# I am here

Аше Гарридо

Прекрасная и отважная Диана Перейра перевела "Я здесь" на английский язык. Бесконечное спасибо до Луны и до Солнца.

I am here.


Author: Ashe Garrido Translation: Diana Pereira

WHAT'S THIS BOOK ALL ABOUT


Hello there, my dear reader.

This is somewhat of an introduction, which I'm composing while almost done working on the book itself. This is where I tell you what to expect while turning these pages.

In this book I'm mainly talking about myself. I tell stories about myself, ask questions about myself and share my own personal views and opinions. I don't think I'm right about everything. I'm not trying to prove anything indubitable. But this is my opinion and there it is. And I would like to share it with you, along with the most precious and unique thing any of us could have: personal experience. It's precious, because we pay for it with our lives, at once or by installments. And it's unique, because it's personal and two people at a same event see and experience it differently.

So I'm talking about myself, and that means the subject of this book is a transgender person who looks like a woman but feels and perceives himself as a man. I will tell you my story as honestly and as openly as I possibly can. And that, by the way, does not imply any intimate revelations or stories regarding my sexual experiences. It is an important part of our lives, but I tend to only discuss it with people who are very close to me, and also with my doctor and my therapist, if needed. But as to the rest of it, like my thoughts and other people's thoughts about me, my quests and doubts, questions and answers, every hardship and joy of being me and what it's like to be "different" and to live with it every day - I will happily and candidly share all that with you on the following pages. Don't expect a sequential presentation of events or a consistent plot, nor any ready-to-use tips and advices. Just lots of questions and tragically little answers, and even those will not necessarily work for you even if they work for me. Bits and pieces of my life randomly pulled and mixed.

It took me two years to write this book, for two years I was living by its side. I was changing, the situations were changing, my views and opinions on different aspects of life were changing as well. That's why the thoughts expressed in the first chapters of this book might differ significantly from the conclusions I came to in the process of writing and living during these two years. I've decided to leave everything as it is so the reader does not get the ready-to-use recipes, but the creative process, the way another human being lives and reflects on life, on whatever is happening to them right now, as we speak. I think witnessing this sort of evolution could be very valuable.

In this book, I'm also quoting other people, transgender or not. I'm very grateful they agreed to share their very own experience and opinions, which is priceless. I ended up getting so many of these testimonies, that at some point it stopped being my book, and became ours. I did not expect to get such a big response, to hear so many stories in return for mine. At some point I felt that my voice is being lost in the crowd. And yet I want those voices to be heard. I'm overwhelmed with deepest gratitude towards my co-authors. You will find their testimonies in between the chapters. Each of them is signed according to contributor's will.


***

Why did I venture into telling you all that? Because I think that our collective knowledge about humans and humanity is far from being complete, and the process of discovering and acknowledging new sides of a human nature is taking place right now. Applied into the everyday life, this means that more and more people who used to be considered "abnormal" because of their gender and sexuality, now dare to declare that everything is fine with them, thank you very much. And this also means that every day more and more people discover that they friends, family, neighbors and lovers are "different": different from how we used to see them, different from the majority, different from our perception of the normal. But they still remain our near and dear ones, our friends, neighbors, co-workers. So how do we survive that, how do we cross this very shaky (for all parties involved) bridge with dignity and mutual support? How do we learn to understand those "different" ones and learn to treat them right?

In my opinion, it would be easier for everybody if we just started telling each other what we actually think and how we feel, and what difficulties we experience during these encounters. We would be able to better understand each other and possibly fear each other less. In any case, it's worth trying.

Well, I suppose that is all I wanted to say in the introduction.

And so I give the floor to me. To us.


I AM HERE.

When I was a kid, I saw this movie about Russian revolutionists

And there was this scene, were few of them come to the riverbank at night to meet the boat which brings the edition of an underground newspaper. One of them held a big lantern, just like the railroad workers used to have, and he began sending signals with it, covering it with the hem of his coat and flashing it again. And a voice in the dark repeats the same thing, only with words: I am here... I am here...

I'm not sure why, but I've been keeping in my heart for many years those light signals amongst the darkness. When I feel the current of life sweeping me away, into the dark and the unknown, I would like to see such a signal, someone's flickering light: I'm here. There's a shore nearby, and there are people on this shore, friends, comrades. And I would also like to have such a lantern and flash it for others: I'm here, I'm here. On this shore, there is life. This shore is within your reach.

There is only one way to light up this lantern that I know of . Well, there are many, of course. But I'm only familiar with one.

I'm going to tell you about myself.

So when have I began this speech?

Perhaps it was when a pretty girl told me in patronizing voice, "You see, you don't have to be a man to love a woman". And I froze - all of me, my thoughts, my emotions, my entire being - bumping into these words. I suddenly realized that she got me totally wrong. Who did she see when she looked at me? A woman from USSR, where sex didn't even exist, let alone love between two women? I can't tell you for sure, but it definitely seemed that way. But the thing was, it had nothing to do with me at all. I knew about a possibility of same-sex love. But for me, attraction towards women was of an absolutely heterosexual nature. I wasn't a woman. And it wasn't a question of who I love. It was a question of who I am. She was not the last woman who couldn't see me.

She was the first one, sure. But not the last.

*Lenal:

"Many people confuse sexual orientation with gender identity. It goes beyond their everyday life, so they don't have the need to try and wrap their brains around it. Well, it's just like not having to know the difference between credit and collection, unless you work in a bank or in a foreign trade".


*Ethan:


"I have discovered different types of queerness, the definitions and classifications well after I've started feeling that I myself was changing. Between the beginning of the changes and running across any information at all there have been three or four years of pain and suffering."


*Dean:

"Once upon a time, the world I'm living in insisted that there are only two genders - and I've accepted that. And I've defined people either as male or female according to the conventional identification marks, based on how they looked and spoke. Then I came upon new facts, new information: beside the biologic sex, there's also gender, and there are more than two possibilities - and I accept that too. And I refer to people the way they refer to themselves. Just because it is the way it is. What person says and does is more important than how this person looks."


THE PHONE BOOTH

At that time I found out there was a need for me to explain something very important about myself in order to be correctly perceived. It means a lot to me. When people misperceive me, when they mistake me for someone else, I feel weird. Hey, who were you talking to just now?

That's why I have to explain, time after time, that I'm not this and not that, and not that either. And after a while, I begin loosing myself: if I'm not this and not that, who am I?

This one time, during a big pilgrimage, I had a conversation with a priest.

Can you imagine? I'm also a catholic, on top of everything. Everything about me is upside down, it's just like my mom used to say: all the other kids are normal, and you...

And me...

And what about me? Here I am, all of me, I'm honest, just brave enough, just timid enough. Don't like to lie, but not always have the guts to tell the truth and thus keep quiet. But at that pilgrimage it was important to me to be heard, to be understood. I wanted to be there as a whole, and not just polite and socially acceptable parts of me. That's why this conversation occurred.

"And while you shower, do you feel repulsion towards your own body?" - "No..."

This body has nothing to do with me; it's like a Halloween costume that won't come off. I find it hard peeping out of it to tell the world about myself. But repulsion is too strong of a word, and then again, this body was given to me by the God, isn't it right, father?..

"And could you go topless on the beach?"

"Ah... uhmm... No."

"But I do understand, father, I do, that this is... That I look this way. The wrong way. This is not how I'd like to look on the beach. This is something else, somebody else; this has nothing to do with me. This would make me even more invisible!"

"You see, and if you really were transsexual you would be disgusted by your own body, and wouldn't be shy to go topless on the beach."

A year later we met again, on the same route Lida-Budslav.

Between our first and second conversations, I called a helpline, but I'll tell you about that later.

So we met again, walking in the same direction, same asphalt under our feet, and I told him that surviving this year was really tough.

"I didn't think you were that serious" - he replied. - "I was sure it's because of the media, nowadays they write a lot about it".

The asphalt dissolved under my feet, I was suspended in a void.

I have barely made it through the night one day, about a week after returning from the first pilgrimage. It was still dark when I came out and reached the junction - it was prior to all the cell phones, at least none of my friends had them yet. Neither did I. Back then, there wasn't even a landline phone where I lived. But on the junction, where two little streets covered with old linden trees intersected, there was a phone booth. It was an old neighborhood, right next to a wasteland and a big ravine filled with overgrown weeds. Wandering there at night wasn't safe. But for me, it was safer than staying home alone. I wasn't sure I could hang in till the morning. No, I wasn't planning a suicide - not yet, anyway. But the pain was so severe, a real pain in my chest, right in the middle, a burning pain, so sharp and intense I could no longer take it. I was almost ready to do anything in order to stop it. It felt like I was dying anyway. Just from the pain alone. So I found a note with a phone number of a helpline which I had written down just in case, and went out to the junction, to use the phone. Not the best spot for talking to a therapist, of course. But there was no other spot. Well after midnight, in my hometown it was nowhere else I could turn for help... This is where I pause and ask myself: what kind of help was I looking for? Was it comfort? Support? Or maybe I just needed to complain about the pain? To be heard? To be noticed? To acknowledge my very existence?

A woman answered the phone. I don't know what was her name, how old she was, what did she look like and how she ended up on the other end of that line.

I told her that I could not use female pronouns. Couldn't think about myself as a woman. That I have tried. That I've just returned from a pilgrimage and that right now, I'm wearing a blouse and a skirt, and - yes, it looks good, I realize it looks pretty, I have a beautiful feminine body and if you're looking from the outside, this type of clothes suits me. But it's not who I am. This is not me.

I told her it was very hard for me, I could no longer bare it and didn't know what to do. That I didn't want to become a "normal woman", but I didn't know what else I could do, and it hurt so much...

I was still talking when the line got disconnected, but only on my end. And she started calling "Miss, hey, miss! Hello! Miss, I cannot hear you!"

There was true concern in her voice. But it seemed to me that she wasn't hearing me even before the line got disconnected. I hung up and went home - through the junction under the linden trees, wearing a long pleated skirt and a white blouse, alone in the dark.

I cannot remember what I was doing afterwards. Guess I was just sitting there. And then I fell asleep.

And he talks to me about the media.


*Nastya Majere:

"When my husband was 10 or 11 years old, he read in a newspaper about gender reassignment surgeries. First he was surprised and excited to find out that he wasn't the only one in the world, and that there was a chance to make it all ok...and then he reached the paragraph in the article that said you have to be at least 25 to have the surgery...

I often think about how at the same age that I was still playing with my toys, the love of my life was trying to hang himself in the bathroom. And that he could have succeeded... And I feel completely helpless when I think about the great abyss between transgender people and their true selves because of our rules and laws, and our indifference.

"You only have to suffer just a little longer: just this much and then some, and..." and then "You'll have your new ID all right, just cut off all the unnecessary parts first - because if a man gives birth, how are we supposed to register that? And why would people like you want kids, anyway?" "What gender reassignment, if you like men anyway? The last thing we need is more faggots!" (Apologies for the language - I'm quoting a certain psychiatrist)."


*Sasha Kniazev:

"I'm a catholic and a post-op transgender man. For the church, I'm invisible.

I can be open with people about who I am, and I'm normally striving for that, but not with the clergy. In their vast majority, they don't even understand what is it all about, and they see homosexuality as a reason for transsexuality.

Long ago, I've decided that having faith and being transgender was obviously a conflict, and I had to choose. First I chose faith, and afterwards - being transgender. But it's not one or the other, really, if they are both parts of the same person. Quiet recently, I was able to combine both, but not completely. I know that that the church has its rules regarding non-op Trans people, but there's nothing about the post-ops, other than general phrases about how gender reassignment is a sin and against God's will. Then again, the Pope has addressed the subject, with about the same statement. I hope one day it would be possible to discuss this matter in different churches, catholic and protestant. But I think this issue is being neglected".


*N.U:

"Trauma is known to isolate people, to cut them off of the society. That's the only possible explanation I've got to the fact that I knew nothing about Trans people and transsexuality as a phenomenon, till I was approximately 28 years old. (And that's despite the fact that I was interested in physiology of the brain, and in physiology of a human body in general, and there were some Trans people among my acquaintances). I didn't know it could be treated, didn't know that I needed to be acknowledged. In fact, I didn't really need that, as I don't need that now. I follow the route I chose; for me, gender reassignment was a medical necessity (if it wasn't for a hormonal turmoil, I think I could keep living just the way I was); undoubtedly, many things have changed after the gender reassignment- but generally, nothing has really changed. Right now, I'm surrounded by so many different people - transgender, bigender, queer-gender, androgens, men, women... this concerns me very little, mainly when it comes to my job (I'm a manual therapist)."


HAT OR NO HAT

There's another story I'd like to share with you.

But first - an old Soviet army joke:

"A private walks past a couple of sergeants. One of them comes up to the private and knocks his hat right off his head.

"Why are you wearing a hat?" (The private holds the hat in his hand).

"Why aren't you wearing a hat?" - And he slaps the private again.

The other sergeant interferes and says he can't abuse the private just like that. You have to be smart about it. "Tell him to bring you coffee. If he brings you a black coffee, slap him. If he puts cream in it, slap him anyway".

So the private walks away to fetch the coffee, but turns around and asks, "Would you like some cream in it?"

And now I'm going to tell you a story about how I was such a sergeant to myself. Friends of mine, Orthodox Christians, invited me to their church for an Easter mass. And maybe the Easter came early that year, or maybe the winter just lingered on - it sometimes happens in our town, but anyway, a snow blizzard hit all of a sudden in the middle of spring. I can't really remember what was up with the weather, but I was wearing a thick winter coat and a hat. It was a blue woolen hat with grey stripes and a pom-pom.

The church was full of people. I was standing next to my friends, everybody around me were Orthodox and I was Catholic, but I didn't mind, I felt good, I was in my Father's holly house. I was surrounded by people, and everybody's' faces were glowing with heavenly light, and the candle lights were swaying with their breath, and angel-like voices were flowing from above. And only one question was eating me from inside, it just wouldn't let me be.

As a Catholic man in a house of God I was supposed to take my hat off, right?

But as a woman in an Orthodox church - I was supposed to cover my head!

But I'm a man, okay? I have already admitted to that during a confession, acknowledged myself before God, as is! That means the hat has to come off. So I take it off and relax, I listen to the beautiful singing voices; look at the people, the candles... But everybody around me are Orthodox, and here I am - looking like a woman, with my head uncovered, upsetting all those nice people during the holly prayer. I should probably put the hat back on, to show respect. Whose region -theirs religion! It's just rude of me. And so I put my hat on, not to cause any distress during such a great holiday.

So once again, I find myself in front of the Lord with my hat on, which is also inappropriate...

So I yank the hat off.

And so my appearance keeps disturbing people- God, he sees me just the way I am, but all those people are his, so don't I just hurt Him by hurting their feelings?..

I've been suffering throughout the mass, putting my hat on and taking it off. Taking it off and putting it back on. If you think I ended up making up my mind, you are wrong.

Hat on?

Hat off?

Oh, shut up, it's not even funny.

*F. :

Peace and love to all. A friend of mine is transgender. A great guy who was, unfortunately, born in a female body. For more than a year after making his acquaintance I've known nothing about him being a transgender (all of our communication was online back then). But I was amazed by this person's inner light, and the same time - by how down-to-earth he was, without even a hint of conceit.


