'm happy for her. But that doesn't mean that a LESBIAN who is dating a MAN who used to identify as LESBIAN has those same options. 

Get real. 

And to those people who say, hey, cool your partner is passing and is a man and go celebrate at a straight bar of your choosing, I also say, what about me? There I said it. What about me? I'm not straight.

So yeah, I'm not going to drop this.

I'm fine if you disagree with me. But I ask you to do so intelligently. I.E. calling me selfish and other names is not intelligent. Give me a good argument. 

For those who tell me there are plenty of openly gay places that will welcome you, I say THANK YOU. This isn't about us, personally, having a place to go. I'm blessed to have amazing friends and family (queer, straight, etc.) who love us and have accepted these changes gracefully. I have attended gay spaces where we've been completely welcomed. 

So this really isn't about me personally wanting to find a space. But it is about wanting people to think a little more deeply about this issue. What's female? What's male? What's inclusive.

Bottom line, hang out with whomever you want. That's the beauty of a free society. But when you open your doors to the public, when you raise money for an inclusive organization, it's just not cool any more.

Should I come out??

Photo by sonofabike via Flickr

I've been laying low on the blog a little bit. That's not because I'm not into blogging. But I sort of reached transition overload. You know? When people ask me, "Hey! Whachu been up to and my response is my partner's transition... " I know it's time to take a break. Besides, R. (now A.) is in a good place. He had his surgery, is sporting new muscles along with body hair (if T didn't make your voice change and add hair I'd be on it) and is generally happier. So it's kind of been my turn to you know, quietly freak out a little, not necessarily put on my I'm-supportive-no-matter-what-face and just be. Those of you who know me also know that I've had my own health issues. Without getting into it, I had a little scare that made me think: hmmm. I need to focus on my own bad self for awhile. So that's what's going on. And frankly, processing is tiring. Like it would be easier with scotch, except I'm not drinking now.

And notice I'm giving more details? (Yes, I'm fully aware that if someone for some reason wanted to ID me, they could).  I'm just about ready to come out and be public. And guess what? I'm thinking most people will be like, eh. Oh, that's cool but no biggie.
So should I come out? Does it matter?

That thing between your legs

As soon as I tell you that my partner's transitioning I know exactly what you're thinking: You are thinking Dick. You know --  Cock, penis, junk -- whatever you call the thing that dangles between most dudes legs. Because in the world we live in the thing that's the thing that separates men from women. Right? 

Photo by Mid-Century Pretty via of Flickr

And you want to ask, right? Sometimes you do. But guess what? It may be rude, but I don't really want to talk about it. It isn't my place. And really, I don't really want to talk to most people about their sexual organs. (There are some with whom I have had in-depth discussions but the operative word here is "most." 

I know that most dudes have penises and most women have vaginas. Right? And that's just fine. Do we really need to discuss it? 

It reminds me of the days long ago: there was a time when I would come out to people and they'd ask, hey, like how do you do it? What kind of sex do you have? Seriously. Now they don't. Because guess what? Being gay is ordinary. Boring, even. 

And as Chaz Bono and many others have said, it's about what's between your ears and not what's between your legs. Trust me, once you live with a trans person, you get this. R is a dude. Plain and simple. Maybe he's a special dude -- an FTM dude. But trust me. He thinks like a dude. He acts like a dude. He talks like a dude. And now he's starting to look like one too. 

Now we can marry...oh the irony

I just have to post one more thing. Like every queer person (and probably most people in the United States) have been following the back to back Supreme Court cases dealing with gay marriage. I don't need to weigh in on this except for to state the obvious: it's about time. But I just wanted to say how ironic I think it is that now that R has transitioned (well it's actually a process) he will soon legally become male. And guess what? We will legally be able to get married pretty much anywhere. It seems radically unfair that is to women we couldn't marry but now we can. We're still the same people. We still deserve the same rights. I hope the court will get this one right.

Top surgery and beyond

It's been nearly a month since I posted. And I can tell you the reason I haven't posted hasn't been because life has been boring. Quite the opposite. So much has happened it's almost impossible to catch up. So obviously I'm not going to take you through every nuance.  But I will give you the one big highlight: since I last wrote, R  had top surgery.

Yep. It happened.

I have so many mixed feelings about this that I don't even know where to begin. I feel like I should be writing something meaningful but it's almost too close to the bone. You know what I mean? No pun intended.

On the one hand I'm very excited for him. It's actually kind of a relief that he's never expressed any hesitance about going through with the surgery. If it were me, I would feel very mixed. I mean it is surgery. But it's altering your basic architecture.

And yes–I get it. That's the whole point. I'm actually really proud and impressed with R. He did it. It was brave. It was courageous. And it was actually extremely self-loving. And God knows, we all need to give ourselves love.

On that level, he's actually been a role model for me. I'm typically female in respect to needs. Like a lot of girls, I was also raised to put other people's needs before my own. I don't always do them mind you. In fact, I think it can actually make one quite selfish. But I'm learning at my late age to put my needs first. It's actually healthy.

