Addison & Jace ::: en route

Since publicly coming out as transgender on April 24, 2012 (big day), I haven’t had much of a chance to write about life as a trans guy. And I haven’t had much time to even answer people’s questions about life as a trans guy. Right around the time I came out, work erupted, and the legislative session demanded every moment of my little life.

But today, I have time. And today, I mark one month since coming out. In honor of my one month anniversary as an out and proud trans guy, I thought I might answer some frequently asked questions.

1. What does it mean to be transgender (or trans, as you say)?
A kind of official definition, if there is one: a transgender person is any individual who finds themselves left out of society’s usual gender roles.

But the really important thing to know: there is no ONE transgender experience. Some describe being transgender as being born into the wrong body or being trapped in the wrong body. Others describe the trans experience as wanting to live outside or beyond the gender binary, not male or female—but neither, both, or something altogether different. 

My own experience is just mine and can’t (and shouldn’t) be forced upon others. I realized, after a lot of self-exploration and discovery, that there’s a disconnect between my mind and my body. My mind (also known as my gender identity) says I’m male; my body (also known as my physical gender or my sex) says I’m female. I’m embarking on a process of transition to make sure that my mind and my body are lined up. When they are, I’ll be able to live authentically.

2. How did you know you were trans?
I discovered my trans identity through self-exploration and introspection. A lot of thinking. A lot of experiencing. A lot of feeling my experiences. It was a difficult, overwhelming, painful process. During many moments, I tried to convince myself that I am not trans, but in the end, I realized that living honestly was worth all the struggle that I would face.

Again, this is how I came to know I am trans. But clearly, not everyone gets to a trans identity in the same way. Just the other day, I read a story in the Washington Post about a young boy who knew he was transgender at age five. It didn’t take months and months of introspection and experiences to discover who he is. He just knows. He was born a girl, but he’s a boy.

The common thread in our story is that we’re not living a lifestyle or making decisions based on preference. A trans identity is deeply engrained in who someone is.

3. How does your partner feel about your trans identity?
Like me, Addison is on a journey. Just as I had to realize who I am, she now has to realize who she is with a trans partner. It hasn’t been easy. We both pushed back on the idea that I am trans; we both struggled. But we’ve come to an honest place. A place where we tell each other what we think and how we feel. A place where we’ve realized that the love we have for each other is strong, stronger than we even imagined. A place where we’re willing to put in the time and energy to live and thrive in the face of change. 

In short, Addison has been incredibly supportive over the past few months. I love her more than ever. And nothing compares to the feeling I have when she calls me her “husband.”

4. Why did you come out? How are people responding?
I came out because I believe that being open about who you are and sharing your story is the only way to educate people. By and large, everyday people have no idea what it means to be transgender. My coming out may help a few of them understand. My being visible as a trans person may build bridges to mutual respect and understanding. I came out because I believe it is my responsibility to be open and honest and willing to share my story.

Overall, people have responded in an incredibly positive way. My boss has been an amazing ally, and my co-workers haven’t skipped a beat (then again, I do work at an LGBT organization). My friends have been warm and accepting. Even acquaintances have been kind. It’s been overwhelming, in fact, to have so many people love and respect me.

My family has had the most difficult time, and that’s to be expected since they’ve known me the longest. But I think it’s important to give people time and space to process their own feelings and reactions. Although things are rocky now, I have faith that, in time, we’ll all be close again.

5. What is transition? What are your plans?
Transition is a process that trans people undertake in order to align their gender identity with their physical gender/sex. Transition takes many forms and may include name changes, hormone therapy, or surgery. Everyone’s transition looks different.

For me, I will legally change my name from Jess to Jace, and the complicated process (which includes background checks and legal proceedings) is already in motion. I will also change the gender marker from female to male on my forms of identification. I have been under the care of mental health professionals who are helping me gain access to hormones (commonly called hormone replacement therapy), specifically testosterone that will make my body more masculine (making me grow facial and body hair, deepening my voice, and redistributing my body weight). I also seek to have top or chest surgery, which will remove my breasts to give me a more masculine-appearing chest.