When some people hear the word "transgender", or "homosexual", for that matter, they imagine some sort of a "freak", with a skewed logic, alien culture and a distorted perception of reality; someone who stands apart from the "normal" human beings.

Meeting my friend in RL was kind of unexpected for both of us, and he was worried that him being a transgender may scare me away. My picture of reality was slightly shaken, but withstood. His female body is a solid fact, but so is him being a man, and after a year of friendship (which wasn't very close back then, but still) it was beyond a shade of a doubt for me, and that means it's possible, these things happen.

And if it happens, it's normal, there's nothing freakish about it. And through this single experience an image of a transgender person in my head (and generally, of someone who is "different") has changed drastically. Yes, my friend is very noticeable, and not only because of his gender, but he is normal. I'm not talking about statistics here, but about living up to your destiny. Living your human experience to the fullest. And I can see that being a transgender doesn't get on the way of that at all.

I believe in God. Or, to be more precise, I believe God. I know from my own experience that even the worse of problems and the most terrible troubles He somehow manages to use as His instrument. Nowadays, so many Christians are against transgenders and homosexuals (it's not that they are evil or anything, it's lots of things mixed together, and we should start fixing it by getting to know "the other side" a little better), but there's also considerate amount of the latter (LGBTQ+ community) who don't fancy the believers so much (and the simplest recipe of making it better is the same). But I know that all this hatred is in vain: my eyes and my heart have seen that those whom many of us consider as "the others" - are God's own, and He does great miracles through them. And if it wasn't for my friend, a great and true person all the way through, I would have never received these extremely important messages from the very top of existence, and my life would never be the same".


FLOWER SKIRT

I should probably begin by explaining how it even got into my house, this long skirt with little flowers pattern, I think it was a Laura Ashley, actually.

I had a girlfriend. I was in love. Her too! However, not with me but rather with this woman she saw instead of me. To tell the truth, it was quiet awful - but hey, she loved me. She loved me. Or at least she loved somebody who took the same spot in time and space as me. At the very least, her loving eyes were set on that spot. They were almost set on me. It was quiet a something, in comparison to complete nothing from before.

And that constant feeling of being unloved so common in my generation, that enduring chill of a neglected child. How arrogant are the words we use to conceal it, how tough are the faces we hide it behind! But none the less, there's always this bottomless pit inside: nobody loves me.

And all of a sudden - somebody does! Somebody loves me. Looks in my direction, speaks in my direction! What can I do for you, my dear? How can I repay you for your generosity? How can I make you stick around? Is it this woman you want?

You can have her!

And since I was really broke back then, I went to a thrift shop. But even there, I couldn't afford to dress the entire woman at once. Especially the shoes, you know. I've had these Bundeswehr boots which I've been wearing for two years, rain or shine, and I was completely happy with them. But I couldn't leave this beautiful woman for my love just like that, could I?.. Unfortunately, I failed to find a pair of suitable and affordable ladies shoes, so I just had to put up with the fact that this beautiful woman will be wearing boots.

Step two - the top. I owned a nice grunge sweater from the very same thrift shop and a couple of blouses from that last time - well, you know, that last pilgrimage. It should have been enough, for the time being.

Step three - the bottom. I couldn't just stay in jeans. Wearing jeans, I could never turn myself into a beautiful woman for my love. There should have been a solid reason, a certain marker by which I could identify myself as a woman. The skirt became this marker. A long skirt expanding downward made of thick black cotton with rosy white little flowers all over it. Apple blossom or whatever. People say it was quite stylish, along with my boots and the grungy sweater. But I was very upset because it was some sort of an underwoman, and those boots, on top of everything!.. It wasn't working anyway, the underwoman was acting weird, she would suddenly ignore the offered hand while getting off the bus, she was nervous and distracted and laughing for no reason, and simply insane. My love realized it was a navigation mistake and she was looking and talking in a wrong direction. She was looking at me less and less, and stopped talking to me completely, and eventually she just left. And the skirt remained. Some time passed by, and one day, around Easter, I had this idea that I must reform. It wasn't a new idea - I have been trying to reform from time to time, well, you remember the story with the pilgrimage. But that wasn't enough. I decided to reform once more. And for starters, I resolved to wear the skirt for the whole week. The very same skirt, of course, I didn't have anything else - and the very same boots, which I've been wearing for seven years straight at that point.

I went to our chapel, had a conversation with God and promised him that I will be wearing the skirt for the entire week, from Easter till the Divine Mercy Sunday, and then I'll see how it goes. What if "this" will go away for good? So I talked to God - and got to it.

What can I tell you, it surely wasn't easy on my friends! Try to imagine that you have managed to accept me as I am and socialize with me, and maybe even believe in me - and there I am, all of a sudden, wearing this skirt with rosy little flowers.

So there I was, going around in this skirt, and a little event comes by: a poetry reading within our small and humble group of friends. How could I refuse? But it was just that last Sunday which I promised to spend in a skirt. No choice, I'm going to read poetry wearing a skirt. And boots - please, don't forget the boots, for without them, my image would be incomplete.

And the order of performances was such that the host presented the first poet, and after they finished reading they presented the next one, and so on. And so my favorite poet Michaillov, after reading some of his wonderful poems, stared innocently into the crowd and said that he was happy to present his friend, an amazing poet Alex Garrido, and he is... so great and all, and now he will read you his great poems. I don't remember the exact words, but the whole greatness of this great presentation revolved around him persistently using male pronouns while talking about me - while I looked so silly in this skirt with pink flowers on it.

I was angry, but not too much. Essentially, this whole stupid situation was my fault, not his. Now, looking back, I'm still a little angry, but I don't know if there's a point to it.

Extremely patient folks they were, those friends of mine, and seems like they really loved me.

And then Monday came, thanks God.


*Inna I. :

"Even for a normal thinking person it's not easy to accept such radical changes. And it's most difficult for the transgender person who feels that they belong to a different gender but still adapted to an extant to the fact that people around them perceive them accordingly to their biological gender, and got used to playing the part. And now, the reconstruction process is full-on inside their head: their habits, norms of behavior, the way they interact with people etc. - everything crumbles and reassembles.

Some people just heard something but didn't really dwell into it, and they tend to think that gender reassignment is just about the surgery: cut off all the extras, and voila - a man turned into a woman. But the surgery is only the final step. The full transition may take years, and the way I see it, the most complicated part is not at all the surgery, but the social adaptation to another gender. "


*Nadia:

"I met this girl, Nastya. She seemed really weird. Till this very day I can't put my finger on what exactly was wrong with her: she spoke kind of funny and acted kind of funny and generally looked like she might have had some mental health issues. We met few more times after that, and then I haven't seen her for months, maybe even a year (I don't really remember). And then, after, let's say, a year, I met him again - that's right, because it was already a he. In the midst of transitioning process. And the more no-longer-Nastya, but - let's call him Sergei - the more Sergei looked and lived like a man, the more "normal" he became. I don't like this word - "normal", but anyway, Sergei seems like a sane, intelligent young man, who is easy to talk to. And now I totally understand what was wrong with Nastya - it's like I would try unsuccessfully to act like a man, and hate every moment of it".


*V., a therapist, an adoptive parent, bisexual, lives happily in a same-sex domestic partnership:

"For several nights in a row, I can't sleep. I'm lying awake for hours, and a text, a story, sort of writes itself inside my head. And it looks like it's coming out right, I already know what do I want to write and how do I want to write it, but still it's hard to transition from "it's so obvious" and from the words in my head to something the others can read, to a story I can actually tell. Okay, I'm going to try anyway. If I fail, so be it. I am just going to try. I open the Microsoft Word window and start typing.

King

That's what they called him. King - and his first name. Or just King. And everybody knew who you were talking about. I must have been sixteen, when I met him ("was introduced to him"). I have no idea why everything was the way it was, but in this particular group of friends, in one of the towns of South Ural during the late 90's, it was a given - King was someone who has changed his gender. It was just being told, and never became a subject of a gossip - and what was there to gossip about, really? We weren't close friends, he was much older than me, and I respected him too much. I've been to his house a couple of times. King lived in a small two-story house, far at the outskirts, where it always gets so cold in the winter. He was bringing in firewood, lighting the furnace. He had a wife, back then I thought she was cranky and didn't really like his friends. Now, years later, I have a much better understanding of her.

We used to spend the nights sitting by the furnace, he and my friends were chatting, making up universes and magic maps, cracking open the doors into some other dimensions and losing interest right away , drinking wine and tea, and I was just keeping quiet, listening. I used to sleep with my sweaters on, covered by and old woolen coat, snuggling with my brother, and in the morning we were all running to the bus stop in the crisp cold, under the slowly rising sun - I had to get to school, my brother - to the university, King was going to work at the other end of the town - he was a designer.


Baby

For me, he came from the same place as King. Everybody loved him. It's hard to explain. Almost as hard as imagining a person you just couldn't dislike once you got to know him. He was a great singer and guitar player, rode horses and had an acting talent. He was working at the stables. He had a really sweet girlfriend. They were walking the streets with their arms around each other.

And just like another life fact, it was told - he used to be of another gender.

And here also I can't remember a single time it was discussed. Well, it would be only fair to emphasize that I don't remember, because I wasn't so close to them. Maybe someone did discuss it. For me, it was just enough they existed. And it's a shame I left my hometown many years ago and now I have no idea what's going on in their lives right now, I just hope nothing bad has happened to them...


Friend

I've known him longer and closer than the others, but maybe writing about him will be harder, like writing about anybody close to you. We've known each other for ten years, but I don't remember ever discussing gender identity issues and who is who even with him. We live in different cities and don't see each other too often, so there's always something more important to talk about.

Once I heard him talking to someone else about his gender, answering the question why everything is the way it is, and he said, "I like hanging somewhere in between".

When we became friends, it was also just something that was there. I never felt that using male pronouns with him was forced or somehow inappropriate. If this is the way he sees himself, why should it be different for me- after all, he's the one from inside, and I am from outside?

But there were other things that felt forced, that felt like violence.

When I was overhearing some mutual acquaintances talking about him behind his back, saying "But it's... A GIRL!" Or reading some conversation on the internet, where people emphasize the female pronouns on purpose while talking to him, and not in a nice way. It has always upset me terribly. And I could never understand these people - why are they like this? Why? Is it really so important for them that the others comply to a certain picture they have in their heads, where the boys are always just boys, and the girls - always just girls? What is it that makes them say these things - an attempt at asserting themselves on expense of someone else, like saying "I'm ok, I'm normal"? I never really knew what to say to those people. My friend in response would make jokes, get sarcastic, troll them, ignore them or threaten to whoop their asses, and the discussion would begin all over again. This one time we met at the wedding, our mutual friends were getting married. It was crowded, and it was a really good wedding, really joyous and fun, where there was a place for everybody, everybody had a good time and were happy to see each other. But there was this one person there who thought it would be appropriate to revisit the subject of my friend's gender identity. I guess my friend is used to it and doesn't really get hurt every time, but for me, it stung. And once again, I didn't know what to say and how to react.

So I said - come on, let's dance.

And we went dancing. We were dancing and laughing, I took off my high heels. We were dancing while holding hands and with our arms around each other, slow dances and just jumping around like crazy. And we didn't give a damn if it's okay with everybody or not. Suit yourselves, people.

I couldn't manage to put it all in just one or two paragraphs. And there are more people in my life I haven't told you about. But what really matters is that they exist. They live. Happily or not so much, alone or with someone. They believe - and sometimes teach me to believe, they write books and poems, translate, travel, and take part in my life, one way or another.

God, please keep them safe.


VASYA AND ALEX

I got lucky with my son, I know that. Not every parent gets so lucky in this kind of situation. First of all, he stopped calling me "mom" pretty fast. Generally, he's a smart fellow and noticed pretty quickly that when he's calling his mom, mom might be busy and not respond right away. And when the adults are calling to me, they are not calling to mom, they call me by my name - and I react immediately. So the kid started calling me by name pretty fast, even though there was a time when he gave it up for a while because of his grandparents. But by the age of four or five he was calling me by the name only, and that made the whole thing so much simpler.

Honestly, I don't know how I would get around it otherwise.

Because it's one thing to ask the kid to call you by a different name. But "dad" instead of "mom" - I don't know. I found being a "mom" difficult and unpleasant. Calling me "dad" would be difficult and unpleasant to him. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't go for it. Besides, he already has a dad.

I'm sure we would manage somehow. But we didn't have to, and for that I'm grateful. I got lucky. He was a little less lucky, I guess.

He still had to explain to his friends why his mother walks around with boots and a backpack.

Generally speaking, he wasn't in a good position to begin with: nobody asked for his opinion. He had a mother, who one not-so-lovely day decided that she could no longer call herself a woman, practically lost her mind. I don't know what would be better for him - this kind of mother or no mother at all, a dead one. I couldn't live in any other way. No, that's not true - I CAN'T live in any other way. And I got lucky for the second time when at one point he stopped liking his own name and wanted to change it to his best friend's name. And when I asked him to call me Alex, he asked me to call him Vasya. Was it hard for me to do? Not at all!

But he didn't stay Vasya forever, he tried some other names...For him, I'm still Lex, even though in his phone I'm listed as "Mom". I don't know what he calls me behind my back - but that's none of my business, I suppose.

I don't know what it was like for him - living with this kind of parent. I've been always trying my best, but maybe it wasn't enough. He is wonderful. I really got lucky with him. Probably this would be the place to say that I didn't deserve a son like him. But I'm not going to tell you something so obviously stupid. We don't deserve our children, we just bring them into this world and raise them the best we can, and you could say the same about our entire life. We are just trying our best, doing we can. There are no other options.

I got lucky.

Did I feel like a woman next to my son?

A mother - yes, certainly.

I'm still his mother, it's true. I'm definitely not his father, he has a father.

I've been able to be his mother, maybe even a good enough mother.

And that makes me very happy, I think it was important. But to be honest, the outside world hasn't really embraced that. There was this time when we were having beer after a poetry night. It was a spring or a fall, our tables were outside, and it was getting dark quickly. I started saying my goodbyes.

"Where are you going?" - Someone asked me.

"Home. My son is there, I have to help him with his homework tomorrow morning, I don't want to have a headache".

"That proves that you are a woman. A man would stay and have some more beers."

"Say what now?!"

"If you go now, you sure as hell aren't a man".

"Are you saying that being a man means not giving a damn about your own child?"

I left, of course. I said goodbye and left.

Now I can't even wrap my head around how I could be hurt so badly by the words of a drunken distant acquaintance known as someone who likes to provoke people. But this is now, and that was then. I was a person tormented by loss of my love, my mother's death, perestroika, unemployment, single parenthood, all that mess around. Oh, and I forgot to mention being a transgender - not a small challenge. That night, at those very tables, a young beautiful girl noted as I was saying good-bye, "He's so right! You are more of a woman than all the women combined!"

Unbelievable, but when I told this to a friend she reacted enthusiastically, saying "She is so right!"

Sometimes I felt like a haunted animal. Physically, nobody was threatening me, but it smelled like nonexistence. I was facing annihilation.

I have never asked my son to use male pronouns with me. But he heard my friends doing it and asked me about it. I answered, explained it to him. And he started talking to me the same way they did.

I told you I was lucky.

