good luck with your (.)(.)

About a year ago I saw this card in a boutique and I thought "This is the PERFECT card to give my kid when he has top surgery." The owner of the shop was working the register and he laughed when he saw it. He said, "Can I ask, for what occasion are you purchasing this card? We ordered them as kind of a joke and wondered what moment it could be marking? Breast cancer surgery? Another year older? Other?". I smiled and replied, "Other. My son is transgender and he's getting top surgery. It's actually perfect for our situation!"

These days, this is my general approach to talking about trans stuff. A cheerful yet matter-of-fact reply is usually all it takes to let people know I'm comfortable sharing and it doesn't have to be super awkward.

(Of course this wasn't always the case. I have stumbled my way through plenty of clumsy conversations and found myself floundering in search of the right words. But it's far less frequent now that some time has passed. Thankfully.)

Even still, surgery is kind of a big deal, and I know that our loved ones might have some concerns. I was trying to think of a way to reassure them that we (we = myself, E, and his medical team) are completely certain this is what's right for E. 

As luck would have it, I was recently reading a post by a Canadian blogger called AJ who shared a letter written to a friend who expressed "surprise, confusion, and concern about (the) upcoming surgery". With AJ's permission, I shared their words in an email to our friends and family, and I'm quoting them below as well, to hopefully help others see this situation from AJ's (and E's) perspective.

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I’m running an hour late for the gym. I try on three binders and four t-shirts. I turn around in the mirror until I’m dizzy with worry. In every outfit, I see my female-looking breasts. When I imagine myself, I never see these breasts. I see a flat chest. I just want to leave the house and go to the gym, but I can’t.

I go through my routine, miming the exercises. I study what this grey t-shirt might reveal during a chest press motion. A push up. I can’t see the binder straps but I can see the form of it. Maybe a tank top underneath the t-shirt will help? If I cave my shoulders forward a bit, the shirt relaxes and it looks like I’m wearing an undershirt and not a glorified sports bra. But doing exercises this way causes physical pain– a throbbing where my bicep connects to my shoulder and a pinch in my neck. It’s worth it, I guess. 

I know what you’re thinking, who cares if people can see your breasts?! You think this because you’ve known me my whole life with breasts. You’ve always considered them a part of me–something you never gave much thought to, actually. But that’s not how the world sees me now. Most of the time I’m seen as male, so these breasts alert small minds that something is astray. Our society hasn’t reached a point where trans identities, in-betweeness or gender done anew, is celebrated and accepted. Instead, these small minds often see me as a gender impostor. They think I’m destroying something real that they own. Of course, I’m not. But I can’t control the anger this may provoke. I can’t prevent their reaction. I haven’t been physically assaulted yet. No one has been that outraged. But I wonder when that might happen. 

Top surgery means I will be seen the way I see myself. It means that I won’t be constantly seen. Noticed. Studied. There will be less social alerts and unwanted attention. It means a lightness for me.

I know you think I’m stronger than all that. And sometimes I am. Sometimes I’m stronger than the looks and judgments flung on me. On this blog, for example, I feel brave. In words and articles and when I’m reading and writing gender theory, I feel confident enough to challenge all the burdens. But surgery means I will get to walk around during the day and not think about these things for a change. I won’t feel like a prisoner in my body. I won’t think about what it means that I’m unfairly judged for the fact that I don’t comply with the idea of man or woman entirely. I told you that I feel like neither or both of these categories and that from birth I felt somewhere else outside of these words. I think that’s why you still call me ‘she.’ But I need you to understand that I was never ‘she.’ I’m not entirely ‘he’ either, but I feel most comfortable when I’m visibly identified as male. And we still live in a culture where we assume that men don’t have breasts. They are not a part of me anymore. They just don’t make sense. Living without them means experiencing a fuller life. I hope you can understand and support that.

When I get to the gym, I notice a guy watching me fill my water bottle. My fear becomes rational and realized. He stares at my chest. For the first time since announcing my transition, I find the confidence to stare back. Despite the fact that he is four inches taller and outweighs me by 60 pounds, I stare back at him and expect him to realize his gesture is unwarranted and threatening. I expect he will be a good person. I expect he will let go of his confusion or get over his curiosity. He doesn’t. I walk away from the moment because there is no breath left in it for me to feel human or like I’m surviving this social encounter. For only an instant, he makes me feel less than. This doesn’t happen often in my case. I’m lucky. These unjust moments only amount to maybe fifteen minutes per day where I feel completely crushed. 
 
I’ve decided to share this with you because I realize that I’ve expected your love to propel you toward educating yourself about people like me, which is unfair. I’m offering you this insight to further open the door to understanding my situation and having other conversations on the topic. I’m not expecting that the world will change overnight or even in my lifetime, but I believe if anyone is going to help other people understand that we all need the right to live our lives safely, it’s people like you.
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Thank you for taking the time to read this. If you can, please spare a thought for us on Monday morning, as E gets one step closer to having what so many of us take for granted.