But my transition process isn’t really what’s important. What’s most important to know about me (that you probably already know — but reminders are good):

• Please call me by my new name (Jace).
• Please use male pronouns when talking about me (he, him, his). 
• If you make a mistake, quickly correct yourself, or just use the correct name / pronouns next time. Never make a big deal out of your mistake. 
• The best way you can be an ally is to help me navigate awkward situations. Help correct folks who don’t know I’m trans by pulling them aside and asking them to call me Jace and use male pronouns. Model the appropriate way to interact with me (as in, not asking me questions that you wouldn’t normally ask people — like “What’s in your pants?”).
• Understand that the transition process takes a lot of time and money, and that although it may be a while before I sound like a boy or look like a boy, I am still a boy.

After more than six years of not knowing who I am, a year of searching and exploring my heart and soul to understand myself, and a couple of deep conversations with an experienced therapist — I have realized that I am transgender. 

Trans. A word I resisted for so long. But an identity that fits, finally.

It took me a while to get here. If you’ve been following the blog, you know that I’ve been struggling with my gender identity for the past several months (re-live my past Reflections on Gender here). But my journey began many years ago.

Six years ago. I remember standing in front of the mirror getting ready to go out to a gay club with friends. I looked at myself wearing women’s clothes — a button-down shirt with darts and black dress pants. And I broke down. I didn’t understand why, but I had a bit of a panic attack and was overcome by anxiety. I didn’t go out that night, and not long after, I bought my first outfit from the men’s department.

And so my journey began, and my family and friends have watched it unfold, day by day, year by year. Wearing more and more men’s clothing. Cutting my hair shorter and shorter. Using bras and other contraptions to try to hide my breasts. Changing my name (Jessica) to something more gender neutral (Jess). For years, I existed in a confusing place. I didn’t understand why, but I was a woman who preferred to look like a man. 

It wasn’t until I moved to Denver that I learned what the word “transgender” means. When I first heard the word, I heard it defined as “someone who is trapped in the wrong body.” But over the course of the past 18 months, I learned more about what transgender really means as I met trans people who were living happy and healthy lives with jobs, partners, homes, and bright futures. I heard stories from these incredible people and began to understand that a transgender identity is far more complex than I first realized. Some trans folks feel they were born in the wrong body; others simply want to reject the gender binary that forces them to define themselves as male or female; still others want to live on a continuum closer to the end of the spectrum they weren’t born on.

There is no one transgender experience. There are many transgender experiences, each one different from the other, each one valid.

My own experience is quite simple (once I finally came to understand it):  a disconnect exists between the gender in my head and the gender in my body. I was born a girl, but in my head, I am a boy. 

Research has shown us for decades that changing the mind is harmful and, in fact, impossible; we can’t convince someone that they are something they aren’t. Just like you can’t change someone’s sexual orientation, you can’t change someone’s gender identity.

So in order to live an authentic life, I have to change my body, not my mind. That process is called transition, and it looks different for everyone.

For me, some changes are easy. When I’m wearing a suit and tie, I feel authentic — so I’ll continue to wear men’s clothes. When someone calls me “he,” I feel authentic — so I’ll ask the people in my life to call me “he,” and I’ll legally change my name to a male name: Jace Walker Woodrum.

Other changes are a little harder. When I press my breasts down under a binder so that you can’t see them, I feel authentic — but it isn’t healthy to bind your breasts. And so I must pursue surgery to remove my breasts in order to live authentically. I will also take male hormones (testosterone), which will lower my voice, cause the growth of facial and body hair, and make other adjustments to my body so that I will look more male. 

This part of the journey — transition — is terrifying. But I have to live authentically. I have to be who I am. At some point in this process, I will be able to walk through the world as male. No one will know that I was born a woman or that I am transgender. I will simply look male. I look forward to that day, that day when I am truly me.

