A Dahl’s House

Some lessons learned (with much thanks to the folks at the My Husband Betty forum for helping my sort out my thoughts) from last week’s coming-out-gone-wrong:

• I now have a greater appreciation why “I Will Survive” is the gay national anthem. Actually, I’m only half-joking. After an emotional beat-down—which I’m sure many gays experienced coming out in the 1970s—I can appreciate the affirmation of saying: You think I’d crumble / You think I’d lay down and die / Oh no, not I / I will survive. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, but I’m still here.
  


• Jude pointed out that we get so used to this being everyday, no big deal, that we forget that for much of the world, it’s not, and that we are perhaps the first trans person this person has ever met, up close and personal.


• What hurt the most was hearing that sort of reaction from someone I thought would be OK with it. It’s one thing to get stares and giggles while out, or to get a hostile reaction while doing outreach—I hate to say it, but I’m used to experiencing bigotry in that context. But in this case, part of me was kicking myself for misjudging someone so badly. In this case, I think I was a bit over-confident based on the the nail salon experience the day before.


• Sometimes you just never can tell how folks will react. Maria had seen my Halloween pictures of me as Little Red Riding Hood and seeming had gotten a kick out of them, and likewise seemed to enjoy the fact that I had painted nails that morning. So each coming out really is a bit of a leap of faith.


• While this incident went badly, I’m not going to let it outweigh all the positive ones I’ve had. Usually coming out is a liberating and positive experience. So I’d like to think I won’t be overly fearful of confiding in people in the future (although I admit I’m feeling a little gun-shy at the moment).


• While I’ve felt it’s important to show folks photos of me en femme to try to give people a sense that I’m not what they’re probably picturing—Klinger or Dr. Frank N. Furter —I need to be sure to ask if people are interested in seeing them, since it could be perceived as TMI and being exhibitionist in the wrong way. (Normally, I do but I mistakenly skipped based on Maria having seen past pictures, her enthusiasm for my nails, and me having told her that I’d share a secret with her if she was interested.) That’s one misstep I feel bad about. The other is putting Maria in a position where she felt cornered. It would’ve been one thing if I’d showed up en femme, in which case I would’ve expected to be treated like any other customers. But this was tangential to business but in a setting where she felt constrained by “commercial courtesy.”


• I’m not quite as fully self-accepting as I thought. Initially I did feel bad for making Maria so uncomfortable—and yeah, it was more than just for the reasons mentioned. There was a part of me that felt bad that I’d physically sickened someone. (When I posted about it at the Betty boards, I named the thread “chastened” (definition: to correct using punishment or suffering.)


• But Tink points out that if we reframe the situation we see it for what it truly was. Imagine that I’d been talking with her and when the topic comes up naturally, I pulled out a picture of my girlfriend, who’s another race. Or if I were gay, I pulled out a picture and said, “That’s my boyfriend.” Neither photo is a graphic tongue-down throat picture, but maybe we’ve got an arm around each other. Had I overheard Maria express similar feelings about race or sexuality, I would’ve had no problem saying to myself, “What a bigot!” I’m sorry that she can’t look past her prejudices to see me as a person, but that’s her problem.

As far as what to do Sunday, when I go in again for brunch, I’m planning to take Tink’s advice to go and act completely normal, offer Maria the coupons as usual—and only if she seems distant, will I apologize for the manner in which I came out (but I won’t apologize for being who I am). We’ll see what happens.

Thursday I finally got a chance to attend one of the Transgender San Francisco’s mid-month get-togethers. While I’ve been interested for a while, it’s tough to go home, get changed and get up to San Francisco on a week night.
But I’m interested in volunteering to do outreach as part of TGSF’s speakers bureau, so it was a chance to meet with TGSF’s officers for some mutual sizing-each-other up.

Unfortunately, after a nicely dry weather, we got the first big storm in weeks, so needless to say traffic was a mess. Nor did I realize that the restaurant was across the street from BART (which meant I could’ve parked in Daly City and ridden in, rather than having the ever-so-lovely task of trying to find parking in San Francisco).

But, while late, I finally made it. There were close to a dozen people there, about half who I’d met before, and we chatted over tapas. It seemingly went well, and they seemed pleased to have a crossdresser who was willing to step forward and help out.

