Being My Mothers Son

I have much to post about on this blog. I have been busy recently, and my productivity has taken a serious hit. I am bursting at the seams with exciting news at the moment, and I wish I new what order to post things in.

My new binder arrived on Friday. I will post pics of my manly flat chest. I look AWESOME in it. I love it, and it helps me pass so much more. I can pass in just a single t-shirt over it.

Anyway, I was wearing my binder when my mother dropped in to visit me this afternoon.

I called my mum on Saturday night and told her that I want to start fresh, and build a strong, adult relationship with her, based on mutual trust and understanding.

We couldn’t talk much this afternoon, cos there were people around, but I know that she could tell the difference in me. I was being openly myself, and that means masculine. Well, masculine in a campy, effeminate way. My mum was kinda curious about my chest, and patted it kinda awkwardly at one point, obviously wanting to figure it out, but not wanting to ask in front of people, why and how her daughter suddenly went from an e-cup to no breasts.

The thing was though, things were so much more comfortable than they usually are. She said I seemed taller and stronger. I said that I felt taller and stronger. When I hugged her goodbye, and her head was against my chest, I felt like such a man. Like a SON.

I know that if I can get her to understand that this change, that this new connection, springs directly from me stepping into my role as her son, that we can move forward.

Affirmation

I am currently up to my elbows in printer labels, which I am manually writing the IP address onto, so that I can connect macs to network printers with significantly more ease. I thought I would pause a moment, and write a few words about yesterday.

Yesterday was a deeply affirming and wonderful day for me. Four things happened that just made me feel wonderfully special, respected, loved, and cared for.

1. During the day I ran into the Big Boss, and he congratulated me on my work, and told me I was an asset to the team that the organisation doesn’t want to lose. Made me feel all warm and fuzzy. (My career is really important to me)

2. I had a conversation with a friend about how much I can expect people to just ‘get’ transsexuality. He said that he really wants to learn, and asked I be patient with him. He was very humble, and it was refreshing to talk to someone who isn’t at all judgemental, and just curious.

3. I was contacted by a friend who I have seen for ages, but who I love and respect deeply, and they told me that they had been made aware they shouldn’t call me ‘chick’ and ‘girly’, and they just wanted me to know that they love me and adore me how just how I am…

4. I am meeting an old friend from highschool for coffee today, we’ve been arranging it on our Facebook walls. He sent me a private message though, confirming that I’m transitioning and so he should call me Ryan and use male pronouns. I thought it was the most respectful and wonderful thing ever, though he was concerned I would think him rude.

I sometimes get so frustrated with the blasts of ignorance that I get dished out so frequently. Sometimes I think that everyone is the same, and I will be treated like a freak forever and ever, by everyone except other freaks. Its rather depressing. Days like yesterday remind me that people do love me, do care about me, do respect me, and that I needn’t worry about blanket rejection.

Oh, and I almost forgot… the colleague I usually refer to disparagingly as ‘that transphobic dickhead over there’ came and had a chat with me… just a normal chat, but full of regular between colleague banter. The kind of banter that made it really clear that he accepts me for who I am, as a man, in the workplace.
It made me feel really good, cos we had a run in two weeks ago, and haven’t chatted much since. I think its all good now, and that he’s accepted me. In turn, I’ll accept him and his sort-of-apology.

Body Image, and Finally Finding Joy

Before I took my shower tonight I stood in front of the mirror naked. I looked at myself from various different angles. I looked at my breasts, the curve of my hip, my stomach.

I felt a sense of wonder, that I could look at my body completely without hatred. I wistfully wished my breasts were smaller, and easier to bind. I thought eagerly of the day when testosterone will redistribute the fat on my hips to my abdomen, giving me a manlier shape.
Through the years, when I tried to starve my body into submission, my primary goal, the thing that told me I had starved myself comprehensively enough, was when my period would stop.
I realised recently that I never had much of an idea of how I wanted to look. Just *not like this*. No matter how much weight I lost, I still looked in the mirror and saw a girl. That is why, even when I was dangerously underweight, I couldn’t stop.
Now when I look in the mirror, I know how I want to look. I know that the current distribution of fat doesn’t fit me, but its not that I want less fat… I just want the fat I have to be in the right places.

