Future seedlings, fertile soil.
Replanting the butch lesbian
Dropping the trans label – a word swap-out – in favour of “butch lesbian” was, in itself, an easy decision. It’s just a word, right? All of the decisions, big and small since then are where the hard work begins.
I wish it was as easy as stopping testosterone. Or using female pronouns again. I still live within a social context that makes this decision-making difficult. And, for the most part, I’m making these decisions alone, with no clear pathway. This decision doesn’t just impact me. It impacts my entire family, friends and community. People who’ve known me as Aaron since I legally changed my name in 1992. My 19-year-old daughter has never known me as anyone else. She thinks I’m a “fascist” now. I don’t want to make things hard for them. Nor do I want any more medical interventions.
If I was still living in Vancouver, within lesbian community and spaces, this would perhaps be easier. Maybe not. Perhaps I have a “grass is greener” fallacy in my head. Since most LGBT people have gone full woke, isolation for the reality-based may not be location-based. So I’m hearing. Which is sad and very frustrating.
I’m currently bunkering in the rural Bible Belt. I’m relatively unknown here. I don’t think I’ll stay here long term. I question, to what degree should I, or do I want to disrupt this small village with my political assertions and disclosures? And, to what extent would I be safe to do so? Small-town Bible Belt is why I medicalized in the first place. Safety.
However, I don’t wish for that to be an excuse not to practice what I’m preaching.
I’m figuring this out, one day, one decision at a time.
The difficulty of this decision-making is precisely why I am doing this. The many girls (mostly lesbians) who have been medicalized in recent years, will need a pathway back. I’m an adult - strong and stable, though not without faults and vulnerabilities. I want the pathway to be made easier for the young ones. I intend to get ahead of the curve, with a machete in hand, to create even a rough path for them, and a base camp. Difficult years are ahead.
Some decisions are easy, because there’s no risk. For example, census data. I am committing to record my sex accurately on all future federal census surveys. Accurate sex-based data is important.
I am considering changing back my birth certificate, driver’s licence and passport. Though, this does entail some safety risk, and limits on where I can travel to, as a lesbian who passes as male. I’ve travelled to eastern and southern Africa… I probably wouldn’t ever go back if my sex had to be disclosed there. I love travelling and there are many places I’d still love to see.
I am currently a part of an amateur music group of all men. Though it’s not an official “men’s space” intended for male privacy or female exclusion, I am feeling uneasy about developing fellowship with these men on false pretence. I am out to our group leader, who has supported and protected me. He’s not certain I should disclose my sex to the group. I genuinely like and respect these men, and am leaning towards coming out to them - asking for their permission of inclusion and friendship with them. I do risk rejection and judgment. Especially because it’s a bluegrass gospel group of Christian men. This small group is currently my only in-person social interaction here. It would be hard to lose.
I do have one gay male friend here. Who’s in the closet, married to a woman. A loveless and unhappy marriage. I think we’re equally grateful to have one another’s friendship. He knows one lesbian here – who was also closeted and in a straight marriage. He’s offered to introduce us. I hope building more support here will help make decisions easier. There are good reasons for why we’re all closeted. There are no Pride parades here, to say the least.
One silver lining - I don’t have to make decisions about public bathrooms and changing rooms. There aren’t any here. Ha!
It’s ironic really, that during this stage of unveiling, of self-acceptance and re-identification with butch lesbianism, I find myself living more stealth than I ever have before. I have less support and community than ever before. There is no celebration to be expected with this coming out. There is no toaster over on offer. There aren’t any lesbian spaces to turn to.
I must do this. The effects of testosterone are permanent. A grappling with this has to happen. If it’s hard for me, imagine how it’ll be for the medicalized young lesbians, who have never known lesbian community. Who’ve never experienced grassroots lesbian activism. They’ve never been to a potluck, a festival, a dyke bar, a lesbian-only dance. What resources, skills, community and experiences will they draw from? I’m sure they are resilient, creative, smart and resourceful, not weak or helpless, but they are without the benefits of having known and experienced what is possible. My age is an asset. I have experienced and do know what is possible. It had already been built, and I saw how it was done.
We’ll build it all again. I come from a family of builders, going back many generations. When a rival company destroyed the Red River Settlement – built by the Hudson Bay Trading Company – my family helped rebuild it. It is now Winnipeg. I’m on my ancestral land. It’s strange, but I can feel my ancestors here, cheering me on. Things are difficult, but I feel well. With sources of strength I don’t understand, but benefit from none-the-less.
Almost 10 years ago, I traveled (for work) with a butch lesbian to Chile. I was pretty horrified to watch the passport control agent refer to her as male -- he didn't even look at her passport, just relied on his own sexist reflexes... While your circumstances are different, that experience taught me that even in situations supposedly governed by documents and formalities, people will nonetheless assert their prejudices.