What's Right Ain't Always Easy

I've been poly for, gosh, over two years now. It's hard to believe it's been that long.

Especially considering that I still feel like a poly n00b. Because in fact, poly can still be really hard for me at times.

I got into poly because I liked a girl, and didn't want to break up with my boyfriend for her, and it just so happened we all liked each other and formed a triad for a while. But I stayed poly because I believe in the tenets of openness and honesty - to myself as much as to my partner(s) - and freedom - for my own feelings as much as for my, and my partners', actions.

And that's why, when given the chance to back down from a boundary that turned out to make me a little uncomfortable in practice, I chose to hold my ground and fight the good fight against my own insecurity and jealousy. Because I didn't get into this just to slowly slide back into monogamy because that's what's comfortable and my girlfriend would be fine with it. I got into this so that I and the people I love can express their love and affection freely, so that I don't have to censor myself, and so that I don't control the bodies of other people in my life.

The thing is, change, even good change, is uncomfortable. I've experienced this in a variety of contexts recently. Even though I prefer a male name and pronouns now, introducing myself with them was a little awkward at first. Confronting my privilege on various fronts is uncomfortable. So why would living as poly when I've grown up in a largely monogamous society be any different?

It's worth facing the discomfort, though. I wouldn't feel right with myself if I didn't support my girlfriend's freedom to do what she chooses with her body. The boundary that we have concerns what can be done spontaneously and what needs to be discussed first, and I think it's a reasonable boundary. It's something that allows us to express ourselves, our feelings, freely to a certain extent, without having to delay to discuss it first.

The spontaneity part, however, led me to feel that something was sprung on me without being discussed first (earth to Tal: that was the whole point of the agreement!) which made me feel uncomfortable. Why didn't she tell me ahead of time? After a long phone call and equally long series of text messages, I realized that was the point. She didn't have to tell me ahead of time. That was what I had wanted - for us, both of us, to be able to do things to a certain point without needing to stop and talk about it.

Now, what actually happened - she wanted me to clarify so there are no misconceptions, since people we know IRL read this blog - is that while she was out of town, she slept next to someone and let them spoon with her. This is no big deal. I definitely have no problem with spooning, since there are about half a dozen friends that I would happily spoon or cuddle with, without it even being sexual. Physical contact is a nice thing. And I want my girlfriend to have nice things.

What got me is that while telling me about what happened, she said she told the other person, "I already cleared it with my boyfriend." Wait, what? When? That's when the anxiety kicked into overdrive. It took an hour of talking and texting for the emotional part of my brain to calm down and let the rational part remind me, We talked about it months ago. She cleared it then. I had just never processed it that way. I had been so focused on not going past the boundary, reminding myself, "Don't kiss anyone without talking to the girlfriend first!" (and, I even messed that up once >.<) that I didn't even think about what I could do. Or what she could do.

So I was caught off guard. I got confused, and anxious, and jealous. It took a bit to calm down the green-eyed monster and remember that, No, this was what I wanted, for both of us. I want this freedom for her.

During our long talk, my girlfriend expressed that since I was uncomfortable, and since she has pretty much no interest in other people, we can take a step back - she can avoid things like spooning with other people without talking about it first. It was very tempting to give in to fear and jealousy, and say yes to that. But that, I realized, would be tantamount to a slide back into monogamy, or even worse, a one-sided relationship where I can be poly because she doesn't get jealous, but she can't because I do. How is that fair? I don't want to give up on being poly, and that means I can't deny my girlfriend the same freedom. In fact, I want her to have it, to be able to express her affection and fulfill her physical needs as she sees fit. Those things make people happy, and I want her to be happy. Of course, it's preferable to do it with open discussion and awareness of each other's feelings. But to say that that we have to discuss before anything physical happens with anyone else seems unreasonably restrictive - being allowed to be mildly physical with other people without needing to talk about it first is reasonable, I believe.

Even though surprises unnerve me, and when I'm unnerved, the chain reaction to jealousy can get set off.

