The strange thing about being transgender is how innocent and wholesome it feels.
That’s not quite right. There’s nothing inherently strange about how innocent and wholesome it feels. But this present context makes it strange. These laws being passed, this rhetoric about my existence being an inappropriate topic for children.
I struggle to see obscenity inherent in myself or in most of my actions. I go to work. I cook dinner for my family. I run errands in my practical mid sized sedan. I sometimes stop to smell a pretty flower, or pause on a sunny day to delight in the feel of sunlight on my shoulders and the swish of fabric around my knees as I give my skirt a twirl.
I do wear clothes. Sometimes those clothes are formal. Sometimes they are practical. Sometimes they are sexy. I can’t claim that I’ve never shown up overdressed to a party, or worn a blouse with a neckline perhaps a tad bit too low for a visit to my grandmother. But it seems strange to think that, were I to get up and speak at a school board meeting, in that dress that I have that is made out of fabric printed with books and rulers and microscopes, that some legislators think that I should be arrested for an obscene performance.
As I type this, I am sitting at my computer in my cozy home office. I am sipping a cup of chamomile tea. I’m wearing a comfortable blouse and flower patterned trousers. I ran some errands earlier today, but I am home now, so I took off my bra for comfort. I feel good, at home in my body, at home in my home. The idea that someone could find the image of me, a middle aged parent, sipping tea and typing at her computer, to be a disturbing or obscene feels absurd, like some horror from an alternate reality.
I don’t think that being transgender is inherently strange or frightening or dangerous. It’s not even particularly important. I am a transgender woman, but the transgender part is more footnote than essence. If you want to know me, it’s more useful to know that I like tea, or that I try to dress fashionably yet practically. Me being transgender is not particuarly hard to explain to children, either. Growing up, I thought that I was a boy, but I discovered that I am much happier living as a girl. That’s it.
Yet there are places in my country where I could be arrested for just being me, out in public. Especially if I need to do something perfectly normal, like stop by a restroom, or exercise my right of free speech at a community meeting where children might be present.
So I am left with this strange feeling. This inner feeling of security, of being settled, of being at peace with my body and with myself. I feel whole, and thus I feel wholesome. And this outer feeling, dissonant. There are those who view me with fear and disgust, and those people are powerful enough to pass laws. Laws against middle aged parent me, with my floral print trousers and my chamomile tea.
I don’t know what the future holds. The feeling inside feels like a powerful truth. I am speaking it now, and I will continue to speak it. I hope that my truth and the truth of others will outshine the fears of the fearful.
For now, I am going to finish my tea.