This afternoon (When did it become afternoon? The dreary weather makes it feel more like a late morning that just won’t quit), I was having an e-mail conversation with my aunt. We had a conversation over tea not long ago about how transsexuality and feminism are inextricably linked, and how that link requires a mutual respect and acceptance between cis and transgendered women. More to the point, I suppose I had the conversation, she listened… sort of. Such is the life of a conversation with my aunt and things which do not concern Adam Lambert.
We all know that a biological ability to do something does not, in and of themselves, make up the physical sexes, let alone gender identities. To my aunt, however, those basic (and base) properties are all that should be entailed in the determination of gender. To her, rejection of one set of properties and jealousy/lust for another are conflated as being the same as my gender identity, and the resultant dysphoric feelings.
Part of my biggest issue with religion and G-d in the past have related to being handed a raw deal, and being asked to endure it. The concept to me is anathema that someone could willingly give a life filled with hurt, sadness, anger, and despair, in addition to being asked to live without being something you feel such a desperate longing for. Maybe, though, there is something to the idea that “We are only given that which we can handle.”
During this conversation, I began writing a response to her which triggered more thoughts, ones not relevant to her, or perhaps things that could not be explained to her. A few months ago, during a visit to the hospital for my job, I was confronted with an ugly reality, one that had lingered in my mind, but never really had time to set in and do some damage. I was on the maternity ward doing a survey of some of our devices, and forced to reconcile the fact that I would never be here for myself. Yes, perhaps for a partner, or a friend, but never for me – I would never occupy one of these rooms.
I had the recognition today, even if I hadn’t been searching for it outright, that though I was not to be granted the gift of having been born as I would desire, there is something else for which I’ve been chosen. It may take a long time, but I will find whatever that is, and with the help of faith, friends, and family, I intend to make the best of it.