Had a pap smear today: yeah, I know, it's not absolutely necessary, but since the municipality suggested I have one on them, I thought, what the hell, might as well.
I was, of course, nervous as hell before. It's not exactly unusual for trans women to be a little wary of health care professionals, as they have rather unpalatable tendencies to misgender and otherwise belittle and denigrate us - I was prepared to be treated weirdly, but still hoped for the best. That's likely due to my dear spouse, who reminded me that it might go well, too.
Well, it did. And I explained that sorry, I haven't got a cervix, nor do I have an uterus, but yes, I do have a vagina, and it's got a skin graft at the bottom of it, so unless you mind that, go ahead and take the smear. Which the friendly nurse proceeded to do, very professionally. It nipped a bit, but nothing else. Five minutes in all.
I'm feeling hopeful.
Thursday, 30 July 2009
Saturday, 27 June 2009
Out and closeted
This was the second thing cis lgb individuals had a hard time understanding. Being out as trans is different to being out as a lesbian, say. Both can be dangerous, true, but they're not even remotely the same if you happen to be binarily gendered, like I am.
It's 'cos I don't feel particularly trans, and I'm not probably even remotely genderqueer in any way. My sexuality's queer, thank you very much, but my gender is woman, and my sex is female. There isn't anything special there. And being out about the history of my body is, frankly, a completely ridiculous thought. The only people who really need to know are the people I have sex with, if the said sex would involve something a trans body is not capable of, and a cis body is capable of, or if my personal history is really relevant to the things I'd be doing with my lover. It might, but it's my call - after all, I'm responsible for my life, health and all such, not anyone else.
And as to being queerly sexual? Well, it's not much good being out about that, either, 'cos I'm monogamous, and partnered with a woman, which means I'm effectively read as a lesbian, and it's not too wrong - I really do love women and all that lesbian stuff, and again - why should my queer sexuality concern other people so much 'cos I'm not gonna be doing it with them anyway? And if I am - let me tell you, I can open my mouth and say what I like.
But being out as a lesbian? I think I do that as a matter of course. The sex/gender of my partner's no secret, and the fact that we have a, erm, carnal relationship can't really be missed by anyone who's seen us together for more than a few hours. It's no big deal being out with that, 'cos it's something anyone can see - I don't have to go out of my way to explain it to anyone (ok, there are those odd people who just don't get it that two women kissing each other on the mouth is, like, homosexual, but they're beyond my help anyway) - they can just see all of it in action and that's that.
Whereas my trans past/trans body needs a whole encyclopedia of explaining that almost no-one really needs to know, and can't figure out on their own because it doesn't change things for them in any practical way unless they're having the transphobic cooties.
So. I think when well-meaning (or not) cis homosexual people want someone trans to be out about their cis/trans status, they're really wanting that trans person to be a miner's canary for transphobia. Of which the cis people themselves don't have to suffer any consequences. So it's kinda unfair, and I'm not playing along.
It's also about establishing and maintaining practical power differentials: it's about keeping us uppity trans women in our place: Lord forbid what'd happen if we were just taken to be regular people with control of our lives. If cis people aren't constantly reminded of my past they tend to slip into the realisation that I actually am a woman, which is kind of a tacit acknowledgement that all that sexing-at-birth went titsup anyway, and doesn't really work. Which destabilises cis sexes and genders quite a bit, because if sexing went wrong with me, what's stopping it from going wrong for everyone? It also puts the cis on equal footing with the trans, which might be a bit unsettling for the cis, too - no "other" to define yourself against.
Oh yeah, and if you're cis and don't like being called cis - tough titties. I didn't choose to be labelled as trans, either.
It's 'cos I don't feel particularly trans, and I'm not probably even remotely genderqueer in any way. My sexuality's queer, thank you very much, but my gender is woman, and my sex is female. There isn't anything special there. And being out about the history of my body is, frankly, a completely ridiculous thought. The only people who really need to know are the people I have sex with, if the said sex would involve something a trans body is not capable of, and a cis body is capable of, or if my personal history is really relevant to the things I'd be doing with my lover. It might, but it's my call - after all, I'm responsible for my life, health and all such, not anyone else.