For several years I used to live with a friend of mine - the one who said "She's so right!" We had three children between the two of us: my son and her two daughters. They also had to put up with my "weirdness" somehow. And they championed it. They used to laugh - not at me, at the situation. They were laughing along with me. Maybe that was what me and my son lacked so much - we were both too damn serious. But you cannot avoid laughing along with the kid who has just made up the word "MomDad", much like the CatDog. They used to say it with lots of love and respect - and then burst out laughing. In a duo, too! Just imagine a pair of sweet cheerful twin sisters, who grew up before your very eyes, who used to cry in your arms and share their secrets with you, and get angry and quarrel with you - and laugh along with you. They were laughing, they were teasing: "Uncle Elena - Aunt Alex!"

This one time, during his teenage years, my son has expressed his astonishment of something by saying, "Sweet woman, mother of mine!"

"Not necessarily!" - One of the pretty sisters noted.

We all laughed.

It wasn't easy for them, I guess. It wasn't easy for any of us. But we managed.


*Elina Arsenieva:

"Long ago, when I was three years old, I was riding a train with my parents. Sitting in front of us, there was a jolly group of grown-ups, they were noisy and colorful and very kind. They started smiling at me, we became friends right away. We were playing together (I can't quite remember now which game it was) and singing songs. When they reached their destination, they bid me farewell with great warmth and affection, and left. My mom said in astonishment, "Oh, Lina, those black people played with you so nicely!" "Black people? Where?!"

The incident took place in 1978 on a train Leningrad - Detskoe Selo (now Pushkin town).


NOTES ON SEXUAL DIMORPHISM

My respected opponents have searched for those gender characteristics EVERYWHERE! On my bookshelves and in my kitchen, in my backpack and in my bathroom (twice), in my words and deeds (always).And thus I'm willing to share my personal observations.


LIKE I GIVE A BULB

A woman who stayed in my apartment for a week, due to a plea from my female acquaintance - a friend, actually. That woman came to visit, but it was impossible to comfortably host her and her kid in my friend's overcrowded apartment, and I was alone in two rooms - my son was visiting his grandfather in Nikolayev since it was a summer vacation. So my friend asked me to accommodate her guests, saying that she will be feeding and entertaining them during the day, showing them our city and such, and they will only be sleeping in my house. Let's call this woman Olga for simplicity and continue our story.

My acquaintance, my friend, gave her heads-up about my "peculiarity", and so Olga has arrived, with her son, her suitcase and willingness to respect the house owner. But on the very next day she found it hard to think of me as male since there were figurines and knick-knacks on the shelves, and tender little china cups and all such things in a cupboard behind the glass.

So they were, guilty as charged. They have always stood there, in that exact order, and survived moving houses quite a few times, up to the point when I gave up those cupboards for good. It's just that they have always stood there, this is how my mom arranged them, and they have remained at their exact spots even after she was gone, even after I moved, again and again. I have no idea why haven't I put them away. It's just that they have always stood there, you know?.. Always.

"Men don't keep such things!" - Olga insisted. "You have a typical female house".

But not everything about my apartment was so traditionally female. I was very poor back then (well, even now, I'm still not rich). Sometimes it was really tough. And when I had to make a choice between a light bulb, a loaf of bread and a pack of cigarettes, I usually choose bread. Or the cigarettes. But never the bulb. From time to time, my friends gave me bulbs. Most often, a bulb was missing from a shower. That's understandable: in the rooms we live, at the kitchen we cook and eat, walk to the toilet at night through the hallway, and in the toilet we read.

"How can you live without a light in your shower?!" - Olga wondered, as she was about to do her kid's laundry.

"What's the problem?" - I wondered in return.

"But how do you do your laundry?"

"By hands..."

"But you can't see the stains!" - She cried in despair.

"But that's a good thing!" - I nodded happily.

We couldn't agree on anything - not on the light bulb in a shower, and not on how your cupboard shelves reflect on your gender identity. In the end, she bought a bulb and replaced it herself, but there was nothing she could do about me.


FRIED FROZEN VEGGIES

And there was this one time when me and Ganja - that's her real actual last name - were having a drinking night. We were at my house, all comfy and cozy, with a bottle of vodka and plenty of snacks. And chatting away, of course!

Our big strategic mistake was that we weren't alone. With us, there was a... person, somewhat gender-confused, just like myself, only they were living with their parents and thus didn't have a chance to explore, despite having doubts. Or maybe they were non-binary, without even knowing it was possible. Back then, the information was scarce, especially outside of Moscow.

Me and this boy - well, that's how he referred to himself - had feelings for each other. We were at the very beginning of a sweet, but timid relationship, but we were getting closer, slowly and carefully. It was very romantic.

And then he saw me with Ganja, drinking vodka and singing at the top of our lungs. And never mind that, but before we started belting away (however, after having a shot or three), I started nagging Ganja with the question that was bothering me 24/7 back then. I'm getting old, Ganja, so old! And I haven't found my happiness yet. What should I do?!

How could I not nag Ganja with this question if her mother was a cosmetologist? Obviously, there was no way to avoid that. I wasn't even trying. I was nagging her with this question pretty often, especially after a couple of drinks. Even though we had many different topics to discuss, other than oil paints and store-bought lotions' ingredients. We used to talk about literature and politics, philosophy and psychology - about anything at all, even fishing!

But none of the above could save my reputation.

And in the morning I made it even worse.

Generally, I am an early bird. And after drinking vodka I get up before anybody else. In the mornings I'm full of energy, even despite my difficult life. And even now, ten years later, I still wake up early and enjoy the beginning of a new day.

That day was no different. I got up early and went straight to the kitchen to fix a healthy breakfast for my fellow vodka victims. I was making something really simple, like eggs or stir-fried frozen veggies. But that couldn't save me.

After a while, the young man appeared in the kitchen, leaned against the doorway and gawked at me fussing about with thoughtful tenderness in his eyes. And after a short while, I heard the verdict, carried out languidly, in a heartfelt, profound voice: "Awww, honey... You are a woman!"

I nearly dropped the spatula. I was freaking out, to be honest. I turned towards him really slowly and asked cautiously, "Why?"

"You're cooking!" - He said, gleaming with a serene smile.

"Ugh... Best chefs in the world are men!" - I was grasping for straws.

"Yeah, but it's the way you do it... With so much love! Just like my mom!" - And while I was trying to process that comparison, he took the last shot, straight to my head: "And yesterday, you spent the entire evening talking about cosmetics. So enthusiastically! Men don't talk like that!"

Of course, our relationship didn't last long after that. For a while there, I was trying to figure out what did he mean by that, but failed. Ganja snorted and informed me confidentially that she knows this gay guy whose bathroom shelves are lined with so many cosmetics like she's never seen in her life, considering even her cosmetologist mother and her own studies of the trade.

Long story short, something was irreversibly ruined that morning, while we were eating eggs with fried frozen vegetables.

But at least I...

No, I cannot come up with anything.

But I still enjoy cooking from time to time.


*Ethan:

"I often live in a situation of `double jeopardy' - mainly concerning the `traditionally male jobs', or the ones the society sees as such (dirty, physically hard etc.). In those cases, it's very, very, very easy to dare me. If I don't do something - what, you can't do it, aren't you a man? If I do - you are just following stereotypes, like a fool! And if the first statement could really come from an outside world, the second one derives exclusively from the fears inside my head".


FOLLOWING GAUTAMA'S FOOTSTEPS

A certain man, a writer and philosopher P., who was well-known in our town, has once joined our group of friends for beers. And out of personal curiosity or maybe of sheer kindness, offered me a little test designed to determine once and for all whether I am a man or a woman. Vast implications of this test drew my attention and piqued my curiosity.

Let's do it, I said to him; bring forth your comprehensive exhaustive highly penetrative test. After all, I myself was interested in getting a comprehensive and decisive answer and putting an end to all the doubts and controversies of my restless soul. And so he asked me a question: Imagine that you know the ultimate truth and the absolute law of life. What are you going to do about it? Would you go and preach?

I gave it a thought. I recalled everything I knew about this from history and literature. I realized it was pointless. Best case scenario - just like Zoroaster, I'd return to my cave a complete failure. Worst case... And how could you even put your knowledge into somebody else's head?

"No" - I told the writer and philosopher P., - "No, I wouldn't. No".

"Uh-uh!" - He raised his index finger. "That's a female approach. A man would go. Because that's a male approach."

I thought of Laozi at the border post, I thought of Gautama, the renounced prince, for whom it took lots of convincing. But who knows, maybe those are the very exceptions that make the rule? Deep inside, I'm a slowpoke. While my inner dialog unraveled, everybody else moved on to other topics, and I decided to give it a rest. You snooze, you lose. P. got me good, he really did.

When I got home, I told my friend about this conversation. She laughed her head off!

"You?!" - She cried. "YOU wouldn't go preaching? And what is it you think you do seven days a week, twelve months a year?!"

And so I cast a look back at my life...

Maybe it was the same with Laozi, I thought. And who would have convinced Buddha to start preaching, if he hasn't had disciples already?

The question of who I really am remained unsolved at that time.

However, I realized that I have a very wrong perception of myself.


*Inna I. :

I remember how at the very beginning of my transition a friend has lectured me on how being a woman is so much more than wearing pretty dresses. It's like she was implying (or actually saying it directly to my face) that there was almost nothing feminine about me. Few years passed by, and from my new friends I started hearing the opposite: that they can't even imagine me as a man. I really can't say I've changed that much during this time, other than my physical appearance. I think this mostly shows that people often tend to see what they want to see. And that the difference between men and women often exists in people's heads rather than in real life.


NOT A SINGLE NAIL

Well, actually, it was another failed relationship.

True, my wall mirror really was standing on the floor, leaned against the wall next to the door. Yeah, it was okay with me, why?

And this guy was really handy, never mind that he was just like me, only straight. He was pretty uncomfortable by the fact that I was such a "boy", instead of a normal "girl". But still he put up with this abomination for a while. Even though he kept asking me perplexedly, so does this mean we are gay?! Yep, I used to say nonchalantly. We are as gay as they come. And I loved his eyelashes.

But that mirror drove him insane. Something's wrong in the house. So what if it was MY house! Order is order. And one day he asked me for hammer and nails, to hang the mirror on the wall. I did not comment on his intent in any way, just proclaimed the total lack of these valuable objects in my house. Which was a mistake, even a double mistake, but I did not know that back then. I really didn't own a hammer or nails at that time because I was poor - very poor, actually. Also, I didn't really have anything to hang. That's why I didn't spend the money I saved on the light bulbs on a hammer. And the mirror - 1.62 ft. standing on the floor did not bother me. I never stumbled into it. Also, I had another mirror in my bathroom, in case I really wanted to look at myself, and if the bulb was there, of course.

The consequences came the very next day: my pretty boy has brought his own hammer and nails and without saying a single bad word hang the mirror while I was making tea in the kitchen. I mean, I came over when I heard the sound, but by that time the nail was already in the wall and the mirror was hanging on it , as if it has always been there .

I don't like such things. I don't like them at all. It's my house. You can help me around here if I ask for your help, or offer me your help which I will or won't accept. Period. That's what I told my guest, very politely. In return, the pretty boy kindly informed me that I wasn't even a man. Because - guess what?! - I had no hammer and no nails!

Of course, I suggested that he looked for thread and needle in my house. If he finds any, I will agree that I am in fact a woman. Let me tell you a little secret: I wasn't risking anything. By that time I was exhausted by people trying to find secondary sexual characteristics in the least appropriate areas of my life. So yeah, I'm not very domestic, but it has nothing to do with anything. Yes, women I know sew my buttons on. And my son's buttons. And after all, t-shirts and sweaters have no buttons!

He rolled out an unbeatable counter argument: he makes more money than me, and therefore...

But a little over a year later, I ran into him again. Guess who was making more money by then. Oh, he was so... surprised!

But that's just me being juvenilely vindictive.

I'm not sure what the lesson here is. I guess that's where I end my notes on gender dimorphism - but only them.

But in general, I have so much more to say, and I will.

And towards the end I will open your eyes to one more indisputable difference between a man and a woman.

While reciting poetry, men emphasize consonants, and women - vowels. At least that's what I was told...


*N.Y. :

"My current world is inhibited by people of different genders. If it has nothing to do with medical issues or having sex, nobody really cares about other peoples' genetalia. At least I didn't see much interest towards my sexual characteristics. I think that's how it should be. It seems to me that only a sex partner or a doctor might care about the shape of your "connector" and the accompanying characteristics. And if someone is trying to find out if I am a man, a woman or something else, it makes me wonder - does this person want to sleep with me? And if they don't - why do they want to now?


*Yulia, therapist (Moscow):

Perhaps this story might be of interest to someone, since it's about the process - I remember fairly well how my own attitude was gradually changing. I wonder how I could almost reach the age of thirty without knowing anything about transgender people. I was surrounded by all sorts of people, but not a single Trans. And even the few paragraphs about gender dysphonia from my clinical psychology textbook were practically wiped clean from my memory since I had absolutely no personal experience I could tie this knowledge to. In other words, by that time I was a clean slate regarding this topic, tabula rasa...

And then there was this one time when I was talking to a person on social media; I was absolutely certain it was a man, but after a while I started suspecting that behind a male nickname, male pronouns and tough manly speech hides a woman.

After visiting their page my suspicions were confirmed (family, kids, "mother", flowers'n'frills), and my only thought was, "Wow! It's a chic! A very sick chick..." Not very nice, huh? But at that moment- I remember it clearly - I felt a harsh disappointment. A person with whom I have activated my entire collection of behavioristic patterns "how a woman socializes with a man" turned out to be a woman.

It was then that I realized for the first time how differently I perceived people of different genders and how differently I behaved around them. How fundamental that segregation was. And now I can tell you how hard it is for an unprepared mind to accept a mere fact that biological sex and gender identity of a person may not be the same - and that it's a normal thing.

However, in that particular case I had an excuse: along with being a transgender (I wasn't even familiar with the word back then) there was a whole bunch of weird things about this person that alerted me as a psychologist. And I can now say that being Trans was by far not the first thing to contribute to the definition of 'sick'.

My communication with that person died out pretty fast, and it wasn't personal anyway - we were just discussing a certain matter. But soon after that I was introduced to a work of artist - a musician, a singer. And again: definitely female face and body, long hair... and again - male pronouns. "What's that, a new fashion?" - I smirked nervously. The image in my head started crumbling. And now I couldn't even dismiss it with an idea of a "sick chick": it was a totally adequate and very talented person, though somewhat dark, like so many others in music industry.

I clung to this darkness like one clings to a lifeboat: maybe it's just eccentricity... And I wouldn't give up just yet. While respecting the others' right to choose their own pronouns and act however they see fit, I couldn't bring myself to use male pronouns and other gender markers in our correspondence, so I just employed the oh so comfortable neutral language. I couldn't shake off the idea that this person is "playing", that none of it is very serious. And somewhere at the back of my mind there was this fear, that if I accept his rules and start saying "he" about an obvious woman, the "normal" people around me will think me for a gullible twerp who is buying into the deception and willing to repeat this nonsense contradicting the reality.

My perception changed only when I got the opportunity to communicate with someone in person, though not very closely and online, as opposed to looking from the outside.