And that means that I get to react to the surgery. I'm not exactly sure how I feel about it, but it hasn't been all positive. I feel like a bit of a traitor for writing this here. But I'm going to do it anyhow in deference to the fact that I've said I would tell the truth. Let's just say it's been difficult. It's not that I'm so into breasts that I can't live without them (although certainly I would want to.) I think it's more about being with someone who is essentially altering who they are. And yes–I know that R  is simply becoming who he is on the inside. In other words, he's always been a man. He's just had the great misfortune (and I mean that sincerely) of having been born into a female body.

But I'm still allowed to react, right?  (I'm telling myself this) This is where I'm having difficulty. Because intellectually, I absolutely love what he's doing. I admire it and I respect it, as I said before.  But it's major. I guess the whole top surgery thing–well that's the point of no return. His voice seems to get lower every day. His muscles grow. And his beard gets thicker. And then there is the hair.  and actually I don't mind any of these changes. Some of them I actually like.  But I have to tell you it's really weird to watch this transformation.

 But I will save that for another day–look forward to the post titled, living with a grown adolescent.

So  if anyone is still reading, thanks for the support. I really appreciate it.

Transition

Photo by pennstatenews

I always thought transitioning was about changing genders—shifting from being a woman to being a man (or vice versa).

But that's the thing. It's not. Not for the person transitioning, anyhow. For R transitioning means he is shifting from being in the body of a woman to being in the body of a man.

The transitioning person is not really the one transitioning. I mean, he is. But he's not.  R is re-shaping his body (through medical intervention) so that it matches his true gender. He's coming into his own. He finally will be able to slip into the body that fits. Imagine what it's like to go around life wearing the wrong suit of clothing, being trapped in it. I haven't experienced it, but I imagine it would feel like being stuck inside some constricting costume with a false body and head. Claustrophobic.

He's getting to embody himself.  (Forgive me if this is obvious but it's still new to me.)

The transition? The change? The shift? That comes for everyone else. Because everyone outside of R has known him as a woman (even if that's never what he was). He's changing physically. And the rest of the world—those who know him—must shift our thinking. We need to transition our thinking and  adjust to this new manifestation of this human.

And hell, I won't beat around the bush. That's hard. That's fucking hard. Because gender is so hard-coded into us (everyone points out that it's the first thing we humans learn about their offspring: boy or girl). So finding out that someone doesn't fit the mold quite as we expected forces us look inside and question ourselves. Maybe that's why people are so threatened, but they needn't be. The questions are important and the answers are fascinating.

What is gender? What makes me a woman? What makes you a man? And why is it important? Why do we care about gender? The answers, of course, could fill volumes (sorry I don't have many answers; just questions).

So the shift really is up to everyone else. R does not have to shift at all. He's already there. We just have to catch up.

When she was a boy

(I wrote this as an exercise for a class. It's fictional but true in a fictional way.)

When she was a boy she had feet that could fly. They were her wings, her feet clad in boys shoes, sturdy and tight, her chemistry set at home. The other boys – they all knew she was a boy. She imagined herself a fisherman or a fireman or an astronaut.

Photo by wallyg via Flickr

Sometimes she was a pilot who could climb into a cockpit and soar above the world. When she was a boy, she was not a sister. She was not a daughter. She was a sailor. She was a cop. She was a construction worker who drove huge trucks that crunched over gravel and picked up impossible loads.

When she was a boy she was kind and smiled toothy grins. She caught spiders and bugs and burned wings under magnified glass.

When she was a boy, they told her she was a girl. They put her in pink dresses with lace and beads that she picked off in church. They made her sit still with her legs together, her knobby knees scraped and accustomed to shorts and high speeds.

And she knew in her heart that she would not grow up to be this other thing. But she really didn't think about it. She thought of the sun in her face. She thought of the tricks she would play on her sisters – like any big sister. Because she knew she was a boy.

"Mom – I can't wear that. I'm a boy." And her mother would look sideways at this child and her contrariness. She would stare and ponder because no one ever told her about little girls that grow to be boys and men.

"You're a girl and that's that."

And she would go off crying. But then her dad would come in to give her a fishing rod and she knew that he knew that she really was a boy.

When she was a boy, when it was late at night and she couldn't sleep, she knew the truth: that she would grow up. She wished every night and yet she knew that her body would betray her further. And eventually it did.

But now she is grown. Her parents are long gone. The memories of them telling her what she wasn't when she knew she was, long erased. And she looked at himself in the mirror and saw the betrayal. The body of a woman.

But that was all about to change. And soon, she would be a man. The man she was meant to be. And people would no longer doubt her. And they would no longer say she grew up as a girl who was a boy. They would just know she when she was a boy she was a boy. And now she was a man. A real man.