And as to being queerly sexual? Well, it's not much good being out about that, either, 'cos I'm monogamous, and partnered with a woman, which means I'm effectively read as a lesbian, and it's not too wrong - I really do love women and all that lesbian stuff, and again - why should my queer sexuality concern other people so much 'cos I'm not gonna be doing it with them anyway? And if I am - let me tell you, I can open my mouth and say what I like.
But being out as a lesbian? I think I do that as a matter of course. The sex/gender of my partner's no secret, and the fact that we have a, erm, carnal relationship can't really be missed by anyone who's seen us together for more than a few hours. It's no big deal being out with that, 'cos it's something anyone can see - I don't have to go out of my way to explain it to anyone (ok, there are those odd people who just don't get it that two women kissing each other on the mouth is, like, homosexual, but they're beyond my help anyway) - they can just see all of it in action and that's that.
Whereas my trans past/trans body needs a whole encyclopedia of explaining that almost no-one really needs to know, and can't figure out on their own because it doesn't change things for them in any practical way unless they're having the transphobic cooties.
So. I think when well-meaning (or not) cis homosexual people want someone trans to be out about their cis/trans status, they're really wanting that trans person to be a miner's canary for transphobia. Of which the cis people themselves don't have to suffer any consequences. So it's kinda unfair, and I'm not playing along.
It's also about establishing and maintaining practical power differentials: it's about keeping us uppity trans women in our place: Lord forbid what'd happen if we were just taken to be regular people with control of our lives. If cis people aren't constantly reminded of my past they tend to slip into the realisation that I actually am a woman, which is kind of a tacit acknowledgement that all that sexing-at-birth went titsup anyway, and doesn't really work. Which destabilises cis sexes and genders quite a bit, because if sexing went wrong with me, what's stopping it from going wrong for everyone? It also puts the cis on equal footing with the trans, which might be a bit unsettling for the cis, too - no "other" to define yourself against.
Oh yeah, and if you're cis and don't like being called cis - tough titties. I didn't choose to be labelled as trans, either.
Friday, 22 May 2009
And, gasp, it's the C of E that delivers, plus some thoughts on why I'm so angry
Really. I'm a bit envious, TBH - the Church of England folks actually invite trans people in their steering groups (or some such thing). I'd never had believed it but yeah, it really seems to be true.
The less-perplexed-by-teh-trans people at the conference have asked me a few really good questions, too - they're not that hard to answer, but asking them does bring home, to me, a few points.
Firstly, we're a wee bit doomy and gloomy, us trans women. And angry as hornets. Why is that, they wonder? It's kind of obvious to me, but for the record, here it goes: I'm angry as hell 'cos I've been forcibly masculinised throughout my childhood. I've a very hard time trusting anyone, let alone trusting their good intentions. Every time I've trusted in the past, I've been let down - because I've trusted other people understand I'm a girl even though I did look a bit like a boy on the outside. I admit that my trust was misplaced, but the problem is that when those things happened, I was a minor. There was no way on this earth I could've understood my problem, or rather, the problem other people were having with me. I couldn't grasp the idea that a) I was not a boy, but a girl, contrary to everything everyone said to me, and b) I'd really better communicate this to other people ASAP and get them round to treating me like the girl I was.
The upshot was this: I was forced to be a boy, on pain of physical violence. I sucked at it big time, but as I was unable to see an alternative, try I did. It left scars. I couldn't trust anyone. I couldn't trust anyone do right by me for decades. Please think about that for a minute. I'm all new (well, less than a quarter of my life) to this trusting business, and with a huge emotional baggage to boot. Is it such a wonder if I'm a bit leery of trusting other people; if I'm a bit apprehensive of others? Or that I'm a bit angry at what's been done to me?
The less-perplexed-by-teh-trans people at the conference have asked me a few really good questions, too - they're not that hard to answer, but asking them does bring home, to me, a few points.