So what that means is that I have my work cut out for me. Because no way am I going to let this relationship be ruled by anxiety, insecurity and jealousy. I am better than that. I want something better than that for both of us. In a way, the incident was a wake-up call, that I had gotten complacent in the battle against the ingrained paths of fear, jealousy and control that monogamous culture has created in me. Because of those thought patterns, it's really not easy being poly - at least not for me. But it's something I believe in, and so I won't succumb to jealousy. It snuck up on me this time, but now I'm on my guard, so hopefully, the next time something spontaneous happens, I won't be surprised.

Isn't it enough?

Is this good enough?

Every now and then I look in the mirror, and I'm happy enough with what I see that I think to myself, maybe I don't need to change myself physically after all. Yesterday (when this picture was taken) was one of those days.

It probably helped, of course, that I didn't leave the house at all, so no one noticed my girly face or my not-quite-flat chest. It probably helped that I was wearing some of my favorite clothes - camo cargo pants and this shirt that Someone handed down to me, which is so soft and comfy yet doesn't emphasize my curves; in fact it does the exact opposite. And that I could wear my hair down and messy - death metal hair.

If I could look like this every day, would I be happy? Well, for one thing, I can't. Sometimes I have to go to work and tie up my hair and wear things that aren't cargo pants and T shirts. Sometimes I even have to wear a military uniform, and oh boy is it tough to be a guy with long hair and a girly face and high voice when in uniform >.<

And sometimes I have to undress and come face to face with my curves. I try to ignore them as much as I can, but sometimes something forces me to confront the fact that my body is shaped like a girl's body, and it makes me feel sick.

And then there's the fact that no matter what I wear, I still get called "Ma'am" sometimes (or "Mom" when I'm at my kid's school), I still get weird looks and awkward questions in the restroom, I still hate the way my voice sounds when I answer the phone at work.. It's not all about passing, but do I really want to live the rest of my life having people assume I'm the wrong gender, and getting them to acknowledge the right one only as a favor or through sheer brute force of will?

Yes, in a way wearing my favorite clothes and my death metal hair is enough - for now. It will get me through. For every day of being miserable while being constantly misgendered in uniform, there will also be a day of feeling good cause I'm wearing what I like and think I look tough and metal. But it's a bandaid. It's the bare minimum of being myself. Wouldn't it be cool if I could be myself no matter what I'm wearing? If being myself wasn't just an outfit that I have to take off at the end of day, but my actual physical reality?

I don't know what I'll look like after hormones, what extent of physical changes will truly constitute enough. Facial hair or no facial hair? How big of muscles? How small of a butt? A face that's only slightly less girly, or a lot less girly? I think I'll just know it when I see it. One day I'll be able to look at my body and not feel like it's a bad costume, but rather that it's me, really me.

And then finally my death metal hair will be just a part of a truly badass whole.

I Haven't Known All My Life

Yesterday my girlfriend told me to watch this scene from Glee where the football coach comes out as a trans man. Naturally I was very interested to see how this would play out. Naturally I was very gratified by the "happy ending" of the scene. But there was one line in it that made my heart sink.

I'm not denying that there are a lot of good things about this scene. The hugs and unconditional acceptance at the end of the scene. The fact that the character gets to keep his job after coming out as trans. The fact that trans men, who haven't gotten nearly as much screen time as trans women, are being portrayed at all, and in an overwhelmingly positive and accepting way at that. It's almost enough to outweigh the one unfortunate thing I heard in this scene.

And yet.

In spite of all the good in this scene, it still gets under my skin that yet again, a trans person is shown in the media with the words "I've known all my life" coming out of their mouth.

I haven't known all my life. I didn't figure this shit out until I was 28. Most of my trans friends have told me the same thing. "I figured it out when I was in college." I can only think of one trans person whom I personally know who might be able to say, "Yeah, I've known my whole life." It's not a story I've heard much at all. Matt Kailey, probably the most respected trans man activist in the U.S., didn't know all his life. He didn't figure it out till he was 42.[1] If my therapist is to be believed, the majority of trans people don't "always know" that they're supposed to the gender opposite the anatomy they were born with. Most people figure it out gradually.

