This was furiously scrawled into my notebook this afternoon, inspired by reading A Boy and her Dog’s latest post and trans* folks experience with the professionals deciding what treatment we can or can’t have. CW: gender dysphoria, self harm.
Fuck you. Fuck you and your desire to decide whether I’m trans enough, if I’m sane enough, if I really mean it. This isn’t a fad, this isn’t a phase and I assure you, I am taking this Very Seriously. I know you have to be careful and you have a responsibility to your patients and blah blah blah…because if just anyone could change their body to suit how they feel inside, then where would we be? A world full of trans folk at every part of the gender spectrum, beautiful and happy and free. And really, who wants that?
Sure, I don’t know exactly what I want to become. In fact, it’s not so much about becoming as about refining. I am already me, I just need some trimming here and there to get my skin to fit right. Do you know how that feels, to not be at home in your skin? To lie awake at night burning to crawl out of your ribcage and escape? No, I didn’t think so. And anyway, it’s not that I’m unsure of who I am, it’s that I’ve lacked the language or the systems or the role models to help give form to my feelings. I may sound confused to you but that’s just words, words grappling ineffectually to describe something as complex as a person. I know exactly how I feel inside, I know exactly who I am. How many of you can say that? Can say you’ve been to hell and back and returned with your inner fire burning brighter than ever before? I know who I am, I just don’t know exactly what I am. And that is a problem with your categories and your language, not my identity.
I can’t help but feel that in your idea of care lies the presumption that you know better than us. That we’re fickle, fly-by-night gender freaks who just refuse to settle down and be normal. How many of you are trans? How many of you know how this feels? And why do you get to decide whether we can feel right, at home?