Photo by Luis Machado on Unsplash
Paige is smart as a whip and fiercely articulate. She knows where she came from, who she is, and what she wants. I met her in a meeting one night in a church at the end of a dark cul-de-sac. She sat tall in her chair, face chiseled with determination, silver hair tucked neatly behind her ears.
“I’m 74 years old and a widower,” she said.
Yes, Paige is a widower. That’s not a typo. She was born male and lived her entire life as a man. When that man’s wife died a year ago, she became Paige.
DISCLAIMER: Paige is not her real name, nor are any of the names in this story. Further, I am not a member of the queer community and am aware of the unwritten rule that stories about queers should be written by queers. My goal in writing and publishing this story is not to appropriate, but to educate and illuminate a topic that is too often overlooked by the straight community.
Vestigial threats
To better understand the community, I began attending LGBTQ+ meetings in a nearby town. I admit to scant knowledge of this world, so I feel like a voyeur, anxious and intrigued by its hidden mysteries.
Their world should not be hidden, nor should it be mysterious. It shouldn’t even be a separate world.
Humans evolved with an instinct to flee or fight against anything different because the unknown posed a dangerous threat. In an ancient world of deadly claws and vicious tribes, it made sense, but in today’s world, attacking someone for being different is a shameful vestigial reflex called bigotry.
Did you know transgender people are over four times more likely to be victims of violent crime? And forty-two percent of transgender adults in the US have attempted suicide.
Too many people believe “different = dangerous” and fight against what they don’t understand. Trans, gay, lesbian, bi, … any queer … this targeted violence needs to stop.
Paige and the other meeting members know this all too well, and their stories of oppression, fear, and courage shocked me. Here is what they said:
Paige’s story
“I used to be a conservative,” she said. “A deeply radical conservative. I hated everything and everyone who wasn’t ‘normal,’ while I secretly suppressed my inner urges. Look at me now. I’m certainly not conservative anymore.”
In the 1950s, Paige, born a male, loved to play house with her sister. They argued over who would be the wife, both preferring that role. At that age, Paige never realized (or cared) that conventional society didn’t condone men playing the role of a woman.
She told me it didn’t take long for society to judge, and the resignation in her eyes felt shameful.
Her classmates caught her wearing women’s clothing and taunted her mercilessly. Teachers called it a fad. Her parents chalked it up to a quirky childhood because what else would you do in the 1950s when nobody spoke openly about sexuality? After all, back then, homosexuality was a mental disorder and a criminal offense.
Deeply conflicted, urges followed her through life, and she sneaked moments when she could drop the façade and be herself. Then co-workers caught her and her career took a turn.
She married in her 20s, having never met another person who felt as she did, and hid her secret from her wife, three children, and five grandchildren for over fifty years.
Live as a man? Or embrace the person I truly am?
“When my wife died, I faced a terrifying decision: Live as a man as I’d done my entire life or embrace the person I truly am? It scared the crap out of me, but I chose to come out and start hormone treatment. I’ve lost my conservative friends, my family won’t accept it, and I shop at closing time to avoid the stares.”
“I couldn’t be happier,” she said, and her smile offered hope.
As an outsider, her words moved me. And I saw behind the faces of the other attendees a bond of acknowledgment and determination that I don’t yet understand in the way I should. I can respect and sympathize, but I haven’t learned to understand and empathize. Not yet.
Mark’s story
“I can’t remember when I wasn’t male,” Mark said. Born a female, he is an outwardly confident, twenty-something-year-old transgender male wearing a baseball cap over his close-cropped hair. His baggy clothes hide the swell of his breasts.
“Same here.” Several others in the meeting echoed his thoughts.
I nodded in a nervous attempt at solidarity.
“But my parents vehemently denied my feelings and raised me in an extremely conservative Christian church.”
“Evangelicals?” asked Lori (who you’ll meet below).
“Yes. Extremely devout Christians.” Heads drooped, and several remarked, “Ohhh.”