(For better or worse, most “transgender” organizations seem to be dominated by transsexuals—since so few crossdressers are willing to step out into such a scarily public role. And any organization, from the PTA to the Girl Scouts, tends to reflect the concerns of those willing to devote the most time and energy, even despite their best intentions. Not that I have any problems with TGSF per se, but I’ve heard bitching by crossdressers that the “transgender” organizations overlook CD-specific concerns. I do think there are things such organizations can do to be more CD-friendly, but bottom line it’s time to put up or shut up.)

Anyway, hopefully I’ll get a chance to do some speaking in the near future.

For what it’s worth, I’m feeling a lot better today after yesterday’s rude shock. That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all of that…

More thoughts later.

As mentioned, I went to the nail salon yesterday en femme and consequently got color on my fingernails as well as my toenails. Since the color looked really nice and was light “natural” color that wasn’t visible at distance, I decided to do an experiment in androgyny and leave it on today.

Sundays I have a routine, I like to read the paper over brunch at a favorite restaurant. Over the months I’ve become friendly with one of the waitresses, Maria, a grandmotherly Latina. When I found out she likes going through the coupons in the Sunday paper, I made a point of giving them to her and to thank me, she gave me Christmas cookies during the holiday.

When she came over to pick up the coupons today, Maria immediately noticed the nail polish because it was similar to her color. The way she responded sounded like she found it kind of cute. Since she wasn’t working the section where I was sitting, I told that if she had a minute, I’d share a secret with her.

A little later she came over and I said something to the effect that it wasn’t the first time I’d worn polish, and pulled out one of my photos. She said I looked pretty and I thumbed through some of the other photos. I thought it went well. Oh was I wrong…

This afternoon, I stopped by a fast-food place to pick up a snack before the Super Bowl. I sat down behind a couple and unintentionally eavesdropped while waiting for my order. Gradually, I realized the woman (who was facing away from me) was Maria and OMG she was talking about me. (Talk about coincidence…) She was telling her companion how she didn’t know what to say and how the more I talked about it, the sicker she got to her stomach. Apparently it upset her enough that she talked to the restaurant manager about it.

Needless to say, listening to her was painful in so many ways. Painful to know that my crossdressing caused her physical revulsion. Painful to know that I’d misread the situation so badly. Painful to know that I’d made her so uncomfortable.

While it was perhaps even more awkward to acknowledge I’d been eavesdropping, I was going to offer an apology and was waiting for but Maria and her companion go up and left before I could do. So we’ll see what happens next Sunday. I won’t apologize for being who I am, but I will apologize to Maria for putting her on the spot.

Just to clarify, I don’t feel bad as much about exposing her to something that her prejudices made her uncomfortable with, it’s more that because I was a customer, she didn’t feel comfortable saying how she felt.

I guess part of it is that confiding in her was tangential to our “professional” relationship. I don’t have any problem telling a sales clerk at a clothing store or make-up counter that I’m shopping for myself—it’s relevant to my purchase and if they want my business then they should serve me regardless of their personal feelings. If I’d come in en femme, then yeah, I would’ve expected the same. I dunno… this particular situation felt different.

Some days being trans just sucks…

In a writing class long ago, I learned the aphorism that there’s two things that are simply indescribable—and one of them is a sunset. So I won’t try to try describe today’s sunset at Miramar (near Half Moon Bay), which was one of the most beautiful I’ve seen in awhile. Suffice to say, I spent long minutes transfixed on the beach. Which was nice after a day of unnecessary running around that had left me cranky.

The closest I can get to describing the feeling is quoting the lyrics from Joe Jackson’s “Shanghai Sky” (from his remarkable “Big World” album):

Strange
How the world got so small
I turned around and there was nowhere left to go
So sad
The dream always dies
Each new arrival closes places in my mind
But I can dream
Until I go
Of smells that I don’t recognize
And by the river
In Shanghai
The colour of the sky
Is something I’ve never seen
After the summer rain
Children smile
Curious and kind
And the world is big again

OK, not quite dead, but for about 6-7 weeks I’ve had an off-again, on-again sinus infection. (With my allergies, sometimes tough to know whether I’ve got a cold or my allergies are just really bad, which was made more complicated by lots of travel in the past week.) Each time I thought I was over it, but noooo….. So after it came back the third time, I finally got myself into the drop-in clinic last night and picked up some antibiotics, which ought to finally put it down for good. Or so I hope….

