The Little Prince and the Fox

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.

Two months ago I had just arrived at my new, temporary home, after a four-day road trip, making it here just in time before a snow-storm. At this time two months ago, I was enjoying my first morning here, cozily indoors as the snow fell abundantly all around me, looking forward to the piles of snow, the wintertime, even the shoveling. 

A month later — one month ago — I was taking balance of my first, very eventful month here, recovering from an intense and in many ways shocking week that had seen me get very ill in a new, unfamiliar (to me) way, ending up in the ED, and trying to cope with the shock of the horrible war that Putin had just unleashed on Ukraine. A month ago at this time, I was recovering from my visits in the hospital, trying to relax and rest, enjoying the company of my host family and trying to cope together with them (also partly European like me) with the news & fear of the war. 

Last night I slept soundly despite the most recent, and totally out-of-season wildfire that started yesterday afternoon and is still threatening thousands of people nearby. I slept dressed, with my cell-phone on (something I never do) and my backpack handy already ready to go with water, snacks and the few things I cannot leave behind if I have to evacuate in a hurry. I was probably being overcautious, but it gave me peace of mind. 

I realize that my personal “unknowns” now are relatively mild and safe, that I have backup options (whether I like them or not), and that I’m in a somewhat privileged situation. However, although the risks I am facing now and have been facing in the past few months are relatively small and “safe” or manageable, especially compared to the danger and suffering that so many people are facing now and have been facing in the past, I still don’t want to discount the peace of mind and groundedness that I have reached because it is also fruit of hard work. 

In these past two years especially, and particularly in the past two months, I have learned to really live in the moment, be here & now. This does not mean I don’t plan or try — indeed, I am applying for jobs here (& all over) and have spent a lot of time this past week looking for a new place to stay. But I’m not upset by the uncertainty as much as I used to be. I have really integrated the sense that we’re here today, gone tomorrow: not in a macabre or fatalistic way, but rather in a carpe diem, seize the day sense. Living each and every day at its best, which sometimes can mean that everything goes wrong that day but still being okay with it. And that even if we’re still here tomorrow, tomorrow might — and actually very probably will — be different. And to be okay with that, too. 

Two months ago, I had just arrived. I still felt up in the air, like a (privileged) refugee, barely gotten off the road and settling it. 

A month ago, I was living with lots of unknowns, holding lots of uncertainties, feeling lots of “in betweens”. 

Now, lots of those “in betweens” have become more clear or solid to me, at least in my mind and soul and heart, even if often not yet in practice. I still don’t know where I’ll be working or living in two months from now, let alone next fall — but that’s months away! Look at everything that has happened, and is still happening, for me and the world in just two months… 

Today, I’m going to plant as many seeds as I can, hoping they fall in fertile ground; I’m going to water them and try to give them the right amount of sunshine; but I’m also going to try and let them grow and blossom at their own rhythm, while enjoying them, and admiring them and even learning from them as they do so.  

And being (or trying to be..!) grateful for every second I have on this Earth — “every day is a gift: that’s why we call it the ‘present’!“

Over the past few days, I’ve heard this question asked more than once, albeit in different ways.

It’s Trans Awareness Week and I’ve been participating in the events that are being locally organized (which is a wonderful and totally new experience to me in itself!).

Last night I went to one of the first events: a Q&A session open to anyone with some volunteer trans panelists. At a certain point, someone in the audience raised the question: “More than once, I have been told that, or asked whether, non-binary is just an aesthetic… How do I reply to that?”

As I heard the question, and then the panelists’ answers, being formulated, I realized how often I’ve also been told, or asked that same thing, albeit it in a different, sometimes more veiled way (and thus often more difficult to respond to).

As I’ve decided to try to move here for good and cannot stay with my host family forever, I’m looking for a new place to live, so I’ve been meeting more people and even having deep conversations for “communal living” situations with possible future housemates. In all of these cases, my non-binary/trans identity has been something I’ve made very clear from the beginning, explaining how important it is to me. And I’ve encountered respect and acceptance, at least on the face of it. But there’s a question that I was asked during the in-person house-meeting/interview a few days ago, that is nagging at me and feeling worse the more I think back to it – also thanks to the question raised last night, “Is non-binary just an aesthetic?”

At that in-person house-meeting/interview the other evening, I explained quite in detail how I felt: I had already had a long phone conversation with one of the possible future housemates and they were all very sweet, respectful, open-minded persons, so I felt safe sharing a little more than with other strangers or new acquaintances. I explained that I’m non-binary, that to put it simply I feel that “I’m a boy in a girl’s body“ and that it is extremely important for me that “they” pronouns be used when referring to me. I added, to make it very clear, that if I joined them and they were asked about who lives in the house, I would like the answer to be along the lines of “X men, Y women, and one non-binary person” (unless there were also other non-binary persons living in the house and who are “out”). They were totally fine with that; but then one of them asked me, “What if someone asks, ‘OK, but what is this non-binary’s person’s body? Is it male or female?’”. In that moment, the question just caught me off-guard and surprised me, but since then it has been feeling worse and worse. I feel it’s along the lines of the question “Is non-binary just an aesthetic?” with emphasis on that word, just, with a sort of discounting, almost derogative, or judgmental sense to it.

