Acidentally Gay

by Lucky Bradley

  From my experience, the trans community is really split along gender lines. Transwomen, transmen and non-binary people make up very distinct groups, with very different needs. This meant, that transfeminine focused groups might not be the perfect fit for a transmasculine person other than general support and referral.

  Add to this, that a lot of transgender men transition fast, and fade into society with none the wiser. Testosterone is a helluva hormone, and a couple years on T, and a lot of us are hard to tell from non-transgender men. This meant unless you knew someone to ask, it was hard to track anyone down.

  We did find one group, though, that stated it was a resource for both masculine and feminine trans folks. They also professed to be supportive of partners, and allowed partners and supportive people into the meetings as well.

  We were looking for breadcrumbs to lead us along this path. The folks I have known in my earlier life that danced across the gender lines were a little more Eddie Izzard about it, than anything. That kind of no-fucks-given is fantastic, but we were hoping to find some idea of what we would be facing. We didn’t want to go it alone, unless we had to.

  With that, we arrived in person to our very first gender meet-up. I was surprised to find the age group seemed to fall into much older folks and teenagers. The teens had a larger number of genderqueer folks. I was the only female to male transgender person there.

  The meeting reminded me a bit of an AA meeting. There were minutes read, and everyone shared how they were doing, and advice could be asked. It was well-run and super-supportive. The ladies that ran the meeting did so with attention to everyone’s well being and a bit of a mother bear protectiveness.

  However, I could see the mistrust the veterans in the group had for my husband. These were transgender women that had been out of the closet for a very long time, and I could see they felt I was headed for heartbreak. They gently danced around our relationship, and I think my husband’s devotion to me, transition and all, was met with a certain amount of polite disbelief. To me, I read the pain from their personal experiences, and because I looked so young, a lot of protectiveness over me.

  The thing about me, though, is what I really wanted was support for Lucky. My husband was the one I worried about. I wasn’t worried about myself so much. It would be nice to pick someone’s brain, and see firsthand the effects of testosterone on a body that started out like mine. I didn’t need it, though. My entire life revolved around my making my choices, and merrily plowing through. This was no different.

  My husband, though? He’s a smart, caring man. He didn’t choose to rewrite our relationship, nor did he have years of questioning his gender to prepare him for this. I wanted him to have the help and support he needed. I didn’t want him to feel alone. I felt he had every right to supportive people that would listen to him vent about the situation if needed, as well as warn him about what he might go through.

  However, to some degree, the transgender community distrusted him because he wasn’t transgender, and so many people felt he was just going to dump me the minute the hormones started carving a more masculine image into my face. It doesn’t happen to everyone, but the risk is definitely there.

  Cis gendered folks often showed amazing amounts of support, but often in the wrong way. They would often profess how brave he was for deciding he could even stay with me. This would rub him the wrong way because he didn’t feel my transition was bad. He felt in hindsight, my transition was not that surprising. When folks acted like he was marching off to martyrdom by choosing to say with me, it was pretty disrespectful. This kind of support said more about how these people felt about transgender folks, than about anything else.

  We really did feel alone in the world at the beginning. We had been best friends and lovers since our teens. There is literally nothing I can think of that he is capable of, that would make me want to leave him. I have absolute faith that he loves me with the same fervor now as when we met. It was very much just us against the world.

  As we fumbled through those first few months, we tested the waters of being in a gay relationship, instead of a straight one. We talked about facial hair, public displays of affection and money needed to transition.

  Never once did he ever lay out an escape plan. This was in spite of my offering one regularly. I didn’t want him to feel like he was being pressured into staying if that wasn’t something he could do.

  So, when we couldn’t find any resources for partners of transitioning people, Lucky started a blog called “Accidentally Gay.” The name fit the bill. He had never dated a man before, and never looked to date a man, but here he was. He was accidentally a part of the LGBTQ demographic now.

  It didn’t take more than a post or two, before he was being contacted by people who wanted to ask how he was navigating a spouse that was transitioning, because they were in the same boat. Suddenly he had transgender people asking him how he had managed to stay, and how to convince their cisgendered spouse that they should stay too.

  He had a community of people he could talk to, and who he could refer to other resources. It was more than he had found elsewhere, and it gave him a direction to move in. Especially in the first year, the folks he met through this blog helped him sort out how he felt.

  For myself, I was relieved he had someone to talk to because despite his best intentions, I didn’t think this was going to be easy. No matter how thoroughly we planned it out, there were going to be bumps in the road. I wanted him to have as much support as he gave me. The blog turned out to be the perfect solution.

  Chapter Four:

  Dawning Concerns

  Fear is not real. It is a product of thoughts you create. Do not misunderstand me. Danger is very real, but fear is a choice.

  —Will Smith

  From the Accidentally Gay Blog: One Anxiety

  Posted on September 28, 2013

  I woke up this morning with a lot of anxiety for my husband. I suspect it is due to my dreams last night. This morning I have been working out in my head my first anxieties about Wolsey’s transition.