Firstly, we're a wee bit doomy and gloomy, us trans women. And angry as hornets. Why is that, they wonder? It's kind of obvious to me, but for the record, here it goes: I'm angry as hell 'cos I've been forcibly masculinised throughout my childhood. I've a very hard time trusting anyone, let alone trusting their good intentions. Every time I've trusted in the past, I've been let down - because I've trusted other people understand I'm a girl even though I did look a bit like a boy on the outside. I admit that my trust was misplaced, but the problem is that when those things happened, I was a minor. There was no way on this earth I could've understood my problem, or rather, the problem other people were having with me. I couldn't grasp the idea that a) I was not a boy, but a girl, contrary to everything everyone said to me, and b) I'd really better communicate this to other people ASAP and get them round to treating me like the girl I was.
The upshot was this: I was forced to be a boy, on pain of physical violence. I sucked at it big time, but as I was unable to see an alternative, try I did. It left scars. I couldn't trust anyone. I couldn't trust anyone do right by me for decades. Please think about that for a minute. I'm all new (well, less than a quarter of my life) to this trusting business, and with a huge emotional baggage to boot. Is it such a wonder if I'm a bit leery of trusting other people; if I'm a bit apprehensive of others? Or that I'm a bit angry at what's been done to me?
Wednesday, 20 May 2009
European Forum of LGBT Christians
Yah, I'm attending. I'm not too optimistic, to be honest - I'm kind of expecting a fair bit of cluelessness on issues trans, yet I am hoping for something better. I really really want to know what's going on in churches all around the Europe wrt trans - I feel the news aren't going to be too good. From what I've heard elsewhere, Eastern Europe is not quite a paradise for anyone on the trans spectrum. In fact, it's probably deadly to be trans and out.
Oh how I hope there'll be some glimmers of hope, similar to the latest developments in DSM-V rewrite: the suggestions by Kelly Winters and Randall Ehrbar are almost too good to be true. On my first reading there is precious little what I'd change in that suggestion - I hope APA gets the hint. I'm not holding my breath, though.
Oh how I hope there'll be some glimmers of hope, similar to the latest developments in DSM-V rewrite: the suggestions by Kelly Winters and Randall Ehrbar are almost too good to be true. On my first reading there is precious little what I'd change in that suggestion - I hope APA gets the hint. I'm not holding my breath, though.
Friday, 15 May 2009
Monday, 4 May 2009
Fighting back
We really need to. I can't be happy and content in a world where cis boys brutalise trans girls.
I can't stand the exotification of me and my peers, I'm not a new, empty continent for cis academics to colonise. I already have a civilisation. I already have a culture. It's mine. It has words and contexts and concepts for my life, my things - and y'know what? It's not a cis playground. Not even if cis intentions are good. It's my space, and I decide who enters, and on what conditions, and I decide, too, if they have to leave, or are invited further in.
I will not tolerate a medical establishment that's intent on exotification and othering of non-cissexual people. We're people who need medical help - we're not guinea pigs for testing the latest theories on transsexuality. We don't, actually, need much research on transsexuality - I couldn't care less why I am, or was, this way. I care a lot about my health, my hormonal balance, my overall health. Do they research that? Nah. Of course not. Are our endocrine systems routinely checked for any possible oddities? If you're lucky and know what to demand. Are our HRTs monitored carefully? Well, yes, if you're lucky and know what to demand. Does your ob/gyn know what to look for? Yes, if you're lucky and know... I think you can see the pattern here.
How do we go about changing it? To be honest, I haven't a clue. Educating only takes you so far, and it's incredibly slow, and doesn't seem to have the power to bring about the kind of sea change I want. It's too slow, and too tedious, and too damn classist if every transitioner has to explain everything to every single doctor they meet - the poorest haven't got the resources to get the same doctor time and again, nor can they choose as easily as, say, I can.
I have educated my doctors. Both my GP and my ob/gyn are well aware of my bodily differences, and my HRT is monitored and managed well. But it's not enough! It's not good enough that one middle-class, educated, white trans woman can get what she needs - it should be routine for everyone, not just me.
How the hell does one take on the whole medical establishment?
I can't stand the exotification of me and my peers, I'm not a new, empty continent for cis academics to colonise. I already have a civilisation. I already have a culture. It's mine. It has words and contexts and concepts for my life, my things - and y'know what? It's not a cis playground. Not even if cis intentions are good. It's my space, and I decide who enters, and on what conditions, and I decide, too, if they have to leave, or are invited further in.
