Coming Out Day

So I barely noticed National Coming Out Day: Like every year, it passed pretty much without any actual coming out.
And then like three people on my news feed were all, "Hey, I forgot it was National Coming Out Day yesterday. Newsflash: I'm_________." Some I already knew, some were not a surprise, but I'm having feelings about it because I've never done it.
At some point, I built it into my lexicon for dealing with new people. I don't hide it. It comes up in conversation. It does this a lot of ways.
"My girlfriend--"
"Why did you_____?" "Well, I'm a lesbian, so---"
"Wait, are you--?" "Gay? Yes."
So everyone at college knows. My parents know. My close friends know. My grandparents on one side at least know.
But not most of my extended family, and not most of the people I knew through middle and high school--who make up the majority of my facebook friends. At least, I don't think they know. People have surprised me before.
"Congratulations on coming out!" "Thank you. How did you know?" "You know, the Internet."
Part of me feels like I should. Visibility is important. Visibility is a thing I advocate. And I feel like I'm talking the talk but not walking the walk to stay closeted.
And it's no longer a thing that would likely get me outright disowned or a large amount of nasty messages sent my way. I expect a couple "It's a sin, repent" messages, one or two, maybe, and my relatives talking around it for the next forever, but I can live with that.
So why am I still not doing it? Why am I still scared?
Partly, why should I tear down my shields and allow in the messages and the judgment when it's not negatively affecting my life not to be out to some people? The people that needed to know, the people it was hurting me to stay in the closet for, they know. Why should I expose myself that much more? Is it that likely that there's someone on my news feed that doesn't already have sufficient gay role models?
Sigh. I knew it wasn't my duty to come out as long as it would hurt me. Not sure what the right answer is now.
Atalanta says stop using 'should' statements. I'm not sure I know how to police myself without 'should' statements.
Hello, everyone. I'm a Kinsey 5, that's predominantly homosexual/romantic and only incidentally heterosexual/romantic. I'm sexually and romantically attracted to women almost exclusively, to their minds and their souls, not to their bodies. I usually identify as female but once in a blue moon experience brief dysphoria. I touch on the asexual spectrum extremely lightly, so that I almost always have to have heard someone talk, enough to get an idea of their personality, to be attracted to them, but mostly identify as allosexual (not asexual). My gender expression tends toward fellagirly with a large helping of genderfuck, which means I sit like a guy, grow my hair long and dye it, don't wear makeup or shave my legs, appreciate jeans and skirts, love suits, vests, and ties, and occasionally do makeup/police my body language/bind/dress/wear a wig specifically to make people question my pronouns.

Closets and Skeletons

Being in the closet has the detrimental effect of making people feel like strangers to those closest to them. Like liars. Like imposters.
I remember being at my own birthday party, laughing with my friends, and suddenly wondering how many of my friends would be there if they knew the truth.
After all, there are scary things like skeletons in closets.
I'm out to most people now as gay--certain conservative family and friends no longer within my closest circle remain. (There are also a few people with whom it simply hasn't come up.)
And then I found myself back in the closet, once again restructuring sentences, and I discovered a new pain to the closet.
When you have a partner you haven't told anyone about, you can't share the joys of a new relationship, the learning process of its progression, or the sorrow at its ending.
I broke up with a lovely woman today, and cried alone.
Only now, as the relationship is ending, am I finding the courage to say I dated two wonderful women at the same time, they knew about and cared about each other, and I have been doing one of them the occasionally necessary disservice of not telling anyone about her.
Well, hardly anyone. By my count, seven people besides us three knew. (This is the scientist and the poet in me clashing.)
And so I made her things. I can't take any credit for technical ability--you too can make these on weavesilk.com, but they do mean things, and this is, after all, a blog for art.


So I'm taking a moment off from research to mourn a romantic relationship and celebrate a friendship and make things and be a little pissed off that I can feel safe as a lesbian now and fear being seen as poly. There's a rant to be had there, but I don't have it yet.

Transgender 101: A Simple Guide to a Complex Issue

by Nicholas M Teich

Transgender 101 does what it says on the tin--it's a simple explanation geared mostly toward family, friends, and significant others of transgender people explaining what being transgender is. It gives the best clear-cut, non-judgmental explanation of 'feeling like' some gender that doesn't match up with your assigned sex is, with a detailed explanation of the differences between assigned sex, gender identity, and gender expression, and their interactions. It gives descriptions of the hormones and surgery trans people can choose to take/undergo and their physical effects while emphasizing that everyone is different and not everyone will want hormones, surgery, or both. It's also useful for newly out (to themselves) transpeople who want a clear-cut explanation of their choices, the limitations surrounding those choices, and what is likely to be going through the heads of family, friends, and coworkers as they start to come out. Finally, it provides a brief history of the understanding of transgenderism and touches on the intersections with class, race, nationality, and sexism.

