A Musing Monday 🎐+
Trans Day of Visibility 🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️🏳️⚧️
'You don't know me. Clearly you don't care to know me. And that's your loss.'
That's what I've been telling the echoes in my head since last Thursday, when a woman followed me out of the Womens bathroom to ask in a scathing tone to which bathroom I belonged.
Now, I have a relationship with my gender which, like many Queer people, takes a bit to explain and doesn't really fit into binaries. I identify as trans-nonbinary and genderfluid, and I am also intersex. Some days I feel fem and want to wear dresses and feel pretty. Some days I feel masc and like a button-up with the sleeves rolled back. A lot of the time, I'm not even thinking about gender and just wear whatever seems fun while fitting with the activity or work im doing that day.
Thursday, I felt very fem. I put on my special lemon skirt and a nice blouse, put my hair up in a high clip- I felt it was a very cute work outfit! It seems other people thought so too. I was washing my hands in the bathroom (which is in the hallway of a building rented by multiple businesses, including my employers) when a woman starts washing as well and says "I like your skirt, thats very pretty."
To which I OF COURSE say, "Thanks! It has pockets~". I then dry my hands and as I exit shoot a, "Hope you have a nice day!" in her direction for happy measure.
I wasn't expecting her to follow me down the hall to the lobby of the building and ask loudly, scathingly, "Should you be using the *women's* bathroom??"
This struck me dumb. In my life I have recieved some side-eyeing or people walking away quickly, the whispers and urging a child not to stare- all sad, strange, and occasionally wryly amusing moments in places like gas station bathrooms where I go very infrequently.
But, this is the building I WORK in. This is where my car is parked much of the day. This is where I am sometimes alone in my office with nothing but glass between the lobby and myself.
I say "Yes." and by rote try to explain, try to staunch her confusion somehow. The doctors declared me female at birth but they were only kinda correct (i.e. intersex)- though I'm also trans by several definitions and have had an HRT prescription in the past, but I'm also *hella* fem today. I fumble. "I'm, um, inters-"
"I do NOT appreciate you being there!" She interrupts, jabbing a finger towards me, "It isn't appropriate!!" She adds, walking into the office on the opposite side of the lobby from me, glaring at me with disgust.
Numbly, I walk the rest of the way to my office. Un-numbly, I begin to tremble and realize this happened to me because I have a deep voice. She lived my skirt, but not more than she hated my voice. With shaking hands I message my direct supervisor and the COO of my company.
Hi, bit of an unfortunate update I want to give you two just in case there's any kind of trouble with our neighbors or something gets reported to the owner of the building. I was just told by a lady across the hall from us that I should not be using the women's bathroom and that it's inappropriate for me to be using that facility.
I feel bad in that engrained, vulnerable kind of way. I'm a fairly recent hire as far as administrators go- 4 months. I moved my office to this location just 2 weeks ago. Now I'm caught up in some issue, now someone who maybe works a couple dozen feet away might try to come after me- my ability to use the bathroom, at least. What if she calls the police on me? What do I do? I have an ID with 'F' on it but what if the cops hate my voice as well? What if she or the cops try to grope or sexually assult me to 'see' and 'prove' what I am? Would they even understand what they're looking at? What if she thinks people like me shouldn't EXIST, let alone be left alone to pee?
What if she's got a gun?
I decide to work down the hall, in our children's therapy office. I'm spiraling and shivering and my chest is filled with ice. I sit near a new hire watching training videos and try to breathe while I see my superiors typing.
What if I lose my job?
That fear, at least, lessens in the following moment as my little chatroom erupts with concern for me and questions of how I would like to proceed. Do I want to go home for the day? Do I want to move back to the farther office location?
I decide that I want to try having a normal day, and my COO says he will be at this location on Monday and can talk with the neighbors- An Adult Disability Support company, about the situation. I tell myself that maybe she was just a visitor, or the guardian of one of the clients over there. Maybe she's a client herself, and between a fixed perspective and a difficulty regulating her emotions she came at me like that- I've had clients of my own while working in disability support who have a determined passion over information that they unfortunately came upon. (I got nearly screamed out of a house before for implying Troy Bolton was actually an actor mamed Zac Efron. Which, totally my bad. I knew HSM was her very important thing but misjudged her perception of it).
Despite my desire for normal, my PTSD and Autistic overwhelm have other plans and my coworkers notice me struggling to stay calm. I had to ask one of them to take a picture of me- evidence of what I'm wearing, of the female-ness that I usually reject in myself but adopted because I felt pretty this morning. Why did I dare feel pretty this morning? At least when i'm a tomboy lesbian-dyke, people tend not to follow me out from the restroom.
