Welcome to #TransTuesday! Today I want to talk about something that’s been difficult for me to put a name to. I think I’m going to go with: NO ESCAPE. Here’s a reminder that these are only my personal experiences and I do not speak for all trans people.
Every trans person is unique, every transition is unique, and you’re getting my perspective only. Also I want to clarify, I in no way mean I don’t want to be transgender. I love who I am, more than I ever have (this is why it was so hard to title this post).
What I mean is there is no escape for me of reminders that I’m transgender. There’s so much more to me than just my transness. It’s one (very big and important) part of who I am, but it’s not all there is. I’m a writer, a wife, a parent, a nerd, a gamer, a runner, and on and on.
An example of this is how I simply cannot escape my deadname. If you need a reminder (or don’t yet know) what that means, it was included as part of the trans tuesday on NAMES AND PRONOUNS.
I’m not talking about people calling me by my deadname necessarily (though, hey, please never do that), but the name itself I cannot escape, and probably never will. Like, y’know, how the medication I take is prescribed to me under my deadname.
I haven’t been able to legally change my name yet for global pandemic reasons, and so prescriptions come with my deadname on them, and I see that name on the label every single time I have to take something.
Taking the hormones prescribed to me for HRT isn’t, weirdly, a reminder I’m trans. My brain has relegated it to just another medication I have to take. But seeing my deadname on the label is a big blinking neon sign that says HEY YOU’RE A TRANSGENDER LADY.
Now I’ve had my first covid vaccine shot (team Moderna!), so in May I can start the process to legally change my name and then that will alleviate the problem with the prescription labels, right? Yes.
But that’s far from the only source of this particular annoyance. I get junk mail and spam calls for my deadname, and probably always will. It’s not like I can tell the telemarketers to change my name on all their records.
What’s worse is part of it is almost self-inflicted. I’ve been using email so long, and while yes I have a new email for my new, real name… I have over a decade of saved emails in my old account. Forwarding all of those over is something I don’t have time for.
And even if I did, whenever I might need to refer to one again, there’s the old email address with my deadname in the “to” field and there’s the person who sent the email addressing me by my deadname. There’s literally nothing that can be done about that.
Even after my name is legally changed and we’re ten years down the line, it’s going to be there to remind me. Worse, if you knew me before I came out, you are likely aware my deadname was exactly the same as a very famous actor.
Any time he’s in the news, guess what? So’s my deadname. Anytime he makes a new movie, or I watch one of his old movies… there’s my deadname again. It will chase me for the rest of my life, and there’s no escaping it.
I don’t like it, I didn’t like being called it, I’d HATE being called that now (just don’t!), but it’s actually almost worse how every time it also brings along with it a HEY YOU’RE A TRANSGENDER LADY blaring on a bullhorn.
And of course I’m reminded every time Republicans want to legislate us out of existence, and every time I have to wonder if it’s safe for me to use the women’s bathroom when I’m out in the world. I can’t just EXIST for even a day without constant reminders of my transness.
There’s something you can do about this, though, and I’m going to explain with a dream I had last night. It probably seems unbelievable this happened the night before I made this thread, but I spend all week thinking about what I’m going to write.
So my brain’s turning it all over for days, so I guess last night my subconscious decided to put on a show for today’s post. I didn’t even think it was related at first, but now I’m pretty sure it is.
I couldn’t tell you where I was, it was one of those everywhere-yet-nowhere spaces that only exist in dreams. But I had water splashes all over my body. Not water droplets, but the splashes. Like you know when a water droplet hits something and then splashes upward?
That. But all over, and they were frozen in time. Not icy, just stopped. All of them, right as they splashed, so it almost looked like they were emanating outward from my skin. I don’t know how or why, but those later turned to weird leaf-like plants in the same shape.
I couldn’t get rid of them, and they made me feel terrible. But then Susan and all my friends were there (not gonna list you all, trust if we’re friends I’m pretty sure I saw you there), and each one of them pulled one of the leaf-things off my body.
