Report from a Transland exile
Lately, I've been having thoughts of leaving Transland.
1) Although my politics with regard to the U.S., Occupy Wall Street, corporations, foreign policy, etc. are actually moving further to the left, my politics within the trans community seem to remain fairly centrist and pragmatic -- which, in certain conversations, makes me something of an outlier. I'm also an educated person, which further renders me deviant in conversations about feminism, labels, and power structures. :/ I grew up in a fundamentalist home and was sent to Jesus camps as a child. I seem to be incapable of engaging in groupthink on either side of the political spectrum, and the viciousness and prevalence of language policing, along with the attacks on people within our ranks, have filled me with despair.
2) Being trans is challenging -- many of us face threats and obstacles with regard to personal safety, employment, family, legal rights, and so on. That -- along with no small amount of psychological baggage that comes from living a false identity based on what OTHERS want -- can make our lives volatile. Recently, while traveling around the world, I spent a lot of time thinking about my relationships and place in the world. I wasn't online as much, and it gave me a little perspective. I realized that a stunning number of people I interact with on a daily basis (including myself) are unemployed/underemployed, suffering from some sort of medical/psychological condition, and un-partnered. In the days before I entered Transland, this was actually not the norm in my social group. It wasn't unusual, but it wasn't typical. It's a very sad statement on what it means to be transgender in the United States of America.
3) Our numbers are small, and too many of us are engaged in infighting.
4) Because our numbers are small, many of us seek out each other online. In my own life, this has been both blessing and curse. I've met amazing, beautiful, courageous people, many of whom are now close friends in the "physical" world. But the fact that I've relied heavily on the internet to gain support during transition has led to feelings of isolation. I've neglected my longstanding friendships in Austin (and elsewhere) because I got lost in the labyrinthian cyberworld of early transition.
Because of these factors, I've had to acknowledge certain realities that are now shaping my life. And I want to emphasize that I am speaking only from my personal experience and that I am not engaging in victim-blaming. Rather, I'm acknowledging my own limitations around attempts to take care of myself. And the fact is that since entering Transland, I have been steeped in stories of oppression and surrounded by people who are struggling to survive, and this can be dispiriting. We ARE surviving, and that is a triumph, but I want more for my life than to just get by, and to feel like that's enough, because it is enough for those around me. I'm dealing with depression, the loss of my family, relationship breakups, and career indecision. Fact is, I need to look at the people around me and feel supported. Sometimes I need to be picked up.
I've therefore decided to maintain my citizenship in Transland, and to keep one foot firmly planted in that wacky, magical place, but to venture out and expand my social/artistic/professional connections. I want to continue nurturing all the friendships that I have with my fellow transmen, transwomen and genderqueers, and to advocate for all of us, but I need some balance in my life. I need to remind myself that my gender status is just one facet of who I am. I will no longer serve as a therapist/bank/whatever to people in my social group. One of the reasons I failed to fight harder for my dwindling practice when I was a psychologist is that I was so freakin' burned out. A lot of the energy I had once reserved for clients was going towards trying to save my trans friends, and myself. I do not regret any of it. But it's time for a different focus now.
That means I am now putting into place a process of mindfulness around ALL of my relationships. If I don't feel cared about by someone, and that person doesn't add any value to my life, the time and energy I put into that friendship will fade away. Most of my friendships have been beautiful, surprising things, evolving into little lives of their own. But a few have been pits of need and disappointment.
It's time to climb out of the trenches and rejoin the world.
1) Although my politics with regard to the U.S., Occupy Wall Street, corporations, foreign policy, etc. are actually moving further to the left, my politics within the trans community seem to remain fairly centrist and pragmatic -- which, in certain conversations, makes me something of an outlier. I'm also an educated person, which further renders me deviant in conversations about feminism, labels, and power structures. :/ I grew up in a fundamentalist home and was sent to Jesus camps as a child. I seem to be incapable of engaging in groupthink on either side of the political spectrum, and the viciousness and prevalence of language policing, along with the attacks on people within our ranks, have filled me with despair.
2) Being trans is challenging -- many of us face threats and obstacles with regard to personal safety, employment, family, legal rights, and so on. That -- along with no small amount of psychological baggage that comes from living a false identity based on what OTHERS want -- can make our lives volatile. Recently, while traveling around the world, I spent a lot of time thinking about my relationships and place in the world. I wasn't online as much, and it gave me a little perspective. I realized that a stunning number of people I interact with on a daily basis (including myself) are unemployed/underemployed, suffering from some sort of medical/psychological condition, and un-partnered. In the days before I entered Transland, this was actually not the norm in my social group. It wasn't unusual, but it wasn't typical. It's a very sad statement on what it means to be transgender in the United States of America.
3) Our numbers are small, and too many of us are engaged in infighting.
4) Because our numbers are small, many of us seek out each other online. In my own life, this has been both blessing and curse. I've met amazing, beautiful, courageous people, many of whom are now close friends in the "physical" world. But the fact that I've relied heavily on the internet to gain support during transition has led to feelings of isolation. I've neglected my longstanding friendships in Austin (and elsewhere) because I got lost in the labyrinthian cyberworld of early transition.
Because of these factors, I've had to acknowledge certain realities that are now shaping my life. And I want to emphasize that I am speaking only from my personal experience and that I am not engaging in victim-blaming. Rather, I'm acknowledging my own limitations around attempts to take care of myself. And the fact is that since entering Transland, I have been steeped in stories of oppression and surrounded by people who are struggling to survive, and this can be dispiriting. We ARE surviving, and that is a triumph, but I want more for my life than to just get by, and to feel like that's enough, because it is enough for those around me. I'm dealing with depression, the loss of my family, relationship breakups, and career indecision. Fact is, I need to look at the people around me and feel supported. Sometimes I need to be picked up.
I've therefore decided to maintain my citizenship in Transland, and to keep one foot firmly planted in that wacky, magical place, but to venture out and expand my social/artistic/professional connections. I want to continue nurturing all the friendships that I have with my fellow transmen, transwomen and genderqueers, and to advocate for all of us, but I need some balance in my life. I need to remind myself that my gender status is just one facet of who I am. I will no longer serve as a therapist/bank/whatever to people in my social group. One of the reasons I failed to fight harder for my dwindling practice when I was a psychologist is that I was so freakin' burned out. A lot of the energy I had once reserved for clients was going towards trying to save my trans friends, and myself. I do not regret any of it. But it's time for a different focus now.
That means I am now putting into place a process of mindfulness around ALL of my relationships. If I don't feel cared about by someone, and that person doesn't add any value to my life, the time and energy I put into that friendship will fade away. Most of my friendships have been beautiful, surprising things, evolving into little lives of their own. But a few have been pits of need and disappointment.
It's time to climb out of the trenches and rejoin the world.