In particular, this seems to be a thing with trans men. All of my trans male friends (who have told me their stories) have told me some variation of "it clicked for me when xyz happened in high school/ in college/ etc.." My guess is this has something to do with the fact that in the Mid-Atlantic United States in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, it's been ok for "girls" to be masculine - to wear cargo pants, to play rugby, to cut their hair short. So a lot of trans guys have been able to live the way they want without becoming aware of their gender identity until... something happens and it clicks. Wait a minute - I don't just want to be manly; I want to be a man.

Of course, that doesn't mean there couldn't be people like the coach on Glee who have known their whole lives. It's just that (judging from my very limited exposure to TV or movies) this is the only perspective that's being portrayed in the media, and it doesn't represent the majority of trans people, trans guys in particular.

When I've talked about this sort of thing with my therapist (because one of my doubts, early on, was, Wasn't I supposed to have known since I was little that I'm really a boy?), she has posited that this narrative of "I've known all my life" was created to help non-trans people better understand trans people. I guess it gives gender dysphoria and the desire to transition more urgency or poignancy if you can say, "Ever since I was two years old I've thought my body was wrong and I desperately need to get out of it!" For some people this is true, and it does make a touching story and whoever has had to suffer through dysphoria for their whole childhood - and sometimes much of adult life - before transitioning has my deepest sympathy. (Really. Someone close to me has a story kind of like this, and I feel a pang of sympathy whenever she tells me about her school-age years.) But this story doesn't represent trans people as a whole. And that's where the narrative fails. If it isn't depicting us the way we really are, how is it helping cis people to understand us?

It's wonderful that trans people are being shown more in the media, and being shown in a positive, sympathetic way. But we need to be shown in a way that reflects our reality, the truth and diversity of our experiences, and not with a monolithic narrative that tries to squeeze us all into the boxes we're trying so hard to escape from.

Works Cited
[1] http://www.one-colorado.org/news/meet-matt-kailey/
(Note: I don't endorse everything Matt Kailey says; in fact, my next post will probably be my beef with something he said in his book Just Add Hormones. But he was undeniably one of the foremost voices making trans men more visible in the US and for that he deserves a lot of respect. May he rest in peace.)

Suffering: Every hour wounds

Insomnium's known for dwelling on the topic of suffering, yet without being depressive. I've done my fair share of suffering and of thinking about suffering, but still, reading over the lyrics to "Every Hour Wounds" gave me a new insight into why we suffer and what to do with suffering.

In this world every hour wounds
Every second draws blood
Every moment delivers pain
If you choose so

In this world every hour kills
Every minute seeps despair
There is nothing but suffering
If you decide so

This is basically the Four Noble Truths in other words. Existence is suffering, but it doesn't have to be so; there is an escape from suffering.

Insomnium is less optimistic about that than the Buddha, though.

Guided by empty promises
Charmed by hollow words
No truth or answers could be found
Nothing but years numbered in me

So is life and its suffering ultimately meaningless? Well, it wouldn't be Insomnium if there wasn't a silver lining:

Gods are great, but the heart, the heart is greater
From our wounds they're born, from our sadness they grow
Gods are strong, but the mind, the mind is stronger
In our scars they dwell, but in our hearts they burn

Suffering shapes us and in fact, defines our existence. I was reading the other day in The Way of the Bodhisattva that we should be grateful to our enemies for giving us the opportunity to practice patience. Maybe we should be grateful for suffering, too. Suffering gives us the ability to have empathy for others and show compassion, and to develop our endurance and grow stronger. Suffering cannot - and should not - be avoided, but embraced and learned from. It makes us who we are, and approached the right way, it makes us better. Life is suffering, but that's what makes it life.

Add the music to the lyrics and it takes things a step further. Suffering becomes beautiful. This is kind of why I love melodic death/doom and Insomnium in particular - they find and celebrate, revel in the beauty of suffering. Because ultimately, to feel, to exist is beautiful, even when it hurts like hell.