And finally they were all gone, and I was just myself. I was baffled by this at first, but here’s my interpretation and how it relates to this post… I think this dream was about my dysphoria, that much at least seems clear.
Here’s the trans tuesday on GENDER DYSPHORIA if you need it.
It manifested in the dream as these splashes/leaf-things, weird stuff growing out of my body that made me feel terrible because they weren’t ME. I think they were probably a stand-in for the facial/body hair that so plagues me.
But all of you who care about me were there to help me get through that dysphoria so I could just be myself. I said there was something you could do about this though, and that’s where we tie in.
You start by striving to NOT be the cause of the splashes/leaf-things, and by seeing me and affirming me as who I am. A perfect example of this ties back into my first vaccine shot last week (go Moderna, go Moderna, go! GET VACCINATED YOU DOLTS), and is a lovely note to end on.
We have Kaiser as our health insurance/provider. Quick aside, it’s super great that they’re both because everything is in network and there’s never any unknown costs or hidden surprises! It’s almost like proto universal healthcare, even though we pay for it. Anyway!
We received our shots through them at a very organized facility that got us in and out in no time at all. We had to fill out a short form first with our account numbers and if we were possibly allergic to any of the ingredients in the vaccine, etc.
Well hey, as mentioned earlier, that meant my deadname had to go on this sheet. I mean I have long hair and a pink mask and boobs and a purse etc etc, so I’m obvs not a dude of any flavor, but the legal name is the legal name.
The thing about Kaiser is they have your medical record accessible to all medical professionals who treat you. And there was a nurse or tech here who was taking everyone’s account numbers from their forms and going into their medical records to add in the vaccination.
And then he’s bringing the little proof of vaccination cards to everyone, the ones you see everyone posting a photo with. Only maybe you noticed I didn’t post a photo of mine… because my deadname is on it, so no thank you. But this guy… goodness.
He comes over with the card, but he stops. He doesn’t seem to know what to say. He kneels down so we’re eye to eye (I was sitting in a chair for the 15 minute period where they wait to be sure you don’t have a rare immediate bad reaction).
He doesn’t show me the card. He finally talks, but quietly so no one else will hear. “I saw in your record you go by Tilly.” I smile, but I’m double-masked so who knows if he’s aware. “Is ‘Tilly’ on your driver’s license?”
I tell him no, not yet, sadly. Then he finally reveals the card with my deadname on it. “Is this okay? I don’t think I can change it, but I wanted to be sure you were okay with it.”
Now look, I was about to cry then and I’m about to cry now, from this one simple act of kindness. The vaccination record has to have a legal name on it, I get it. It’s not his fault, it’s covid’s fault I haven’t been able to get it changed yet.
He could have just put my deadname on it and dropped it in my lap and moved on with his day. Worse, he could have come over and asked if that deadname was me because I do not look like the gender of the people who generally have that name.
But he didn’t. He knew there was probably nothing he could do about it, but he checked just to be sure. And he felt bad about having to give me something that I need to have but doesn’t have my real name on it.
He just ripped a handful of those dream leafy-things off my arm. I was seen as myself and understood. And even though my deadname was a reminder, again, that I’m a trans woman, this guy made me feel like I could just exist as me and negated that entirely.
So I thanked him and waited the rest of my fifteen minutes, and then he told me I could go and I thanked him again. And I left feeling like myself, like a person who happens to be trans (and that’s great!), but not some beacon of transness first and foremost, if that makes sense.
I don’t think straight cis men basically ever think about their gender. They don’t have to. The world is set up to affirm that’s who they are at every step (because they’re the ones who set it up that way).
They don’t get reminded a dozen times a day how they’re cisgender. Am I right, straight cis fellas? You just go about your life and don’t really think about it. And I would so, so love to just go about my life and not have to think about how I’m transgender every single day.
So hey, maybe try to be like the amazing nurse/tech guy who made my life better with a simple, easy kindness. Rip some of those weird damned dream splashy/leafy things off my arm, willya? They’re fucking creepy!
Tilly Bridges, end transmission.
tillysbridges@gmail.com