Thursday, February 28, 2013

Someone Asked If I Have Had a God Moment.

I've had many, but the question made me think specifically of Jacob wrestling God, how he walked with a limp thereafter, and how his name became Israel. You could say I too wrestled with God and in the end I too walk differently and have a new name! 

My struggle with God was during the process I went through in reconciling my faith with being transgender. But I still wonder why the solution to my deeply private struggle require I make such public and outward changes?

I transitioned in 2008 at the age of 58, nine years after I was diagnosed with having acute gender dysphoria. The recommended course of action would include living full time as a woman for at least one year, hormone therapy, legal name change, and undergoing a final psychological evaluation before surgery would be authorized.

The prospect was daunting, not just for its enormous financial cost, but also all the implications and ramifications on my wife and three adult sons. Nothing new here; this is the common experience for us who transition late in life, who are married and have children. Each family deals with the news differently and in many cases, the adjustment is painful and not without negative consequences.

I knew all this and was prepared for the worst. But this was not what held me back and gave me pause for concern. What did God have to say about this? Who’s opinion was I going to listen to, my doctors’ or God’s?

The way I had tried to deal with my dysphoria, from the age of twenty—when I place my faith in Jesus—until the fateful day I was given the diagnosis, was by spiritualizing it. I fully expected that one day I would be normal if I exercised my faith, prayed, memorized scripture and worked hard at “retraining my mind.” Unfortunately, the thoughts and feelings of inadequacy as a man were persistent. It seemed like such a simple prayer for God to answer so that this internal private struggle would simply vanish and I could be normal.

All these spiritual disciplines paid off dividends and if you were to look and me and my life, my family and how I was regarded by friends and family, you would have never guessed I was as torn up on the inside as I was. Don’t get me wrong, I loved being a husband and a dad; and I loved my life. The problem was that I never felt at peace in my own skin. This produced mountains of guilt and I felt totally defeated spiritually.

The word “transgender” was not available to me when I came out to my wife in 1980, about six years into our marriage. Maybe it would have made it a lot easier to explain how I felt and what I “feared” I was. Instead, all I could muster up was that I felt inadequate as a man; that I had feminine feelings and how embarrassed I was for being this way. I told her I sometimes wanted to be a woman and that I often found myself imagining what I would look like as a female. I went on to say that I wanted all these thoughts to go away and wondered if the reason God had chosen not to “heal” me was because I had ket this a secret from her.

I believed that when I married my wife, the two of us had be come one flesh in the eyes of God. I concluded, therefore, that by not being honest with her from the start, I must have sabotaged this process somehow. How could I possibly expect God to hear my prayers? She needed to know the truth.

That was my logic. Our marriage went through and adjustment period, but gradually my wife allowed herself to stand with me in this struggle and we fought the war together. I became very harsh with myself as I vainly tried to control my thoughts. Nothing worked; and as time went by, I lost hope. On top of that, I could not bring myself to tell my wife just how I was unraveling from the inside despite her love and best efforts to help me cope.

Unfortunately, our marriage ended the year after my surgery, I will always be grateful for how my wife gave me so much love and support, even before those challenging years of transition. In the end, she could not accept the loss of her husband. Sometimes the death of a spouse is easier to accept than having them change sex, I am told.

In my fundamentalist way of thinking, I needed to reduce things to black and white, cause and effect, dos and don’ts, to categorizing knowledge and wisdom into the world’s or to heaven’s; the world's is bad and heaven's is good. My attempts to figure out why I was this way became a minefield of conflicting thoughts. I felt guilty for looking at “secular” (bad) information and worried I would somehow jinx everything if I accepted these explanations. Unfortunately, I could find little that offered an explanation that made sense to me in “Christian” (good) literature.

Even getting myself referred to the gender clinic for a psychological evaluation became a struggle of conscience; it felt as if I was walking into enemy territory. But I needed to know once and for all if I could be fixed. The diagnosis was not a big surprise, I had suspected as much. But part of me was hopeful that doctors could somehow make it less overwhelming for me to live each day without the nagging self-loathing.

My God moment by moment:

The turning point in reconciling my very conservative beliefs to what the doctors were telling me was not one single “aha!” moment. It took several months in 2006 when I began to look more closely at what it was Jesus said about eunuchs. Ironically, the one verse I had used for years was part of this discussion between Jesus, the Pharisees and his disciples; but I had taken it out of context.

