Losing an Earring and Finding Something Better

By Michelle Wright

Recently, I was one of the speakers at a Transgender Identity Awareness training session for National Health Service (NHS) psychologists in Scotland’s Fife region. My role was to speak from my own life about the lived experience of trans people. 

At the end of the session, the hall became empty rather quickly and I found myself one of the last to put on their coat. As I pulled my scarf around my neck I felt it – a small tug to my right earlobe and then a release. One of my earrings had departed for its own kind of freedom. My hand felt for where it should be but only confirmed that it had gone. It was one of a lovely pair of half moon hoops. As an automatic reaction to this small crisis, my eyes started to scan the floor. 

Just then one of the hosts of the event, I'll call her Eveline, and another lady were leaving together. At the exit door they shouted their goodbyes: “Bye Michelle.” 

Our eyes met and in reply all that came out was, “I have lost an earring.” 

I recall the sound of my voice – the mixture of desperation and disappointment wrapped into a cry for help, a kind of strangled feminine panic. Both ladies turned on their heels and came towards me. They started scanning the floor as I was. Without further communication we fanned out as group and covered the whole area. 

“What color is it?” 

“Is it valuable?” 

“Have you checked if it’s stuck to your clothes?” 

“Leave your name at reception in case it’s found later.”

Eventually I had to admit that it was not going to be found. It was probably lodged in some hidden spot laughing at our search efforts. For sure it was going to remain free. I said my thanks and we all made our way out of the hall. Small hand waves and we were all gone. 

Back in my car, it struck me just what had happened. I had just experienced that elusive thing that all in the trans community look for. My unexpected earring loss had brought me together with my gender peers in a common feminine mission; something all cis women will have lived through at some point or other – the loss of a treasured piece of jewelry and three women bonding together at a higher level of understanding. 

I lost an earring, and found something priceless – acceptance.

Wearing Madeleine

2019 Miss Engineering womanless beauty pageant contestant

No Surprise

Above Average

Commenting on my Thursday post, Meg wrote, "I wonder when you'll stop being surprised that you're treated as the woman you are."

Julie and Tina left concurring comments. I can imagine Cher saying, "Get over it" as she slaps me in the face.

For most of my life, I did not present as a woman among civilians. When I began stepping out as a woman, I questioned any attention I received — usually assuming the worst, that is, a civilian figured out that I was not what I appeared to be.

There is probably some truth in that assumption because early on, my presentation may have been lacking. But as I fine-tuned my presentation, I received feedback in my encounters with civilians that indicated that I was fooling some of the people some of the time.

Thirty years later, I think my presentation is better than average and when I am out, I assume that everyone accepts me as a woman. So I am no longer surprised when I am treated as a woman.

However, when I write about my days and nights out as a woman, I often mention the positive treatment I receive in order to encourage my readers that they too can go out and be accepted as the women they truly are.

And so it goes.

I'd wear this outfit (Source: Pinterest)

El Brendel femulates in the 1935 film Okay Jose.

The Times They Are a-Changin'

By Paula Gaikowski

Those were the words Bob Dylan belted out as baby boomers came of age and began to question the social order, while I at 10-years-old had a secret. The world was erupting outside, a country divided by war, freedom protests, and flower power. With this as my soundtrack, I stood in my room alone and confused, dressed in my sister’s clothes, staring into the mirror trying to make sense of these feelings. The freedom train was rolling, but it would be a long time before transgender people would get on board.

This past weekend was New England autumn at its best. It was cool and the foliage was brilliant the sun shined brightly and the scent of fallen leaves wafted thru the air. As I gathered with old friends at a lakeside cabin, it was exciting to reconnect and hear where life was taking them. One young lady who I had watched grow up over the years was now in grad school studying to be a speech pathologist. She came over for a visit and was enthusiastic and passionate about her chosen career. As she ticked off the different clients she had worked with I listened politely.

I perked up when she said “Perhaps, the best group I worked with were transgender.”

When I heard this I subconsciously thought all eyes would be on me, so I remained unresponsive and kept quiet for fear I might pass some innocent remark that could out me, such as, “I want to be a woman, help me, please!”

In all seriousness, what followed was a thoughtful conversation by the group of about eight people. What struck me was the lack of surprise by those present; hardly a progressive group, they all understood what being transgender meant and seemed genuinely interested in the young woman’s work with them. She even mentioned that this would be a positive addition to her resume because there was a growing demand. One person even mentioned a colleague who had a transgender daughter.

Transgender awareness has turned a corner. In this case professionals such as speech pathologists are receiving training for this recognized condition as part of their standard curriculum and a group of average people listened with encouraging interest. I contrast this with the views of the 1960s when the only terms for transgender persons were derogatory and we were the punch line for off-colored jokes and fodder for tabloids.

It’s encouraging to see all these positive changes and I am glad they happened in my lifetime. I wish they had happened sooner. It’s easy to play the game of “what might have been.” However, I have evolved to a point I never thought possible and have reached a level of self acceptance that gives me peace.

And that brings to mind the words of another 60s anthem.

“You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need.”

 

 

 

Wearing Alexis.

 

 

 

Manuel Arte femulates Jane Russell and Frankie Kein femulates Marilyn Monroe
at Faces in Santa Monica, California, 1986

passing

This morning, I read a message thread on a trans message board which touched upon the subject of passing. One writer opined that trans people put too much emphasis on passing... that passing is not important... that acceptance is more important than passing... yadda yadda yadda.

I'm sure you have heard these arguments before (and I know I touched upon them here in the past).

Note: I am now putting on devil's advocate hat.

I think that some trans people use the argument (that passing is not important) as a cop-out because for whatever reason, they do not pass.

In addition to being an excuse, it is also a put-down of trans people who do pass, i.e, yes, they pass, but what they are doing is not important, so they are just wasting their time.

I resent that!

I take a lot of pride in my presentation and I admit that it takes some time and effort to get the results I want, but I feel that it is worth it because:

* I pass some of the time, which is a wonderful affirmation of my hard work.

* When I don't pass, at least I don't look like a caricature of a woman. Rather, I look like I am trying my best to emulate a woman and I believe that fosters acceptance.