The Little Prince and the Fox

Today, I’m starting to write a new chapter of my textbook, the most “special” chapter of my textbook, both because it’s the one that will most differentiate this book from others in its discipline and also because it draws directly on my own field of expertise and scientific research, which I love so much. So I’m excited and also a little scared.

But I’m also grieving something, maybe more than one thing… It’s still unclear to me what exactly I’m grieving but I’ve definitely been experiencing some deep grief in the past couple days.  

I think part of it is “physical grieving”, i.e. grief for the physical body that I’ll never be able to have, no matter how much I yearn for it, and grief for the physical body I might choose to renounce if I do decide to pursue gender affirming surgery and/or HRT. 

I believe I’m experiencing this very particular (and new to me) type of grief now because of the session I had with the specialist from the Gender Affirming Clinic on Thursday. He really talked me through all the possible results and effects, and side effects, both of HRT and of gender affirming surgery. It was a wonderful, extremely helpful, supportive, affirming, and informative conversation, but it also really brought home to me what I might lose for ever, what I’ll never have for sure — no matter how hard I try — and what changes would be a mysterious unknown that I’d have to discover and explore — and eventually accept and come to terms  with — along the way. 

I’ve always been drawn to masculine body-types, both as the body I’d like to have and in the bodies I’m usually attracted to physically/sexually. It’s a relatively broad spectrum that goes from androgynous (lean and linear and gently masculine but also possibly including some subtle feminine traits) to slightly more masculine in a young-boy-athlete sort of way (like the Ancient Greek kuros) to the athletic masculine type with a lean and muscular swimmer’s or climber’s body. This latter type of body I’ll never have: no matter how much HRT I do, and even if I do all the gender-affirming surgery possible, I will never be six feet tall with such a wide shoulder & arm span, with such a broad, strong chest. And if I do modify my body by making it look more masculine, I might also never attract (physically/sexually) that type of male to me anymore. On the other hand, if I do decide to pursue this route, I might also lose some aspects of my femininity that I do enjoy. And no matter what, there would be aspects I lose, whether I like them or not.

But that’s all in the future and still only a hypothesis.

For now, in this moment, it’s the loss of the “6-foot athletic guy” that I’m feeling: both specifically relative to myself, as I’ll never be “that guy”, and also in regards to a particular “6-foot athletic guy” that I liked and who now belongs to my past (and whom the incidents of this week have brought back to my mind & yearning). 

Yesterday I had the intake interview, which is actually a very long and comprehensive session, with the psi-specialist at the “gender affirming clinic” through my medical insurance.

It lasted almost an hour and a half and was, of course, very intense but overall also extremely helpful, supportive, informative, and comforting.

Among other important aspects, I received some fundamental affirmations. One was of my gender dysphoria. But the one that was even more important and enlightening yesterday was about a more general issue: trauma. 

Recently, some very deep and old trauma from my childhood and/or youth has been resurfacing and seeping through layers of cobwebs or veils or walls that I don’t feel ready, yet, to wholly dismantle. But enough has made its way through to lead me to renew my request of total silence from my parents. I tried to explain this to my sister, with whom I would, instead, like to keep (and even deepen) an open dialogue. But from my sister I was met with an icy shower: “I’m not here to judge anyone, but you’re selfish, self-centered, and immature”, she replied. 

Conflict, lack of understanding, and even hard judgement are not new with my sister. But I was hoping that my opening up with her would help her to soften up towards me — or, at least, stop judging me, start to try and listen, if not talk, to me. This incident on Tuesday upset me, but then I was able to let it go, temporarily. 

During the psi-meeting yesterday, the specialist asked me about my PTSD. I had a hard time answering, partly because I didn’t want to start delving into deep/old stuff, and partly because having removed myself geographically from some of the most recents triggers has eliminated most of the symptoms for me, fortunately. So my answer was slow and vague, or uncertain. But the specialist’s reaction was lovely and while maybe being simple and obvious, to me it was relieving, enlightening, and wonderfully affirming. He said: “For all trauma, regardless of the details, the cause and the feelings of it — which on the other hand can also be the tool of healing and overcoming it — have to do with loss/lack of safety and loss/lack of control”. 

In a moment, I saw it all. I saw why my old job was giving me PTSD. I saw that yes, I did endure years, decades of trickling trauma with some explosive episodes while growing up in my nuclear family as a child and teenager and young adult — until finally leaving my parents’. That yes, it was exactly a lack of safety and a lack of control that I felt, constantly, pervasively and with frequent but unpredictable explosions, while growing up. And that I then felt something similar in my latest job — that’s why it was giving me PTSD! 