I was at Carla’s the other day to get my brows waxed, when a crossdresser from Texas called wanting to know if Carla would sell him a lingerie bag—you know the kind you use to keep your delicates from getting trashed in the washing machine. Carla sensibly told him to just go to the drugstore and buy one. After all, no one was going to know that his wife/girlfriend hadn’t asked him to buy one.

But that’s how paranoid many closeted trans people are. While in reality, people are remarkably oblivious, we’re paranoid that we’re going to do something and the entire store is going to point and laugh. I describe it to my gay and lesbian friends, that it’s like being homosexual before Stonewall. Not exactly alike, since trans folks don’t risk being cart off to jail, etc. just for being out in public. But the sense of fear is all too familiar.

It’s liberating to get past it. But trans activists, who are out and usually have been out for awhile, would do well to remember just how crippling that fear can be. Even now, having worked through it, it’s still one reason I’m “public but not fully out.” If I came out fully, probably nothing major would happen. In fact, having a respectable somewhat-known-in-his-field person come out probably would help in its little way towards gaining acceptance. But the thing is, I think it wouldn’t harm my career, but it’s that not knowing for sure… that makes what makes it hard to turn the knob on the closet door.

I go home tonight and found Boris hanging out on one of the curtains. Fortunately, I was able to corral him onto a newspaper and deposit him outside—where there’s undoubtedly more bugs to munch on anyway. Good hunting, Boris!

I wasn’t the only one with living Halloween decorations. I was cleaning the house last weekend and spotted this. Normally I’ve got a live-and-let-live approach to spiders, but I can understand arachnophobia after seeing this critter, who probably measured 2-inches from front to back. Boris’ spidey-sense must have warned him I going to the garage for a rolled-up newspaper, because he was gone by the time I got back—thus avoiding the sticky end of his namesake.

Creepy, crawly
Creepy, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly
Creepy, creepy, crawly, crawly…

After also posting this on the Betty boards, some folks suggested I run through the pros and cons of telling Mom. Actually, I’m pretty good about cutting to the chase, i.e. figuring out what’s the worse that could happen and then deciding whether that something is something I can live with.

To be honest, I think it’s far more my own reluctance than my fear of her potential reaction. It’s been far easier to come out to the people I’m less close to. For example, it was a lot easier to tell my hair stylist, than one my best friends. Not sure why. Also I’m a little stressed with some work-related stuff, so I guess I’m just not feeling up to some of the inevitable discussions that would result. And part of it is that the trip is something she’s wanted to do for awhile, so I don’t want to preempt that. Some of that may just be rationalization, but then again, I’m not on any time table, so there’s not necessarily an urgency to disclosing.

Really it was more of a general reaction triggered by the act of literally compartmentalizing myself that set things off, rather than specifically the issue of whether I come out to her. As I mentioned, I only visit her a couple times a year so it’s usually no big deal—it’s just that this particular trip had the coincidence of also visiting someone en femme during the same trip (so I’ve got some wardrobe that would require some explaining) and Mom and I taking a trip together where we’re going to share a hotel room where certain things like shaved legs are harder to avoid being noticed. But all that just brought into relief the larger issue of needing to often put up a facade in my day-to-day life ad infinitum.

This is where I think the experience of part-time CDs differs from full-time TGs/TSs. OTOH, I can compartmentalize it. It’s really only a part of my life. I’m a weekend princess. OTOH, continued compartmentalizing has its own price to pay—one that’s not always appreciated. It may not be the knife at your heart, but it’s a stone in your shoe you can’t seem to get rid of. I’m lucky, I don’t feel shame or guilt about my crossdressing—although I realize it’s something society views as eccentric at best. It’s just there are times when I wish it didn’t….complicate….my life. (I can certainly understand why some folks choose to go deep stealth after GRS.)

It’s the counterpart to what Helen mentioned about “the sound of the other shoe not dropping.” I.e. for some, there’s an end to the road (even if getting there is hell). For me, there’s only the endless journey, and trying to find a middle path.

But anyway… recording my reactions is still a good idea.

Nettie mentioned she liked the analogy of the title—being a grown-up who have to squeeze into those little seats and act like a kid again. As mentioned, that wasn’t my intention—but upon reflection, yeah it’s quite apropos here.

I agree most people probably engage in a bit of role playing around their parents. In fact, I’ve used that as analogy to try to explain to people how about how I can be “different people” while still being “me.”