This was the third acquaintance - the author of this very book. And in this case, I didn't want to just pass by. I first met him through his works - poetry, and later prose - and I felt like staying and learning more, because something inside me reacted to them. And I said to myself - okay.

Let's suppose that this is real.

Let's suppose that something you are clueless about actually exists. Just allow it. And then, when you see how the person lives day in and day out, when you see their feelings, see what's inside - then you have no more doubt that the "external" (behavior ) fits the internal, corresponds to a person's sense of self. You give up the idea that this might be a game - because you can't play with such difficult and sometimes painful things.

And of course, the book 'I am here', in its original version, had a very strong effect on me. It gave me an opportunity to see a completely different side of reality - from inside. And not just see it, but also feel it... Of course, it takes time for the new perception and understanding to enter your life, it doesn't happen immediately. You are getting confused, making mistakes, correcting yourself. Getting used to it. But going back to my first story, I note to myself how I start communicating with transgender people - according to their gender self-identity and not their biologic sex. I mean, your perception changes on some deeper level. And by now, I don't treat transgender men like some "weird chicks", no - I treat them just like any other man.

And of course, first and foremost I treat them like human beings - unique and undefined by sex or even by gender - because any of us is so much bigger than a bunch of separate characteristics., Although, of course, for me in communicating with transgender people there is always an understanding that this person is special. That the vast majority of people around me have never even heard of such thing. And that this is something you have to explain to people; maybe even try to convince them. That there's always a risk that they won't understand... In other words, even for me for now being transgender is a shape on the background and not a part of the mundane, familiar background. Maybe this will change in the future, maybe not. But even if it won't... it's a wonderful thing, that people are so different and that you can see in every person lots of different characteristics and see how special they are...


"OF ALL THE ARTS, CINEMA IS THE MOST IMPORTANT TO US"

My mom passed long before the day I used male pronouns for the firs time - not playfully or jokingly as even cis women sometimes do, but with full awareness and determination. Our relationship was a complicated one regardless, and I don't really know how she would have taken such an embarrassment. Well, actually, I do...but it didn't happen, so that's that.

Why do I even bring up my mom? Well, that's because one of my readers asked me how I processed all the "girly" skills I learned as a child and adopted them to myself, to my new reality. And in most cases, those particular skills are passed down from mother to daughter.

So I confess, when I suggested that guy with the eyelashes and the hammer to search my house for thread and needle - I wasn't completely honest, even though I was. His chances to find a plain boring thread and needle necessary for a dull task of sewing buttons were next to nothing, indeed. I confess, I said that just to make an impression, and he actually had some chances of finding it, has he been stubborn and thorough enough. Needles are nothing like bulbs, they are way harder to find and destroy, or just loose them again - not even in a stack of hay, but the entire two rooms of a messy household. But there were things in this household way more reprehensible from sexual dimorphism point of view: real knitting needles and crochet hooks, and also gypsy needles and various balls of yarn. What does it have to do with my mom, you ask? Nothing, actually. Because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't teach her dissipated and poorly adjusted daughter with her hands attached the wrong way how to sew or embroider or knit. Whatever my mom couldn't do, the adult life did for her. Dissipated daughter graduated from university and was assigned a position of a school teacher in a remote village. And spending long winter evenings in a snow-covered house, she learned how to knit by the book. Don't laugh, that's exactly what happened: the teacher's position, the village school, piles of snow and huge muddy puddles of the winter in the roundabouts of Kaliningrad. She even knitted a scarf and a couple of wests for herself - she never had enough patience for an entire sweater. Neither did I.

But you remember that after a while, a child was born - and those were difficult times for our country. Knitting a sweater for a two- or three-year-old toddler wasn't much harder than knitting an adult west. So this part of the program was completed as well. Moreover, for my son's sake I mastered ornaments (though I can't do more than two colors in a row for the life of me!), knitting socks on two or five needles, English gum, crocheting and even a little bit of knitting by a pattern. But there are also knitted toys, dolls and stuffed animals, there are bags and scarves, and now I am enthusiastically replenishing a doll collection, and these cuties also need some warm clothes. So knitting is too valuable a skill to just throw away.

But you also remember of course, that sexual dimorphists are always on guard. Going around the town with knitting needles in my hands and a ball of yarn in my backpack, I was a strange bird for that time and place. And among friends where I did not hesitate to use male pronouns and knit joyfully at the same time, I was causing moderate cognitive dissonance.

People could somehow accept the fact that there was a woman, who referred to herself as man and demanded that others did the same, and you could argue out loud or inside your head, say something to her face or behind her back, but one way or another, it was somehow acceptable. But there was absolutely no place in their perception for a woman who referred to herself as man and demanded the same thing from the others but at the same time kept knitting.

And people have pointed that out to me many times - "You have to choose one thing or the other, dear". And I was suffering because of that. From one hand, my anxiety was definitely off the charts back then - raising a child all by myself, and while being the way I am!.. Doing something with my hands helped me keep my anxiety at bay, and my son needed aesthetically pleasing warm clothes - and knitting provided a solution to both. On the other hand, I had enough doubts, contradictions and teasing regarding my identity even without that.

I knew that knitting was traditionally a male craft, I knew all about dignified warriors knitting by the campfire, about Native American beanie hats and Aran jumpers and Prague hosiers and all that. But it was all ancient history, other places, different cultures - so none of it really counted! And from some reason, even I couldn't lean on that knowledge properly.

But one day, a miracle has happened - it had to. I saw a picture in an old magazine that helped me find inner peace: a man with an umbrella is looking amicably at a man with a crochet hook. The picture was from the early 20th century, and those weren't just some random guys but the Lumiere brothers! Louis with the hook, August with the umbrella.

Lumiere brothers - it's almost here, and not so long ago. Lumiere brothers were the ones who invented the cinema, not some primary desert horsemen or illiterate fishermen of the northern seas. Lumiere brothers count big time.


***

Now I have internet, and beside Lumiere brothers I could show you this and that, and if you just google "Men knitting" you have enough material for the entire evening. But 10-15 years ago I did not have internet.


*N.Y.:

"I am a transsexual, a person with a male brain in a body that was assigned female at birth. Back then, the very idea was strange to the people around me (and moreover, because of the lack of information even I didn't realize that I was in fact a transgender man). Time after time, I was fighting for my right to do "manly" stuff, to be equal to men and do things in a masculine (rather than feminine) way, in a masculine (rather than feminine) manner. Feminine style of doing things is effective, but uncomfortable to me. "


*Galina Olishevskaya:

"What's the most important factor in gender identity? Person's sense of self? Because with biological sex it's obvious, more or less. You can see it. And gender... I say - you can see it, too. And I'm being told - no, you can't."


*Jess Ratier:

"Trans is an external identification, man- an internal one, that's all the difference. I don't think that anybody says, "I feel like a Trans". "I feel like a man, but I have a female body so for you I'm Trans" - that's how the complete phrase sounds.

In each situation you should just understand what you have to voice out right now - your gender self-perception and self-identification (man) or your gender social status (transgender). "


NEVER STOP LEARNING

At the age of forty five I realized: my life has reached a dead end. It had nothing to do with being transgender. It's just that the profession I acquired in my youth was never my calling, and no matter how hard I tried, my writing couldn't pay the bills. I tried several jobs, but the best of them were just a bearable, not-too- torturous way to make enough money so I could go on with my life - and by that I mean writing and telling stories. When I realized that this is what the rest of my life was going to look like, I was desperate and depressed. Carrying on the same way was unbearable, and I didn't have too many years left in me to just let it go and hope that one day it will just sort itself out somehow: I had to face the fact that half of my life was over, and it still didn't sort itself. That's a very common situation at this age - to find oneself in the thick of it. What's this deep dark forest that surrounds me?! Beside the difficulties in the interpersonal relationships, I faced the fact that I had no room for living further.

I did not have a profession meaningful enough for me to spare some of my writing time for it. And since I was done doing things that were meaningless for me, it would be safe to say that I had no profession whatsoever. In other words - I had absolutely nothing to lose.

And I took advantage of that freedom and asked myself just one question: what is it that I want? Meaning - what do I want to be? Like a young man contemplating life: how do I want to make my living? And the answer came right away: a psychologist, a therapist.

I thought everything over, choose a school and began my studies.

I didn't care that this would take several years and cost quite a significant amount of money, which I still didn't have a lot of. I was prepared to do whatever it takes. Only one thing scared me: I wasn't sure I would be allowed to study if I told the truth about myself. And during the first year I've concealed it. It was very, very uncomfortable, especially since I chose to study gestalt therapy. It's a psychotherapy method in which the therapist isn't "fenced off" from the client, they are fully and completely present and take part in the whole process, including emotionally. It's a close contact therapy. And the studies include lots of exercise, training therapy sessions among the students, self-disclosure and increasing the self-awareness of the future therapists. Hiding, concealing my true self was hard and painful. I was facing a choice: keep playing hide and seek, or dare to study for real.

I dared.


*A., a psychology student:

"Transgenderism?.. I think that's because we play with feminism too much".

* Yogyakarta Principles, a document about human rights in the areas of sexual orientation and gender identity drawn by an international group of human rights experts in 2006. Principle 3:

"Persons of diverse sexual orientations and gender identities shall enjoy legal capacity in all aspects of life. Each person's self-defined sexual orientation and gender identity is integral to their personality and is one of the most basic aspects of self-determination, dignity and freedom. No one shall be forced to undergo medical procedures, including sex reassignment surgery, sterilization or hormonal therapy, as a requirement for legal recognition of their gender identity. No status, such as marriage or parenthood, may be invoked as such to prevent the legal recognition of a person's gender identity. No one shall be subjected to pressure to conceal, suppress or deny their sexual orientation or gender identity."


*Anna:

"I have transgender friends. And I am one of those people who had really hard time understanding that. I used to be into role-playing games, with everything implied, and for a long time I thought those girls were just playing. It's easier to be a man in our world - even in real life, let alone being a man online in the beginning of 21st century - that was super cool. For a long time I thought that this is where the male pronouns derive from.

For me, it wasn't a gradual realization, but a breaking point. I accidentally found out that one of those "players" has NEVER visited a gynecologist. Not even once in her entire life. Her female body was so estranged, uncomfortable and unpleasant to her, that she wasn't even taking care of it, at all, not even medical check-ups. That scared me. I realized that this wasn't a game. It was something psychological, some special kind of self-awareness, something unknown. But I got over it. When you start reading scientific works and articles about it, look at people, compare, draw conclusions... You know, I'm still ashamed of that fear... Because that "girl" is one of the most humanly adequate people I know, for many years now.

Now I can distinguish the game from life. Well, mostly. And transgender people for me differ from others perhaps just by the difference between their pronouns and their photographs. They are very different, some are good people, some- not so much, sane, insane, weird, free, intelligent... They are people. Just like me.


YOU CAN'T EVEN IMAGINE...

I'm trying to imagine what's it like - to be with me, to be close to me, more or less? What is it like - being my friend or acquaintance? Conducting business with me?

I have to tell you up front, though - I have no business trying to prove anything to a clerk in a post office or a police officer. Those are government officials, and I chose to communicate with them using my "government" name. We will forget each other by tomorrow, so why make each other's' lives complicated? Before, when I was all alone with my "peculiar feature", I felt unbearable pain having to conceal myself -my very self! - even in such minute superficial interactions. I had no room to exist. I had nobody I could confirm my existence with. I kept repeating to myself: I am not here, I am not here, no one can see me, I don't exist. Now that I have carved me a pretty specious and very well-equipped place in this world, when I receive enough support and recognition from my family and friends, I feel myself sufficiently existing, I have enough. That doesn't mean that I don't thrive to expand the borders of this world. I really do! And even though it is not mapped and not marked on the ground in any way, it exists in hearts and thoughts, over borders and territories, all over the world, actually. And so, empowered by thoughts of my dear ones, my friends and good acquaintances and people I don't even know who send me their regards from far away, I will continue talking about the difficult stuff.

A person destined to deal with me, especially if there are third parties involved, has a big decision to make.

Simply put - whether they want it or not, this person gets involved in my problems. I have to find the courage, looking the way I do, to look the other person in the eye and use my male pronouns.

The person who deals with me with third parties present has to find the courage to look other people in the eye and use male pronouns towards me - while I look the way I do. But for me, it's a choice that rests upon my inner sense of self, my experience and my convictions; it's my choice between existence - and an unbearable poison of oblivion. And what benefit is there for others, why would they make this choice? Just try to imagine this, try walking in shoes of a person who found themselves in this mess:

I am about to introduce to my friends/colleagues/ listeners/clients/readers Ashe Garrido. I look with my own eyes and see someone who was obviously assigned female at birth. I suspect that my audience sees the same. And here I am, opening my mouth and saying out loud in public, "he".

What does it make me? Maybe this means I belong in a psychiatric ward? And what will this particular audience think about me? What will people say?

And if I say "she" - it may result in hurt feelings or even anger. Do I really need all those complications in my life? I didn't sign up for this. Why would I even get involved with him? Or with her. Or with him?.. Damn, this is really too complicated. Screw it, I prefer to deal with someone else, someone more...comfortable.

That, in my imagination, is what's going on inside people's heads when they meet me socially. That not everyone would invite me to read my poetry on their event, talk about me in public, not everybody would work with me, and it has nothing to do with my working skills or the quality of my writing.

I can't say this doesn't hurt my feelings. But I understand. I really do.

What do people tell other about themselves when they publicly refer to me as male, when they use male pronouns while talking about me in third person? Yes, that's right: what do they tell us about themselves? What does it mean for them, and what meaning does it have for others? And if even for me it isn't always easy with my own choice - what is it like for the others to choose me, to take my side?

I understand.

But those who take my side on this matter - even in my darkest moments I think of them with gratitude and respect. Or - "with no hard feelings".

One might think - what's the big deal? You communicate with government officials according to your official documents - what stops you from doing the same with other strangers?

Well, as long as they are strangers. But some strangers turn out not to be strangers at all because you cooperate (or consider cooperating) in some very special areas.

And that's what I want to talk about next.


*Yoringel:

"Referring to people differently from the way they introduce themselves is an insult"


*Suboshi:

"Every time I face the choice - okay, if it's an informal affair it doesn't matter, everybody there are used to this, but what about the formal ones? Among the ballroom crowd I talk the way I'm comfortable with - as a male, but then I attend a meeting where the members of administration are present, among other important people, and there the same people who just heard me speak as a man, suddenly hear me speak as a woman (In Russian language, the endings of verbs differ while speaking in a first person. - Translator). But we need the support of government structures, and I can't risk the reputation of what I do by confusing them. And so I clench myself into a fist and talk, hoping that the male slips of a tongue will be written off as excitement, and I'm trying to use gender-neutral verbs - "We did a great job", "We suppose", "We are planning"...


*Ethan:

"It happened in Moscow in 2012. One day my friend and I went to a perfume store, to buy me a perfume.

It was summer. My looks and clothes left no doubt about my biological sex. As we entered the shop, we turned right away to the men section. But then I had to get outside to meet our mutual acquaintance, and my friend, having a more developed sense of smell, stayed inside, choosing fragrances.

The following dialog with the salesman, which he conveyed to me later, was just beautiful.

Salesman: "You need something for a young man? How old is he?"

Friend (nodding at me): There he goes, he's 25.

Salesman (who saw me before, sounding confused): A girl?