I won’t go into all the arguments I pondered at the time, but at the end of this grueling process, I finally felt I had permission to proceed and that God did not condemn me. I now had other questions to ponder, such as: why doesn’t God answer all our prayers and why did he choose not to “heal” me? But as I considered how universal these questions were and how I was not the only person who had pleaded with God for years to change something that seemed to be broken, I then began to see how perhaps I had missed his answers to my prayers all along.

Yes, I had a very specific request, I wanted to be normal. What I meant by that was that I did not want to be struggling with my gender identity; I wanted to be at home in my own body. This meant that I would one day be content to be a male, plain and simple.

Then, I considered how I lived in a time and place where my condition, if you want to call it that, was understood by the medical profession and that there were countless clinicians and specialists who were invested in making the lives of transgender people more livable. Was this not to be recognized as a gift from God and answer to prayer? It is no different from recognizing that each year there are medical advances that help those suffering from life-long ailments and conditions that had previously been life sentences.

Any one of the hallmark discoveries which have made it possible for people to live longer, happier lives, such as the discovery of insulin—it dawned on me how we consider these advances as answers to prayers, as gifts from God. Why, then, could I not accept the medical and surgical options the doctors recommended for me were his way of answering my prayers? There it was, the crux of the matter, God did answer my prayers, but not as I expected. One question that remains unanswered, however, is why the solution to my deeply private struggle required such public and outward changes.

Transition was no cakewalk. It was a frightening time of adjustments and navigating unchartered waters. No amount of reading other people’s stories can prepare you for some of the things one has to go through. The first time you present yourself to an old friend or acquaintance, the nerves are enough to kill a million tapeworms. Gradually, I began to discover that any of my fears were unfounded, I was not rejected, ostracized, or abandoned. I was fortunate.

After my transition, I have had the privilege of meeting and corresponding with countless other trans men and women. Sadly, for far too many, rejection has been their bitter experience. More disturbing is the fact that so many of those doing the rejecting and judging are Christian families and friends. It is no longer a wonder to me why so many trans persons want nothing to do with church, or with God.

That is not to say transgender persons are not spiritual; far from it. My experience within my faith community may not be the norm, I admit, but if we are to ask what true religion is, we would then need to say that loving justice, embracing mercy and walking humbly with God is it. Simply put, to love others as we want to be loved. Whether my new friends claim to be Christian or not, I sometimes see more of this type of love in action among transgender persons than among some of our detractors who do claim to be Christian.

Since I published my story in 2011, “Transparently: behind the Scenes of a Good Life,” in which I share my journey from childhood through to just after my gender reassignment surgery in March of 2010, I have received many letters. They tell me my book is the first one they have read that talks about faith and being transgender. Why is this significant, you may ask? The reality is that for many, being a transgender Christian is an oxymoron, a contradiction. I am touched by these letters, some of which have come from transgender Christians who have yet to come out and are terrified that they will loose everything if and when they do, family, church, jobs, etc. This saddens me deeply.

The young transgender girl, Sadie Croft (11), who wrote President Obama after his Inaugural Address, hit the nail on the head. Disappointed the President had not mentioned transgender persons when he talked about equality, she said:
“It would be a better world if everyone knew that transgender people have the same hopes and dreams as everyone else.”

When this becomes a reality, what a God moment that will be! 

Friday, February 22, 2013

At What Point Does One Throw In The Towel?

More resumes were sent out today; I've stopped counting how many this makes. 

The reality seems to be that companies have embraced the web for recruiting and refuse to accept resumes and SVs delivered in person. These virtual firewalls erected around the person(s) doing the hiring has made the process impersonal and unresponsive, perhaps proving that it is not what you know, but who you know that matters.

Many friends have told me about the importance of networking. Others have suspected that my back story, which is not so secret, could be the reason for not getting any hits on my job applications. After all, in this internet age, little remains a secret for very long. Then, a fellow trans woman suggested to turn my transgender status into an asset. Will companies really see this as a positive, in the same way that hiring visible minorities or disabled persons can earn them valuable bragging rights about diversity and equality?  

* * * * * 

A few of months ago I listened with great interest to a discussion about age discrimination on CBC Radio. One fact that was discussed was based on a survey of IT managers. They were asked who they would hire if they had to choose between two candidates with equal experience and qualifications, but one was in their thirties and the other in their fifties. You guessed it, almost all said they would hire the younger candidate. The show went on to discuss how the "baby boomers," who find themselves unemployed today, are falling victim to this silent age discrimination.