Its only flaw was some debate about terms--I'm not sure it's accurate in its definitions of 'transgender' and 'transsexual', and it didn't mention that these terms are used differently by different people. Also, it gave outdated definitions for 'pansexual' and 'asexual' and didn't touch on the romantic spectrum at all, but I thought it could be forgiven for that since sexual/romantic orientation wasn't its focus--in fact, it repeated several times that they were not the same thing and should not be treated as such. It used permutations of'gender assigned' and 'natal sex' but focused on the concept that the letter on a birth certificate is assigned by a medical professional or a parent, not something inherent and immutable. It's current, which is really nice--it provides descriptions of both the just-outdated DSM-IV and its Gender Identity Disorder and the just-in DSM-V and its Gender Dysphoria. Definitely recommended for anyone with basic questions about what it means to be trans, both in the 'definition' sense and the 'now what' sense. It focused on MTF and FTM transpeople, but did acknowledge other gender identities, specifically genderqueer, and other types of queering the gender binary which may or may not be tied to transgenderism for any given person, specifically, gender variant/gender nonconforming, crossdressing, drag, and disorders of sex development/intersexism.

Overall rating: 4.5/5

Project upshot: Not eligible for use in the paragraph I need for the conference, this book will still be helpful in terms of what Leandra's going to find as s/he starts to do research, and for informing the reactions of various people in the story. I think I won't give it back to the library just yet.

More on gender.

Some boys like to wear girl clothes. But they don't want to be girls. The New York Times published a lovely article on the 'middle space' between traditionally feminine and traditionally masculine, one in which girls live with no trouble, but into which boys have to fight for entrance.
One of the blogs I follow is about one such boy, called C.J., and written by his mother. You should read it.
Also check out Twirl and his brother Tornado and sister Firecracker.
In other news, I got into that art show! You should go and check me out! April 1-7, GMU.

Found another book I want.

Oddly Normal: One Family's Struggle to Help Their Teenage Son Come to Terms with His Sexuality.
As titles go, it's a bit long, but as hooks go, this book has got a huge one: The true story of how journalist John Schwartz got a call telling him his son was in the hospital after a failed suicide attempt. Read about it here.

Coming Out

Wow. What a scary thought.
If we don't--we pay the price of hiding, always hiding.
If we do--we run the risks. Of being found out. Of being alienated: by 'friends forever'. By family. By everyone at school (or church, or 4-H, or any other club). By the one you were hoping would say, "Me, too!" and live happily ever after with.
The toll that would take is almost too much to risk. Almost.
There are precautions, of course. You don't have to suddenly go to school wearing a shirt that says "Yeah, I'm Gay" on it. One at a time is okay. And you can gauge their responses.
I'm saving for later the people who slip. Comments on two boys hugging? A confused/disgusted face at a Facebook 'marriage'?
Not today I won't.
But there's my best friend, who just might be able to accept me. Which would be worse: to be alienated by all the people you see all the time, or by one of the very people whose opinions actually matter?
Not to scare you. There are plenty of people who will accept you with open arms if you tell them.
Just that there are people who won't. And sometimes it really matters, like parents. No matter how wonderful they are, have a place in mind to go if worst comes to worst.
My parents are pretty okay with me, so my best friend is the next step. It doesn't have to be that way for you. Friends first, then parents is okay. But today, I told my friend the truth.
I had everything to lose. The one person I can really talk to. I figured if I could trust anyone, I could trust her. But by the same token, if I couldn't trust her, who could I trust?
It's the season of celebration. I gave her the gift of my life: My trust, and the truth.
It took courage to do that. Especially when I have doubts myself. What if I made a huge mistake? I'm pretty sure I didn't. But I've never been kissed. I've never been on a date. How can I be sure?
My mom sort of figured it out. In fact, after I told her about my wedding dreams (with two brides) at the age of thirteen, she gave me the book that made me go, huh. Gay.
I mean, I knew what it meant. I'd just never applied it to myself.
My dad got the "I think there's a very good chance that I'm a lesbian".
To her, I said it out loud. For the first time to someone else, I literally said, "I'm gay."
It felt right.
She did what I'd hoped: She asked questions. She wanted to know how I knew.
I said, "Well, I keep falling in love with girls. That was kind of a giveaway."
I also mentioned out loud the two and a half year infatuation with the same girl. It occurred to me, that doesn't just happen. She never egged me on, at least not intentionally, and I've still been in love with her that long.
She told me that it would be really strange for her to have a problem with it. In fact, I half expected her to already know. It will be wonderful if things can be normal again. I really hope I haven't screwed up our relationship at all. I'll cross my fingers: for her, and for all of you.