Friend: No, a guy.

Salesman: Oh, okay.

And that was it. He calmly proceeded to suggesting fragrances, which I tried after I came back."


INSIDE OUT

I agree to fly "on someone else's ticket", I agree to receive paychecks with this other name on them, and I agree to many more things of a similar nature - because it's all outside, they are all part of the external life circumstances. I don't believe I could change anything in those external circumstances without making a ritual sacrifice on an operating table, and so be it. I know that for some people gender reassignment surgery is crucial. But I am not one of them. For me it would be giving in to a pressure from the society and the bigger the pressure on me, the stronger is my willingness to resist.

That's why I say calmly, "Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's", meaning documents and interactions with government officials. But only that, please. Do not demand more than that - I'm with my back against the wall.

I am not okay with signing the stories I told and the poems I wrote with that other strange name.

Take away this mask, I will not wear it. I want to stand by my books and my poems with my face uncovered. This is mine. I wrote it. And you should talk about it - to me. I don't need this strange, unrelated name between me and my readers. I am still here and I am ready to hear comments on my writing and react to them, but how could I react if I am hiding behind a mask? I was sincere while writing it - why wouldn't I be afterwards?

Why should I lie in my comments while being frank on the merits?

Yes, on several occasions when the publisher insisted on my "government name", I had to refuse to publish.

And my first poetry book would never be published, had my friend not convinced the publishers to use my "pen name" instead of my government name. Being exceptionally stubborn by nature, I could only refuse publishing. My friend managed to find a solution.

I'm stubborn as a mule, it's true. My mom noticed it long time ago, when I was still in elementary school. And it only gets worse as I age.

Maybe - probably! - it isn't really wise. It would be wiser not to put obstructions in front of people who really just wanted to help me and my writing career. But, you see, everything in me rears up when I just imagine someone else's name on the cover - and for me this name is someone else's. What the heck?!

Same goes for spoken language - here I am, I was just reading you my poetry, I stood in the middle of the world, unveiled, exposed, and spoke out loud - me, myself. And now - before or after, it doesn't matter - I am going to pretend to be someone else? Oh, come on, that would be just stupid. Why would I make a fool of myself in public? Yes, that is what it would be for me to 'make a fool of myself', and not what I am doing now, regardless of how you see it from your point of view.

That's as far as it concerns my writing. My poems, short stories, novels. The stories I tell. But when it comes to my job, it gets even more complicated.

With all this amazing and wonderful - or terrible, depends on your point of view - construction in my head, I dare to do such a special job as gestalt therapy. Gestalt-based psychotherapy. In this line of work you are your own working tool. In this line of work, if you are not sincere, detached, pretending to be someone else - it's not that you can't work successfully, you can't work at all. You can't practice gestalt therapy in a space suit or theatrical costume and make-up. "I am here" is literally half of the main commandment of the gestalt approach, you just have to add "and now". So I have no choice but to be present, exist, live, without hiding, listen to the person sitting in front of me, listen to myself - carefully and attentively.

Could I pretend to be someone else in this line of work?

And it creates certain difficulties.

Of course, a client who isn't okay with that will not come to me. And that is precisely why I always inform everybody about my peculiarity, diligently and methodically. That limits me significantly as a professional because I'm not suitable for every client. Then again, you could say the same thing about any therapist, to a certain extent. We all have different opinions and personal quirks, we are all human, which means - we are all different.

... It's the reason I always inform people about my peculiarity, diligently and methodically. And it's this very same peculiarity that can give me some extra value. I have a unique experience, I am someone who survived and managed to build a good life for myself, after making this choice - I mean, wow! - In these times, in this country. I take all of my life experience and my personal qualities and I bring them to work. I am here, with all the above. I have something to share, and not just with those who share the same peculiarity.

First of all, I am doing everything I can to give my clients heads-up about who I am. My clients mostly find me online where I write a blog and am present on several social media platforms, and I talk openly about being a transgender. Those who come through word to mouth also receive this information straight ahead.

But here is a delicate situation because the university chancellor told me that due to my charm and eloquence I make such a favorable impression on blog readers that they unknowingly commit violence against themselves in order to accept my gender, like they were okay with that, but in fact it destroys their connection to reality.

Anyway, I keep working, clients keep coming and I always ask them on our first session how they feel about me using male pronouns. Usually people have some sort of similar experience (for example, some of them are into Live Action Role Playing, others have a transgender person they know) and it doesn't make them uncomfortable.

As a part of practicing awareness, from time to time I suggest to my clients to notice how they feel there, in this space, with this person. If I suppose there's a need, I also ask how they feel about the way the therapist talks about themselves and the pronouns they use.

Also, the clients share their own observations regarding their attitude, and we discuss those matters freely. I've noticed that pretty often the clients perceive me as someone who is in-between the genders, someone who intermediates or acts as a link between the genders.

It seems to help them feel more free, to give them hope of being understood and accepted with all their "weirdness", to get enough space for anima/animus. Or gives them courage to talk about certain problems, including physiological ones, which as the clients themselves admit, they would never dare to talk about to a "normal" man nor woman. And me, being the way I am and having enough freedom to acknowledge and accept myself, seems to give my clients courage and hope that one day they can learn to do that as well, with everything they think is wrong with them.

I don't even know how I could pretend in this matter. Sometimes, when I sit in a client's chair, those who work with me admit that it's hard for them to keep using male pronouns because their candor and involvement in the process do not allow them to ignore the visual perception of me. Well, it happens. I can only say that for me to ignore the inner perception of me wouldn't be any easier, for all the least.

I'm really glad that my therapist, the one with whom I work permanently, still manages to see me - despite seeing me.

Me. Ohgodalmighty - me!

I suppose I'm not the only one for whom it might be important. Being seen.

But I have to admit that my fellow therapists have even a bigger problem with me than my fellow writers. Such a jeopardy - Ashe Garrido, try to picture him in a professional environment - what does it make you? A psychologist or just a psycho?

And not every client - we remember that - not every client would dare confiding in such a weird therapist, far from it. Even though some of them actually see this weirdness as a hope for understanding. But you can't know in advance - so why freaking people out?

And I say out loud, I think to myself: no offence, it's okay, I understand.

I really do understand: it is my choice, and no one has to share it with me. Especially strangers.

But in some particular life areas complete strangers turn out to be not such strangers after all. Because those are, so to speak, inner areas of the outside world. Or the opposite.


*Yulia Siromolot:

"Almost all the Trans people I've known or at least had a chance to talk to (both transgender men and women) are much happier, much more beautiful and confident while being who they feel they are, and not who their papers say. And that's not only true for those who have transitioned to a certain degree and by doing so seemingly managed to fit into the binary outline, but also for those pre-op. For me it's a unique experience, very valuable, that really widens my perception of people in general - and really makes me stronger somehow.


*Ethan:

"I was searching for myself for a long time, trying to break myself, tossing about and going back and forth, not acknowledging my own right to exist. For example, when I accompanied my sister to a dance as her partner, one of the ladies asked how I would like to be referred to - as a woman or a man? I was shocked. Nobody ever seriously asked me this question. In my astonishment, I replied insincerely: I said that I don't care how I'm referred to. Because deep down I was convinced: I have no right to be referred to the way I want, because I'm not "real" anyway".


*Marina:

"My husband is transgender. From the very beginning - from the moment he told me who he was - I perceived him strictly as a man, and never had the slightest doubt that it was so. I must say that I am strictly heterosexual and never got attracted to my own gender - but in this case it wasn't "my own gender", it never even crossed my mind. And yes, it was love from a first sight.

My husband chose a path of undergoing all the surgeries and bringing his body in line with how he perceived himself. Being accepted in a small circle of close friends isn't enough for a normal life. Jumping like was electrocuted each time he was called "miss" was unbearable for him.

Catching crooked glances turned towards us and hearing the vile whisper "Lesbians!" - while couples like ours have nothing to do with same-sex love! - was unbearable (and I myself didn't really care about it, but he did). It was unbearable knowing that if something bad happens - the hospital won't even let you anywhere near the man you love, the one you want to spend your entire life with and share everything with him, joy and grief. And I won't even talk about the legal aspect regarding property, inheritance, registration and so on - we have only thought about it in retrospective, after he changed his documents and we got married officially. The surgeries - it was very challenging, and not just physically, and not just for my husband - for me as well.

And all this isn't over yet. But before my husband dared to make this decision - life outside of small circle of friends and acquaintances was living hell for him. I can't even begin to tell you how much easier his life in a society became after the surgeries and change of the documents.

We don't want to prove anything to anybody, we just want to live and enjoy our life - without people pointing fingers at us and throwing stones.

We don't have the stamina to fight the system that sees my husband not as a person but as transgender propaganda - we've already spent all our energy on the struggle against Russian bureaucracy, on surgeries and lawsuits. We just want to live.

Transgender people are just like anybody else. They are absolutely no different from the others - except of having the bad luck of being born in a wrong body. Explaining transgenderism with sexual perversion and "twisted brains" is extremely ignorant and indicates a complete lack of knowledge. Claiming that transgender people can be "fixed" with the help of psychiatry is like using psychiatry to fix appendicitis or broken bones.

Beside my husband, I know several other people with the same problem, and each one of them is coping differently: some chose to go all the way, others can't solve it surgically for different reasons. But this does not prevent me from treating them exactly as those who they perceive themselves to be.

Gender is first and foremost in your head, and in your pants (pardons me) - it's just your primary characteristics.


FACE-TO-FACE WITH THE SUMMER

It's hard to stand your ground while someone you're so deeply and strongly connected to contradicts everything you say. I'm talking about a body, my own body. Summer is when it gets hot, and I'm generally not very well adjusted to a hot weather at all. Any excessive clothing is a torture.

And at the same time, there's still a lot I want to do. I still want to be able to work, to be as active and energetic and intelligent as always. And so I take off the layers. Body shape is being liberated from the bindings, steps out of heaps of clothing into freedom and lives its own life. I try to look away casually while running past mirrors and shop windows, but my shadow follows me everywhere - and from time to time it gets in front of me and I can see it. I'm forgetting during the fall, the winter, the spring what it's like at the summer, I come face to face with my own body, with its outline on the asphalt in front of me - and I get confused and spooked every time. How did that happen? Is that shadow really mine? This is me?!

I see myself from the outside - and I'm upset. It becomes obvious to me that no one in their right mind could refer to me as male, because the picture is so blatantly clear.

And I am left -not even by myself, worse than that - even I doubt myself and it's like I desert myself. Even I am not there for me.

And if I stare at my reflection in shop windows - it's just to make sure I don't exist. It's a sad thing - proving to yourself that you don't exist. Sad and not so smart, I suppose. But I give in to it year after year, summer after summer.

I don't want anybody to see me like this. I'm glad the study group is off for the summer. I feel lonely and sad. When I do meet people - even the ones I'm really glad to see, those that I love and feel connected to, the ones that I know they acknowledge and accept me - I feel uncomfortable when I see them. It's like I'm lying to their faces and they know it, but out of politeness pretend that everything is fine.

Right now, I feel anger when I say it. How did it happen that me, an undoubtful solid me - and for me, "me" is somewhat of a synonym for "he" - how is it possible that I get meek and fade away? And what can I expect from others when even I deny myself that?

It's a torture, truly.

And then I ask myself, what stops me?

Why am I not planning a surgery?

But something does stop me. Something prevents me from taking drastic measures, making the outside match the inside. Something important that I can't quite pinpoint. Why is it so important to me to stay on the fence, not making any steps in any direction- not a "therapy" that will "fix" me to a state of a "normal woman" - and not a surgery?

I guess that's where the bifurcation point is.

No matter what I do to myself, I will never be the person I would be if I was born in another body, with the matching sex characteristics, hormonal system and the entire physical base that really affects our existence, perception and thinking. Any way you look at it, this body has a long life experience as female - and I am not going to hide or ignore it just because somebody finds it harder to except me along with it.

But if I were surgically and hormonally transformed and wanted to talk about my marriage, or how to prepare yourself to childbirth - it would be pretty weird, wouldn't it? Would it confuse people any less than now, when I just use male pronouns? Or I would have to hide my previous life?

I exist - right here, right now, fully, I don't pretend and don't ignore my history, my experience and my special features. I cherish all of them. I would like to have them behind my back, lean on them.

And I want to be accepted with all of that. I can't demand it - but that's what I want.

And I find it hard taking "no" for an answer.

And one more thing. Since I myself feel comfortable enough with my body most of the time, I feel "me" enough (which for me is a synonym for a "he") - I see the surgery and hormonal therapy as giving in to requirements of society. Do this - and you shall be accepted. Make yourself acceptable enough for us - I can hear it, people say it to me plainly. Do this - and the pressure you are feeling will subside immediately, significantly, tenfold. It's only six months of your life for one general anesthesia - I checked, for another reason. For at least six months after the anesthesia my brains haven't really functioned properly.

It's just pretending for the rest of your life that the first part of it never happened, lying and making up stories. But online, my birth name often appears next to my name - and that means I could never hide my past without giving up stuff I've written.

I don't know which pressure is worse: the one I'm experiencing in my current situation or the one I will experience if I transform. I don't know a thing about the latter, I can only guess.

It might be different for others. But I don't know about others, I am telling you about myself and trying to be completely honest.

During the summer, when I look at my reflection in shop windows (same goes for the winter, but it's much stronger during the summer) I think about how the others see and perceive me. During the summer I see that my body shape is defiantly feminine. During the summer I face it, it's like a confrontation during investigation. One of them says one thing, the other says the opposite. Whom should I believe?

I choose to believe myself, whatever that means. Even I don't really understand what it means, and why my "self" implies such a deep contradiction with "myself" rooted in my body.

But that's just the way it is.

That's my reality. I live in it.

And well, it's not so bad.


*Artyom Zh., therapist and study group coach:

"When I look at you and see ... (makes a gesture outlining female breasts)... I can't use male pronouns with you'.

*Elena Georgievskaya:

"I specialize in gender studies. I sometimes look at her kind and think, a young androgynous girl who uses male pronouns and writes such things looks more adequate. But a plump middle-aged woman with rather large breasts who acts this way makes even an open-minded person skeptical... That's a collision of utopia with reality".

*Anastasia Liene Priedniece:

"Whenever I see a transgender person who didn't undergo surgery but who dresses and acts according to how they feel inside, I don't understand who it is that I see in front of me - a man or a woman, until they tell me. I first noticed that about myself at the age of thirteen, when I saw this person - obviously assigned male at birth, but the clothing and the manners were clearly female. I got stuck because half of my perception system voted for them being a man, and the other half - for them being a woman".

*Ethan:

"I don't need to be instantly read correctly from the outside, that doesn't matter. I need people to be able at all to accept the fact of my existence in general."


HOW I PUT MYSELF IN A GHETTO

It was at one of the workshops during the traditional winter conference at my university. The participants were supposed to try and imagine themselves as people of the opposite gender, imagine the look and the personality of their alternative "self" and immerse in their life for a while: those feelings and worries, interests and aspirations that probably drive them.

I was utterly puzzled. From one hand - physically, I really was the opposite gender to how I perceive myself. Does this mean that I have to imagine that I am a woman? On the other hand, maybe I just need to focus on the physical body in order to try to imagine the properties of a person living in an "appropriate" body? Or maybe I should try and imagine the completely opposite version of myself, crisscross: a male body - and a female soul? But that would be like scratching your left ear with your right foot...