Now, the more I think of it and the more I let myself feel freely how that question from my possible future housemates affected me the other evening, I realize it really upset me. To me, it’s a prying question, it’s a violent question. I feel like whoever is asking such a question is basically asking, “OK but what does that person have inside his/her pants?” (Note: I purposefully ditched the correct “their” pronoun here!). That’s a horrible question: a question NO ONE should ever be asked: whether trans or cis, whether binary or non-binary, nobody should have to be asked about their genitals/sex, their color, their religion, their age, their orientations, unless they happily, explicitly give that info. Period.

So, HECK NO, non-binary is not just an aesthetic!

And what my body is, is my own business!

The mountains on the horizon, there in the West, are particularly beautiful this morning: the sky is heavy with grey (rain?) clouds everywhere except for right over the mountains, which are all covered in white from yesterday’s snowfall and now gleaming in the sunshine, in those rays of light that seem to be there just to point out this gorgeous landscape, to remind the world of that beauty.

Is this an omen for the feeling that I could have with respect to my own body, there, in the future but within reach, if I wanted it?

Since last summer/autumn I have come to really accept and like my body as it is, after a quarter of a century of body-image issues and struggles. But more recently, I have started actually asking myself if I’m happy with just accepting it or whether I would like more?

I believe that having finally found acceptance of my body as it is now is a huge step for me. But until recently I thought that was the “end station” for my relationship with my body. Now I’m realizing that there could be more: more work for me to do but also, and especially, more gratification and more feeling really myself as I want to be, as I see myself, as I am.

I have come to accept the layer of fat on my thighs which, while still not being much, definitely gives my thighs a female shape. I’ve come to accept it partly because I know that I need a minimum amount of fat in my body for it to function in a healthy way as a female body and to thus stave off problems such as osteoporosis later in life; and partly because my body shape, including or maybe especially that layer of fat rounding my thighs and butt, has brought me approval from the external world (basically, it’s been one of the things that made me attractive to males I’ve liked). But are social approval/sexual attractiveness and being rational about making the best of my body’s genetic features enough, especially if I can change my body?

My whole life I have wanted to get rid of my round thighs: not because I didn’t want to be fat but, rather, because I wanted to be lean and muscular, I wanted the straight body because that meant being masculine which felt more like me. It’s not that I wanted to be skinny: I didn’t want to be a woman because I felt I wasn’t one.

And now that I am finally meeting people who have gone through different processes of changing their body to make it more aligned to their identity, now that I’m actually hearing and  seeing that it’s possible, now that I’m seeing the beautiful results (both physical and mental/emotional beauty) that these interventions can bring — now I’m finally allowing myself to entertain the idea of doing it myself: not just trying to get the biggest shoulders I can with intense exercise and protein (plant-based, not easy!) and creatinine supplements sometimes, but actually taking testosterone. Not just hiding my small breasts in billowy shirts or squishing them in tight sports bras, or ditching bras altogether, but actually getting a mastectomy. Not just accepting my rounded thighs and hiding them, sometimes, in big baggy trousers or under a long sweater, but actually waiting for testosterone to help change those, too. Not just living with organs I’ve never needed and never will need and that might actually give me nuisances as I move through my forties and then age, but actually getting a hysterectomy. How would I feel then?

It’s a fact that the part of my body I love and praise the most is my strong, lean, boyish upper body (with the exception of my small breasts) and that when my muscle mass is reduced from less exercise (like moments of sickness and/or injury), all I can think of is getting it back, as much and as soon as I can, in order to see the boy in me reflected back to me in the mirror.

If I could really choose, what is the body I would truly want, the body that would truly feel like me?

In the past week or two, as spring hasn’t been just knocking on winter’s door but actually shoving it open, I’ve found myself yearning for a little more winter – not only the astronomical or meteorological winter, but also the emotional “wintering”: a little more quiet, a little more stillness, a little more coziness inside protected by piles of snow outside.

I have been enjoying the warmer temperatures, the lighter snow that doesn’t require shoveling, the almost constant sunshine. I just would have needed a few more days, a couple more weeks of wintering – probably because I haven’t had it in so long and I know I won’t have it again for a while. It’s not just the winter season with winter sports, winter traditions, winter fun, winter issues – I’ll get plenty of all that if I really manage to move here. It’s the fact that this winter was particular, special for me because I’m on leave from work, because I have more free time to do my own things, to relax and recover, to explore and discover without having to rush: this is a window I was given, a precious pause in a comfortable and privileged situation that happens only very rarely, sometimes once in a lifetime (and for many people, never). And it’s been so good for me, so beneficial, clarifying, grounding, healing, and encouraging that maybe just a little more would have been nice.

Today I’m getting a moment’s pause, though: the warm, almost shameless sunshine of the past week or so has left space to a quietly convinced cloudy sky. Maybe even rain or snow – definitely snow up in the mountains. It’s one of those days where time seems to pause between winter and spring – not the former anymore, but not even the latter yet. Just a pause – maybe Nature catching its breath for a moment before rolling on again.

So I’ll take a pause today, too.

Yesterday, I rushed to make a deadline for the textbook I’m working on and was able to submit another chapter. Today I’ll pause before starting a new one. Pause in my search for a new place to live here. Pause in my job applications here. Catch up with various odds and ends that need to be done. Take care of myself and the cat. Enjoy the clouds – and the snow that has just started falling now!

————————————

P.S.: I am so thankful for this grey weather! For the heavy clouds, for the snow/rain showers. For Chopin’s piano works: for the pleasure they’re giving me in listening to them again now as well as the sweet memories they bring. For this time to actually sit and relax and listen to this beautiful music. For this opportunity for self-care. For this pause within a pause.