<3

Letting Go: Dust in the wake of the hymn

Meditating on mortality is one way to remind oneself of the impermanence of all things and let go of attachment to them. (I know I have a quote on this somewhere; will try to find it later.) Metal music happens to provide a lot of musings on this subject. Today's jam:

The bones of beasts and the bones of kings
Become dust in the wake of the hymn
Mighty kingdoms rise, but they all will fall
No more than a breath on the wind 

~~Caladan Brood, "Wild Autumn Wind" 

 

But you're a girl - how can you be a male lesbian?

Well, first off, I'm not a girl - that was covered in this post.

Secondly, technically speaking, I'm not exactly a male lesbian; I'm not even a trans male lesbian, because I don't consider myself 100% male, trans or not. So I'm really a transmasculine lesbian, if you wanna be technical. Which I will be in this post, but honestly saying "male lesbian" or "guydyke" is so much easier, and easier to understand, than "transmasculine lesbian"...

So let's start with the lesbian part. I spent several months, from when I first started to think I was genderqueer up till I figured out this identity, thinking that I couldn't be a lesbian - or couldn't consider myself in a lesbian relationship with my girlfriend, since I actually identified as pansexual. And that made me rather sad, because there are lots of nice things about lesbian relationships. Like lesbian sex, which is amazing XD Of course, the sex stayed the same and lesbian was just a word I couldn't use to describe myself anymore. But as I started to feel more and more transmasculine, I started to wonder whether it would change, and whether how I related to my girlfriend would change. Would I have to start being "the man" in the relationship? Would it become like a queer straight relationship? I didn't want that; I wanted to keep the equal, free, fluid roles we had as two women together. And also the lesbian sex XD

But I couldn't reconcile that with the way I kept feeling more and more masculine. Wanting to wear more and more masculine clothing, rather than androgynous or ambiguous outfits. Wanting to be seen as a guy. Being bothered by female pronouns, my female name, being called "miss" and "ma'am." And the crazy feeling that I was crossdressing if I put on very feminine garments. I definitely thought I was creeping along the trans spectrum, but dreaded where it might lead.

And then, I was reading something totally unrelated to me - a discussion of whether "girlfag" is an appropriate name for an identity - and male lesbians were mentioned, and the next day, something clicked. Holy shit, I thought. If a cis guy can identify as a lesbian, surely a trans guy can too? I can  have the best of both worlds, I can have my cake and eat it too (tehehehe). I'm a male lesbian. Except that I'm a trans one. And I'm transmasculine, not trans male.

Now, I can't claim to understand how cis-male male lesbians feel. For some people it seems to be being comfortable in a male body, yet wanting to relate to women as a woman. For others, it's more genderqueer or trans in nature, where they crossdress or are even medically transitioning to female. I'm more interested in the idea of identifying as male (cis or trans) and lesbian at the same time, though. I don't think the two are mutually exclusive. It's a fairly queer experience of gender, yes. But why shouldn't someone who inhabits a male body be able to be ok with his body, and yet not want to interact with women the way society says men ought to interact with women, but rather as a woman would?

Of course, my experience is different, because I have a female body, but a masculine identity, except that I want to interact with women as woman would. I don't know what it's like to be cis male, or even totally male at all. I have the privilege of having a female body and female socialization which gives me more access to "lesbian" relationships than cis male lesbians might have. (Though my reading seems to indicate male lesbians are more likely to be happily paired with girlfags than with lesbian-identified women, anyway.) I don't have much chance of being accepted in the tiny, scattered male lesbian community, unless I went super stealth and tried to pass as a man, but since I don't even feel I am a man, that's unlikely. I don't even know if there'd be any point, since the issues I have going on as a transmasculine person would be so different from the issues facing cis male lesbians. So I'm just kind of on my own.

I suppose this could be seen as a kind of bigendered or genderfluid identity, but it's very specific. It's not like I switch back and forth on a whim, or am both male and female all the time. In general, I'm masculine. It's just that my sexual orientation and my way of doing romantic relationships is lesbian. Which actually has a lot of flexibility within it, as well, cause I can be butch and manly and protective and chivalrous - or I can be soft and sensitive and femme - or anything in between. But I don't have to "be the man" in the relationship just because I want to be seen as a man in the rest of my life.

Ok, and now for the really annoying questions.

Doesn't this just make you a really butch lesbian?

