“I met someone who is the complete antithesis of you,” TBB told me on while leaving Thanksgiving Home.
“They just want to be normal. Normal, normal, normal,” she continued. “And they spent the evening ragging on people who they think don’t come up to standards, including one transwoman who they were calling by their given name.”
“Rude,” I replied. “Do not do unto others what would be hateful to you. It seems they missed the golden rule.”
One of the things I hate about “the interlocking communities around transgender” is how much it is our adolescents who become the face of trans. By definition, adolescent behavior is not mature behavior, maturity doesn’t need to belittle others to make itself feel bigger.
Gwyneth asks about the expression of womanhood. I do, absolutely do, believe that expression and maturity go hand in hand. We have to express who we are to own it, have to express who we are to knock off the edges of our own imaginings and find our own truth.
One of the biggest challenges that other people have with me is that I believe that expression contains meaning. It may not be the meaning we thought that we were choosing to express, not the meaning that matches our rationalizations, but there is meaning there.
Many people have trouble with the idea that even our lies have meaning because they want to believe that the communicate only out of expediency, only to manipulate others so they can achieve a goal, and not because they are expressing their own beliefs, understandings and desires.
They don’t want me to take their words and choices to have meaning, rather they want me to respond to their words as programming to get me to do their bidding. It’s a real pain in the ass when I analyze their symbols for meaning about them rather than just accept their will.
We lie to tell the truth, act “as-if,” express our possibilities until they become us. That is the process of becoming; we never are what we intend to be, but what we intend to be reveals us, and the process of working to substantiate those claims shapes us into who we become.
The difference between that tranny working to be “normal” and TBB is that TBB isn’t working to claim, rather she is working to become. TBB isn’t just claiming normal, she is working the path of assimilation: How can she be one of the crowd while also being herself?
My knowledge of myself is in my knowledge of my changing choices. If I had one thing to say to my younger self it would be this: Trust the truths inside of you, and trust that if you are open and responsive as you express those truths, you will find a place of authenticity.
I was terrified of my truths, so I chose against them rather than with them. I fought them at every turn, trying to make the choices of a man, and working against my nature sabotaged and destroyed me.
My big breakthrough was when I finally owned my womanhood enough that other women heard me as speaking woman. Crossdressers didn’t hear it, because they were pretending to speak woman as the Muppet’s Swedish Chef pretends to speak Swedish, and they assumed I was doing the same. But when Shelia Kirk’s born female partner sat through a meeting with me and Melissa Sherill Lynn and told me “I love that you can say ‘fuck you’ in so many nice ways!” I knew I was onto it.
That continues. When Jendi Rieter hears echoes of her own struggle in me, surprised to hear it from someone born male, or when someone who knows me as a woman sees me in boy clothes and gets how ill fitting the outfit is, I know that I have reached some kind of assimilation, some kind of truth.
I want to tell my truth, and I have worked hard to find it. And the post Gwyneth commented on was about how hard it is when other people’s assumptions erase my truth. Yes, as a woman, clothes are important to me, important as expression. I have looked at one dress five times in the last few weeks, a rayon/spandex knee length black dress from J. Jill that is still $30 in my local outlet. That dress calls to me, flowing, well cut and clerical. I wait for the markdown because I know that even if I buy it now I have no place to wear it, no audience who will see it and understand my choice, understand how my choice of that dress fits into the other choices I make in expressing who I am.
This is a key challenge of being invisible to my self-absorbed parents; I feel destroyed.
I have no doubt that womanhood is discovered in the expression of womanhood and the reponse to reactions to one’s own expression. Girls learn to be women by trying womanly things and getting feedback to shape and hone those expressions. I call that process assimilation.
For many transwomen, though, I find that expression gets in the way of reactions. The clothes become like armor, and we bull our way through any negative reaction, rather than being open and vulnerable enough to engage, respond and change. That is the trap I did not want to fall into.
You can’t be a woman unless you can express yourself as a woman and have that expression affirmed by other women. Women own womanhood. It is a real challenge to walk between the fundamentalist women who reject anyone born male as not woman and the women who are willing to judge others on what they express, but that is the path that leads to connection for me.
I have seen transwomen who are not responsive to other women, who hold their own manly choices behind their expression, and, frankly, I don’t find that pretty. The worst way to express gender is to tell someone who we are. The best way is to show people who we are, and we can only do that when we have some mastery of our own expression, mastery that comes with making expressions getting feedback and then reshaping those expressions.
My womanhood is in my choices, not my assertions. And when other women experience those choices in a way that resonates with their own experience of being a woman, well, that’s good, at least to me.
The experience of being human is prose and is prosaic; we all have the same needs. The experience of living in gender is poetry and poetic; we have our own approach to things. I remember a femme friend who had a special denim maxi skirt for working under the car; all the better to wipe greasy tools. It wasn’t repairing cars that marked her as femme, it was the way she approached those repairs.
There is no doubt that for me, writing is my primary form of expression. That doesn’t mean I don’t have mastery of dressing myself, or that I don’t love the symbols of dressing as much as I love language. I agree with that Kentucky woman on “Throwdown With Bobby Flay” that “Any day you get to wear false eyelashes is a good day!”
It’s just that I, like many other women, have limitations that hinder me from that kind of broad expression. The other women might be physically disabled, may be of size, may have limited means, may be in tough situations, or whatever, but our challenges are similar. A farm wife may spend most of her life in boots and overalls, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t a woman. She needs to have some mastery of expression with dress, sure, but not the same level of mastery that a Manhattan socialite needs.
I believe in gender as a system of communication, but then, as I said, I believe in humanity as a system of communication. We are always telling who we are, even as we may think we are trying to hide it. The one thing I want to people to know about transpeople is that we are working to tell the truth about ourselves, however twisted that seems.
It’s just when we come to an understanding of ourselves as like others, as sharing with others, and they see themselves in us that we begin to have a grouped identity.
The primary duality is between being tame enough to be a member of the group and wild enough to be our own unique person. That is the challenge every human has.
Where does womanhood inhere?