I’m Not a Joke…

I had the unfortunate experience today of being the punchline of someone’s joke.

There was more to this story than just the following statement, of course, but to give you a small taste (I changed the names he used to avoid any sort of issue): “It was funny because Bob was so confused when we told him, ‘well yeah, but you know that *Justin* used to be *Justine*’ and he was just so confused! We had him really going.”

The person telling this anecdote thought it was funny, and the people he was telling the story to certainly laughed. I immediately went silent as I pondered whether or not to say anything. In the end I kept my mouth firmly shut, swallowed all statements, and just went about my business. I’m not confident enough in my ability to remain calm in these situations yet, so it ended up being better that I refrained from comment.

I am not a joke. Being trans is not a joke. Making a joke out of anyone’s sexuality, gender, gender identity, race, religion, or whatever else it is that makes them different is not appropriate or entertaining in any way. If people laugh, it’s either because they’re as small-minded as you are or because they’re uncomfortable with what you’ve just said. Don’t mistake their laughter for entertainment, because it likely wasn’t.

I try to just let these things go. I try to just let it roll off my back and acknowledge that the person likely had no ill intent when a) joking with whoever he was joking with in the story and b) telling the story in the setting that he did. But this person is well aware of my situation, and where I come from. He is well aware (or should be) how seemingly insignificant comments like this can affect someone. This is not the first time I’ve had this conversation. Unfortunately, I also know that it will not be the last time I have a conversation such as this, or write a blog post about it. That is a sacrifice I make each and every day.

I have worked hard to build safe spaces for myself throughout my transition whether that be my home, my workplace, or the public spaces I frequent; each and every space I occupy regularly must be a place I feel safe and included. That was taken away from me today, at least in part. It wasn’t intentional and it wasn’t directed at me, but it happened nonetheless. Casual transphobia is real and it is hurtful. It doesn’t matter if he “meant” to be transphobic or not, the fact remains that it was.

I implore each of you to think very carefully about what you speak of and to whom you’re speaking. All it takes is one misplaced comment and you could truly tear someone’s world apart.

Until next time.

 

 

…Because Why Not?

 

 

Superhero Serum. That’s what I have so lovingly started calling the testosterone that I take weekly as part of my transition. It never fails to make me feel a little bit better after a long week. My shot day is Friday, and I do that on purpose. A rush of hormones to the system weekly has some side effects, and I tend to be a little rambunctious in the first 24-48 hours after my shot. I also feel the best in those first couple of days, so of course I want to time that so that I can enjoy it to its fullest potential.

When I started T, I had no qualms about weekly injections. I grew up around a diabetic mother who would check her blood sugar several times a day and eventually started injecting insulin daily. For several years, I worked in a hospital and got a flu shot without batting an eyelash. I didn’t even hesitate when they asked if I would be okay giving myself injections. For 7 months, I had no issues. Every week I would draw testosterone into a syringe, switch needles out, and inject without a second thought.

Last week, I drew up as normal and switched needles, prepared my injection site as normal, and then froze. A movement that had become so familiar felt foreign, and scary. It took me several moments to be able to actually inject the needle into my muscle, and when I did, I did it so slowly that it ended up burning terribly and hurt for several days afterwards. Something in me was absolutely terrified of the pain, which even as I type it seems ridiculous because it doesn’t hurt for more than a second, if I do it right. I thought maybe it was a fluke, that I’d gotten distracted and just needed to focus more for the next one.

I needed to refill my script this week, as I had run out last week. I found myself putting it off all week, until finally yesterday I had to call and request that my provider change my name on the script so that I could go get it. They did, but then I delayed picking it up. I found every excuse I could not to go pick it up. Finally I did, and I just got done with it in the last several minutes. I had the same reaction this week as I did last, and now I have decided to acknowledge that is an actual problem.

I have developed a fear of the one thing on this planet that brings me a little bit of a reprieve from the dysphoria I feel every day. Very few people have been made aware of this to this point, but I struggle more than I let on with that dysphoria. I very rarely feel comfortable in myself, and am constantly tense when I am going through each day. I don’t look at myself in the mirror often. When people comment on how much more masculine I look, I nod my head in agreement but still see the features that keep me looking just feminine enough to be misgendered in public. Thankfully, that is happening less and less and only seems to be happening now with people who knew prior to me starting T. I speak, and even though I know my voice is worlds away from where it was 7 months ago, it never seems deep enough to fully put my unease to rest.

It’s times like these that make me realize that I may never be fully “through” this. I am legally male, my name has officially been changed, and I have been on T for closer to a year than not. So when do I get to feel like I’m finally me?