My problem hasn’t been with being fat, its been with being woman-shaped.

As I stepped into the shower, I leaned on the wall for a moment, and nearly cried.

I’ve found it… sanity. Joy. Happiness. Deciding to transition hasn’t miraculously solved my problems. I still have battles to go, but now that I know I can show the world who I am inside, those battles don’t seem so insurmountable.

A year ago, I didn’t think it was worth it. I thought I might as well just give up. I was fighting the wrong battles. I was still fighting under the assumption that I would look like a woman, be treated as a woman, be seen always as a woman for the rest of my life. The victory seemed somewhat hollow. Why fight to be at peace with the world, when I couldn’t be at peace with myself?

I’ve achieved an inner peace that is just remarkable. I love myself. Everything feels RIGHT. It makes me so happy.

I’ve even decided how to come out to my mother.
“Mum, I’ve got wonderful news! I want to tell you all about why I am so happy these days…”

Parenthood Follow-up

Though I have the screaming horrors over baby-making, I found Teralds comments on my last post really interesting, and thought he and Jacky and the other men that have biological children might be interested in this article in the advocate.

Its about a transman that chose to be the carrier of a couples child, because his wife was infertile.
I have to say… BRAVE.

This kinda annoyed me:

This whole process, from trying to get pregnant to being pregnant, has been a challenge for us. The first doctor we approached was a reproductive endocrinologist. He was shocked by our situation and told me to shave my facial hair. After a $300 consultation, he reluctantly performed my initial checkups. He then required us to see the clinic’s psychologist to see if we were fit to bring a child into this world and consulted with the ethics board of his hospital. A few months and a couple thousand dollars later, he told us that he would no longer treat us, saying he and his staff felt uncomfortable working with “someone like me.”

People suck. Seriously. Sure let the shrink assess them, but then get the fuck over it people! If its biologically safe, and possible, what is the problem?’

And also after he miscarried the first pregnancy:

When my brother found out about my loss, he said, “It’s a good thing that happened. Who knows what kind of monster it would have been.”

*fumes* Have a little sensitivity! Geez.

Not something I would do, but just the same, Kudos to the couple. Hope their baby girl is delivered safe and sound.

I’m feeling HANDSOME today!

I went out and bought a new jacket. Its very smick. Its grey with yellow lining. I swear do men not wear any colour in the winter? My wardrobe seems to be getting more and more sombre as time goes on!

Anyway I thought I would post some pictures of myself, cos I am feeling handsome.

ENJOY!

Acceptable Prejudice

There’s an excellent post over at The Rotund, about “the last acceptable prejudice” and intersecting oppression.

This quote jumped out at me:

And if you really think fat is the last acceptable prejudice, talk to some trans folks.

My immediate thought was of my work colleagues. The kinds of slurs I hear in the workplace compared to those that I hear from friends.
At work sex-workers, and transpeople are fair game. There’s a little latent misogyny, and homophobia, but you can’t say that shit OUT LOUD.
My friends, in contrast, are prejudiced against fat and smokers.

The ‘last acceptable prejudices’ are many and varied. It all depends who is listening.

Feminist and Trans*

I was chatting with a t-boy friend the other night, and we got to talking about how the trans* experience effects ones understanding of feminism. We’ve both changed a lot since coming out as trans, which is to be expected. We expected to always be feminist, and still do, but our interpretation of the battles of feminism has changed.

He stated that he doesn’t like feminism as much anymore… and thinking of the radfems, and my trans*woman sisters, I couldn’t help but agree. As a trans*man I sometimes feel like I am being given a free pass that trans*women pay the price for.
My interest in feminism has definitely shifted its focus. Not enough that I would declare myself an equalist or anything like that. I still think that women get a raw deal over all.

