Reflections
Am I a Man?
What a question, right? If you asked me if I identify with what our larger culture calls a "man," I would firmly disagree. However, if you asked me if I identify as a gay man, I would say yes, enthusiastically. For me, my sexuality and gender are intractable, and that's why it took me 25 years to realize that I was, in fact, a gay man.
Being transgender and intersex means that my relationship to gender has been, in a word, fraught. I've known I wasn't like my cisgender, perisex (non-intersex) sisters from a young age, and spent much of my life trying to hide it. Even after I came out as nonbinary and bisexual as a teenager, I was still shaving my facial hair and wearing padding under my clothes to make myself look more "feminine." It was only after my diagnosis as intersex and my recovery from anorexia that I allowed myself to consider medically transitioning.
A surgery and three years of hormones later, days before my 25th birthday, I was out walking my hound dog Copper. I was wondering why my relationships with women never seemed to work out, and it hit me. Why I'd always had queer male idols, why I always fell so hard for boys, why straight masculinity was so unappealing—I was a gay man.
Of course, the first person I told was my younger sister. Having tried to date men before coming out as a lesbian, she was sympathetic to my struggles with women. As a butch, she also shared a lot of my complicated feelings about masculinity and femininity. For her, when she found her butch identity, she felt at home. Having found my identity as a femme gay man, I couldn't agree more.
I came out to my mother as a gay man late last year. She was surprised, given the number of women I dated when I was younger, but supportive. It clicked for her when I told her, "Remember when I said I wanted to be Adam Lambert when I was 11? Yeah, this is apparently what that meant."
It meant that under all the social crap I'd swallowed about gender, I was a gay man who wanted to wear makeup and sparkly clothes. Fifteen years later, I am happy to report that I am living my childhood dreams.
All dreams come with a reality check, however. Having a low tenor speaking voice and sporting a goatee, I now face the social backlash of daring to be gender defiant. I have gotten nasty looks and poor treatment when going out with friends, had slurs yelled at me while walking through the city at night, and frequently been misgendered even by well-meaning allies. Being an overtly feminine man is still a struggle even in a blue state like Delaware. But the community I've found with other transgender people and gay men, particularly trans gay men, has made it worth the price of being visible.
On Transgender Day of Visibility, I want to send out love to my gender-defying siblings. To the ones that rock a deep voice and lipstick, beards and dresses, broad shoulders and high heels. To the ones who can't pass as cisgender, and to the ones who don't want to. To my transmasculine brothers, who share my same struggles. To my transfeminine sisters, who face systemic and interpersonal transmisogynistic violence by merely existing. To my nonbinary and gender expansive siblings, who daily confront a world that refuses to acknowledge their existence. We are beautiful, we are powerful, and we deserve to be seen. Together we can fight for a world of gender freedom.
Will you fight with me? ▼
Julian Harbaugh (he/they) is the Marketing Specialist at CAMP Rehoboth. When he's not making graphics or writing, he can be found painting in watercolors, walking his hound dog, Copper, and roaming garage sales looking for antique philosophy books.
We See You
I first learned I have a transgender grand-niece some years ago, on Facebook. My niece, Kelly*—her mother—had posted a “Happy Birthday to my fabulous elder daughter!” message. Now, that gave me pause. Kelly had three kids—so far as I knew—and only the middle one was a girl. I wondered if she were announcing a child none of us ever knew she had. But when I checked the date of the message against the list of family birthdates, it corresponded with that of her eldest child—the now-18-year-old we knew as Jason.
I sought clarification, which shortly arrived: upon entering college the previous August, Jason had transitioned to Hannah—something she’d been contemplating doing for a few years. Hannah shared her news with her parents, siblings, and close friends; at her request, Kelly had agreed to share it with other family and friends. She’d managed a few phone calls with grandparents, but then ran out of energy and time and went the Facebook-group route. She figured it simultaneously accomplished two purposes: it made Hannah’s transition known and also signaled Kelly’s own support.
In the years since that announcement, Hannah has flourished. She has had gender-affirming surgery. She has pursued a career in IT and not long ago married her long-time girlfriend (who also is trans). They just bought a house.
Just recently, during a family Zoom get-together, I learned I have a second transgender grand-niece. These monthly Zooms started during COVID and have persisted. Whoever is available joins; it’s an hour-long catch-up for a family that is widely dispersed. Think: Alaska to Delaware; Minnesota to California to Ohio. One brother and brother-in-law sometimes join from their second home in the Philippines.
Anyway, during that recent get-together, Kelly remarked, “So, I hear Pat is transitioning?” My nephew—Pat’s dad—confirmed the news. Like Hannah before her, Pat had made the change as she went off to college, after a few years of thinking about it. Said Kelly, “Tell her to get in touch with Hannah and Lacey if she has any questions—they don’t live far from her school….” And with that, the conversation moved on to other topics.
I’ve always considered myself lucky, in terms of family—we’re a pretty accepting bunch. No one has ever been rejected by the family for whom they love or how they identify.
I know that—sadly—not everyone has the good fortune to have such immediate, matter-of-fact support. Early results from the 2022 US Trans Survey (transequality.org) show that 29 percent of 16- and 17-year-olds felt their immediate families were unsupportive/very unsupportive of their transition. (The news was better among survey participants age 18+, only 12 percent of whom felt their immediate families were unsupportive/very unsupportive.)
Not that my family is perfect in its support. Early on, we did occasionally slip on a name. If you’ve referred to Kelly’s kids as Jason, Erica, and Brian for many years, that line-up can come trippingly off the tongue, even as you’re thinking, “Hannah…Hannah…Hannah.”
Thankfully, Hannah took those slips for what they were—ingrained pathways we were diligently working to rewire—and graced us with time to refresh the list. (Pat stuck with “Pat,” so there will be no deadname slip-ups there.)
March 31 is Transgender Day of Visibility. When it rolls around, I have this to say to my trans family members: we see you. We always did; we still do. We always—and still—love you. Just the way you are.
May we all look forward to—and work toward—the day when all trans folk are equally seen, accepted, and loved. ▼
*All names have been changed.
Marj Shannon is editor of Letters from CAMP Rehoboth.