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

So today I’m having a blast googling Trans Pride buttons. I just finished having a really “fun” medical procedure (pelvic ultrasound, rah rah rah) and was having some difficulties reining in my sense of humor during it. Those of you who’ve had one know what I’m talking about here... and in my case the gender juxtapositions made it even funnier, like some weird porno flick involving a camera, cold lube and a big stick. When it was done, I wanted to ask the dominatrix - excuse me, I mean, the lab technician - if it was good for her, too, and maybe offer her a cigarette. I’m also remembering that I once actually did that during a very silly Beltaine ritual, following the symbolic performance (the athame-and-chalice version) of the Great Rite. Ironically, my co-ritualist later came out to me as being Trans... which makes me think, dammit, I knew we should have done it the other way ‘round... Sorry... but moments like that just plain bring out the comic in me, and always have. I lau...

So, yesterday I had an interesting few minutes. At the moment, the assumptions people make about me at first glance are a little... unpredictable. I’m talking here about folks who don’t know me - store clerks, waitpersons, people who interact with me but briefly, don’t know my story and don’t really need to be told it. From these folks, I still mostly get “Ma’am” rather than “Sir,” and feminine pronouns rather than masculine ones. Mostly... but not always. Now, normally, I revel in every encounter that yields the correct gender identification - the one that fits my internal sense of identity - even though I know full well it’s a response that might easily have gone in the other direction, had the speaker taken time to ponder. In general, humans do tend to make sex determinations swiftly from just a few basic cues, some of them innately physical, others socially determined. So when someone with a short masculine haircut, a whiff of facial hair, and no obvious cleavage, wearing cloth...

Being a lover of Shakespeare, I must confess that that phrase always brings up the rest of the speech for me... yep, the whole “Wherefore art thou Romeo?” routine. Romeo and Juliet is far from my favorite Shakespearean opus - I’m more of a Julius Caesar and  Macbeth type, and I admit to identifying with poor indecisive Hamlet more than a little - but I’ve always rather liked that particular bit of monologue about the names. For you non-Shakespearians, “wherefore” actually means “why.” In other words, Juliet is bemoaning the fact that it’s merely Romeo’s name - his family affiliation with the Montagues - that keeps them apart. (Think Hatfields and McCoys.) Why can‘t he simply change it, be someone else? “Deny thy father and refuse thy name,” she begs - and then offers to renounce her own instead (“... or if thou wilt not, then be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet”). Of course, if it were really that simple, all of the rather complicated mess that follows, wou...

So this past week I had my first doctor’s appointment to discuss the medical aspects of what is called, in the modern vernacular, FtM (female-to-male) transitioning. And the big thing that’s been on my mind is testosterone - or T, as transmen tend to familiarly call it - and the choices it involves. Hormone therapy - testosterone for transmen, estrogen for transwomen - is usually the first step in making a physical gender transition. Testosterone taken into a female body gradually begins to masculinize that body, in ways both subtle and obvious; it encourages the growth of facial hair, new patterns of muscular development, and a slew of other fascinating changes. In many ways, T is the Holy Grail of FtM transition. Now, I should probably mention - for those of you who know me in real life, but don’t necessarily know the details - that I have not, as of yet, touched a drop of the stuff. (No, really, officer! *hic*) Yes, this lovely scraggly thing that one friend likes to call my “ma...

So I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how we know what gender we are, and why it makes a difference. Of course, for most people, the obvious answer to both questions is: Well, DUH! The word for that is “cisgender” (pronounced “sis-gender”). You are Cisgender if you’ve never had cause to seriously question your gender identity. Your assigned sex (i.e., the one on your birth certificate) feels reasonably congruent with your inner sense of who you are, and always has. Clearly, for some of us, it’s more complicated than that. But what exactly is it that clues us in - that causes those incredibly frustrating feelings of misplacement, of wrongness, for Transgender persons, and that sense of rightness (or at least good-enoughness) for Cisgender persons? Part of what makes me wonder is that my own story doesn’t really fit the mold. The “typical” trans-male child is a roughhousing tomboy/jock who simply can’t settle down as Good Little Girls should. In other words: rebelliously, insist...

Today’s topic was sparked by some pictures of me that a friend recently emailed, from an event we’d both attended. She had kindly withheld them from the rest of the set that she was posting on Facebook, lest I be uncomfortable with them. You see, I’ve long had a hate-hate relationship with cameras. I hated them, and they hated me. In fact, it was more than hatred, on my side. It was an inexplicable, explosive, knee-jerk reaction whenever someone brought out a camera and pointed it specifically at me. I have joked about it, grumbled about it, and pissed people off with it - and I never could figure out the WHY of it. I am generally a pretty rational and easygoing person, but stick a camera in my face and you’d see another side of me entirely. It just set something off inside; I’ve been rude to friends, left the room, left the building, acted like a sulky teenager... if it was guaranteed to offend, I’ve probably done it in the wake of a camera. Now, just to further confuse the s...

Hi, my name is Phoenix, and I’m a Unitarian-Universalist. (Sounds like the opening of a group therapy session, doesn’t it?) I’m also a musician and entertainer, a teacher, a writer, and a nontraditional Pagan... and I have recently come out as a Transgender individual. For those who don’t know me, I’ll tell you my tale. My church home is a small UU congregation in balmy southern New England, where I’ve been getting gradually more and more deeply involved since around 2010. I’m a choir member, a committee chair, a contributor of lay services and special music, and these days I find myself involved in wrestling with some of the long-term challenges of helping our congregation move forward after a long period of focus on survival and maintenance. And just when my community thought they knew me well - well enough to have elected me to the small and select Search committee that helped choose our new minister - I threw them the curve ball of all curve balls: I told them that I’m not re...