To see it all and to feel myself heard, acknowledged, to hear it affirmed: yes, that was trauma — that feels so good. It doesn’t undo the bad but it brings (me) some relief. And also some sense of empowerment. 

In past therapies, I’ve been told and taught to see my parents’ hurtful behavior with me as “mistakes”, as in “they didn’t mean it, they were doing their best, and they loved you and love you regardless of their mistakes, which all parents make” blahblahblah. I guess that’s an important step — I think it was an important step or phase in my own therapeutic work. But it’s not sufficient. That doesn’t redeem my parents. That’s not enough. If you do something wrong and/or hurtful even with the best intentions, it’s not enough to say, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, it was a mistake, we all make mistakes, I was doing the best I could, I didn’t know better, and I love you anyway”. That’s a starter, for sure, but it’s not enough. If you’ve done something harmful, after acknowledging it and apologizing, then you have to ask the person who was harmed how you can make it up to them or how they want to move on and relate to you moving forward, especially when there’s a power unbalance like parent-child (or teacher-student/mentor-mentee/employer-employee) dynamics. When my sister writes to me “You’re asking a lot of them” (referring to the silence I’m requesting from my parents), doesn’t she realize how much they asked of me, for year and years, when I was a child, i.e. when I didn’t have the tools to handle what was shoved onto me??? 

Trauma doesn’t go away with pretty words or by sweeping it under the rug. Trauma gets healed by regaining a sense of safety and control. And if silence with my parents now is the only way I can feel — or regain, at least for now — a sense of safety and control that was taken away from me for so long and in such vulnerable years, then so be it. 

Gentleness with myself is a skill I’m still learning. And will need to practice a lot today. 

Last week was rough — one of the roughest weeks I’d had in a long time. My female hormones before and during my period hit me harder than ever, probably intensified by my (hopefully temporary) hypothyroidism, and triggering my gender dysphoria and body-image issues and ensuing eating disorders like I hadn’t felt in decades. On top of that, the practical issues of having to deal with less personal/quiet space in the house where I’m living and actually a feeling of being in a hostile environment… Suddenly, I was told, sort of politely but very effectively, that I had to leave ASAP and no later than this Thursday, April 28th, which is 2-3 weeks earlier than planned… It was a blow. Emotionally, but also financially and from the viewpoint of logistics. And all of this while having tight deadlines for the textbook I’m writing, for which another chapter was due yesterday. 

My bloody female hormones have finally given me a break since this past weekend and being able to exercise and see some trusted friends outdoors here has also helped. And yesterday I managed to submit the chapter that was due — a huge push, a huge effort, but also a huge accomplishment. 

Today I’m really tired. I really feel the need to be gentle with myself, careful with this little being that can push so hard but has also been through so much, especially in the past months. 

The other evening I was talking to one of my closest friends, whom I met less than a year ago, in May/June 2021. And they were reminding me of how much I’ve been through, how many changes, how many “shit shows” or “perfect storms”, how many trauma triggers, how much self-discovery and growth, how many leaps of faith — all of it only since knowing each other, in less than a year… It’s true. I often forget how much I’ve been through, on top of COVID and everything else that’s going on in the world. Lots of what I’ve been through has been good or, at least, it has brought wonderful changes my way, but it’s all been a lot, like one Copernican revolution after another. 

So today I’ll try and extend some gentleness toward myself, be kind and gentle with myself before my next big step — moving to another town in just a couple days…

The other reason for my suffering, today and in the past few days, is that I’m scared. 

Now that I’ve finally committed, I’m scared. 

I’ve signed the postdoc offer and gotten most of the paperwork for that done. I’m gradually turning down other professional opportunities, which effectively means eliminating other options, closing other doors, at least for now. I’ll be moving to my new temporary home within a month. 

I love it here. This is the first place on Earth that I’ve chosen completely by myself, with nobody else’s influence but just because I like it and feel comfortable here and resonate with the people and places here. Indeed, I have several new friends and acquaintances and opportunities to hang out with people here — people who also contact me and seek me out without it always having to be me to make the first step. 

And yet, I’m scared. Maybe because I love it so much here, or because it is the first place I’ve chosen completely by myself, for me, independently of anyone else, including my special trans friend and dear climbing/adventure buddy from California. 

