Translocation: On finding myself and losing a community.

By Anonymous*.

*The opinions expressed in this article are my own and do not represent the opinions of the transmasculine community.

Content notes: dysphoria, belonging, isolation, gender identity

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Over the Christmas holidays I came out as transgender, after almost two decades of feeling like something wasn’t quite right. As it turns out, my utter disdain for my girlish hips and thighs, and the constant fantasy that I’d wake up with a flat chest wasn’t something everyone experiences and was in fact horrendous dysphoria. I’m glad that I’ve figured that out, because now I’ve never been happier, more confident, or less anxious. It’s brilliant! I’ve finally found myself, and everything has slotted into place. But, as it turns out, coming out as transgender also means stepping onto a minefield of socio-political debate, and being drawn into the centre of a very real issue surrounding the opinions of masculinity.

For my whole life up until now I identified as a queer woman. My identity was queer woman first, everything else later. I’d built friendship groups around this, both purposefully and as a pleasant surprise, I’d moved in activist spaces under this identity and was involved in some incredible projects and events holding my identity as a seven-foot banner for the whole world to see. I loved being part of such a supportive community of women who loved other women, and generally a positive, feminist, queer activist group of people. There’s something special about belonging to a community that celebrates everything and anything about you, it’s rejuvenating and exciting (and everyone is gorgeous!) There were of course always niggling thoughts about my gender identity, but I managed to bury them deep under thick layers of performative queer femaleness. Truly, since coming out, I’ve felt like I’ve filled in the missing gap in the puzzle of myself, but the rest of my life has fallen away; I don’t, and can’t, belong in these feminist activist communities anymore.

So, I’ve been floating around in this limbo between elation and loneliness ever since. Where do I belong now? Who will accept me into their spaces now? Am I allowed to ask to be a part of these spaces? After all, I’ve been socialised as female and so have suffered from the effects of the glass ceiling in terms of opportunity and gender-based oppression, I don’t ‘pass’ as male in most situations and so acting in male spaces such as bathrooms is nerve-wracking and often quite dangerous. Many activist and feminist spaces in Cambridge are open only to female and non-binary people, which of course I understand wholeheartedly, but I can’t help but feel like I am still very much in need of these spaces like these, but am not welcome in them as a male-identifying person. I am not a cisman, I have not been socialised as male, I have never experienced male privilege (and won’t until I begin to medically transition), I have not benefited from living as a (white) cismale in a society designed and built for (white) cismen. All these things mean I am still very much in need of these supportive spaces as an oppressed gender minority and as someone who has not benefited from the current gender paradigm. I feel as if I’ve come out and suddenly have had this badge of ‘MAN’ sewn in big red letters to my chest and have since been ejected from the spaces that I once held dear as safe places where my voice would be heard, and my needs would be understood and fought for. This, paired with the fact that there are so far no spaces in Cambridge for just transmasculine people, has left me at a loss for where to turn. I understand, that yes, I identify as a transman, and therefore a man, but I don’t identify as, nor will I ever be a cisman. The experiences of transmen and cismen are inherently different simply because transmen are not cis and are often socialised as female for most of their childhoods and young adult lives.

I’ve been told I sound like I feel as though I’m entitled to these spaces, but I don’t wish to shout above the voices of female and non-binary people. Indeed, I’ve spoken to masculine non-binary people who fear the same repercussions for expressing their masculinity. I am simply asking to be invited into these spaces as someone who is part of an oppressed gender minority and who needs support because of this. I don’t feel as though I should be barred from such spaces because of my masculinity. I have always been under the impression that these spaces were for people who are oppressed by the patriarchy, i.e. not cismen. Perhaps I was mistaken, perhaps these spaces are for everyone but those who are masculine. Maybe people are worried about “associating transmen with women”, but again, are these spaces female-only spaces? Aren’t we then associating non-binary people with female-identifying people? Of course, I do not speak for all transmen, there are stealth transmen out there that do not feel they would benefit from these spaces and so wouldn’t attend, and that is completely their prerogative. I, however, and many other ‘non-passing’ transmen, do need these spaces, in some form or another, and think that it is important that we start having these discussion openly and in a supportive way.

I am very proud to be a part of the upcoming FNTM Arts Festival as a project that is celebrating the collaborative efforts of those at a disadvantage due to the gender paradigm. I hope that it can be the beginning of a dialogue about the current attitudes of feminist spaces towards masculinity.