Three years ago, I was in a Holland Park pub. Couldn’t tell you which one, after the 4am ride to London and a half-day of work, zero extra info was making it through the haze. But my colleagues had dragged me out for a lunch-time drink. 

I needed it. This was the first office visit since publicly transitioning, and I’d been anxious all day. As a fairly bougie creative agency I didn’t expect trouble, but I’d already been unpleasantly surprised elsewhere in my life.

Sat at the scratched wooden bench, rosé wine in hand – because screw it, my drink of choice wasn’t gonna emasculate me anymore – the chatter washed over me. I was content to smile, nod, and dream of my bed while work friends talked.

I don’t remember bringing my transition up. It may have been led by the conversation. But the only thing I remember saying in that pub, three years ago, was that I would write a blog about the trans experience. That the burgeoning anti-trans hate was built on ignorance. Surely if they could see that trans people were just people, and if only they could understand us, they wouldn’t continue this assault on our rights.

And here I am, just starting that blog, three years late.

So fuck me, I guess it’s my fault it’s gotten this bad! Sorry dolls.

***

Why has it taken this long? The shallow answer – transitioning is hard. It’s like having another job, except you have to pay for it. Getting past medical gatekeeping, working through the mountain of admin, building a whole new wardrobe, voice training… it’s a lot of time, money, Googling, and pressure.

Everything else in my life didn’t go anywhere, either. I still had to work, pay bills, visit family, go food shopping. Time, then, was the issue – with all these extra tasks, I didn’t have enough hours in the day!

But not that, really. I was still doing my hobbies, going out, enjoying myself. Time, I could find. The real answer is that all the usual jobs, and these extracurricular activities, now had an added edge. Everything I was doing was done while increasingly, obviously, physically trans.

TransActual released a report recently that showed 99% of trans people felt their mental health had been affected by media coverage. The other 1%, presumably, don’t watch the news. Furthermore:
* 64% avoided going to the GP, even if unwell
* 56% felt more unsafe because their ID did not reflect their gender identity
* 40% would like access to an ID that doesn’t list their gender
* One in four report being made homeless during their life

I, and your other trans friends and family, have been swimming against a tide of hate. Not alone – immigrants, Muslims, and other minorities have all been caught up in the upsurge in right-wing. I can’t imagine, nor speak, for what they’ve gone through. But if you’re not one of those groups, then I don’t think you can understand the drain, the friction, everyday life takes on.

When I transitioned, I gave up a lot of privilege that I never knew made life smoother. Doctors suddenly talked to me like I was a child, misgendering me while claiming support. My insurance company made excuses to hang up, despite calling me first. Hundreds of speedbumps, big and small, appear out of nowhere to rattle your increasingly fragile chassis.

That’s the deeper answer, the reason writing this has been so hard. Transitioning is exhausting. Existing as trans in a society that sees you as lesser is tiring. Making a stand, holding my head above the parapet, has been terrifying.

I nearly had a panic attack the first time I went outside with nail polish. That was the only feminine thing about my outfit. I was only going to the shop over the road. But I was scared that someone would figure out I was trans. That they’d follow me home, or see where I lived. And from then on, I’d have to worry about a brick through the window, or worse.

That fear has lessened. I’ve built a thicker skin. But at the same time, politicians are ever-more using trans people as a punching bag. Protection in law, and on social media, has been stripped back, exposing the bile of hate to the increasingly raw nerves of trans people who just want to exist, online and off.

***

Writing this is a fight. If I was on my feet, fresh as a daisy, and with a cheering crowd behind me, it wouldn’t be an issue. But trans people right now aren’t that blessed. We’re on the floor, bleeding, winded, and doing our best to protect ourselves from the worst body-blows and dirty kicks. Surviving is a challenge. Metaphorically, yes, but also literally.

I’m job hunting right now, as a visibly trans woman. I’ve been to a few interviews, dressed the best I could. I’ll never know for sure how many times I was passed over for my gender, but I do know I could have done those jobs in my sleep. Because I did those jobs, for years.

Employers are looking at me, I suspect, as less of an asset and more of a liability. What changes will need to be made, what confusing laws obeyed, what histrionics appeased, when you have one of those around?

Giving up, I’m not. Though with the above bitching I’d excuse you for thinking so. But this is why I have found it hard to talk about.

I don’t want to be negative. But I cannot be honest with positivity alone.

I don’t want to seem weak. But I want you to know that I’m struggling.

I don’t want to sound dramatic. But I need you to understand what’s at stake.

And that’s why I have to write. In a world of fake news and hate, I want the truth to be out there. If I’m going to be hated, then I want it to be for who I really am. And if I’m going to be liked, and loved, I also want it to be for who I really am – a person, who happens to be trans. That should be the least interesting thing about me, but here we are.

I want to share my life and experiences with you, because I want you to understand me. And, to be honest, I need your help swimming against the tide.

Warmest regards,
Ren