But even before I had a chance to get totally confused, I felt a tremendous urge to imagine myself in that appropriate body. And I followed that urge without questions or doubts, just because I felt like it. I don't remember how much time we were given for this assignment, but I have enjoyed all of it till the very last drop. I was just being who I really am to myself. I'm not sure that this is who I would be in reality if I have gotten the desired Y chromosome. But the way how the present me sees myself from the inside out, I'm not sure how to explain it more clearly. And this was an absolutely fantastic and inspiring adventure, but that's not what I wanted to talk about.

When the minutes assigned for imagination game had passed, the presenters asked the participants to share their insights. Oh, I had plenty to share, and I really wanted to say it out loud and in front of everybody, I wanted them to be my witnesses in order to reinforce those feelings and thoughts in me and reinforce myself in them.

But I have stopped myself right there. I pictured how I would first tell them about my choice - and why that was the choice I made. And in order to understand the importance of this choice and the reason it evokes so many emotions in me, I would have to explain to those strangers who I am. And just like that, right now, I have a disadvantage. They will just share their insights, while I am facing an unplanned mini coming-out, just because I wanted to participate in this group activity. This woman here, the one who talks now, she tells us how she "was a man" and how this imaginary experience was so innovative and amazing for her. This man with a surprised expression on his face tells us what an unexpected encounter he had with himself as a woman. And for everybody else it's more or less understandable and quite expected, and I would have to explain... everything! Why did I make this particular choice and why it wasn't easy to make and what has fascinated me in particular in this experience... They wouln't understand, I thought somberly, they will look at me like a psycho, and more than that - like a stupid psycho who isn't even embarrassed by his insanity, he imposes on normal people and shares his stupid perverted fantasies with them. The women would think, "She is such an idiot!", and the men...actually, they would think the same thing, and if only they would have thought "HE is such an idiot" it wouldn't hurt so much. And that's the discrimination we face all the time, everywhere, even among the therapists... And especially among therapists! Wow, now they'll diagnose the crap out of me!

I got furious with them before I even realized that not only didn't I get a single bad word or awkward glance from them, but they don't even have the faintest idea about the emotional turmoil, the vortex of thoughts that overcame me. So who discriminates whom right now?

To be honest, I have more than enough memories of being called "idiot", "psycho", "crazy lady" and being told that I was "not real" and that I don't actually exist. But right there and then - at that moment - I was saying those words to myself, I made myself non-existing, by denying myself the right to talk about myself, to share my insights from the assignment, my experience, my feelings. And I was blaming those people in advance for something they haven't even done yet - and didn't do later, after I did talk and told them everything I wanted to. I told them how intense it was for me, and how much energy, light and warmth I found in this imaginary life and what a huge impact it had on me, because I have realized: I can live like that right now, there are no obstacles, nothing to separete me from my very self. I am. I exist. Not "I would have been if", but "I am, now and always".

And I felt that it becomes even more real now, when I talk about myself, I don't keep quiet - I myself don't forbid myself to speak, to admit, to acknowledge myself.


*N.Y:

"Most of my life I had to prove that I am... or that I am not...It so happened that I grew up in a pretty bad neighborhood, and I grew mostly like a tumbleweed - unsupervised. As a result, it became obvious in a certain point that I have to become tougher than most local boys right now - or I will turn into the neighborhood hoe, someone who has to put out for everybody. There was no third option (well, to be honest, there was the option of getting raped, but I wasn't up for it, for some reason). So I had to become a tough cookie. And translated into the reality of `hood life it meant a certain behavior policy, a certain behavior style, a certain style of clothing, lots of scuffles and wall-on-wall street fights. The framework was very particular.

*Lubelyia:

"Looking back, I realize that I have always perceived transgender people as a norm. I came across it for the first time on my third year of university, I think - I was studying literature, and I ran in artistic, somewhat marginal circles, where the fact that such people exist wasn't a surprise to anybody and didn't raise any questions, let alone cause rejection. And now it's even more so. And somehow it's impossible to single out my 'transgender acquaintances' - there are people whom I love with my whole heart, each one of them is special, unique and wonderful, and if their actual gender doesn't match the one in their passport - so what. There are so many different things in life that don't match.

Some of my very close friends are Trans...And if I was to talk about this particular aspect of their life and our relationship - first of all, I admire them for being able to be themselves. In our country, on our environment where the attitude towards such things is extremely negative, just to acknowledge this in you, to allow yourself be yourself, just allow yourself to be - takes a great courage. Each one of them has their own journey - some undergo surgery, some don't, some have a family, some, being church-going Christians, maintain chastity, but all those whom I know well, those whom I love- they are all mature, accomplished, strong people, much stronger than me. The world would be darker and scantier without them.

And I really wish for them to be accepted as they are - men and women, full-fledged, normal people, and not as some perverts and psychos. Regular people for whom it's just a bit harder to be themselves.


HOW I WAS PUT IN A GHETTO.

It has happened, after all: few months before the graduation the instructors asked me to stay after classes and announced that I won't be able to receive my gestalt therapist license regardless of my grades. Because I use male pronouns.

"When you talk like that about yourself, you make everything about sex" - One of them told me. "It's as if I came to work with a cleavage this big" - She gestured with her hands to show the size of her cleavage.

Only few weeks later I attended a seminar with one of the coaches from our university - he made this same motion around his chest explaining why he can't use male pronouns with me. Indeed, it's all about the boobs...

I couldn't believe it was really happening. Smart people, people I respected, suddenly started saying very strange things to me, unjust and outrageous things, things that didn't make any sense.

"Is it because I am transgender?" - I asked.

"No, it's not about that. It has nothing to do with you being transgender. If you had the surgery, there would be no questions. The thing is, you look like a woman but use male pronouns".

At my second year of studies -which was my first year after coming out in the university - I informed my coaches that I am now working with clients, and the coaches supported me.

"And I have seven clients right now".

"And how much do you charge for your work? Yes, it's a respectful fee. After completing this cycle of studies you may charge 200 rubles more".

And when on the same day one of the students asked how she could gain some real-life experience, our supervising coach told her, "Well, maybe you should start by taking seven clients..."

Not a word was said about me making everything about sex or about forcing the clients using the male pronouns with me, about me driving them crazy.

Towards the end of the second year our supervising coach said that she couldn't use male pronouns with me anymore because it made her too uncomfortable. After the summer break the second coach has joined her. But neither then nor later have my coaches told me even once that our mutual issues could be an obstacle to my studies or that I won't be able to receive my license. And when I was worried that I might get expelled from the university and won't be able to complete my studies, I was told that everything was fine.

"Why are you telling me this only now, after almost three years of school? Six months before the graduation?"

"In order to give you had enough time to do something about it".

"And why have you decided to tell me this in private?"

"So you could decide whether you want to share this with the group".

The very next day, I told the entire group about this conversation. I could hardly speak - I was overwhelmed by emotions. But my classmates started asking our coaches the questions I couldn't yet pronounce out loud myself.

"Ashe is one of our best students, why can't he be a therapist?"

"Why he was paying a tuition fee for two and a half years and nobody told him that he won't get a license?"

"Isn't it discrimination?"

Don't you think that I gave up right away. Naturally, I inquired whose decision it was. The supervising committee of our university, I was told. But they don't know me, we've hardly even met. I want a meeting with them, I want to discuss this issue, to tell them what I think on the matter, to present my working experience to them.


The supervising committee agreed to see me, the time and the date were set. I took this meeting very seriously, printed out some materials about transgenders, prepared statistics on my work with clients (by that time, there already were fifty of them, including long-term therapy and single sessions), including their biological sex, gender identity and sexual orientation.

I thought carefully about my arguments and selected quotes. But none of this proved useful. I was simply informed that I wasn't getting a license, not now, anyway, and if I still want to receive my license, I must go through another year of personal therapy.

"Two years" - corrected the head of university, who kept quiet till then.

It seems like he didn't look at me even once during that meeting, not before that moment and not after. I tried to voice my reasons - but it was pointless. I then asked what the purpose of this condition was. What result are they looking for? I was told that I must be able to refer to myself as a woman in front of the clients. They don't care how I talk to my friends and family, but with the clients I have to be a woman - to call myself a woman, that is, and use female pronouns.

The thing is, - I was told - the clients have trouble seeing the reality (the factuality, that is) behind their own projections. And the therapist's job is to help them notice the reality better. But when even the therapist is sending out mixed messages - forcing the client to project an image of a man while actually being a woman - the client's grip of reality weakens even more.

Generally speaking, in their reality (which they mistake for actuality) transgender people don't exist, and thus it's bad for the clients to face the reality in which they do exist.

Okay, I said, so you won't give me a therapist's license. But will I receive any document at all after completing my studies? Yes, they said, a certificate of participation (that's a piece of paper stating that I was present on the lectures). And then I asked for some paper in which it would be written that I was not a bad student, that it was not about my academic failure or inability to learn, but referring to myself as a man.

They agreed.


*Santa:

"Long ago, when I have been LARPing, I developed a habit and a conviction - calling people by the name and pronouns they use for themselves. Regarding several of my acquaintances, I don't even know what gender appears in their papers. And I've never even dwelled on how someone's self-identification fits (or doesn't fit) the impression they make on "civilians". On me, those people make an impression of... people.

It was really hard when one of my colleagues was getting prepared for gender-reassigning surgery, and everybody at work were calling him by his government name and using the wrong pronouns. I felt like yelling at them, "Can't you see it's a guy, and he hates being called that?!" "


*Galina Olishevskaya:

"I did not want and was afraid to go to a therapist as a matter of principle. But as soon as I was ready - I didn't care whether it was a transgender person or not. And when turning to a specialist, I will be considering how they treat me and my problem, and not what the specialist looks like and which pronouns they use.


*Julia, psychologist:

"In my opinion, the therapist's transgenderism will always matter to a client who came for therapy, unless they experience the same thing or something very similar. Especially that all those issues of sex, gender etc. are very sensitive and emotionally charged, and people generally tend to care about those things.

And here the 'normal' course of interaction is not at all in the fact that the client simply nods and moves on, noting this feature of the therapist along with their hair color or a strange pattern on a tie. It is clear that the person will have to develop their personal attitude towards therapist's transgenderism. To fit and somehow accommodate this fact in their mind.

But they will have to develop an attitude just the same in lots of other cases. For example, if the client is a devout Christian and discovers during the therapy that the therapist is atheist. Or if the therapist is lonely and isn't interested in starting a family, but in the same time is consulting the client on the matter of relationships. Those examples are very crude, but you see the point, I hope.

The other being different, if it concerns topics that are significant for a person, always requires 'to do something ' about this.

And in the context of a therapy the client has much more chances to turn their experience into something useful and productive than in a regular life. After all, in therapy you can "talk about it", and if the therapist is professionally adequate, then what's the problem? The client always has a choice - either staying or saying "it's not for me" and leaving. But if the client undergoes this process, it can only benefit them. The skill of integrating something new, unusual or unexpected into your picture is fundamental and very useful...


TANGELE ZA UNGUE UNGA ZUNGA ZUNGA E

It's a song of the black slaves from Brazilian telenovela "Isaura: Slave Girl".

Why did I bring it up? I'll explain.

They tell me, "We really like you, we are very fond of you. You don't exist".

Why is that?

The first part is completely clear, I hope: everybody knows what liking somebody and being fond of them means. The second part is originally way more complicated: "I see a woman and can't use male pronouns with her". What does it mean for me? Look above.

They have told me that by asking people to use male pronouns with me I abuse them psychologically. Especially my clients, who are dependent on me. I then asked if it means that a non-op transgender client who comes to a cisgender therapist will be subjected to psychological abuse. No, I was assured, it's not like that. Because the therapists have already agreed to sustain a certain amount of abuse, for the greater good. Of course, in a common sense everyone sustains some level of self-abuse even by getting out of bed to go to work so early in the morning, but I suspect that they've meant something else. That they agree to sustain the abuse of using the client's preferable pronouns, even if they don't really see the client.

As a client, I wouldn't want that, thank you very much. The scariest moments in my own therapy were when I suspected that my therapist was...how to say... lying to me. So it seems like a transgender (bigender, agender, genderqueer etc.) client would definitely sustain overt or covert abuse by turning to a cisgender therapist who is convinced that only M and W exist, and that it always and forever fits snugly the biological sex.

While the scientists argue whether this is a disease, a deviation or a variation of norm, thousands of living people can't receive help - because they don't exist. And whatever sort of exists instead of them must be fixed or annihilated. Or, in best case scenario, ignored. Just be grateful they live you alone.

I'm thinking about how not so long ago, historically speaking, in European countries anybody who was born in a village and not in a city was not a free man. In Russia it was the same even more recently. And how about women's rights to vote, make independent decisions regarding their own lives, own a bank account etc.? Only a hundred years ago a female doctor would shock anybody. Does anyone still remember that Sofya Kovalevskaya was forced to marry and leave Russia so she could study in a university? Also, somewhere along the way the humanity has made an amazing discovery - that the Negroes were human too, as it turns out. Tanguele za ungue unga zunga zunga e! Homosexuals have somewhat ruined the picture: not only aren't they criminals, but they are not even sick. Oh, I almost forgot! How long ago did we give up whipping children for their own good?

My imagination paints me cartoons.


CARTOONS


***

18th century, France

A serf comes to a therapist and shares his pain: he wants to marry Madeleine, but the first night belongs to the lord, that's why they keep postponing their engagement, but sooner or later...

The therapist:

"I have to say, my dear, the source of your suffering is not meeting the reality. Normally, you and Madeleine should be happy to do your duty! Generally speaking, all the problems in your life are due to the fact that you do not want to be a peasant. But you were born one! Why don't you accept your fate? Never mind, I will help you get rid of your fantasies, and here's a phone number of my colleague, he'll help Madeleine to happily let the lord fulfill his birth right. "


***

Beginning of 20th century, Russia

A young maiden comes to a therapist: her dream is studying the invertebrates, but her parents insist that she marries a wealthy merchant.

The therapist:

"My dear, your fantasies are groundless, it could never happen! A woman shouldn't tamper with the worms; it will ruin your complexion make your hands rough. And it's a really uncomfortable thing to do while wearing a corset! Not to mention that you will shock he entire scientific community. And what damage could be done to public morality! In addition, some young women might follow your footsteps. Their lives will be ruined, and it would be your fault - and mine, if I don't stop you. You do realize that a female scientist is an unnatural thing? Charcot showers will help you for sure! "


***

Early 2000's, Russia.

A homosexual man comes to a therapist...You can imagine the rest using the previous examples. It still happens way too often.

Nowadays, a transgender person comes to a therapist - and faces the same attitude.

Nowadays, they might hear something like, "Don't worry, Miss, I will help you. And we'll make the guy disappear", - or the opposite. Or maybe something else along those lines. Best case scenario - "I see a woman in front of me, but out of respect I will use male pronouns" - thank you very much, don't bother. If you don't even believe that I am me, what could we possible be talking about?

I'm not saying that there are no exceptions. But exceptions rather emphasize the rules. I'm talking about very general - and most common - case.

And that's why people who really need help can't go to a therapist: it's just too risky. It is very painful when someone says to you - you don't exist, I really like you, but you don't exist.