Maybe I’m so scared because I’m putting so much pressure on myself about this “second chance” I’m giving myself with academic research. Or scared of maintaining a healthy balance between the deep feelings & special relationship with my trans climbing friend in California and my new life here: because I care about them so much and feel so well with them — and now I know it’s mutual — but I also want to continue building my own life here, finding my way again in a new place, making new friends, pursuing a career… 

I guess I’m afraid of not managing it all… 

I’m having one of those days when all I’d really want to do is curl up in a blanket and relax and be held. 

But I cannot do that because I have work to do, deadlines to meet, and no one here to hold me. 

I’m having one of those days where sadness and loneliness and tiredness seem to be infinite, all-encompassing. 

There are some objective reasons for some of my feelings: the first day of my period (damn those female hormones!); a slight sore-throat that hopefully isn’t the beginning of some illness; the buzzing hyperactivity we’ve had in the house for almost a week now, since the return of my host family, as they prepare the house to be sold and I thus have less space to relax and be comfortable here. 

But objectively there’s nothing really wrong: my plans for the next few months are pretty clear, I have a place to live and even a good job confirmed for the next couple years; I’m relatively healthy; I’m in pleasant company here most of the time; I have several new friends and acquaintances from my two main communities here, climbers and trans/non-binary persons, and I’m hanging out with these people very often, on average every-other day, which is far more than I ever had or did in California. 

And yet, my gender dysphoria has been through the roof these past few days and today it’s almost unbearable. In this moment it’s caused by my period and by my slightly less athletic/more feminine body due to the decrease in exercise lately because of injuries; but I can hardly keep it under control, hardly focus on what I need to get done for work. Old feelings from when I was much younger are resurfacing, when I didn’t want to look at my body, I didn’t want anybody to see it, I wanted to hide it, almost obliterate it, and I struggled with eating disorders gnawing at me every meal of the day. These feelings are horrible and it’s scary that they’re resurfacing like this — the other side of the coin of coming into & out with my trans non-binary gender identity, I guess. 

I wish someone close could hold me and tell me I’ll be fine, that they see the boy in me despite the female aspects of my body, that I’m loved truly as I am, that I’ll get my textbook done on time and I’ll do well on my postdoc. That the decisions I have made and am making recently are okay. That I’ll be fine. 

Tell me I’ll be fine.

After nearly two weeks of not writing, I’m back, and would have so much to say that I hardly know where to start. 

Today, I had to swim 2 miles to be able to get some of my grumpiness (& loneliness) off. I basically drugged myself into a good mood by getting endorphins flowing in my body. 

I think this is PMS (pre-/peri-menstrual-syndrome). I’ve had it my whole life, except for when I was on oral contraceptives. And I really cannot complain because apart from this grumpiness for a few days before my period, I really have never had any other physical or psychological issues from this feminine phenomenon. Until now. Now it’s become unbearable to me: why should I put myself through this for several days every month? Why put up with this? Every f***ick month for more than half my life and for no reason at all, since I don’t want to get pregnant, ever, and have never wanted to — on the contrary, I have always dreaded and felt alienated by the mere thought of a pregnancy in my body. 

This isn’t just the usual bracing myself to put up with a few days of “bad mood” —which in any case, is no fun every month for decades. Now this is yet another trigger for my gender dysphoria. And as such it is terribly painful and frustrating and upsetting. 

Once we learn things, we cannot unlearn them. Once you see the truth, you cannot “unsee” it. And this is the painful aspect of having come into myself — and still being in the process of growing into myself — as a non-binary trans person. It’s the two sides of the same coin: one side is the liberation, the joy, the beauty, the relief; the other side is the pain, the anger, the frustration, and even alienation. Although the alienation was always there, even before coming into myself and out to the world as non-binary trans. And the alienation will probably always be there, at least to a certain extent, because unfortunately we live in a terribly binary, discriminating, non-inclusive world. All the automatic “Ladies & gentlemen”, “Sir’s” & “M’am’s”, “men and women”, “sick or healthy”, “good and bad”, “us and them”, etc. 

