U-Turn: a UU transman ponders sex, spirituality, and the power of stories

So this past week I’ve been ill with a really nasty bug - hence the skipped installment. Hence, also, the fact that I ended up unexpectedly being home for part of the “Dancing With The Stars” season premiere... an unplanned bright stop in my truly awful week. So I figure I'll start there, as I attempt to write something meaningful and understandable in the midst of my fever-dreams and coughing fits. I’m a fan of ballroom dance. I’ve been intrigued by it since I was a kid. And one of the things that make it so fascinating (besides the fact that it’s simply amazing to watch, when done with great skill) is that it’s one of the most highly gendered art forms around. In fact it might almost be described, with some accuracy, as being basically an artistic portrayal of gender relationships - albeit largely those of a previous century. I didn’t have words for it, as a kid, but I always knew which half of the duo I identified with. When Danny Kaye swept Vera Ellen off the dance floor ...

So, I’m “out” at work these days. It’s both a delight and a challenge. It’s also very early in the process for that. According to standard recommendations, I ought to have waited until I was well into hormone therapy - until the physical changes had progressed so far that I could not possibly have continued hiding behind my old female identity. There are good reasons for this recommendation, of course. Coming out on the job is a much bigger risk for many transfolk than it was for me. You see, I don’t have a mortgage, a spouse or any dependents; I don’t have a career that needs protecting or an image that bears preserving. My life thus far has been somewhat chaotic. Okay, very chaotic. I’m still finding my path. And I had good reasons for choosing not to go by the book. For one thing, pre-existing health concerns make it uncertain how far I will be able to go in terms of physical transition. (I’m still waiting on the okay for hormones, which is making me very very nervous; it’s al...

I sometimes feel like writing this blog is a very self-absorbed thing to do. I mean, really... who wants to hear about all my weird experiences and thoughts on this crazy ride of mine? Okay, so in many ways it helps me to write it, helps with all of the processing and pondering - but does that mean I have to publish it? And while I’ve hoped it might help to spur more conversation, more dialogue and more visibility around these issues, especially in my home community - well, who knows whether that’ll really happen or not? Maybe I’m even embarrassing a few folks who wish I’d be quieter about all of this! But lately I’ve been talking with a friend of mine who recently lost an old and dear companion to a probable suicide... and it makes me think again. My friend’s friend had no LGBTQ-related issues that I know of. But it is likely that this person felt really alone. Really, really alone. I know what that feels like. I remember a night, probably about six years ago, when I lay awake...

So, the dance continues - more blood tests before there can be a decision on my being cleared to start on testosterone. Before this starts to sound like a complaint, I should mention that I dearly love my doctor - doctors, actually, both my primary and the sort-of-specialist (by experience rather than training) who will be overseeing the medical aspects of my transition. What those aspects will be is still a bit up in the air. I have numerous health problems, enough that I originally assumed the answer to any query I might make about hormone therapy would likely be, “Are you insane?” But then came a time when I knew I needed to ask - and now I have two new allies whom I cherish. And I appreciate that they are concerned about the whole person. They’d like me to actually live long enough to enjoy this new life I’m pursuing! I confess, I’d like that too. And my health is a mess, neglected through many, many years of depression and near-hopelessness. (And if that doesn’t sound like a...