No, not according to my understanding of the term "butch." While I feel like there may be butches out there who don't really identify with being female, to me, butchness is a form of being masculine while still being female. I don't identify with being female. Most things about being female feel wrong to me. So I cannot be butch. I'm transmasculine.

Why come up with this weird identity -  why can't you just be "queer" or "genderqueer"?

I do consider myself queer and genderqueer. But using that to describe myself is like answering the question "What country are you from?" with "I'm from Europe." Um, ok, but there are a lot of countries in Europe, and Finland and Italy sure are a heck of a lot different. There are tons of identities under the umbrellas of queer and genderqueer; identifying that way doesn't really tell anyone anything besides I'm not straight or cis. I'm from Europe, I'm from Finland, I'm from the city of Turku and I'm half Finnish-speaking Finnish and half Finland-Swede Finnish. I'm queer, I'm genderqueer, I'm transmasculine and also consider myself a lesbian.

Don't you have to be cis male to be a male lesbian?

It is kind of part of the definition. But if you agree that a trans man should be regarded as pretty much the same as a cis man, then you have to admit that if a cis man can be a male lesbian, then a trans man should be able to, too. And just cause I don't feel 100% (trans) male is no reason why I shouldn't have access to that identity, too. Yes, I experience it differently from a cis man. Just the way that a trans man experiences being a man differently than does a cis man. I can only imagine the struggles of cis male lesbians to forge lives and relationships where they can express their womanly attitudes toward love, while I struggle to convince the world that I am a masculine person. But the end point is the same - living as a man, loving women as a woman.

So does this mean you're not bisexual/pansexual anymore?

I honestly don't know. At the moment I can't imagine a relationship with a straight, cis guy. I can't imagine what my role would be - a guy to his guy? a girl to his guy? I can't quite see myself being either of those. But every person is an individual. Just like there's no way I'd be able to relate perfectly with every single woman (or feminine person, anywhere on the gender spectrum), there's no way I can rule out that I might find a male-identified person who fits with my gender identity and how I want to do relationships. So I could say I'm still theoretically pansexual - I'm open to getting to know people of any sex and gender identity. It's just that I know lesbian is something that works for me and that I want in my life. But there's no reason something "lesbian" couldn't come packaged in the form of...say a cis male person? XD


To close, this realization has some interesting implications for my life as a trans person. For one thing, if I want to be a lesbian, medical transition is pretty much out of the question - which is kind of a relief actually, because I was dreading thinking about it. Even taking testosterone would probably be a bad idea, cause I've heard it causes people to lose emotionality, which is something I'd need as a lesbian. Besides, I don't want facial hair O.o Also, passing as male ceases to be as important, perhaps even unwanted, because I don't think I'd want to be read as male - even trans male - by other lesbians. I think I could stomach getting read as butch as long as I can depend on those closest to me to reinforce my masculine identity by using my preferred name and pronouns. Heck, I may even be able to present as female again occasionally at some point. Even though this identity feels like home, it's still not a destination - more like a comfy nest to venture out of for more adventures of self-discovery in this big queer world.

Loving Myself (and giving myself the freedom to feel)

A few days ago, someone close to me got upset - not at me, but at a larger problem in life - and I couldn't do anything about it, not even help her feel better. She didn't want to talk about it, and hugs didn't really help either. I tried to talk about other things to distract her but that didn't work either. Of course, it's not my job to make anyone else feel better, but still, for the rest of the evening, I couldn't shake a feeling of sadness and inadequacy brought on by her suffering and my own powerlessness to do anything about it.

I thought I knew how to deal with emotional pain. Over the past six months or so I've been taking my lessons on this from readings of Buddhist writers Pema Chodron and Thich Nhat Hanh. What I picked up there was the idea of not suppressing or pushing away painful feelings - or trying to cover them up with distractions - but allowing them to emerge, feeling them for a time and letting them dissipate on their own. I thought I knew how to do it. After all, I healed myself from heartbreak this way - what's a little sadness? But despite my attempts to practice, the episode with my friend was actually the tail end of a terribly anxious week, where uncomfortable feelings of loneliness and longing, fear and worry assailed me again and again in spite of all my attempts to process them - to drive them away, quite frankly.

