I needed this today . . .

Yesterday, this whole election really, was brutal.

My candidate did not win.

The winners have made walking back protections on families like mine

part of their campaign promises,

and given the VP Elect's record in Indiana I have to believe that

they will work to accomplish those promises.

So today, I needed a reminder that those communities

(Women, LGBT+, People of Color, Muslims,

Latinos, the Disabled, the Media, etc.)

that the President Elect has spent the last 18 months

ridiculing and denigrating have pulled together before.

And we will do it again.

The movement is hurting and tired,

but our momentum to make the world kinder, more inclusive

and less fearful has not been lost.

My daughters were watching this today,

and I realized just how much I needed to see a diverse group

(even one as nonsensical as multi color anthro ponies)

support one another, lift each other up and rally together to make things better.

We are stronger together.

We will make it through this.

We will protect each other.

We will not let our momentum falter.

And until then . . .

We have singing anthro ponies.

Unicorn

The woman I love is sleeping. I should be, too.

But this post has been rattling around inside my head 
for such a long time. I have to let it out.

It has been two and a half years since Hunny came out to me and we started on the journey of her transition. It has been beautiful, isolating, freeing, difficult, transformative, terrifying, joyful, bleak, nerve wracking.

And it has been so very worth it.

Some friends have been left behind, not because we didn’t want or need them, but because the changes were too dramatic for their comfort. We have made new friends within the community, helping us to rebuild what others had ripped away. Hunny has found a new community, others who have gone through what she has; those who have shared her struggle.

I have not found the same welcome. 

And I do not ask or presume membership, 

the dues are far too costly and the jacket wouldn’t fit anyway.

I understand many of the reasons why I am held at a distance.

 I am, at once, a representation of the spouse who stayed, and a reminder of the ones who didn’t. By staying with Hunny, by supporting and encouraging her transition, by loving her through everything . . .

I am salt poured into the wounds of those whose 

partners didn’t, or couldn’t.

Conversely, I have had members of the community look at me with such heartbreakingly forlorn hope in their eyes. Eyes that want the kind of love, the kind of life that Hunny and I have together but have already given up hope of ever finding it for themselves.

Eyes that have become resigned to loss and loneliness as the exchange they must make to live authentic lives.

At those times I often feel like an exotic animal on display, 

to be admired from a safe distance. 

To be seen and appreciated but too dangerous to get close to.

The world is often unkind to those who break the mold, and I don’t blame those who have been hurt, who have had to give up everything, for the sadness and anger that they feel when I am around.

Like I said, I do understand.

I still stand with you.

I promise not to bite any fingers that reach into the enclosure.

Arguing with Myself: Sticks and Stones

A Case for Compassionate Speech

*trigger warning – discussion of homophobic / transphobic slurs*

I want to say first that I am only going to talk about a small handful of terms used in regards to the LGBT community. I know that there are so many more that need discussion (both within this community and in our broader culture), but those are not my stories to tell, or iniquities to contend with. For some well stated arguments about some other terms that need addressing in our broader culture please check out Tanis Miller’s post on able-ism and AAfterwit’s post regarding the discussion of racist terminology. 

 

. . .

 

‘The first amendment gives me freedom of speech. If that dyke doesn’t like it, she can f@#%ing blow me . . .’  

‘I didn’t know tranny was considered offensive . . .’

‘I’m gay and I don’t have a problem with it. Why can’t that faggot take a joke?’

In the past few months there have been a number of incidents involving people in the public eye 

(or at least on public social media) making statements including terms that offended others. The public response to this tends to be outrage, sometimes at the person who made the statement, and often at anyone who takes that person to task for saying it.

Don’t get me wrong, I believe that each of us has the right to voice our own opinions as we see fit. And the government agrees, since the First Amendment only protects from government action on grounds of speech.

This post is not about them.

I do believe that those who do not know (their reaction to being informed is usually to apologize when informed of an overstep) should be taken at their apology and allowed he chance to do better.

