On Transphobia and Being Nonbinary
I’m not going to be reading J.K. Rowling’s latest words about her viewpoints regarding the personhood of trans people, as I know her viewpoints and seeing her elucidate isn’t necessary to know more about her character. I also know you’re likely seeing a lot of commentary on the issue and feel fatigued by it; after all, Rowling is a person whose politics have been known on this matter, why continue to dwell upon it?
I imagine I don’t have to remind people that Rowling’s viewpoints, however fully known and understood and spoken against, still have massive sway particularly with regard to younger people who would previously have considered her to be a role model and an adult whose opinions carry larger weight. I don’t need to cite statistics for you about the tremendous damage that can be done to trans and nonbinary youth who already have so few resources to help guide them; you should be cognizant of them or can research them yourself.
What I can do, however, is talk more about my personal journey with my gender identity and why seeing rhetoric like Rowling’s is so, so damaging.
When I was a child, I went through what people referred to at that point in time as a “tomboy phase.” My parents, particularly my mother, were never particularly fond of “gendered” clothing or activities for me; I wore what I wanted to wear and rejected items that felt feminine. What I remember feeling at that time was a desperate desire to not be seen as a girl OR as a boy; I didn’t “feel” like I was either of those things and enjoyed dressing in a way that obscured immediate attempts to determine my gender.
I stopped dressing in that way not because I “grew up” per se, but rather because pressure and shame from adults outside my immediate family orbit made it a necessity (much of it centering around sexualizing me at a very young age as someone perceived as female, though that’s another conversation entirely).
For years after, I struggled with the fact that I did not feel like a woman. As a graduate student studying poetry, I often wrote about womanhood or femininity — but as I wrote, it was always from an outside perspective, as someone trying to dismantle an identity in order to more fully conform to it. It felt very elusive to me. Interestingly, at this point in time, I actually began dabbling in what we now know as “trans-exclusionary radical feminism.” I was — and am — a feminist, and my dysphoria led me to try and find any way possible to claim the idea of womanhood that I couldn’t track in any other way aside from the way that my body was perceived; if my body defined me as a “woman,” that had to be my identity, and anyone trying to claim womanhood without a similar body had to be an imposter because I couldn’t be, even if I felt that way.
It was a terrible thing for me to think, a viewpoint of which I continually feel ashamed and saddened as I know that my words harmed many trans women. I can’t excuse that, but I can contextualize it. I hated myself for not feeling like a woman and ultimately for not being a woman since clearly that was how everyone saw me. I tried radical approaches to tap into that womanhood I sought; I embarked upon a horrifyingly dangerous diet and lost over 100 pounds in less than a year. I began dressing in a more overtly feminine way soon thereafter, and fell into a deep depression as I realized that none of those things that I’d thought were “wrong” with me (my weight, my lack of “attractiveness”, my seemingly introverted personality) actually cut to the root of what I was dealing with.
My saving grace was surrounding myself with a supportive friend base, many of whom are in the trans community, and hearing younger people discuss their own journey of discovery with regard to their nonbinary identities. As I researching that idea, I began to see myself reflected in a way I never had been before. I realized that all those things I’d felt, that hatred of myself, was all rooted in something so simple it seemed ridiculous that I hadn’t had access to that idea for so long:
Simply put, the reason I never felt like a woman no matter what I did or what I told myself was because I am not a woman. Calling me a woman was something done in order to neatly categorize me, something many people are inclined to do with every facet of life. If I am not one thing, I must be this other binary option. But if that definition is one projected by people, one manufactured by human beings to allow them to categorize and rationalize their existence — how would any of us know that it is the only viable option? To me, it isn’t; saying that I am neither one nor the other — instead, that I’m simply me — is the most accurate means of defining myself and my own existence.
I don’t fully understand why many cisgender people feel so threatened by others exploring their identities; my lack of gender assignation doesn’t detract from what others have or do not have. If I say that I’m not a woman, that does not make someone like J.K. Rowling less of a woman, just as the mere existence of trans women does not change anything about Rowling, either.
Since I’ve come out, I’ve been happier than I’ve been in years and more comfortable with myself than I ever have been in my life. I don’t have to hide how I feel about myself, I don’t have to feel like there’s something wrong or missing; I get to be me. Why would anyone want to deprive others of the opportunity to have that feeling?
Ultimately, the only regret I have is not finding out sooner, not having the chance to learn about this more. It’s why I’m so vocal about this now; I never want another child questioning their identity to feel as though they aren’t allowed to explore and ask questions or feel out who they are. All that J.K. Rowling and others with similar ideologies do is cause further harm to a community already made to feel like outsiders or people who are “damaged” or “broken” when we are anything but.
And that’s why there’s such utility in continuing to call out this horrifying viewpoint where we see it and stopping it in its tracks. Even as I write this, the Supreme Court is weighing a decision regarding the rights of trans people in the workplace. J.K. Rowling and other transphobes want to paint themselves as marginalized or at risk of injury from the trans community, yet with every word and action, the damage they themselves perpetuate is beyond calculation. We must continue to speak out against this kind of bigotry, particularly when this vitriol comes from people whose opinions hold so much sway over others.
If you, as an ally, would like to use this opportunity to learn more and even reach out, the Trevor Project has a guide to being an ally to transgender and nonbinary youth.