After I send the picture to my boss for evidence, my coworkers ask me what's wrong. I feel hot shame at discussing a situation involving my need to pee with my coworkers, of being visibly afraid in front of them, of not being poised and professional, and of having thought I was pretty for a day in my life.
I am now, five days later, still gobsmacked at their support and compassion. They asked if I was ok, if there was something they could do, and if I wanted any of them to come with me next time to the bathroom. One of them came out to me as nonbinary as I sat nibbling a few kitkats to calm myself down. Their support gets me through the day, and they all let me know I'm not alone, and that my skirt IS very pretty.
My heart is warmed but unfortunately over the weekend, my mind is spinning like a record, playing the same song over and over and over. The woman follows me and I turn around again, and again, and again- each time with me trying to explain or defend myself a little differently.
"Don't you know some people are born different? You work with disabilities yourself." "Some women are really tall, or short. Some have thick eyebrows, or lose their hair, or *have deep voices*. Don't you know women are vibrant with differences?" "Were you in the room when my doctor and I discussed my voice? Why do you act like you know why my voice is like this- I didn't sign away my HIPPA to you." "Ma'am where do you SUGGEST I pee in my lemon skirt and pumps? On the lobby floor?"
But I can never win the argument in my head, the echo of the woman who demands to see my ID and calls it fake. The echo demands my birth certificate and tears it in two, insisting its forged. She demands to see my genitals and either determines I am mutilated, or that I have surgically made myself to be as I am. Nothing short of birthing a child in the lobby would convince the woman arguing in my mind where I am allowed to pee and here I was, sterile, ill-formed for such an activity, and far too gender-literate for the mental arguement of such a thing happening- maladaptive daydream or no.
It took up my whole weekend, this spiraling. Only two things gave me comfort- immagining telling that woman "You don't know me. Clearly you don't care to know me. And that's you're loss." Over and over, like a ryhme about sticks and stones your mom taught you as a child- and the other comfort was a birthday party I was hosting for my dear friend where I shared a meal, some card games, and my personal bathroom with a bunch of people who Do know me, and Do care, and are more concerned with whether I someone's got an Ace in their hand than whatever is under their skirt.
Fear fades to sorrow for that angry lady, for my staff, and for everyone in the building. Does this poor woman hate her own voice when she gets a headcold? Does she stare at every woman who isn't perfectly feminine and see a dangerous animal? What about the disabled people in her life? Are they admonished for existing in a way she doesn't expect? If my perfectly female coworker goes to a concert and comes to work with a broken voice the next day, will she go through what I went through? If a client needs help toileting and a member of the opposite sex is assisting them, will the cops be called?
I remind myself that she doesn't know me. That she clearly doesn't care to know me. And that it is her loss. I remind myself that I'm brave, over and over while I drive to work on Monday. My COO will talk to our neighbors today, and I dont know what will happen. It's been suggested that I could use the children's toilet in our other office. It's meant kindly, but sounds an awful lot like a separate water fountain. My nonbinary coworker said they're scared to pee now- my adult, trained and licensed for administering therapy, coworker.. is scared to use the bathroom.
That makes me angrier than anything this woman could possibly do to me. Maybe I should DARE this woman to call the cops, if only to show my coworker I will be brave for us, that I'm not letting fear control my life.
But something unexpected happened today, coincidentally, on Trans Day of Visibility.
The owner was 100% on board and actually already spoke to the employee. The owner said the employee came to her all concerned/upset and she told her to stop and that they have trans clients and it's not appropriate or worthwhile to go after people living their lives.
Recieving the news was like a fever breaking. I didn't realize how much I had been holding my breath (and my bladder) the entire morning. They understood?? Not only did this other business understand but they're offering their services to members of my community?
I obviously wish it hadn't happened, that I hadn't stayed worried and desperate every day and awake and scared every night over the weekend. But, I'm overwhelmed gratithe relief of everything that happened after- the immidiate support of administration, the kind eords of my coworkers, and the mended fence with my new and wonderful neighbors.
Happy fucking Trans Day of Visibility, yall. I see you, and maybe more people on the outside see us for what we are than we think. The people who have a problem clearly don't know you, clearly don't care to know you, AND THAT IS THEIR LOSS.
Taglist @the-golden-comet @gioia-writes-and-others @lychhiker