Until then, I’ll put one foot in front of the other and take steps toward the person I am meant to be.

I’ve written on gender three other times. 

In Part One, I looked back over years of gender confusion and embraced a new identity: genderqueer. I rejected the gender binary and refused to think of myself as male or female. I was something else entirely.

In Part Two, I was overcome with a connection to my womanhood. Overtaken by my desire for babies, by my love for women, by the hateful, nationwide attack on women, by conversations with proud butch women who bravely blur gender lines with their short hair, male clothing, and masculine energy. I was drawn back into the binary, back into a female identity (albeit, one with a strong masculine expression).

In Part Three, I swam to the other side of the binary, exploring the masculine part of myself. The part that feels confident and secure the more masculine I look, the part that hates my breasts and has since childhood, the part of me that uses the men’s restroom because the women’s is too scary. And for the first time, I asked a question that has been in my head but that was far too frightening to ask out loud: am I transgender?

Throughout this process, only one thing has been constant: change. I am evolving. 

At every phase of this process, it’s been hard to construct my thoughts and feelings into words. And frustrating to admit that I am still unsettled and unsure. And terrifying to experience a journey that’s so exhausting and confusing.

I know it’s a necessary journey, a worthwhile journey. So I stay on it. And I keep walking, one foot in front of the other, living my experience and noting my feelings, one by one.

But this process of evolution takes its toll. For nearly a year, I have been overcome with stress and anxiety. I have shared my struggles only with a few, not wanting to burden my family and all my friends. But it has been difficult. As strong as I am, this journey has made me feel weak.

And so I have sought out help. Two weeks ago, I had my first therapy appointment. Well, not my first ever therapy appointment. But my first therapy appointment to talk about this journey. And it was amazing.

I know there are many, particularly people in my family, who don’t think much of therapy. They consider therapy something that crazy or messed up people get. But I myself love therapy. If I had wealth, I’d be in a therapist’s office every week, processing my feelings, talking through my stress, and dealing with life. Sadly, I don’t have wealth, and I hadn’t been to see a therapist since college.

My first time back in the chair was incredibly affirming, validating, and stabilizing. I threw out everything I’ve been experiencing — things I’ve written about here on this blog and other things I’ve hidden — and in the conversation, I experienced such clarity and understanding. I left feeling better than I had felt in months, maybe longer.

In one hour, I will be back in my therapist’s office for my second visit. Just before my first visit, I felt nervous. Today, I’m feeling energized and eager. I feel ready to share more of my story and to continue on my journey with another ally. I think we’re getting somewhere, and we’re moving much faster and with much less pain and confusion than when I was traveling alone. 

I’m not sure where we’ll end up, but I know one thing is true: it’s the journey that’s important. Onward!

-Jess

That didn’t last long.

The “ode to my womanhood” that I wrote only a month or so ago (click here to review it) feels like a distant memory now. It didn’t take long until I realized that the connectedness I was feeling toward my female identity was fleeting.

Quickly, I drifted away from that end of the binary. Swam back toward genderqueer waters. Dipped my toes in the pool of masculinity. I haven’t drown. Not yet anyway.

So what brought on my connection to my womanhood? Wanting babies. Loving women. Witnessing a hateful, nationwide attack on women. Talking to proud butch women who bravely blur gender lines with their short hair, male clothing, and masculine energy.

Undoubtedly, women are beautiful. Powerful. Women have babies. Women fight back against attacks on their access and their health. Women walk through a world that still oppresses them and stay strong. 

Women are incredible. You can’t deny it. And on the day I wrote my “ode,” I felt it — the power of women.

But I’m on a journey. And it isn’t over yet, my mind and my heart tell me. I still have some exploring, some learning to do.

So what brought on my shift, my swim away from the female end of the gender binary, after feeling so connected to it?

Sitting at a table with Addison and another couple — and the waiter calling us “ladies.” It hit me all wrong. I didn’t look like a lady, didn’t feel like a lady, didn’t want to be called a lady. But it happened, and it sent me swimming. It got me thinking about the other part of me — the masculine part.