This post isn’t about this group either.

One of my wife’s friends (from before transition) commented on an anti-bullying article I had posted to face book about how “as a Mormon” he liked to open with a ‘mormon joke’ as a way of starting a discussion about the church. The problem being, most of those kind of jokes don’t have the same type of cultural stigma attached to them that slurs do. Someone is far less likely to be victimized, often violently by another for being openly Mormon. Religion has an element of choice that being part of the QUILTBAG spectrum doesn’t.

The line at where humor becomes derogatory speech is easier to define when the person using it is from outside that community.

It becomes much more difficult when it is a member of that group who has chosen to ‘reclaim’ that term as a source of empowerment. 

Here’s the thing, if you fit into this last group please understand that not everyone is in the same place in their journey that you are. That word may have lost its power for you, but others have not gotten to that place yet.  For them, every syllable is an act of violence against their soul, a way that people have tried to shame them into living someone else’s beliefs.

Words can re-open scars and propel people back into the darkness they are only just winning free of.

People don’t want your voice silenced, your truth stifled.

We all need to speak with more compassion, lest we cause more pain to those already hurting and scarred. For some, a small, unthinking comment can be incredibly destructive. So many have had wounds inflicted by those who should have treated them with love and kindness.  

Please don’t use your victory over the hurtful terms in your life blind you to how much potential they have to hurt others.

- Vixi

 
 

Where I’ve Been, Part2

Hunny has been on hormones for over a year and a half. She has changed so much, not only physically, but emotionally. She is so feminine that the constant comments about her height drive her crazy. From my own experience, I can say that the ‘you’re so tall’s and the ‘do you play basketball’s get old quickly and she’s still a few inches taller than I am.  She loves her shoes, boots especially. Happily, her feet are only about a half size larger than mine (her feet have gotten significantly smaller, and mine are decidedly not tiny) so we share.  She gets mis-gendered (called sir or him instead of miss /ma’am or her) far less often than she used to (at least when I’m with her), and more often, by people who know her but don’t understand or support her transition rather than strangers.

Physically, the changes are both subtle and startling. Her lips continue to become fuller, her cheeks less angular. Her eyes aren’t as deep set, and even her nose has become more refined. Her body becomes curvier (in all the right places) and her stance has changed as her hips and pelvis widen (I believe the amount of estrogen and progesterone she is taking is causing her body to loosen her ligaments as though pregnant). As her hair has grown out it has become a tumble of curls (since my hair won’t hold a curl at all, I am incredibly envious). I find myself smitten all over again.

The emotional changes are harder. Hunny is breaking decades of societal conditioning and going through puberty at the same time. We argue more than we used to, and more spectacularly, but we also spend more time curled up together, holding and supporting each other. We are closer than ever before, much to the annoyance of the kids. I love her so much. It is physically painful to be apart for very long.  

. . .

Our tenth anniversary is only six months away. We decided to have a wedding, not just a vow renewal, but a wedding to celebrate. We want to have the opportunity to say our vows, Hunny as her true self without hiding and me to the woman I love. We found a beautiful venue that includes nearly everything, and is in our price range. It even included a cake through our choice of outside bakery. We even found our dresses on the same day, at the same store. The sales girls had tears in their eyes when we kissed after finding our dresses. Hunny looks beautiful in her dress, and I love how I feel in mine.

. . .

I turned 32. My parents took the kids overnight. Hunny and I went to dinner, and after a failed attempt to go dancing (the club we went to doesn’t open the dance floor until after the entertainers finish) we went to a movie. Not having the kids underfoot, Hunny and I spent the morning cuddling in bed before going out to breakfast and picking up the monsters. All in all, it was a good day.

. . .

While I hope to be able to write more often, life is hectic and the triplets don’t nap anymore . . .

 I have many things I want to write about. Here’s hoping that I get a little more opportunity to do so.