To feel vaguely comfortable at the gym or pool, I now use the “all gender” restrooms, which are those usually available for several purposes, mainly baby-changing station and bathroom for disabled persons. These spaces are invariably uncomfortable and very lacking compared to the binary gendered changing rooms with plenty of showers, bathrooms stalls, hand and/or hair-dryers, lockers, long mirrors, and benches. The “all gender” restrooms have small dingy showers (no idea how a disabled person, say in a wheelchair, could wash in there!), no or very few lockers, often no bench to sit on (once again, how can that be practical for a disabled person, among others!?!), never a hair-dryer (don’t we trans people have hair?!?) and only a short mirror over the sink. Restrooms built like this are perfunctory. Rather than feeling grateful that most gyms have one (never more than one!) room like this, I’m actually starting to feel affronted and frustrated by the glaring discrimination or “non-inclusivity” that shows through such a space. If someone is not cis-gender or if someone is disabled or just has a small child to take care of, they are automatically relegated to a small, uncomfortable space. 

And I’ve stopped keeping quiet about it. I’ve started pointing it out and putting in formal complaints, in polite but firm ways, in every gym where I’m going and have to use such a space. 

Just like starting to speak up when I hear comments that are biased by unfounded binary beliefs. The other day, as I walked into the reception of the physical therapist’s office, I couldn’t help but overhear the receptionist say to a previous customer that her “son is just naturally different from her daughters, that males and females are just wired differently”. I was so upset that I stepped back and went to the (fortunately “all gender”!) bathroom, to take a deep breath and ponder whether I could let go of that comment or not. And then I decided I couldn’t. Not just for me, but for the future society we’re trying to build. We cannot let these toxic, unfounded, scientifically incorrect beliefs be perpetuated because they hurt everyone: cis-gender and abled and privileged people as much as under-represented groups. So as soon as I felt calm enough, I went back out and very politely addressed the receptionist, starting by apologizing for overhearing the conversation with the other customer and asking if she minded me making a comment. Thankfully she was friendly and willing to listen so I was able to tell her that, actually, it is scientifically proven that “males and females” are not “wired” in certain ways that make them intrinsically different on a psychological level; that there are “intersex” persons for whom the “male/female” labels are simply wrong or insufficient, as well as non-binary/trans persons, like myself, for whom such labels feel wrong and/or uncomfortable; and I offered to give her some references of books to back up my comments — which she thankfully accepted. This receptionist is a young, nice, open-minded person who will hopefully read some of the references or, at least, maybe try and raise her children in a less binary and biased way now. But often speaking up openly like that is difficult, impossible, useless, or even dangerous.

I felt that with all I said to her that afternoon I was already pushing the boundaries but I also felt it was a duty I had: to not put up with it, to try and spread some seeds, not just for me, but for the people growing up in this world. 

I would like at least my upper-body, which is already so masculine, to be completely liberated and to fully reflect the boy that I feel I am.

At the swimming-pool where I go here, there is a gender neutral bathroom (marked as “All Gender”) including a shower and a couple lockers. It’s situated right in between the “Women”’s and “Men”’s changing rooms and it’s decent, although it has no device one can use to dry one’s hair. I’ve always been changing and showering in the gender neutral bathroom at the pool and been able to leave my valuables in the locker. At the end, though, when I’m all fully showered and dressed, I’m forced to use one of the gendered changing rooms if I want to get my hair dry. 

At my climbing gym, the changing rooms are also gendered, with no gender neutral or gender inclusive option other than a bathroom with shower, hidden behind a staircase and marked “Handicapped”. I used it today for the first time, just to change and pee very quickly. Until now I’ve been forced to use one of the gendered changing rooms because I’ve needed to leave my valuables somewhere. Today I brought them with me to the fitness room where I was going to take my class. 

Before the class started, I went up to the instructor to let him know about my ankle injury and painful tennis elbow; he nicely replied he’s help me find alternatives to some exercises. Great. 

Then, as it was time to start the workout, he looked around and, addressing myself and the other three people who were going to attend his class, he said, “OK, ladies, let’s get started!” This really rubbed me the wrong way. I understand that three of us liked like women, on the outside, BUT the fourth person looked like a man on the outside, and anyway it was a big assumption no matter what. Who says that even the three persons who look and/or sound like women on the outside are/identify as women? [And who says that the fourth person actually is/identifies as a man?!?] 

I tried to put this out of my mind and just focus on the workout. But as the exercises started getting tricky for my injuries already after 5-10 minutes, I decided it was too much for me. I probably would have pushed through it and worked with the instructor to find alternatives which, granted, he was trying to give me. But his generalizing, gendering assumption at the beginning was just too much for me (on top of my own physical injuries). So I quietly left class signaling to him that my injuries were bothering me too much. 