Lori asked, “Did they talk about reparative therapy?”
“Yes. The church wanted to send me away for treatment, but I showed them it doesn’t work. I left home at 17, but I visit my folks occasionally — and they’re starting to come around. It takes time, and I’m okay with that. When they do, I’ll probably get top surgery (breast tissue removal).”
The thought of being forced to endure therapy that attempts to change one’s very nature is chilling, and the atmosphere in the room darkens. I might understand if this occurred a hundred years ago, but today? It’s barbaric.
Lori’s story
“My father is an evangelical too and threatens to send my transgender son to reparative therapy. That’s why we didn’t visit the family for the holidays. It isn’t fair, but I told my son he wouldn’t be safe.”
Lori’s son is a nine-year-old boy who was born female. As a child, he felt awkward as a female and, at the age of six, declared to his parents that he’d rather not associate with any gender. Lori and her husband supported him unconditionally, and he ultimately settled into a role as a male.
I wanted to hug her and her son. Gender dysphoria (extreme distress from gender mismatch) occurs in 1 to 4 out of 100 children, sometimes as young as age 2. Lori’s son is a victim of divine ignorance, and because of it, he’s being deprived of love, family, and independence — essential for an innocent child.
“His journey took several years, and he’s happy now. His classmates are fine with it, too, and the school is supportive. I spend much of my time advocating for him at school and other organizations, some that still call it a choice.”
It’s not a choice!
I’ve heard this before and the ignorance of this statement rankles me beyond words.
“It’s not a choice!” yelled one of the members. Others nodded vigorously. “I get so sick of hearing that. Who would ever choose this lifestyle?”
“Oh, and surgery on kids?’ One of the members scoffed. “They say that too — what a bunch of idiots. Nobody does that.”
“Fucking politics,” Paige said.
A story of persistent fear
“I can’t travel. In some states, I’ll get arrested for being gay,” said another member.
“I’m afraid to go out during the day,” one of the transgender attendees said.
“We left Texas at night with our two adopted transgender boys. Texas has laws that criminalize the act of taking transgender teenagers to other states for treatment — even hormone therapy. They could put us in prison and the kids in protective services, where they’d make them live as girls.”
“I’ve been punched, pushed, and spit on.”
“I got beat up in the bathroom at school once, and then my teacher got fired for standing up for me.”
“Too many people just don’t understand.”
“That’s what scares the shit out of me.”
My story
“It’s not our job to educate the rest of the world,” one of the meeting members said. “People need to step up and take responsibility too.”
I’m taking that to heart.
Nobody in that meeting desires to be caught up in politically charged fables about bathrooms, grooming, pedophilia, and the like. They have more important things to do: Living and loving like everyone else.
Their world should not be hidden, nor should it be mysterious. It shouldn’t even be a separate world.
Until everyone understands that different isn’t dangerous, too many people will threaten the lives and the well-being of members of the LGBTQ+ community.
This story is my humble attempt to step up and educate the world on their behalf. I hope the world listens and changes. Lives depend upon it.
Wouldn’t it be nice if nobody cared how you live and love?
Helpful definitions:
Cisgender or cis: “Cis” means “on this side,” and refers to individuals who identify with the gender that matches their sex assigned at birth.
Transgender or trans: “Trans” means “on the other side,” and refers to individuals who identify with the opposite gender of their sex assigned at birth.
Intersex: Individuals born without clearly definable sexual characteristics (missing or conflicting genitals, reproductive organs, or hormones). Almost as many people are born intersex (1.7%) as born redhead (2%).
Reparative therapy (aka conversion therapy) is a barbaric technique that links graphic sexual images to punishment such as electric genital shocks (like in A Clockwork Orange) to “retrain people who made the wrong lifestyle choices.” This practice is widely debunked — in one remakable case, by a prominent organization that used to promote it. Some states have banned it.
Gender dysphoria: The state of extreme distress brought on by feeling one’s gender identity is different from one’s sex assigned at birth.