-  Vixi

Nine Years

I wore a medieval gown a generous and talented friend custom made for me. The fabric was (and still is) a soft ivory, but it looks white in every picture. My long, dark hair falls down my back, the front braided (less than symmetrically) by my soon to be sister - in - law, who realized half way through that we should have taken time to practice before the big day. I chose not to wear a veil. The red roses in my hand were a last minute bouquet my soon to be mother - in - law assembled from flowers purchased from Costco just hours before.

The embellished sneakers I wore caught in the aisle runner; the park wouldn’t allow us to anchor it to the grass. My dad was reluctant to let go of my hand.

 But at the end of the aisle stood the only person I had ever loved, had ever wanted, had ever needed.   

We got married in front of the same fountain we had taken prom pictures under.  The Officiate had married most of my family, and although we had talked with her about our beliefs, during the ceremony all of our revisions were forgotten, but the I Do’s were heartfelt. And if we both had happy tears threatening to fall, they only served to make our eyes brighter as we walked back down the aisle together, fingers intertwined.

In the nine years that have come and gone since that joyous afternoon, we have lived with family, had our boys, lived on our own as a family, bought a house, had triplet girls, lived through darkness, had moments of shining happiness. 

The groom I walked to on that day is now my wife.

And we are stronger for it. Our marriage, our partnership, our love is stronger, and deeper for every step we’ve taken together. She is still the only person

 I have ever loved, have ever wanted, have ever needed.

 I now understand why her face is hidden in most of our wedding photos, why so many of her happy smiles were tempered with a trace of sadness. And why she doesn’t look at our old photos anymore. But her smile today is radiant. 

The joy of being who she really is burns so bright she almost glows.

Here’s to walking this path together, fingers and hearts still intertwined;

 to holding onto each other through both the smooth and the rocky.

Happy Anniversary, Beautiful Girl.

I love you.

  

Arguing with Myself: Rape Prevention

Lately rape has been in the news quite a bit . . . 

Congress voted down the Violence Against Women Act.

 

Jyoti Singh Pandey, the 23 year old med student was brutally gang raped and beaten, days later dying from the event.

Notre Dame University chose not to bench 2 football players after separate allegations of sexual assault and rape, leading to the suicide of one victim.

Two members of Steubenville, Ohio’s high school football team were videoed bragging about taking a girl who had passed out at a party, stripping her, digitally penetrating her (fingering her), and taking her, unconscious,  to three other parties where they exposed her body to others, urinated on her and humiliated her.

 The boys still got to play . . . . 

I think the underlying reason that so many people are willing to use this as an excuse to ‘slut shame’ (she was drinking, out at night, wearing X style of clothing, was dancing, wasn’t a virgin and had it coming) or ‘victim blame’ (she fought back, didn’t fight back, should have done X to avoid the situation) is because rape isn’t generally understood.

 

Most people believe the fallacy that rape is an issue of impulse control.

That rapists can’t control their sexual urges.

That rape is about sex . . .

Rape is about power and control, not sex.

Rape is about taking the power to consent away from the victim, about proving the rapist has more power because they can make you submit to them.

That the rapist is entitled to the victim’s body, to sex,

even to the victim’s life.

I have been lucky. I am 31 years old and have not been the victim of sexual assault or rape. But there is a very real chance that at some point in my life I will be, simply because I’m a woman. My sister and three other friends over the course of my life have been. My daughters, my sons (men are as vulnerable to rape as women but very, very few report it), my wife (she’s at higher risk because she’s transgender), everyone I love has the potential to be a headline.

Or, far more likely, not make the headline.  

Prevention isn’t about the victim avoiding being victimized. That hasn’t worked in the past, and isn’t working now.

Rape prevention is about people, men as well as women, working to change the conversation. Parents teaching their sons and daughters that only yes means yes. That being drunk doesn’t equal consent. That no does not mean try harder.

Custador, a fellow blogger who writes at Unreasonable Faith ), has made this pledge in order to help do just that . . .