I'm no spring chicken—I was born in November 1950 (you do the math). Lucky me, I not only need to put a spin on being transgender, I also have to somehow overcome my age status. 

Then a friend on Facebook informed me that companies that recruit on-line have software that vets the hundreds, and perhaps thousands, of resumes they receive. Only those that match specific keywords and phrases get short-listed. So if your resume lacks those magic words, good luck.

Now, the job I have been trying to find is technical in many ways. Being able to use the latest versions of graphics software is a given. Specialization in different areas can also be an asset, for example, having the ability to code stuff for the internet. But, the most important asset is creativity and the ability to execute your ideas; this is imperative. How can this be communicated effectively on a resume that is analyzed by a computer? God knows.

* * * * *

Last week, in a "hail Mary pass" sort of way, I wrote an open letter to my colleague members of the Society of Graphic Designers of Canada (GDC). If you don't know this about me by now, I believe in putting all my cards on the table. In this letter, I talked about what it has been like since my transition in 2008. How my free-lance practice has all but dried up and asked for leads for a job. This, you could say, was my attempt to cast a larger net, hoping to get a few nibbles. I know, mixed metaphors; but you get the point.

The graphic design profession is unfortunately one where the waters are pretty muddy. For years, the GDC tried to make the profession regulated in much the same way engineers and architects are regulated and licensed. The problem with graphic design today is that anyone with a computer and the right software can go into business claiming to be a graphic designer. How many times do I hear that a nephew or a cousin can design a logo for fifty bucks, versus the minimum I'm able to do it for, which could be ten to fifty times more, for starters. 

To be designated a Certified Graphic Designer (CDG), the professional designation of the GDC, one has to go through peer review and the quality and depth of the work submitted needs to demonstrate a high degree of professionalism. I wish this designation would be enough to convince a potential employer of my suitability for the job. Could it be that no-one outside of the GDC even knows what it means to have that designation?

What to do?   

Like many of the baby boomers who were interviewed in that radio program I mentioned above, I am now wondering if it is not time to throw in the towel. Maybe, like them, I should be applying for a job at Walmart or Home Depot? Or maybe it's time I run an ad with the following headline:

If you want to look real good,
hire this 62 year-old transsexual woman, 
she's a pro!

Then again, maybe I'll be considered too hot to handle. Of course I'm joking. (Laughter does seem to help.)

Friday, February 15, 2013

Your Cisgender* Privilege Does Not Entitle You to Heartless Ignorance

My thoughts the day after Valentine's.

I see so much judgement out there and it strikes me that the older one is as a transgender person, the harsher that judgement seems to be.

It's as if people's attitude is, "You've lived with this up to now and it's too late for you to start making changes that make me uncomfortable, just take it with you to the grave and don't rock my boat!" 

Though it delights me to no end that transgender children are embraced with compassion and empathy when they transition socially, there is definitely a double standard when it comes to us who are older. 

Why can't society extend the same level of understanding to those who transition later in life? These are the ones who have "suffered" the longest with gender dysphoria and have significantly more challenges reworking their matured bodies to finally be able to experience congruence as persons. It makes no sense to me. 

Sharing our transgender stories is therefore important; it is perhaps selfish and immoral for us who have transitioned with some modicum of success to aspire to a stealth existence. Until all transgender persons are free to be who they are and have affordable access to those services which can help them to transition medically and surgically, we must stand up and be counted. Change can not happen unless people get educated about what it means to be transgender. 

Your cisgender privilege does not entitle you to heartless ignorance.

Simply put, "Cisgender" refers to anyone in the 99.5% of the population, whether you're straight or gay, who have never felt trapped in the wrong body or questioned your gender identity.

I met these three trans women at Charlotte Pride 2011. I have blocked their eyes to protect their privacy. The three of them stood out in the crowd, not only because they were each over six feet tall, but because it was obvious to all that they were trans. I learned their stories and I was heart broken. Only one of them was living full time and the only reason was because she was now retired and didn't have to worry about getting fired from her job. The other two knew that if they transitioned, they would loose everything, job, family, church, reputation, etc. Here they were, one day out of the year where they could afford themselves the chance to be themselves safely. All three lacked the financial ability to access the help and services they so desperately needed. They were gentle, sweet souls.