How I squashed my beef with transgenderism

With all of the ways that we are categorizing ourselves lately things can get tricky.
People are breaking down who and what they are not only by nation of origin and religious belief but also by skin tone and genitalia. The sub groupings can go as deep as who people feel they are, the disorders around how they manage those feelings and even the decision to alter physical features in order to more closely appear to align with their inner personality and disposition. Sometimes the labels and separations can be difficult to grasp let alone understand.

I have to admit that until recently I was very confused by the collection of humans that define themselves as transgendered women for a lot of reasons. There were so many unanswered questions I had and it made it difficult for me to come to terms with what I considered certain choices these men were making. As a female, living in America, in a time in history where being a female is the best and worst thing that could possibly happen to a human, I did not “get” why anyone born with the privilege of being called a man would want to change that fact considering all of the benefits that come with it.

In essence, I completely thought that I understood how and why someone would be a transgendered man. It’s crossed my mind a couple of times, if I’m honest, wouldn’t it be fantastic to wake up wash your face and then leave the house? Wouldn’t it be awesome to never get asked when applying for a job if you planned on having a kid? Wouldn’t it be superb to have sex with whomever you wanted to and get cheered on regardless of your age? Being a dude, in my opinion has some luxurious looking perks from the outside.

I also did not understand that it was more than cross dressing, which I have no qualms with because lipstick and high heels and corsets and lace and wigs are fun dress up and do make you feel irresistible in your own skin. But they are also dangerous markers for aggressive people. Because I was born a female, I know that with or without those frilly accouterments, depending on where I am in the world, if I am alone, I am in danger of being harassed, assaulted, attacked, beaten and or raped by males without much provocation but wrong place, wrong time. This is not a pretty reality, it doesn’t even need to be reality, but it is reality.

So my mind, could not grasp why anyone who could walk in and out of a room or a group of men in no danger, would voluntarily opt to permanently join the ranks of people who are under constant surveillance, are constantly being threatened and are constantly thought of as inferior simply because of their shape, body parts and size in comparison. What bugged me about this classification more than anything else was what my body does that is uniquely female. I get to be called a woman, no prefix, because the machine I live in, is on a lunar cycle. Whether I am pretty or not, or thin or not, or white or not, my body charges me for being female every 28 days for the majority of my life and I pay that debt in blood. And for a lot of females its not an easy task. A week before, your body prepares for this and your moods change due to the hormone shift, weaknesses and pains present themselves, and you’re heavier, irritated, exhausted for no other reason but because you did not get pregnant this month.

For some of us the stripping of uterine lining is so blindingly horrific, you can’t get out of bed because the pain feels like you’re being stabbed in the stomach for 5 days with a drill. I could not understand, why someone thought that they would want to wear the costume of someone who had to suffer this way and had no choice in having this happen to them if they had the luxury of never experiencing it.  It felt like mockery. It felt like, being a part of what everyone considers “a man’s world” that men were doing what men do and taking the last bastion away from females and that is simply getting to be a female. In my head I pondered, what would possess anyone to act and live as if, when the difference between men and women at the base level, is that women are designed to carry babies. My thoughts were one sided because I suffer that pain, that in reality only a small number of women actually suffer.

There are thousands upon thousands of cisgendered females who cannot have children and many more who have very normal cycles, that come and go without much fuss or irritation. And I guess that is where all of the hate and misunderstandings and jealously and fear comes from for everyone on some level; merely a lack of taking a good hard look in the mirror because you don’t really like what you see there. I actually don’t know how anyone else truly feels, except myself. And since I am not required to explain my existence and how I choose to live my life to anyone else, it only seemed fair to extend that courtesy to all of the other people on the waterball as well.

If you didn’t know this, there are 12000 species of ant.

Species means, a unique type of creature that is similar and that can mate with one another to make more of that same type. That same type can come in different colors and sizes but underneath the camouflage and location of origin, it is still the same type of ant. 12000 different types. Whoa.

In other news, there have only been so far (that I personally have read about) about 15 species of human before us that science has found and the only one that is extant is homo sapiens (Home sapiens sapiens, if you will). All of the other types of humans that were here are now gone and we are the only one left. One species.
What this means to me is that from a top down view, we are still all the same. A Cambodian and a Lithuanian, same species. A Caucasian female from the Bronx and a Native tribal dark-skinned woman from Papua New Guinea, same species. Bisexuals, transsexuals, heterosexuals, pansexuals etc., etc, still… same fucking species. I don’t have to understand Farsi to know that the person who speaks it is a human being, just like me. I don’t have to “get” why someone would wear a tattoo on their face or why someone would want to live life without the penis that they were born with.

Frankly regardless of how silly and superficial my feelings are about what others do, ultimately, its none of my fucking business. The only thing that I need to concern myself with is that if any one of us does not have the right to exist how we want to exist, then actually, none of us have that right. And since none of us are from a different species, we’re ultimately at the end of the day, all the same thing, just trying to survive and we’d be better served accepting ourselves and each other.
No one else has to be me, just me.

And I need to figure out how to love her; how to get the 2×4 oak beams out of her own eyes before she goes charging at the toothpick specks in the eyes of others.  We all need to accept that another’s god of choice, clothing choice, or consensual sexual preferences and gender identity make that person “insert appropriate pronoun” but do not make them any less, one of us.

We are all just one species, one creature, the only one left, with only one world that we have to share with 12000 different kinds of ants.

Featured image by Ted Eytan — Flickr.