The part of me that looks in the mirror and is only happy with what I see when the image staring back at me is masculine. In fact, the more masculine I look, the more confident, secure, and comfortable I feel.

The part of me that uses the men’s restroom because the women’s restroom was scary and overwhelming. Women, unlike men, police their restrooms. They guard their spaces, inspecting anyone who walks in. The examination I was experiencing each time I walked into the women’s restroom with my short hair and tie — it was too much. I fled.

The part of me that hates my breasts. Has hated them since they emerged on my chest in middle school and hampered my basketball playing. Has bought bra after bra looking for one to minimize and hide them. Has researched expensive surgery for them.

One month ago, I screamed, “I am woman; hear me roar.”

Today, I wonder, “Who am I?” Am I genderqueer? Am I a proud butch lesbian, a proud woman with a male gender expression? Am I transgender? 

My gender journey continues. Up and down, left and right, female and male. Today, I am in touch with my masculine energy. One month ago, I was tied to my womanhood. Two months before that, I embraced genderqueer for the first time.

I won’t pretend that this post is the end of the journey. It is yet another stop. I’ll see you at the next one.

-Jess

I’ve been thinking a lot about gender of late, and coincidentally, the world has been thinking about gender quite a bit too, given that Chaz Bono is two-stepping on Dancing with the Stars. 

In the past year, since Addison and I moved to Denver, my understanding of my own gender has been evolving. After many years of confusion, I am finally beginning to understand my own gender identity.

I didn’t grow up in a rigid gender world. Although I was taught about gender roles, my parents let me cross gender barriers often, from playing sports to wearing pants (not dresses like many of the other girls in my small southern town). Still, as we all do, I learned what was expected of me as someone who was born female. I learned how I should act and what I should wear. I learned that girls cross their legs and wear dainty outfits of pink and purple.

We all learn these rules. Our society is built upon them. Our world is structured around a gender binary—a system that forces all of us to fit on one end or the another. We are born female or male. And it’s a big deal. We find out the sex of a baby months before he or she is born, and we prepare accordingly. Pink and green nurseries or blue and yellow onesies. This is the way of our world. You must be either male or female. Not both. Not neither. One or the other, the one you were born as. This is life.  

Like all of you, I was born into this world. I grew up in this world. I was taught the rights and wrongs of this world. And I realized that I am on the wrong side of this world.

I was in my early twenties when I discovered that I don’t fit into the binary. I was standing in front of my mirror in my bedroom, getting ready to go out to the club with friends. I was staring at the button-down shirt I was wearing. The shirt had darts in it, a design-element used in women’s shirts to make them more form-fitting. The pants were tight on the thighs and wide at the bottom.

I looked in the mirror, and I didn’t like what I saw. Not in that “Gosh, I look fat today” way. But in that, “This doesn’t feel right way.” I didn’t know what I was feeling exactly, but it wasn’t good. I took off all my clothes, overcome by intense anxiety, and I didn’t go out that night.

Several months passed before I decided to try something new. I think it took me that long to understand what had caused my debilitating anxiety. 

But after months of continuing anxiety, I decided to stop following the rules. I bought a pair of men’s jeans and a men’s sweater. I put them on. I looked in the mirror. I felt like myself.

There wasn’t some glowing light to illuminate why a simple change in wardrobe had changed my anxiety to comfort. I didn’t understand why I felt the way I did. I didn’t try to understand. I just acted. And with every act, I broke another rule. 

Action defined the next two years of my life. I no longer performed my gender as society deemed appropriate. I didn’t think much about why. I was celebrating, enjoying the fact that I finally felt good about myself and my body.

It wasn’t until I moved to Denver that I started searching for the language to explain my feelings about my gender. I wanted words, in part because, if language existed, I would know that there are others like me.

And so I found words. Cisgender. Transgender. Genderqueer.