  Some of my anxieties have increased since my husband decided to transition. As I have said earlier, I am a big guy, and I have always been protective over Wolsey. When we got married, he was a small girl who had been assaulted in the past. Because he was both a loud dresser ([he wore] punk clothes in 80s, and almost always some variant of alternative after that) he got a lot of flak. This doesn’t even count the sexual assaults he suffered.

  When we married in 1992, I was always concerned when he would walk home alone, or pretty much walk anywhere if it was dark or in a rough neighborhood. Don’t get me wrong. I am sure he can take care of himself. However, he is so much smaller than I am, and he hasn’t really been in a lot of fights, so I am still overly protective.

  Now that he is transitioning I have found my anxiety for his safety is even higher. Wolsey dresses alternatively, has a loud personality and is fairly small, but now has to deal with being identified as gay. This makes me even more nervous, but I worry if he gets called out for transitioning. Transitioning seems to freak a lot of people out when they realize it’s happening. I understand it’s unusual, and therefore remarkable, but it does worry me.

  Take for example day-to-day problems such as when he has to start choosing which bathroom to use depending on the situation. Is the situation one where he has to worry about another male in the men’s bathroom freaking out, or should he use the women’s bathroom until he can fully pass? These situations vary place to place and I worry about one of those fluke situations going wrong.

  I know he is worried about me as well, and now that we walk down the street showing any public affection I will be called out for being gay. I don’t mind. Unlike him, I am not small and I am fully looking forward to the first stupid person to get in my face. This is the advantage of being a very large and masculine-bodied person, as not many people have the ability to intimidate me. However, Wolsey is different because he is small and easily broken.<
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  The crux of the matter is that I am anxious for him. I haven’t figured out the best way to deal with that worry, so this post is mostly a ramble by me about the anxiety itself, not really any solid approaches to handle it. I am sure there will be many more posts about this fear. Just thought I would share this morning.

  Lucky’s Perspective Now

  I have always been anxious about Wolsey’s safety. I’ve always feared that he could be hurt by someone. Before his transition, he was a small, attractive woman who had been assaulted before. Don’t get me wrong, being attractive doesn’t mean you’re a target, but he draws a lot of attention. During early parts of our marriage I would walk with him to his car, to the store, wherever he needed. I had a big crush on him, so it wasn’t the only reason, but his safety was always on my mind.

  Back then, I would watch over him and any of our other friends who might not have been sober. As a group, I was the only straight-edged person who didn’t enjoy recreational use of alcohol and/or drugs, so I had always appointed myself the person to watch over the rest of my friends. I noticed during these forays that Wolsey was the one who got harassed the most.

  At the time, I didn’t understand that women got harassed as a normal part of their public lives. My white, male, heteronormative privilege meant I was sheltered. In addition, I am 6’2”, so no one harasses me. This meant these walks were a new experience, where I had to watch over my friends so they didn’t get harassed, or in a fight.

  Once we started dating, my protectiveness over him got stronger. I think I adopted our societal gender norms of protecting my girlfriend from any harm. (I am using the term girlfriend since he had not transitioned and we were not married.) I was occasionally surprised at how often people would yell at him.

  We married in 1992, and almost by instinct (or ingrained social norms), I would walk on the outside of him when we walked down the road, placing myself between cars and him. If there were any people in the area that hinted they might be trouble, I would immediately walk between him and them. If it was really dark, I would generally take the lead, but that has more to do with my very good night vision, and the fact he is blind in the dark.

  Strangely enough, through all of that I had not ever seriously worried about his safety unless he was walking through a very dangerous part of town by himself.

  A few years before Wolsey’s transition, my understanding of the LGBTQ world started being better informed. I watched angrily as stories of people who were either gay or trans were assaulted, beaten or killed. This was still just on the periphery of my day-to-day concern, as I was in a heterosexual marriage. Although it angered me, it didn’t seem to touch me personally.

  My anxiety about Wolsey’s transition didn’t come until about a week into his change in clothing. It is probably because of my familiarity that it didn’t bother me at all. He had changed his clothing to include bulky shirts to hide his chest, baseball hats to hide his eyes and actually binding his chest. To me, it was just Wolsey, irrespective of what he looked like.

  That was until we went to my secret addiction, 7-Eleven. To those who are unaware, 7-Eleven is a national chain of convenience stores. Much like other bodegas, it is the realm of crappy coffee that I love, sugar, alcohol and those weird heated foodstuffs that have been sitting there all day. Growing up poor, that place was like mana from heaven. I guess I never got over that.

  We went into the store, which was kitty-corner from our apartment. We had just hopped in for me to get a cheap cup of coffee. While I was pouring the coffee, Wolsey was waiting beside me, wearing his baseball cap, red hoodie and jeans.

  I felt an elbow hit me softly in the ribs and realized Wolsey was trying to get my attention. I looked up and saw a drunken woman. This is standard in all 7-Elevens. A drunk will come in at least once an hour. She was swaying back and forth. It was at that point that the drunken woman’s face shot over and stared at Wolsey. She then looked down at our entwined hands and then back up at Wolsey’s eyes.