In the past, I would have left it at that. Just gone my way, to do my thing, quietly. 

But today I didn’t. 

Today I went up to the front desk and very kindly and politely but firmly talked to one of the super nice receptionists there. 

I started out by telling him that today is “Trans Day of Visibility” and therefore the things I was about to tell him were even more important than usual to me. And then I told him, in order, the three “constructive feedback/suggestions” I had: first, that the gender neutral bathroom was marked only as “handicapped” and that it would be nice for people like me to have it marked also as “gender neutral” or “gender inclusive”; second, that there were no lockers in that bathroom despite abundant space, so we (i.e. persons who use it) are forced to take our stuff with us all over the gym; and last but not least, I referred the gendering address of the instructor at the beginning of class, saying that I could understand from where it was coming but that it had made me extremely uncomfortable. 

The receptionist was super nice, super understanding: he listened carefully, took note of my comments, and said he would relay them ASAP. Which he did. As I was leaving the gym a short while later, he stopped me and asked if I minded giving him my name again and showed me he had already put all the messages through in the gym’s feedback system and told the supervisor who was on duty at that moment. But he didn’t just stop there. He went further, adding: “Please know that you’re seen and heard and valued here”. In theory I already know this because it is, indeed, a very inclusive environment, and it’s one of the reasons I go to this gym and have decided to live in this corner of the world. But hearing it said aloud, directly to me, with kindness and understanding — that affirmation felt really good! 

I’m so glad I spoke up.

[Note: the pronouns used in this post correspond to those indicated on the employees’ name-tags.]

I feel like I’m being given a second chance. 

A second chance to try my luck (or skills) at doing research in academia, of testing and even healing my relationship with science.

This time around I’m a very different person. Not only a dozen years older. In many ways, I’m actually younger, or more youthful. And although I still have instances of impostor syndrome, which might become more frequent at least at the beginning of my next postdoc, they’re nothing like they used to be one or two decades ago. 

As I sat in the research meetings, discussed and even directed research ideas over lunch, listened to the colloquium and informal chat in the afternoon, I felt comfortable in my skin. Comfortable and almost confident as a person, as a scientist, as a professional. 

This is coming at the right time. It’s good that it’s happening after having gathered so much diverse, often meandering, professional expertise and life experiences. It has toughened me up while also teaching me patience and kindness — I’ve learned to better balance firmness and gentleness towards myself as well as the world around me. And I’ve really come into myself so much more wholly, even as a non-binary trans person. And this means a lot. As I sat in all those research meetings and events yesterday, I felt fully myself, fully my trans self on top of scientist self and athlete self and all the rest. And that part of my identity, my being non-binary and feeling not simply okay with it but comfortable with it & empowered by it, is a huge plus, at least for me. I sat surrounded by mostly white cis-gender males (I assume and might be totally wrong in my assumption) but didn’t feel at all alien — I almost didn’t even feel in the minority. 

In just over two months (9 weeks) here I’ve found a place to live until at least next summer/fall, a job for the next couple years, and some very important communities: a trans community, a climbing community, and a professional/academic community. Basically the three main areas of my life and identity. 

In the two months here I’ve found more than what I found in over four years in California. 

For sure it has to do at least partly with my own mindset and attitude and approach: I’m more comfortable with myself, more confident and clear about my identity and priorities and goals now than half a dozen years ago or a decade ago. But it cannot be just me… 

There’s no bitterness, though. What I went through 10-15 years ago in Europe and for 5-6 years in California, apart from giving me some lovely moments, memories I treasure and lasting friendships, has taught me valuable lessons that are certainly helping me and shaping my life now. I’ve learnt about myself; I’ve learnt to take time for myself when I need it, to say “No”, if/when necessary, to “winter”. I’ve learnt to draw healthy boundaries without building hard walls. I’ve learnt to stop “knocking on closed doors” — may they be professional, romantic/sentimental, personal — knock once, try again, but if the door still doesn’t open, or opens and closes randomly, in unpredictable and/or painful ways, just walk away. Go find another door. Maybe one that is already open or, at least, ajar.

I guess that’s another huge lesson I’ve learnt: to know when it’s time to walk away and when, instead, it’s good to stay. 

A few months ago, with some very helpful external support, I decided to walk away, to take a leap of faith and try giving myself another chance. Now, it seems that the universe might be giving me another chance. So for now, I’m staying.