I realized what I was doing over the weekend. I had spent most of the last two weeks castigating myself for longing so bad for my significant other that it verged on dependence, and I don't doubt it was the suppression of this feeling that fueled my anxiety about the poly nature of our relationship. That particular day, I had been experiencing ever worsening bouts of anxiety about the whole thing. I tried to follow the teachings of the masters I was reading, to acknowledge my feelings and then let them go - but without realizing it I had not been truly embracing my feelings, but rather pushing them away with my judgmental mindset even as I tried to let them run their course. I was so caught up in seeking relief, in trying to rid myself of feelings I thought wrong, that I wasn't allowing my difficult feelings the space to truly emerge. So I resolved to be less judgy toward myself, to give myself permission to feel, and not immediately label my feelings as wrong -  needy, codependent, unhealthy; or jealous and unbefitting a poly relationship.

I put it into practice a few days later. I saw a text from my significant other come in, and resisted the usual urge to quash my excitement as "overly dependent." Isn't it natural to be happy when you receive a message from a loved one? Why not let myself feel excited? Especially considering my loved one is far away and very much missed. It was amazing how much letting go of my critical mindset lightened my day. I no longer spent the day locked in an anxious battle between wanting to hear from my beloved and hating myself for it, between my feelings and my fear of their power. If I got a text from my beloved, I could be happy. If a while went by without one, it was ok to feel a little pang of loneliness and longing. Suddenly, I could relax.

So when, as I was shelving books at the library, the sadness over my perceived inadequacy returned, I quickly stopped myself from trying to get rid of it in the guise of "thinking it through" or "feeling it and letting it go." Instead I stopped thinking and just let myself feel the sadness. And suddenly I felt calm. I felt sad, yes. But also at peace. There was a beauty to just being quietly sad. It made me slow down; I felt as if I were drifting, the world only half real, the books slowly shelving themselves out of habit. If anyone had tried to talk to me, I don't doubt I would have had trouble responding. But fortunately no one asked me anything; I was able to drift through my fog of sadness, until it slowly dissolved.

I'm sure there's a point where examining one's own feelings is a useful and necessary thing. Especially since I do think I have issues with personal boundaries and neediness and depending on others for my happiness. But beating myself up about it constantly is definitely not a way to lead a happy life, and probably does little to make me better in any of those areas. Being gentle with myself, accepting and embracing what I feel and how I am, is a much better first step in becoming a stronger, more contented person.

One of my favorite Buddhist writers, Thich Nhat Hanh, recommends treating even unpleasant feelings quite tenderly. For example, from his book Fear: "With the energy of mindfulness and concentration, we just recognize and embrace the painful feeling. 'Hello, my fear. Hello, my anger. Hello, my sadness. I know you are there. I'm going to take good care of you' " (pg. 137). In that passage, he goes on to talk about the energy of mindfulness embracing and permeating a painful feeling the way the sunlight permeates a lotus flower in the early morning and causes it to open. I certainly had not been treating my feelings this tenderly with my judgmental attitude, so it's no wonder my attempts to practice didn't help dissipate my sadness and anxiety.

Even my desire for painful feelings to disappear is something best left behind. I don't need to worry about the feeling disappearing. Feelings are transient; whether good or bad, they won't last forever. Eventually, sadness and anxiety will subside. Willing it away - even with the subtle coercion of trying too hard to "let go" - can't make it leave before it's ready, and will probably make it worse. Far better is to give the feeling its head, without any expectations of it lessening or going, while also practicing mindfulness, in the form of breathing, or walking, or shelving library books, to keep it from going crazy. It's probably a happy accident that I had this episode at the library where mindfulness meditation is right there at hand - but perhaps it's not a coincidence at all; maybe the meditative conditions are what allowed my sadness to fully emerge in the first place. Either way, I now have a better handle on how to practice with my difficult feelings - not judging or wishing them away, but accepting and loving myself even when my feelings are painful or seem unhealthy, and letting my feelings appear and have their moment without criticism or suppression. Because only in the embrace of loving oneself will the negative feelings truly melt away.