 

I will never condone rape or support rape culture in any way. I will object, loudly, when a rape joke is told. I will not tolerate objectification of women, amongst my male friends or amongst anybody else. I will do my best to be aware of my male (and white, and straight, and middle class) privilege, and to not take advantage of it. If and when I have children, I will try to educate them to critically appraise the media to which they are exposed and be aware of the gender messages within it. I will not spend money on any product, company or media which I am aware of having promoted rape culture or gender disparity, regardless of whether they have done so deliberately.

 

I think most of us, men and women, can get on board with that.

Thoughts on Coming Out

A spouse’s perspective

 

At the end of March my world changed.

Two words turned my life upside down and set me spinning.

 

 “I’m transgendered.”

 

There was so much heartache in those words,

 so much fear and longing.

Pain at the thought of such a complete rejection.

 A voice teetering on the edge of losing everything.

 

In that moment I had two clear choices:

I could run screaming and

break the fragile heart opening up to me.

Or I could see this as exploring a new aspect

of the person I’ve loved for so long and accept.

 

With either choice my life would change.  

 

A choice between fear and love.

Not everyone would agree with my choice,

but for me, in that moment, the choice was clear.

 

Love won.

 

It was the easiest choice I’ve ever had to make.

 

Love won.

 

In the months since she came out to me,

 we have weathered stresses and storms,

sick children and family who can’t understand.

We have disagreed, worried,

 broken down and held each other up.

We have answered questions, made new friends

and been hurt by those who can’t

come to terms with the changes.

 

We are closer now than we have ever been,

kissing like we did in high school, constantly in contact.

More supportive of each others’ needs,

 more forgiving of their faults.

 

I am so proud of her, proud and honored to be with her,

to take this journey hand in hand.

 

Two words can change the world.

 

Love won.  

A Quick Thank You

Families like mine in Maine, Maryland, Washington and Minnesota

have new protections and rights.

 

Parents can rest easier knowing that their children

won’t be taken from their partners if tragedy strikes.

 

Partners won’t have to fight to see each other in the hospital

 if sick or injured. Can’t be denied health care or life insurance payments

because of who they love.

 

That our country can see that
the LGBTQ community is made up of people.

 

That who you love isn’t the only important thing about you. That it shouldn’t preclude anyone from being treated with equality and respect.

 

To the voters in Maine, Maryland and Washington: Thank you.

Thank you for accepting and including a community
that has been so often denigrated and overlooked.

Thank you for supporting everyone’s right
to marry the person they love, regardless of gender.

 

To the voters in Minnesota: Thank you.

Thank you for standing up for the rights of
your friends, family members, neighbors . . .
For not allowing bullies to use the law
to justify harassment and discrimination.

Thank you for taking the first step toward equality.  

 

Together we are powerful. We can change the world.

 

 And yesterday, in those four states, we did.

Arguing With Myself: To Chick-fil-A or Not to Chick-fil-A

Facebook has been up in arms lately about the Chick-fil-A news release in which the company’s president admitted to using company profits to support anti- LGBTQ political groups.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like Chick-fil-A. The food is good, the staff is friendly and helpful, the restaurants are clean and the play places don’t smell like pee.

I believe that the company president and everyone else involved have the right to support whatever issues they like . . . .
With their own money.
My issue is that they are using money paid by customers to do this . . . without informing them first.

Why should I care?
I care because the moment my spouse came out to me as transgender, my family became part of the group ‘the customers’ money’ is being used to try to destroy.
I am one person, not a large franchise with a legal team. I don’t want to be a landmark case to keep my family together and safe.
And to those who think I’m over-reacting . . .

My medical coverage (and that of our kids) is through my spouse. If anti-LGBTQ legislation (like these groups want) goes through, my insurance could disappear as soon as my spouse’s legal name and gender change go through.
Our 8 year marriage could be declared legally invalid. My wife could loose her parental rights . . . to our biological children.