I do however feel much more awareness of the ways in which men are fucked over, particularly in their emotional and family sphere. I have a reputation for being as tough as nails, (or so I am told) and I also find it very difficult to cry. A lot of that came from my mum telling me as a child ‘You are such a sook!’. I was a little girl… imagine if I’d been a little boy, and I heard that from every angle.
I might look tough on the outside, but inside I have almost fallen over the edge so many times. I know so many young men that are so obsessed with upholding their masculinity that they lose their humanity along the way.

Sometimes I wonder what my future will be like. Chances are I won’t be able to tap into much in the way of male privilege. Maybe I have already started using and abusing some privileges I am unaware of. I know I am less likely to let myself be talked over these days, especially in all-male situations. (Being the most important and loudest voice is an oft-exercised male privilege). I know that at work I will be less likely to be made diminutive… “little girl” and “good girl” wont be a labels that fit me anymore, and anyone that tries to use them in front of strangers wont get an indulgent smile, they’ll get a raised eyebrow and a ‘You’re cruising for a sexual harassment warning’.
After all, what’s worse than implying a man is a woman? Implying he’s a girl.

I feel a little out of the debate sometimes… White, straight, cisgendered, American feminists seem to control the blogosphere with such entitlement at times, I feel like my voice is so tiny and unheard. I wish more people would read marginal blogs. The blogs of trans*people, people of colour, sex workers, people in other countries and so on. Maybe then they would stop congratulating themselves on their wonderfulness for long enough to realise they are not the most important group, and that they are ignoring, and marginalising, and being paternalistic. There is still so much data to be assimilated into their world view.

I think back to the original CM, and some comments I have left around the place, and I have learned so much. Particularly since I started seeking out blogs that aren’t so straight and white. I feel like so many of my perspectives have changed, and I have learned so much.
Sometimes I sit in class with the kids just out of school, and I feel frustrated with the lack of analysis, but I know that whenever I speak I break their heads. They just don’t get it, not cos they are stupid, just cos they are only 18, just kids. I know I thrill the lecturer’s heart, but I can’t continue to derail the class discussion, while these people are trying to learn to basics.

Some of the young people around the place thrill me with their ability to think critically. My young t-boy friend for example. I don’t agree with everything he says, but to be frank, he is so much more advanced than I was at the same age. I can see seeds of so many different beliefs sprouting and growing in the fertile ground of his experiences.
I have to be honest, I wish with all my heart that I could have just been a normal guy, but I know that if I had been a normal guy, I probably would have been an entirely different person… and I kinda like me how I am.

One foot in front of the other: Stepping onto the road to Transition

Monday I had horrible horrible period pain. I had more pain on Tuesday. My abject misery surrounding my period (which is only occasionally this painful), prompted me to make a call to the local Family Practice and make an appointment. I’d heard good things about the practice, and so hoped that I would see a doctor of decent quality.

I was not disappointed.

I now have a GP who is willing to support my decision, and help in whatever capacity he is able. He is also the head of the practice, and said that I will be treated with respect by all the Doctors at the practice, so if he is not available, and I need something urgent I can go with all confidence to any doctor there.

He also wrote a referral to a gynecologist who I will see in June. I think that this means I need to get private health insurance. All this is going to cost me a mint. Every doctors appointment is $70 for the GP, and hundreds for the specialists. A friend of mine is going to give me the name of his shrink in Sydney if he’s any good. That just leaves me finding a plastic surgeon, and an endocrinologist.

I am in fact in an absolute tizzy of excitement.

I should figure out how to tell my mother, and other Significant Persons from my past. I should also start figuring out what to do with work. I’ve hit that point of readiness. Things have fallen into place. I know that I am ready, deep inside.

Hillsong Strike Again

When I was at the end of High School I wanted to go to Hillsong Leadership College in Sydney. Thankfully I couldn’t find anyone to testify that I hadn’t done anything immoral in the 2 years prior to making my application.
Yes. I’m serious. That was a requirement for application. Nowadays its only 12 months. (Check under ‘Christian Details’). Such low standards.

Hillsong tend to appear in the Australian news every couple of years. I remember doing an assignment on them for Marketing in 2005. They’d just appeared in BRW, and were in my Marketing textbook.