I will not tolerate a medical establishment that's intent on exotification and othering of non-cissexual people. We're people who need medical help - we're not guinea pigs for testing the latest theories on transsexuality. We don't, actually, need much research on transsexuality - I couldn't care less why I am, or was, this way. I care a lot about my health, my hormonal balance, my overall health. Do they research that? Nah. Of course not. Are our endocrine systems routinely checked for any possible oddities? If you're lucky and know what to demand. Are our HRTs monitored carefully? Well, yes, if you're lucky and know what to demand. Does your ob/gyn know what to look for? Yes, if you're lucky and know... I think you can see the pattern here.
How do we go about changing it? To be honest, I haven't a clue. Educating only takes you so far, and it's incredibly slow, and doesn't seem to have the power to bring about the kind of sea change I want. It's too slow, and too tedious, and too damn classist if every transitioner has to explain everything to every single doctor they meet - the poorest haven't got the resources to get the same doctor time and again, nor can they choose as easily as, say, I can.
I have educated my doctors. Both my GP and my ob/gyn are well aware of my bodily differences, and my HRT is monitored and managed well. But it's not enough! It's not good enough that one middle-class, educated, white trans woman can get what she needs - it should be routine for everyone, not just me.
How the hell does one take on the whole medical establishment?
Thursday, 23 April 2009
Iden-bugger-tity
I identify as myself. I don't, on the whole, identify as something, be that a nationality, gender, sex, religion or something else.
I am a woman. I am Finnish. I am female. I am Christian. I don't prefer to be identified as any of those - it's not about my preferences, it's about who I am, almost to the point of whether I like it or not. Identifying carries the meaning of someone - that would be me - doing the identifying. But I don't do it. I just am, there's no doing in my being. They're different for me.
I cycle to work occasionally - I don't identify as a cyclist. Cycling to work doesn't define me, not for myself anyway. It may, of course, prompt other people (or even me) to see me as a cyclist, or it may not, but it's not me doing the identifying for the most part.
In fact, identifying oneself as something has this faint air of deception in my ears - the logic being that if you have to identify as something, it seems almost as if it needs extra work, and that identification doesn't really flow from you like apples from an apple tree. Identifying as something has also a bit of an effort to it - and that kind of an effort is something I leave undone with extra pleasure: can't be arsed, kthxbai.
What does this have to do with anything? Well, some people like to think I identify as something - they like to think I am doing my being. I know, it won't change me, and I don't, on the whole, mind it much - I've lost hope on most people understanding things anyway, but I do like to point out that it's kinda silly to impute motives on other people (that is, yours truly) - it's much better if you ask, and don't get defensive if you don't get the answer you were expecting. And please, pretty please don't try to shoehorn the answer you may get into some standard formula of yours - please give it a fair consideration, and don't be too quick to judge what does, and what does not, exist.
I am a woman. I am Finnish. I am female. I am Christian. I don't prefer to be identified as any of those - it's not about my preferences, it's about who I am, almost to the point of whether I like it or not. Identifying carries the meaning of someone - that would be me - doing the identifying. But I don't do it. I just am, there's no doing in my being. They're different for me.
I cycle to work occasionally - I don't identify as a cyclist. Cycling to work doesn't define me, not for myself anyway. It may, of course, prompt other people (or even me) to see me as a cyclist, or it may not, but it's not me doing the identifying for the most part.
In fact, identifying oneself as something has this faint air of deception in my ears - the logic being that if you have to identify as something, it seems almost as if it needs extra work, and that identification doesn't really flow from you like apples from an apple tree. Identifying as something has also a bit of an effort to it - and that kind of an effort is something I leave undone with extra pleasure: can't be arsed, kthxbai.
What does this have to do with anything? Well, some people like to think I identify as something - they like to think I am doing my being. I know, it won't change me, and I don't, on the whole, mind it much - I've lost hope on most people understanding things anyway, but I do like to point out that it's kinda silly to impute motives on other people (that is, yours truly) - it's much better if you ask, and don't get defensive if you don't get the answer you were expecting. And please, pretty please don't try to shoehorn the answer you may get into some standard formula of yours - please give it a fair consideration, and don't be too quick to judge what does, and what does not, exist.
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