  It all happened in slow motion. She walked her way over slowly, barely avoiding knocking over a display. She stopped right in front of Wolsey. At this point I think I had a death grip on Wolsey’s hand, but I could be misremembering.

  The lady walked right up to Wolsey, almost bumped her own chest against Wolsey. Then, with over-exaggerated care, ducked her head under the brim of Wolsey’s hat, and just dragged her gaze from Wolsey’s waist, up his chest and into his face. She made some muffled sounds, and then wandered off.

  I didn’t realize how long I had been holding my breath, ready to step between them. Fortunately, no violence or words happened, and Wolsey just looked up at me. He was definitely anxious as well.

  I do know that for the first time in a very long time I felt the tinge of worry for Wolsey’s safety. For a moment, I thought Wolsey was going to get slugged in the face, and I was starting to step forward as the lady grumbled and then shambled off. I looked over and saw Wolsey was a little pale, his hand balled into a fist. That was definitely the first time in a long time I worried about his safety.

  I did the responsible thing and researched everything I could on transgender safety. Let’s just say it was far more shocking then I had realized. I had heard stories of transgender people being attacked and, in some cases, murdered. However, they were given less coverage in the media then a cisgender murder. In fact, I found that several people I had heard had been assaulted and murdered were actually transgender when the news reported them as their birth identities instead of their real identities.

  I had never heard the term “being clocked” before this, nor honestly would I have understood it. The idea that someone may identify you as transgender never seemed like a big deal to me. I personally had never seen a difference between a trans woman and a cisgender woman. Some of the most beautiful women I had seen are trans.

  The funny thing is I had never even considered trans men an issue at all. Even if I could tell someone was a trans man, why would it matter? There is no biological difference in strength, intelligence or capability of two people if they are the same size. I had walked around in my cisgender privilege, blind as a bat, so it never even dawned on me that if someone clocked a transgender person, they could be in danger.

  Needless to say, none of this helped my anxiety about his safety. At this time, he was finishing up school and I was at work all day. This made me worry about him constantly. It probably didn’t help that when left to our own devices, we spend almost every minute with each other, and being away makes me worry. I was especially worried, if he had to go somewhere that neither of us were familiar with.

  I still feel a little guilty that I didn’t realize the danger transgender people were in. I did take some solace that my readings indicated trans men were in the least danger, but I was even more horrified to see transgender women, especially transgender women of color, were in so such great danger.

  The worry for Wolsey’s safety was increased by the fact that Wolsey is not a quiet personality. He is very magnetic to people. He is usually noticed when he comes into a room, even when he is quiet. People are drawn to him now, as much as they were before he transitioned.

  I know using public restrooms concerned him, and it concerned me as well. I suspected he would be OK since he would use a stall, and most men are clueless in the bathroom. Normal bathroom etiquette for a guy is to look down, don’t engage with anyone in the bathroom, do your business and get out. However, that one in a 100 chance of problems is what worried me, especially if I wasn’t around. It didn’t help that he was always anguished in the beginning of his transition on what bathroom he should use, and who would be inside.

  The other aspect of the transition didn’t even dawn on me until a couple weeks later, and that was the fact that we were a same sex couple. I was more familiar with the assaults and abuse on gay and lesbian people. With him being so petite, I was worried for his safety.

  I worried about his gay status most often when he was by himself. He is a sm
all guy, and maybe because he has such a loud personality, people notice him, whether they like him or hate him.

  I was worried he might get jumped, so I did everything I could in the beginning to be there as much as possible. The concern for my safety never really dawned on me. I am a big guy, so I have a lot of privilege with other guys, and am left alone. If that wasn’t enough, I am aggressive in protecting my friends and family. I grew up in a violent, crime-filled culture, so most people walking down the street didn’t worry me.

  It took me a long time to work out how to handle my anxiety over his safety. Even to this day, his safety is my number one concern, although I think we handle it much better. I guess years of experience has mitigated my anxiety, and allowed me to relax. None of my worst fears have come to pass yet, and I have more hope.

  Wolsey’s Perspective Now

  The most dangerous thing you can be in the United States is a transgender person. Violence runs high against us. We have a high murder rate, with assaults, loss of jobs and other injustices not falling far behind. Every week, my newsfeeds on queer news brings me another story of a death, an attack or a job lost.

  I have to put in a caveat that the breakdown of violence against transgender people skews highest towards transgender women, and highest against people of color. That means, despite those risks, I am a white transgender man. I still have risks, but not the same risks a black transgender woman would face.

  Additionally, transition is not fast. It’s not as if you can take a shot of testosterone and suddenly Freddy Mercury floats down with a halo singing to you, heralding in a full beard and a deep manly voice. How much you transition over with hormones depends a lot on your genetic lottery. Some of us can “pass” seamlessly once we transition, but some of us never can.