Cisgender means gender-normative. It means that you perform your gender in accordance to what you were assigned at birth. It means that you feel you are the gender you were assigned. You were born female and feel female; therefore, you comfortably perform what our world has defined as “femaleness.” 

Transgender people grow up feeling like they were born in the wrong body—that the gender they feel inside does not match their gender on the outside. At some point in their lives, transgender people often decide they must live their lives in the gender they have always known themselves to be and often transition to living as that gender.

Genderqueer people reject the gender binary, which means they defy definition all together. They may consider themselves neither male or female, both male and female, or somewhere in between.

It was these three words that helped me understand me. Three words that helped me to know that there is life outside of the binary. Three words that showed me there are others like me, others who break the rules and live to tell the tale.

Which word is me? Today, it’s genderqueer. Yesterday, it was butch (another word I discovered to specifically describe women who are more masculine—-and a word I think I might use to describe myself for a while). Tomorrow? I don’t know what it will be. Because what I’ve learned most deeply of all is that what I am today may not be what I am tomorrow. My gender is fluid; it resists and rejects a binary and instead exists on a continuum. It refuses to follow the rules.

Each day I’m letting my feelings guide me. With each passing moment, I get to know me better. With each step I take, I give myself a little bit more room to breathe, to experience, to live outside the rules.

-Jess

At the Capitol for the House Education Committee hearing. Live tweeting testimony around HB 1254, an anti-bullying bill.

If you read this blog regularly (or even every once in a while), you probably know three important things about me:

1. I’m a lesbian.

2. I’m on the Board of SC Equality, South Carolina’s GLBT civil rights organization.

3. I want to see more rights and legal protections for GLBT citizens on the local, state, and federal level.

That’s me, and many of you know it. So you’re probably not surprised that yesterday, Addison and I took the afternoon off work and drove to Charleston to attend a city hall meeting. We drove back immediately after the meeting: 4 hours in the car; 2 hours or less in the meeting.

We went because we wanted to witness history being made. And we did.

We watched as the Charleston City Council voted unanimously to prohibit discrimination based on sexual orientation in matters of public accommodations and housing. I’ll explain what this all means in a minute, but pause for a second to take this in. A city in South Carolina has passed (at the local level) legislation protecting gays and lesbians.

Don’t drop dead. It’s happened. We made history.

Here’s what it all means:

-Charleston already had a law on the books that protected against discrimination in housing. The law protected people on the basis of gender, race, ethnicity, disability, etc. SC Equality and other political organizations in the state (AFFA,Log Cabin Republicans, Stonewall Democrats, ACLU) worked with the Mayor and City Council of Charleston to get sexual orientation and age added as protected classes. So now the law states that you can’t be discriminated against based on your sexual orientation! In short, as a result of this law,  you can’t be denied the ability to rent, buy, or sell property because you are gay.

-Charleston did not have a law regarding discrimination in public accommodations. So we worked to get one created that included sexual orientation. And now it’s on the books that you can’t be discriminated against in matters of public accommodations because of age, race, sexual orientation, etc. In short, as a result of this law, you can’t be discriminated against at public businesses like hotels, restaurants, bars, etc.

-The definition of “sexual orientation” in the law was written so that it doesn’t just protect against gays, lesbians, and bisexuals. It also protects transgender folks from being discriminated against as a result of their gender identity or expression.

I know this doesn’t seem like much, but it is. This is a pro-gay legislative victory happening in the South. That’s a huge deal! And it shows that we don’t have to wait on Washington to make change happen. We can do positive work for GLBT folks right here in South Carolina. It’s tough work, but it can be done. Laws like these exist now in Columbia and Charleston. What SC city will be next?

On a side bar, you might be wondering about employment (maybe? perhaps you care?). I know I was wondering about employment laws when I first found out that we were trying to get these laws passed. These laws do NOT protect against GLBT folks in matters of employment. If you are gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender in South Carolina, you can still be fired because of your sexual orientation — no questions asked. It may feel like discrimination, but it isn’t illegal. You can’t sue because there’s no law protecting you. You can just get fired because you’re gay. To me, that’s one of the scariest parts of living in South Carolina.