HeSheHeSheHeShe

Photo courtesy of vanderwal on Flickr

So you try it. Try to get through a whole day without using a personal pronoun for the person you love. You think it's easy, right? I mean, who hard can it be to say, this person over here will have the Caesar for dinner. R has suggested this. While he's still not passing, we're in this never/never land, this in-between state. He's a he, but he's still presenting as a she. I'm getting to be OK with this. And I think he's OK because in his head, he's already a man. Has always been a man, (that's the point, right?) but his body is changing to match what's in his head. So it makes sense for him to want me to call him a he. And yet, it's awkward. Right? It's confusing in my brain. Because inside my little head, he is kind of still a she, even though he's never really been a she. See? If I complete that sentence any more, it will be as twisty as my thoughts. But the hard part is some people still know him as a she and some people still perceive him as a she. So if I say he, I get a funny look or a look of flat out confusion. And I get a dirty look from R. So do I really want to explain to the flight attendant that oh, he's transitioning? No. Do I need to? No. Do I feel compelled? Kind of. Kind of . Do I care? No. I don't care. I only care what R thinks. It's just confusing. Sometimes, even I find myself referring to a friend and inside my brain, the thought zips through: is that a girl or a boy? Gender. Gender. Gender.

Gender Confusion

Photo by by Annie Warhol (who took it from somewhere)

I just want to say that when I was younger and going through a punk rock stage, thinking I might have a chance at becoming a rock star (until I sadly realized I had only enough talent to sing in the shower—alone) I started writing songs. They were, of course, terrible. But there's one song I wrote that keeps running through my brain. I called "Gender Confusion." And the only lyrics I penned were those: gender confusion. (I may have written more but who can remember?) They came with some awesome electric guitar power chords full of distortion. Now I'm asking,  how the hell did I know how these lyrics would resonate years later? I know I wrote it about my own state of gender confusion and the confusion I saw all around me. It was a very androgynous cultural period and I related. It just shows that I've always been on the gender edge, myself. Some call me gender queer. And I am, I suppose. But gender queer just sounds too cool for me. Still, it's far superior to the other word: confused.

Who's your daddy?

We've both been having a hard time with the pronoun issue. Sometimes, It's a matter of remembering. And sometimes it's a matter of decorum. Last night we were at a small party. Only a few people knew what was going on. Since R has only taken two doses of testosterone, he still appears female. Mind you – he's never been a particularly feminine woman. Or at least he isn't now. As a lesbian, he was definitely butch. But especially in a lesbian crowd, he appears female. It's pretty awkward of me to start referring to him as a she however, if people don't know. So he's kind of forced to come out, which can be awkward (again). And if he does come out, that's definitely going to be the topic of conversation.  I called him a "she" last night and felt bad about it. But I didn't know what else to do. On the way home, I mentioned this and said it was difficult and I felt bad about it. (It's also kind of confusing to switch back-and-forth between genders.) He said why don't you just not refer to me as anything? Just use my name. I got pretty upset (unfairly) because I felt like he was being dismissive and was angry at me for having referred to him as a she. (I have problems with anger).  Later he said he understood where I was coming from. Anyhow, I wish he could simply just come out and be done with it. I wish *we* could come out and be done with it. It's not like being gay where you don't really have to tell some of the first time you meet them. Unless of course it's a date. And when you do tell someone you're gay, it rarely leads to a litany of questions like, when did you know you we're gay? (When I first came out it did, but we're at such a different place in society and we live in the gay mecca of the world.) But the trans thing? That would be a big deal.  Oh and the title of this post? I was laughing this morning because R was was cuddling the dogs And saying, "mommy loves you." Even he has trouble with pronouns.

Photo by Elvert Barnes

So am I ok?

That's what my friends ask. Am I OK? How do I feel about it. I usually take a big deep breath. Then maybe I take a sip of the chardonnay I poured before making the call. (I'm human, OK?) And then I tell them the truth: yes, I'm OK. I'm good. I'm happy. R has opened up. He's expanded. Imagine, spending six decades with this secret sitting on top of you, suffocating you, keeping you from being who you are. Imagine all the shame. All the terror. Because you happened to be born into the wrong body. Well, when our therapist told him what he's known since he was two and demanded that he was a boy and not a girl, that he was a man, something changed. Something shook loose. Shook into place. And he became the man he's always been. He became more of the man I've always loved. Even though he was a she and I thought I was with a woman. And that's where it gets complicated. Because while I've always thought of myself as bisexual, I did not choose to be with a man when I chose R. I chose him because of his smile and his charm. I chose him because of the way he looked at me. I chose him because of the way he treated his animals, the way his hand felt on my face. I chose him because I was getting out of a bad relationship with someone who was unhealthy and he was there, like a song and a flower and he was easy. Then. I chose him because he was a woman with small but beautiful breasts too. And those will be going. I will miss them. That hurts. I am feeling so many feelings. All the feelings at once. So no, I don't know if I'm OK. Yes, I'm thrilled. And yes, I'm OK. And yes, it is much. So, so, much.