Why is it considered normal when a woman says, "I want a woman therapist, I will feel safer and more comfortable this way"? Or when a man choses to go to a male therapist?

Why a transgender (agender, bigender, genderqueer etc.) must turn to either a male or female therapist? Why can't they go to someone of the same gender, even if it would make them feel safer and more comfortable?

Psychotherapy isn't a spa salon where you can relax with soft music at the background, it could be challenging and painful. Why can't a genderqueer client choose the person they feel safe to go on this most difficult journey with?

I'm filled with deepest respect towards the cisgender therapists who are nothing like those cartoons. I know such therapist personally, after all, there's my own therapist, and there are many more! But it's so hard to find those who wouldn't try to cure you of yourself, who don't see different genders as a disease or a deviation.

After all - how can you not try to cure me of me if you are sure this is a disease? The best you can do is sympathizing with my "misfortune"... But that's not what my misfortune is about! I can't be my own misfortune, sorry. I know how to be happy without turning myself inside out, and I have the right to do so. Let the science reconsider. In the previous version of the International Classification of Diseases homosexuality was defined as illness. But it isn't anymore. Gay people are no longer considered sick and in need of treatment for homosexuality. We'll wait some more. I know that I am healthy, I feel great. And thanks to therapy, now I feel great even when I'm being told I don't exist. But if I'm not sick - what prevents me from becoming a therapist?

Why am I considered dangerous?

Am I as dangerous as a female scientist, an independent farmer and African-American school teacher?

Tanguele za ungue unga zunga zunga e...


*Ian, clinical psychologist, psychotherapist:

Yes, there were some difficult cases. Actually, there were very different cases.

Sometimes "gender assigned at birth" was such an obvious mistake and the treatment was so successful, that the client's transgenderism was just sort of a "by the way" fact and I was just dealing with a fascinating lady, and her anamnesis, and let alone her "below-the belt status" (it was a pre-op MtF) - didn't really matter.

There was this one time when everything in me - both personally and professionally - protested against an obvious confusion of a very young person - who has mixed up his own homosexuality with transgenderism (sic! And he also tried to prescribe himself hormone therapy since no doctor agreed that he was in fact transgender). In this particular case, it was much harder not to grab him by the lapels, shake him up and shout, "What are you doing, you idiot?! For you it's just a fun and exciting game..." But he wasn't my patient, so I had to keep quiet.

This one time it was just difficult, while talking to an intelligent adult, I honestly couldn't match their appearance and behavior to the pronouns they were using (which were different from their biological sex). This also wasn't my patient, so the proposition to explore their transgenderism and check how real it was- was really out of place, so I just had to learn to accept it as is and combine it with my own disagreement. Another difficulty was finding gender-neutral turns of phrase on the spot.


*Oksana Kolojvary

"I began distinguishing between boys and girls approximately by the age of eight. I mean, I already knew where the babies come from and that they boys' bodies are different, but all people are different - their height, weight, color of their eyes and hair. Later I realized that since people are fundamentally divided into two groups of different physical structures, for some reason all social interactions within these groups and between them are different. It was really weird, like dividing the world into blonds and brunettes. Even dividing them into the fat and thin would make more sense - the fat ones run slower, for example! I remember when I was three years old, I bumped foreheads with a boy named Dima and noticed for the first time that his irises consisted of multitude of tiny dots - dark blue, light blue and gray, and I was fascinated. And when I was five, I met a girl named Sveta who was an albino and wore a white dress - it was as if she was entirely made of snow, and I was fascinated again. And for me, they both were phenomena of the same kind, regardless of their gender.

But I was a regular woman, although a weird one (or maybe I just had a well-developed imagination?). I got married and had a daughter. And she was the best girl in the world. She was beautiful and smart and excelled at school. I was proud of her. And then she turned eleven, and everything went sidewise. It turned out that she had epilepsy. And I realized that she will never show any signs of social success. For everybody else she was now a child with problems, glum, irritable, doing poorly at school. And I had to understand that what matters most is that she is alive, she talks to me, that she didn't have a seizure today - and I don't care what anybody else thinks of it. Because she still was the best girl in the world.

And then she said that inside she was completely different from the outside. And I couldn't understand that. Because I am a woman inside AND outside, even though a slightly peculiar one. And I can't understand her. I will never understand how can you feel different from who you are?! I even thought at first that this was another manifestation of her illness. Or maybe some psychological thing. But he keeps talking to me.

Who said that we are educating our kids? They are the ones educating us. First she taught me that real love is unconditional. And then he taught me that you can't fully understand another person, even the one you love the most, but you can realize that other person may feel differently, not the way I feel, and I just must believe that he feels this way. Not like me, but like this - like him. It's such a tiny thing, really - not denying other peoples' feelings. And he is still the best. Because he is coping, and I am proud of him. Because he talks to me. Because! Just because! He is the best in the world.

He sits in his room, writes, draws something, tells me unexpected amazing things, forgets to lock the front door when he leaves, grunts, screws up from time to time, brings his friends for sleepover, feeds me something weird, shares his soda, evades doing the dishes - but very cleverly, can't figure himself out, totally figures me out, gives advice, pets our cat, in other words - lives. He lives. Give me any name so I could call you by it or give me no name at all, tell me about yourself whatever you decide or tell nothing at all, but if you are touching my soul, if I want to look at you, recognize you, talk to you and maybe touch you with my hand if that's okay with you - look at me, and I will tell you my name. If you find me interesting. Other than that, actually, nothing else matters to me. And I know that I am a completely normal human being, without trying to call it tolerance, just a normal human being accepting the reality, not trying to tolerate anything, not wishing to stuff another person into the boarders of my own experience. My name is Oksana, look at me.


HIM AND HER INSIDE OF YOU AND ME


.1.

...

a boy

and everyone thinks - a girl

if you look like a girl

smell like a girl

sound like a girl

but in the mirror you still see yourself

and for you it's a reality

given in sensations

...

what could be simpler

you are who you are

and not who you look like

only one thing is weird

how do they not notice it

...


.2.

...

everybody supports her

against you

and only that is enough

not to give her your

your

your life

...

No Ashe Garrido, "Mother"


There is this very fragile place where a transgender person is very vulnerable, and this place is inside of them.

In a very normal way, every person has a male and a female side, anima and animus. Men have a deeply rooted female side, women - male side. It's normal and comfortable when both of them are accepted, supported and protected, it's a balanced and wholesome personality, it's your right hand and your left hand not tied to your body, not doomed to painful immobility, they are different from each other, and both are vital. Nowadays a transgender person in most cases finds themselves in a situation where the society they live in, relatives, friends, specialists - support the part that is visible to them, to the detriment of the part with which the transgender person mostly identifies themselves. And then, in order to defend themselves, they must emphasize their main side and hide away any manifestations of the "opposite" side, even from themselves.

And there is a good reason for that!

If M., assigned female at birth, even tried to show any tenderness or flexibility, any interest in sewing or knitting, if he said he doesn't build a concept of a book before he starts writing it but simply follows his intuition... this list could go on and on! - What would most people say?

"That's so feminine! Look, you are a girly girl all right! How could I accept you as a man when you are so feminine?"

If J., assigned male at birth, tried to show interest in cars, sports, video games, speak harshly and unapologetically, have her own opinions - and stand her ground, or I don't know what... Confidentially speaking, even "normal" women rarely get away with it, right? "What a tomboy! A woman must be gentle. It's not appropriate for a woman to act this way."

And what reaction would a transgender woman get?

There's a big chance the violence will be physical in this case.

So how can you avoid grabbing one end, one pole of your personality, getting warped towards your identity - and hanging onto it, claws and teeth, despite everything?

Otherwise - death or painful existence in an unnatural position.

Even though a life contorted towards one side isn't very comfortable either. Suppressing a big part of yourself will cost you dearly.

Transgender people are not the only ones who might have problems accepting their both sides. But for cisgender folks, those problems can be solved with help from a good therapist or a psychiatrist.

For transgender people it is very unlikely because the therapists often support the same part as the rest of society, and that could only enlarge the inner conflict. If you support one side by rejecting, suppressing or ignoring the other, the conflict between them only escalates - but that's what actually happens in most cases.

When the "non-traditional" identity has enough support, over time trust is built and as a result the person gains enough strength to support themselves calmly and independantly, even despite the society having a different opinion - and that's when the other side has a chance to be acknowledged, accepted and pampered, and the person benefits from it so quickly and obviously that it looks like a miracle. But there are no miracles. If you don't tell somebody they can either have a right hand or a left hand, they get a chance of noticing their both hands and using them equally. But if you are forced to fight for your right for a right hand - how much attention could you possibly pay to your left?


*Pale Fire:

"My stepbrother is transgender, and also some of my friends and close acquaintances. I know from my own experience that transgender men are usually more men than biological ones - they are stronger, more consistent, more honest, more masculine, more faithful."


*Olga, 48:

"For me, transgender people are first and foremost my friends and acquaintances. Usually - good friends and close acquaintances, beside the ones with whom I couldn't find a common ground - for other reasons, more significant for me than "what pronouns should I use with you?" or "you are different from everybody I know... what am I supposed to do with that?" By the way, it has never crossed my mind addressing the second question to anybody but myself.

Anyway, those are people who helped me learn more about sex and gender and the role they play in our life. Before meeting those people I used to think of those as some heavy uncomfortable restrictions inflicted on human beings either by nature or by other people in the name of the nature. And by the way, only twelve years ago I cheerfully confused between the two and thought they were one and the same. But after my encounters with transgender people and some deep conversations I was no longer confused.

For me, transgender people are not just friends and acquaintances, but extremely interesting samples of behavior that allows you to express gender and live within it. That's generally a very interesting task which becomes twice as interesting in conditions defined by transgenderism. And every solution, every way of acting found by those people teaches me how to be myself - in a new and maybe a better way."


*Ethan:

"Until I turned 18, I never had any doubts regarding my gender identity attached to my biological sex assigned at birth. At 19-20 I was trying to figure out what was going on with me. By the age of 24 -25 I knew for sure I was transgender. Right now I am going through my second puberty which derives from my "psychological transition". At the very least, for the past year I've been feeling like a teenager of 14 to 17 years, growing up all over again. A normal process - when supposedly "genderless" child begins to realize their belonging to either M or F. Right now I am like a teenage boy who tries so hard to prove he is a real grown man and doesn't understand why it doesn't work. Because growing up can't be skipped, in any capacity. It's a very difficult situation. According to my chronological age, I am an adult - with certain memories, emotions and life experience (including sexual) - and while I remember all of it and am aware of it, I was thrown back by approximately ten years. The fact that for the outside world I am still an adult, with matching demands and expectations, doesn't help either. I would like to point out that this realization did not come easy to me. And also - if there's someone among the readers for whom it matters - I want you to know that this is normal. It happens. Make use of my experience if you need to, I don't mind. Personally, I terribly, horribly lacked someone else's experience that I could lean on during the most difficult days.

.


THE MIRACLE OF TRANSFORMATION

In the spring of the same year, when I was not allowed to certification, I went to the mammologist for a routine breast check-up. I was told I was at risk of getting breast cancer - not right now, but my chances were pretty bad. I got scared... for like three minutes tops. Almost immediately I realized: this is what I've been waiting for so long. If I'm about to face this problem anyway, a problem that could be solved with a surgery - I don't have to wait for this problem to burst, nor for the chemo and radiation it brings along. I could simply do it right now, the thing I really wanted to do but wouldn't dare. I don't need permission from a psychiatrist, I don't need permission to change documents and I don't need hormones. All I need is a flat chest - and I will be satisfied with how I look and feel.

And so I did it. I asked my friends for help, didn't wait for autumn and scheduled surgery for the summer. The surgery lasted three and a half hours, and anesthesia was quite serious, and problems with my memory, ability to focus, blood pressure and everything else I was worried about - it all happened.

For those of you who decide to go for it: keep in mind that when the chest decreases, the stomach will become much more noticeable. A friend of mine has warned me about it, and she was right. Because of that I had to come to grips with my excess weight problem, as well as my abs, but since I couldn't write for six months after the surgery anyway, I am glad I had something to do. I've made a pretty good progress with that and almost reached my goal.

I spent the rest of the summer very differently from what I was used to: yes, I felt like crap and my motion range was restricted and I got used to slouching in order to protect the stitches - those are terribly itchy under the bandages by the way, especially when it's hot - but I enjoyed looking at my reflection in the mirror and didn't shy away from shop windows.

I feel calm. What I did is enough for me and I'm not planning on doing anything to further alter my body (losing weight and getting fitter doesn't count, it has nothing to do with gender nor sex).

And another transformation occurred during this time. Remember, I was promised a paper stating the reasons why I was refused a therapist's license? Well, the reasons for that have changed as well. Now it wasn't about me using male pronouns , but about me protesting against people using female pronouns towards me, expressing my discontent in front of my "communication partners", and also that I ask my clients to use male pronouns towards me and sulk if they use female pronouns.

This contains one misconception and two lies. The misconception is that communication partners aren't clients, and I don't have to create special safe conditions for them, we are equal and mutually free, we could argue, quarrel and even part our ways if it is not convenient for us to communicate with each other on an equal footing.

And I never ask clients to use male pronouns with me, violating the 'client's right to be themselves in the counseling dynamics'. That's the first lie. I present myself as transgender man in my ads, and if clients find this situation uncomfortable they simply chose another therapist. Second lie is that I express my discontent to clients if they use female pronouns towards me. It is a lie because it is a lie. None of the couches, none of the supervisor's council members knows what happens during the real sessions - they have only seen me in study group. Where I did happen to argue with couches and other students. And even during some training sessions, a few times, but only when I was playing a client. Only and exclusively as a client. Not as a therapist.

This one time, after a pretty intense discussion of problems related to my gender identity, we formed teams of three - a client, a therapist and a supervisor - and started practicing, switching roles. The girl who was supposed to play my client for the next fifteen minutes said she was afraid of it because what if she makes a mistake and uses female pronouns with me, and I overreact. I simply suggested that she looked at me. Just looked at me. Not at her fantasies of how it would be but at the living breathing person sitting in front of her, and just saw it. She stared at me for a few moments, closely, carefully, cautiously, with a pinch of distrust, as it seemed - and suddenly she sighed and smiled. No, she said. I am not afraid of you.

It's a shame the head of university was staring sidewise while talking to me.

Perhaps if he dared to look at me and actually see me...

However, the bill "on the prohibition of propaganda of homosexuality and so on" was already on the agenda. I am inclined to assume that at times like this, looking at me is particularly scary.

When my couches say that by using male pronouns I present danger to my clients since I contribute to destroying their connection to reality and create a double bind - this is what they do: they replace the existing reality, in which people are not simply and clearly divided into two genders, with their ideas of reality, in which people are simply and clearly divided into two sexes. So turns out they are the ones contributing to destroying connections to reality.

My message isn't a double bind, it's pretty straight forward: those people exist. The connection between biological sex and gender isn't as simple and clear as people used to think, and that's a reality.

So turns out that my couches aren't telling me that I don't exist. They are saying this whole reality doesn't exist.