When someone tries to remove the safeguards you have built to protect your family on the basis of not agreeing with your choices . . . and has billions of dollars and a huge political machine to do it . . .
It becomes difficult not to feel harassed and threatened.
While this may not be personal for the president of Chick-fil-A, it is for me.

My heart goes out to any LGBTQ employees at Chick-fil-A who are forced to choose between paying the bills and having equal rights.
To be put in that position by the actions of your employer . . . is horrible.

But I think I have a solution:
Companies using sales based profits for political purposes (i.e. Chick-fil-A, Target, Walmart, etc.) need to step up. Post (both on websites and in store) that a percentage of the profits goes to fund x, y, and z political groups, like they do with charities.
This way supporters know their money is going to a cause they believe in, conscientious objectors are informed before buying, and those in the middle can decide if they care enough to go elsewhere. This also gives prospective employees an idea of where they stand within the company.

In short, I want informed consent. If you are going to use the money I spend for political purposes . . . tell me so I have the option to choose where my monetary support goes.

Anyone have a better plan?
- Vixi

(P.S. – as for the “defense of the ‘biblical’ family” nonsense . . . Jon Stewart of The Daily Show said it so much better than I could. Sorry, this was the best video I could find. If anyone finds a better one please link it to me in the comments.)

http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/mon-july-23-2012/gaywatch---holdouts-edition
Thanks Arcee for the video link.

Where We are Now

Loving my Wife

Since my husband came out to me as transgender

things have changed in our home.

We spend more time getting ready (she’s very feminine and loves her makeup and accessories) and shopping (much to Elroy and Bam-Bam’s dismay).

We talk more (she often states how much closer she feels we have become, how much stronger our relationship is now than before).

We spend at least a part of every night cuddled in each others’ arms. This has been one of my favorite new rituals. I hadn’t realized how much

I missed that contact and connection until we had it back.

She helps more around the house. It sounds strange but before she began her transition she might make dinner a couple times a month, or do a load of dishes or laundry about as often. Now, she cooks at least a couple times a week and does laundry or dishes when she sees it needs doing. She spends more time actually parenting our children, and more time playing with them. I didn’t realize how deeply the gender bias had become ingrained in our daily lives

until she gave hers up.

I feel more appreciated and more wanted now than ever before. I had gotten used to talking to myself and to not being heard. Now she tells me at least once a day how much having me in her life has made it better.

She listens when I talk and values my thoughts and opinions.

I occasionally still worry that she is using me as a template for her womanhood.

(When she read this she said ‘not template, stepstool.’ Thanks my love.)

Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered. But her likes and preferences line up so closely to my own that I was afraid her voice would get lost in trying to become who she is meant to be. Then she says or picks out something I just can’t agree with

and I laugh at my narcissism.

She has found a family in others who are transitioning as well.

People whose stories are varied but the moral is the same.

Being who you are is worth the cost.

I’ve also found a community. Through blogs and support groups I’ve found that I’m not alone in being willing and able to love the person I married through this change. People who share my belief that the equipment is not as important as the mind and soul within it. That it’s possible to come out the other side

 together, in love and happy.

It is still early yet in this process. She’s still on initial doses of hormones (hopefully that will increase this month) but the changes emotional and physical have been both subtle and life changing. Her body is changing. She has saddle bags that make her smile every time she sees them. She even has boobs now. Her face is fuller and softer. She has been undergoing electrolysis and is seeing some real results.

She’s even had men check her out in public . . . .

As for the future . . . my tarot cards can’t answer that question. We‘re working on getting her name changed, and the other legal stuff we need to cover our bases. I hope that we’ll be celebrating her surgery next summer (and that our insurance will cover it so we don’t have to shoulder that much extra debt). I’m looking forward to renewing our vows in a couple of years (this time she’ll get to be the bride too), although it looks like it will cost at least as much

for our dresses as our first wedding did all together.

But the most important part, the part that makes her transition feel right, is simple.

I love my Wife.