Unfortunately, we can’t change the employment issue at the local level. We can only change employment laws at the state level. This is infinitely harder to do because SC is a really conservative state. There are cities with lots of progressive folks living there (Columbia and Charleston mostly, where we’ve already passed pro-gay laws like housing and public accommodations), but the state overall is way conservative. So changing employment laws across the state…that’s something to look forward to but not hold your breath for because, well, it may be a while.

But today, my friends, we have reason to celebrate. Legislative victory for GLBTs living in South Carolina. That’s worth a lot to me, legally and emotionally.

Pass the beer.

-Jess

I woke up this morning at the same usual ungodly hour that Addison’s alarm always goes off (6 AM), but instead of rolling over and going back to sleep, I grabbed my phone and began searching for the results of yesterday’s election.

The first thing I saw was good news:  Kalamazoo, Michigan approved a measure that prohibits discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity in matters of housing, employment, and public accommodations.  This is exciting stuff, folks, and I’m thrilled for the people of Kalamazoo.  They can now feel safe and protected, especially in their jobs.  Prior to the passing of this measure, Kalamazoo citizens could have been fired or denied housing simply because they were gay, and nothing could have been done.  They couldn’t have sued their employer or anything because there was no law prohibiting discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity.  Now the people of Kalamazoo can feel secure in their jobs, in their homes, and in their public accommodations.  Click here to learn more about this measure.

Next, I read that we’re leading in Washington state.  A referendum to expand the state’s domestic partnership law to basically be “everything-but-marriage” is leading.  Basically, the law will change Washington’s definition of spouse–everywhere that it appears–to include registered domestic partners.  It would be the first-ever win for a pro-gay initiative on a state ballot, but it’s too soon to know for sure whether it will pass.  Most of the state votes via mail ballots, which only had to be postmarked (not received) by yesterday–so we can’t call it yet.  But my fingers are crossed.  If Washington succeeds, it will mean a lot.  It won’t mean marriage, but it will mean a lot.  Here’s a blog post from a lesbian couple whose blog I follow; they live in Washington and talk a bit about the importance of this referendum. I love when she says:  “Mark my words, National Organization for Marriage, Faith and Freedom Network, Yes on 1, the Vatican, and the Latter Day Saints: when we win in Washington, it will be the first victory of many.” I really hope they’re right.

Finally, after reading two bits of good news (and some other pieces of really positive news about LGBT candidates winning mayoral races and beyond–yay!), I found the information I was looking for, the information I woke up for.  I got the bad news about Maine.  I learned that the people of Maine overturned the legislature and governor-approved law that provided marriage equality to GLBT Mainers.  And immediately, I began to feel horrible emotional pain.  Once again, people in this country have said, “We don’t believe you deserve equal rights because you’re different.  We don’t believe you should be allowed to love who you love.”  It hurts tremendously to be confronted with this harsh reality again and again.  Just when you think you’ve made progress, a state steps up and says, “We don’t want GLBT folks in these parts.”  Ouch.

Yes, yes, I know the fight will continue.  I know that this campaign was extremely well-run and that we almost won.  I know that organizations in Maine and across this country will continue working for GLBT rights, from marriage equality to employment nondiscrimination.  I know we can be glad for every mind that we’ve changed and all those we will change in the coming days, months, and years.  I know all these things, and I will continue to be a member of the fighting team.  I will continue to work for GLBT equality.

But, first, I need to wallow in my feelings.

Disappointment.  Sadness.  Anger.  Frustration.  Concern.  Rejection.

That’s what I’m feeling right now.  The pain of Maine.  The pain of realizing, once again, that although legislators and judges and governors will sometimes, in some cases, embrace us and provide us the opportunity to have our relationships recognized like all others, our neighbors will not.  That’s the pain of Maine.  Do you feel it?

-Jess