Most recently its been Mercy Ministries, their branch of women’s charities that is under the spotlight. I saw this article in a newspaper on the bus on Monday. (This is how I consume most of my print media… looking over people’s shoulder on the bus.) Another article was forwarded to me today, one that focusses more on Hillsong’s ‘Ex-gay’ ministries.

I feel a bit sad. I know a lot of people that are members of Hillsong. On the one hand, I am sympathetic to members of Hillsong… the rank and file, that is. Once they get into the church leadership they KNOW they are doing evil. They have to. If not, their ignorance is no excuse for the level of harm they do.

The last time I attended a Hillsong meeting I treated it as a rock concert with a stupid speech in the middle. It was easier than trying to fight it, given my gracious host had made a special effort to attend a ‘youth service’ instead of a regular service. I think that they were hoping to save my poor backslidden soul.
After the service I argued heatedly with my host over the use of brainwashing techniques throughout the service. (This service was by Brian Houston, the leader of the church). She said that most children and young people need that kind of ‘guidance’ and that I had always been ‘different’, so maybe it didn’t work for me, but I shouldn’t want to deny other young people the help they so desperately need to make the ‘right’ decisions.
I wondered how her children (who ranged from 16 - 25 at the time) felt about that little speech.
At the same time as I was angry about her attitude to the lack of questioning and freedom allowed, I also pitied her. She was a woman in her fifties, and she was about the same size as I was at the time (a slightly chubby 19 year old). While I was there, she was subjected to fat-shaming that I have never seen the likes of before or since. It was completely insane. Just cos she wasn’t as svelt as Darlene Zschech or Bobbie Housten.
Fucking deplorable.

I still have friends that are enmeshed in the culture of Hillsong. I don’t know what they are thinking. One of them tells me all the time that they are persecuted by the media, and that its all bull shit, Hillsong is actually squeaky clean. Part of me wants to show up to a Hillsong Church, sign up for Mercy Ministries (I’d tell them I had an abortion), and see what is really going on in there. For myself.

To be frank though… I already know. I also know why my friends deny it… cos they don’t *want* to believe its true.

Feel the burn…

So, at the moment I have a full time job, a part time degree, and a bunch of personal shit, going on in my life. On top of this, I have committed to the Civil Unions Campaign organising again.

I have never regretted it so much, as I did this evening. I had a really shitty day at work, and expected to be able to relax when I got home, and forget about my troubles for a few hours. However, I checked my email, only to find that some idiot in Tasmania is spouting off about how I am offensive, ill-informed, and uneducated. He claimed that I said things that I did not say.

This movement would not exist if it wasn’t for a small group of dedicated people. I am one of those people. We do NOT deserve to have our names slandered on a public forum.

I am in shock, really. I even thought that maybe I had inadvertently said something offensive about the Tasmanian Relationship Scheme, somewhere… I checked. I haven’t. I haven’t mentioned it at all. There’s not really a need to, given they are rather irrelevant to the current situation. Our problem is with the registry scheme that McClelland is pushing for in the ACT. That is what we think is no better than a dog registry scheme.

Hell, if anyone should be pissed with me, it should be Good Process, after all, they are the ones I accused of push-polling on my blog. (I clarified once I found out the survey wasn’t intended to be malicious).

I spent hundreds of dollars on phone calls last time. I worked my arse off making sure the demonstration was promoted, and to ensure that it went off without a hitch. It was one of the most successful queer rallies the ACT has seen in recent years.
I didn’t do it for gratitude, I did it cos I was needed. I am involved again, because I am needed. I have skills (mostly revolving around email), that are valuable to a queer rights movement.
Right now though, I wonder if its worth the stress. The hostility.

In other news… I have changed my name on my email from Rhian to Ryan, so people stop assuming I am a chick. I like Ryan better. Rhian was a cowardly move on my part. I’m over cowardliness.
In return I am going to expect people to respect my gender identity, and stop with the calling me ’she’. Cos it bugs me, but I didn’t bother mentioning it before cos I just wanted to get on with organising shit. FUCK IT.
If they want to make personal attacks, they can at least bloody well call me with the appropriate pronouns.