*V.Kondrashova:

"My landlady and friend is a transgender woman, MtF. I remember her in male clothes (I can't even bring myself to call her `a boy', to be honest). Such a shy, reserved person with whom you could only discuss a couple of topics - and those didn't include human relationships of any kind. In other cases you had to work really hard to get at least a few words. Absolutely introverted person, absolutely, I don't exaggerate.

When she came out to me, I felt... weird, I guess. But on the other side - I did not feel any rejection. That's probably because I'm pretty selfish, and when E. told me what her problem was, communicating with her just became easier for me. I did not try to dissuade her from this - I asked her lots of questions (for me, it was a totally unfamiliar situation!), made sure that E. has given it a lot of thought, then I read some stuff online and decided to wait and see what happens next. If worse comes to worst, I thought, if I see that something goes really wrong with her, I'll have enough time to do something about it - after all, I live nearby and track all the changes. Pretty arrogant, I know, but what else could have been said or done in this situation?

Then I watched with bated breath and delight how E. becomes happy. It wasn't easy; but it was harder for her rather than me. For me, it just kept becoming easier and easier. Because happy people are much easier to be around. They are much easier to talk to. They know what they want and why they need it, what you can or can't do with them, what they will do if you ask them - and what you could never get from them. A miserable person is running around in circles or sitting huddled in the corner; a happy person is calmer, much more reasonable. E. now takes part in TV shows talking about issues transgender people are facing - I remind you, this is a person who once used to shut down on a mere attempt to start a conversation! She's got friends, both male and female, a job (thank God, at her old job everybody reacted to her transformation pretty calmly and adequately), recently she was promoted. At the same time, she has remained the same person: same hobbies, same basic habits... But she became more open for new things.

What do I think about the transgender issue? From one hand, I started appreciating what I have much more. Because the government doesn't put so many obstacles in front of me, and unlike her, I don't have all those problems in everyday life... On the other hand, I really want to say - "Come on, people, leave the transgender folks alone with your moral codex! Your moral codex lies, God damn it! It's not suitable for everyone! You don't know, you have no idea what it's like - to spend your entire life in a wrong body, you are whining after wearing clothes or shoes a size too small for a couple of hours - and this is your own body which you didn't chose, but it's itchy and uncomfortable and all wrong - and it goes on for your entire life, from the moment you were born!" The problem exists, and it won't just disappear if you ignore it or deny it. All in all, I'm happy for E. So far, she's acing it. I'm just happy- that's it. She's better off this way. When someone feels better about themselves - it's very visible, especially if you live right next to them this entire time."

*Maria:

"When you see a person who feels bad and then they become happier right in front of your very eyes, like a flower blooming in your hands - it's amazing. Seeing a smile on their face. Hearing them laugh more and more often. Seeing the sparkle in their eyes. Seeing the person walking down this road step by step because every step they take makes them stand taller, and you can see that very clearly. And there is another joy, of a very different kind. When the person gradually comes out to their friends and you can see that they accept them just the way they are. Even the ones you wouldn't expect it from. It's amazing."


THE AUTHOR BIDS FAREWELL TO A READER

All the stories I've told you are pretty much the same. Here I am, so clear and unambiguous for myself, and here are the others that see what they see - a person with female body; and hear what they hear - a person with female voice, who claims that he is a he.

It's not easy to accept, if so far the humanity was divided into male and female, no other options. These were qualities or states as opposite as black and white. But between black and white there is not a void, but a lot of gradations and around this scale is the whole spectrum, all perceived colors and a couple more invisible to our eyes: infrared and ultraviolet.

And if we could never see all those colors other than black and white and nobody ever told us that these other colors exist, we would have learned, willy-nilly, to attribute all other colors to black or white. If it's darker - it's black. If it's lighter - it's white.

And it would be very difficult learning to see the world all over again, discovering the richness of all the colors and shades that exist in reality.

So it's really not easy for people who discover that someone they know is neither black nor white, but just the way they are. Everyone reacts differently, and it's not always pleasant, for both sides. Long time ago I had an acquaintance, smart, educated woman, writer and philosopher.

We met one frosty winter at young authors' convention. Turned out we were to share a room. She took real interest in me and asked me lots of questions about how I came to be this way and how it all works. It was the year of my very first coming out, when I told my poet friends about myself. Back then, I was a very inexperienced transgender, I did not have enough information, and my own experience was very scarce as well. But the way I felt was very clear and unambiguous: I'm a he. And that's what I told her. I remember that she noticed me wearing wool tights and acted very surprised. "Of course", - I said. That's my body, regardless. I wouldn't want to catch cystitis nor adnexitis. And the money is so tight I'm sometimes struggling for food, let alone warm underpants. So I'm wearing what have left since before the Perestroika. And who cares what I wear under my jeans?

Before we parted our ways, we exchanged addresses. Not emails, internet wasn't so widely available back then and I didn't even have a computer. I'm talking about our actual postal addresses.

So some time went by, it was spring. And suddenly I found in my mailbox a postcard from this woman: International Women's Day greetings.

It repeated itself few years in a row.

Why the mere fact of my existence has hurt her so much that she kept sending those colorful pieces of cardboard through great distances, from Siberia to Kaliningrad? And every time she wrote on the back of the card, "Happy International Women's Day, best wishes..." - like the picture on the card wasn't enough. Why was it bothering her so much, that somewhere far, far away from her I was thinking and talking about myself as male? We never met again, and she hasn't even heard from me or about me, I never wrote to her. How concerned was she? And why so much? What foundations of her universe were shaken?

Changing the way you see the world isn't easy. Suddenly you find out that many of your beliefs aren't the absolute truth, and many limitations and many of the restrictions you have placed on yourself are unnecessary, and many of the expectations you have placed on those around you are unfounded. It's like the solid ground was snatched from under your feet, it's as scary and uncertain as walking on shaky beam. It takes efforts. But these efforts are rewarded when, having crossed an imaginary abyss, we find ourselves in a more colorful, more spacious world. Beyond the explored and mapped lands lie uncharted territories, dangerous, inhabited by freaks and monsters. "Beware of dragons" - says the sign on a border of the familiar world. But in a matter of fact, beyond the border lie free lands, spaces, valleys and forests, oceans and seas, mountains, sky, adventures and treasures. Plenty of fresh air.

Looking on the map from the other side of the border, I also sometimes see this sign - "Beware of dragons". And I'm scared to come forward, to call myself by my name, talk about myself. I have to remind myself, that dragons exist, of course, but it's not you, dear reader. And not me either. We don't have to be scary monsters to each other just because we don't know each other. We should at least get to know each other first, and then decide.

Hello there.


WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON...


*Bear (bear_micky):

I remember how we first met in person at a convention in Moscow in spring of 2006... Took me some time to realize you were not like the others... So someone uses male pronouns, so what? Must be more convenient. And it basically never bothered me.

Later, when I learned more, including some details... Well, I just became even more convinced that what really matters is the person themselves. It might sound corny, but the important thing is the personality. Why is it that I can call myself Bear and someone else can't be different, though in another way?! They can. And it's normal. I mean, it exists and it can exist and it's not a disease at all, it's... It's just a human being who is different. But so what? And if you can find a common ground with this person who is different and you both enjoy talking to each other, then where is the problem? What is it? Is it just because they are DIFFERENT? Okey dokey. He is different, I am different, you are different - we are all different. We all are our own people. Everyone has the right to identify

Все - свои собственные. Каждый имеет право ощущать себя таким, какой он есть для себя. Это не мешает общаться. Это ВООБЩЕ не мешает. Транс, не транс - ну какая разница? Человек. Который интересен. С которым интересно. Просто живой хороший человек. Остальное - уже детали. Как цвет волос, рост, оттенок кожи...


*Nina Heimetz:

"Being transgender in a society that from a very early age is trained to perceive human beings in a a very particular way and where everything is set for this kind of perception - it takes courage and perseverance.


*N. U:

"I am a father of a wonderful young lady. She is thirteen already. If I didn't have the need to re-adjust my gender - most chances are that I would have been her mother. Or a second mother. In a certain point it really was easier and more comfortable for me when they stopped asking me at school or a doctor's office who am I to this child - when she was a baby I had to lie and make excuses, like I'm her aunt, her mom is busy... the society applies much more pressure on parents and other people close to a child than they do on single people and married couples, at least that's what happened in my story. I'm exhausted that literally anyone around me wonders who I am to the child, why didn't she come with her mother, where is her mother, whom she should live with etc. This is where LGBTQ+ people experience much more pressure than cisgender heterosexuals. I don't understand why. I don't want to understand. Kids should be happy and live with those who can give them love and happiness. What difference does it make if they are the kid's biological parents or not, if they are men or women, if they are attracted to people of an opposite gender or same one? "


*Hanna Katargina:

"I never really understood why we can't just let each and every person to be who they are - regarding their gender, sexual orientation, profession and everything else. What's the problem with calling someone whatever they feel comfortable with, even if that means renaming Masha to Misha or vice versa with all the consequences that entails? To be honest, I will treat a dozen 100% men or women in a dozen different ways, and I don't understand the difference. "


*Inna I. :

"I'm always happy to see people who like myself, are willing to openly discuss their transgender experience. Unfortunately, much more often I come across transgender people who live in fear: God forbid someone will notice something, suspect something, think something etc. This fear is painful to see - sometimes I really feel like screaming: "Come on, people! Why do you allow to do this to you?!" When people are afraid that others won't respect them, won't talk to them, be their friends if they find out they are "different" - I think that those for whom "being different" could be a reason for shunning someone hardly deserve any respect themselves. And if so - should their friendship and their opinion really be valued? After all, real respect is earned with deeds - and when people respect you for your deeds, they don't start treating you differently after suddenly discovering your trans side. I have personally experienced it many times. However, this applies to people who are smart, adequate, think for themselves and aren't completely bogged in dogmas and stereotypes - and it's sad to see how recently the authorities encourage the opposite qualities more and more."


*Yaroslav:

"Coming to terms with our body does not mean you stop being transgender"


*Helga:

"My social circle includes several FtM transgenders and transsexuals. Some of them are my friends, with others I was romantically involved. What can I say... They are wonderful. Men are from Mars, women from Venus... and they are from that watershed where this understanding has not yet been lost. True, the female "package" isn't really theirs, but they were forced to live in it for a while, and this experience is really precious. The level of acceptance of yourself and the others is much higher. The whole perception is a bit different. All of this makes me wish sometimes that all the "true gender" men were like this.

Probably I was just lucky. Probably FtM, like all the other people, are very different. But I'm happy that for me, significant part of the mail half of humanity looks just like that."


*Ethan:

"By what signs do I clearly define myself as a man? For me, being a person of a different gender means having a different way of perceiving the world and myself in the world."


*Pale Fire:

"Understanding the difficulties faced by a person who was born or lives in a body of an opposite gender isn't hard.

For me, they are people who command respect for all their struggling and overcoming, people whom I will support as much as I can just because I understand how difficult is overcoming the unaccepting society, how difficult is being a man size 40 150cm tall, how hard is following your dreams despite the resistance from your family and the society. I am always willing to listen to them. I'm always willing to be quiet with them. I sympathize with the ones who for different reasons can't afford transitioning and changing their documents because I've seen how hard it is, living under someone else's name.

I love them, those friends of mine.

To be honest, I don't care about body shape. Men have the same energy, regardless of their body shape, and I sense it. They are men to me, and the rest doesn't matter.

Of course, it's just my personal experience; I never met any MtF people, only FtM, but a lot of them.


*Inna I.:

"For some reason, many consider it important to be 'real' - that is, to have a status backed up by some piece of paper, a label, or simply by compliance with some standards accepted in society. Some of them are waving their realness around so persistently and aggressively that it seems like it's their biggest asset and the only thing they can take pride in. I don't need that because I'm not "real": not a "real" woman, programmer, writer and even transsexual, although all those definitions apply to me to a certain extent. And I don't want to be "real". I could have avoided playing those status games and trying to prove anything to anyone, I could have just lived and done whatever I consider necessary... if our world wasn't so designed for "realness" that oftentimes if you can't be "real" at least for some crummy social group - you are a nobody. That's why I would like to live in a world where "realness" doesn't matter. Where every individual is accepted as a human being, with their own personal characteristics, abilities problems - and not as an object in a classification cell with a bunch of labels stuck to them, indicating who is 'real' and who isn't. "


*Olesya:

"It's different with them, it's different - with some have been friends for about twelve years, with others - just acquaintances, and there are even those with whom we are in a quarrel. They are joyous, funny, chivalrous, sometimes - broken, frantic... I love them all, my men, my friends... You know, it's largely their merit that I can feel myself a Woman, I look into their eyes and see the incredible, I see myself in their eyes, elevated to a degree of a Goddess, I see the glow they are not trying to hide. And I, a girl who can break a skull with a single blow of a sword, with a ripped body and an undercut... next to them I'm a woman, when a friend leads me firmly in a dance, when another one dedicates a song to me, and a third simply runs his fingertips over the skin on my shoulder and says 'You are so tender, so delicate...'. "


*Natalia Ignatova:

"I have transgender friends. One of them is post-op, another one is just planning to undergo surgery. I have some transgender acquaintances; some of them have already had gender-reassignment surgery, others won't even consider it. But until someone specifically asks, like you just asked now, I'm not even thinking about them being trans. And generally, from the very beginning, it has never ever bothered me. When I only met my very first transgender friend for a very first time (by the way, he is now changing his documents, he had all the surgeries done, may God grant him health) his partner warned me - try to be as sensitive as possible, it's very important to him that people use male pronouns. I even got slightly alarmed, I mean, is it really so hard to refer to a guy as a guy? Turned out it wasn't, it felt perfectly normal. A man is a man, and a woman is a woman, and their appearance or voice don't matter. Just their... hmm... personality? Behavior? Their personality, I guess, yeah. Their identity. It is most clearly manifested in behavior, if we talk about the very beginning of acquaintance.

*Firnwen:

"My sworn brother is FtM transgender, among my friends and acquaintances there's a fair share of transgender and bigender people. I don't think it has ever crossed my mind - seeing it as a deviation. I remember how surprised was one of those guys when in response to his cautious confession I just shrugged - well, one more, you are the fifth in this group, as far as I know. It took me time to even understand why he is so surprised."

During my life, I've come across childish and dramatic cisgender men and cisgender women made of steel. I know for a fact that no specific personality trait or behavior could be a prerogative of one certain combination of biological sex and gender. . It's just more difficult for transgender people to exist and act wherever gender stereotypes can be encountered.

It doesn't make any sense requiring transgender men to be more `macho' than cisgender men, and transgender women - to be more "girly" than cisgender women.

It doesn't make sense requiring people to transition if you know nothing of their possibilities to transition (and in nowadays society, transitioning means a big bag of big problems). It doesn't make any sense requiring ALL trans people to transition, regardless of their personal needs and capabilities (such as medical condition, religion, family...). But I truly hope that one day those requirements and expectations will somehow align with reality.

However, it's even more difficult for bigender and agender people. There's at least some information about transgender people in our society, and perhaps the transition procedure doesn't work smoothly, but it works. And what should do those who have nowhere to transition, on top of everything?.."


I am very grateful to my friends who supported and inspired me from the very beginning.

I wouldn't dare go on without you.

I thank everyone who shared their stories and opinions.

You showed me that this book is necessary and gave me strength to accomplish this project.

Now this book - our book - is here.

Thank you.