When I came out very publicly as trans, I was flooded with love and respect and within the first month of ‘being out’ half a dozen people had contacted me and come out as trans.
Some of them I knew from Brighton, some I didn’t, but they all had the same message for me: “Thank you for talking about this and normalising things and allowing me in turn to come out”. Some of these people are still yet to come out to anyone else and I’m their only confidant.
At this point I realised that there was some good that could come from my transition, not just for me, but for other trans and cis people too. I had an inner conflict about whether or not I wanted to waive my right to a private transition but had an overwhelmingly strong feeling that the more visible I was the more people I could help.
I continued to document my transition on social media and although I do keep a private side to my life, as one must for one’s sanity, I started to make my posts, especially my posts around transition public.
This of course opened the floodgates to messages of hate alongside the growing number of people who were coming to me for help. Late last year, I was asked by Gscene to write a monthly column and I knew that in doing so I could open myself up to more hatred. However, I decided that the good I could do would outweigh the bad.
Fast forward to May and I’ve been writing this column for five months and, as expected, the hate continues to pour in: from people telling me that I am mentally ill at the easier end of the spectrum, to wishes of death at the other. This isn’t helped when once highly respected feminists Germaine Greer and Fay Weldon spin their hate against trans women and try their hardest to undermine our very existence. This is something that upsets me far more than any hate coming from mostly cis gender men over the internet, it is intelligent, feminist women hating on me and trying to turn other women against me.
This makes me feel betrayed by the gender I am, female. This rips my heart out.
Anyway, I digress. What I’m trying to focus on is the positive that being so open can bring. Since Gscene gave me this platform, along with the extra hate that it was bound to bring, the loving floodgates have opened and I’m busy connecting newly ‘out’ trans people to services and helpful doctors, pinpointing support groups and offering 1-2-1 Skype and email/message support to individuals.
Last month I went for the first two days of work on my head in Latvia. I was as open as ever about this and in turn it’s brought about something wonderful. I was approached by someone who felt empowered to have surgery and they asked me to accompany them for moral support.
I write now from a farming community village with a population of 400 in rural northern France, 160km from Paris, 40km from the Belgian border, 30km from the nearest city, and the private hospital in which they underwent surgery.
We’re staying with one of their longest-serving friends, Jo, a young widow, under 50, who has opened her home up to me and couldn’t be more welcoming. A staunch feminist, she and I have discussed feminism and especially trans feminism and the hurt I feel from the likes of Greer and Weldon.
Jo assures me: “Sugar, Weldon and Greer do not represent the ordinary feminist or even woman on the street. They come from a position of privilege, especially Weldon, who is incredibly wealthy. I stopped thinking of her as a feminist years ago. Greer is someone I once felt inspired by, but unfortunately she became intellectually petrified some decades ago”.
Jo is not trans exclusionary in her feminism and has welcomed me with opened arms, I feel I’ve made a friend. Living in such an isolated place, Jo doesn’t see many trans people, in fact, in 16 years of living in rural France she’s only met one very brave woman who has transitioned here.
Attitudes towards me here are even worse than they were in Latvia. I’m probably the first trans woman that many of these people have ever seen and I’m laughed at and stared at every day and it’s draining.
When I’m with Jo I have the protection of being with another and the hate isn’t so bad, but when I’m on my own it’s much more hateful and particularly upsetting. People feel they’re able to abuse me more when I’m alone.
Social etiquette is different here. In the UK it’s considered rude to stare or point at someone and usually if I make eye contact and give a death stare to someone judging me in a negative way they’ll often look away feeling most embarrassed.
Here, that isn’t the case. When I stare back at someone in rural France, they’re unfazed and that is quite frightening but amidst my feelings of discomfort amongst the locals and the hatred I receive both online and in the writings and speeches of the Trans Exclusionary Feminists, some good has come from this month. I’ve empowered someone to have some work done and I’ve made a new friend and maybe, just maybe, I’m doing my bit for trans awareness in this remote part of the world.
Next week we return to the UK and I have two weeks at home before I return to Latvia for the second instalment of my surgery, a week after which I will be celebrating my six month mark of Hormone Replacement Therapy.
Things are good.
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