Read

by: Tery Maine

 

Being "read" in TG parlance means you have been identified as being TG. It has a meaning on several levels. First, it means that you have failed in your quest to be seen as just another woman. But at a deeper level, it means that you have may not be able to be accepted as a woman. Of course, it may also mean that you are at risk of any number of indignities from ridicule to physical assault.

On the eve of my beginning to work full-time as a woman, I was read in the worst possible way. As a result my confidence was badly shaken. But out of it, I learned more about where my true source of strength and acceptance lay.

 

Cindy pushed open the door with her foot, dumped her books and binder in a chair and fell face down on the couch sobbing deeply. Cindy groped for a box of Kleenex on the coffee table accidentally knocking it to the floor. Finally, she pulled out a handful of tissues and pushed them into her eyes overflowing with tears. Cindy felt silly and foolish. After all, the incident happened the day before, but somehow it didn’t hit home until tonight.

They were standing in a clump outside the door of the supermarket. Three rough looking men, indolent with their indolence turning to cruelty, they fixed their eyes on Cindy as she left the store. Whether it was the heat, her outfit, a mistake in makeup or the extreme scrutiny of the men, she never knew, but something happened which hadn’t happened in weeks; she was read. This wasn’t the simple snicker, amused smile or strange look type of reading either. It was the type Cindy dreaded. It was the cruel, mean spirited, public display type.

"Hey, you, You some kind of pervert dressing up like a girl?" one of the men shouted. Cindy ignored the comment and continued to push the grocery cart toward her car, her heart beginning to pound.

The other men chimed in with comments like, "Maybe I should**** you right here?" and "I should take that dress off you right now."

While the chances of a physical assault were slight given the fact it was midday in a very public place with security guards approaching from about a hundred feet away, Cindy still felt a type of panic. Linked to her new found fear of rape was also a fear of hate violence. Cindy took the proper precautions and, since she usually passed well, the chances were low, but they were still real.

Cindy made it to her car, threw the groceries into the trunk with as much speed as her dignity would allow. As she closed and locked the door, she could still hear the taunts in the distance.

Pulling out of the parking lot she could see the hoodlums laughing together probably at her expense. The anger rose and subsided by the time she got home. Once in the door, the work of the day took precedent. She needed to wash dishes, cook dinner, study for a test, review some progress notes on a client, and call a friend who had been in crisis a night or so ago. She put her own problems on hold, because she had to be strong for her friend.

Wednesday night was class night. The class was Group Therapy and the class used role playing to practice group techniques. During the role play Cindy had to play a depressed person and the only motivation she could locate was the incident the day before. Thinking about it, the emotions came back in a flood. She barely made it through the role play, then slipped out at the break.

Now, she wept bitterly into a small handmade pillow she bought at a church bazaar.

It wasn’t just the rudeness of the incident that hit her so hard. It was the doubt that the incident planted in her confidence. On Thursday, Cindy returned to work after summer break, this time as a woman. Orientation Day at the college where she had transferred to provide an easier transition. The idea being that it was better for her to simply start work as a woman rather than as a transsexual.

As Cindy reviewed the incident in her mind, she wondered if it made any difference at all.

"If I can’t pass on the street with strangers, how can I expect to pass with people I see everyday?" She wondered aloud between sobs.

"What if my students read me and feel like those scum? Maybe I’ve been fooling myself all this time. Maybe a lot of people feel just like those guys and are just too civilized to say so. If I’m read by even one student, it will spread like wildfire through the school. I’ll be finished as a teacher."

Cindy paused. Fresh Tears flowed. "If I’m not a teacher, what am I? It’s more than what I do, it’s who I am."

Why do people have to be cruel? Cindy wondered. Why do they have to say exactly what they think? What payoff other than a few minutes of hilarity, does my hour of pain bring them?

Cindy told herself that this wasn’t that important. They were just a few jerks who weren’t worthy of her tears. That this type of thing happens. That she should be used to it by now. But it still hurt and she knew the hurt wouldn’t go away easily.

The tears had given way to a sullen silence. Cindy turned on her side and tried not to think. She let a few remaining tears drop onto the couch and let a fresh wave of emotion wash over her.

Thinking about waves of emotion, she remembered an illustration which said "You can ride out a wave of emotion or resist it and get washed away."

Perhaps, one thing that developed through the difficult times of this transition was Cindy’s growing ability to experience emotion without cutting herself off from her feelings. It was good to be able to cry. For years, even tears were denied her.

"Oh, Lord," Cindy cried out "Why me? Why now? Help me to find peace."

But Cindy knew she already had the peace. It was placed in a secret chamber of her heart. Faith is the key that unlocked the door. As she thought about everything else she’d been through over the past year, she began to understand that, yes, she would withstand this storm as well. Her foundation was firm even if the wind was rattling the shutters a bit.

As Cindy got up to get a drink of water she noticed that she’d been lying in silence for nearly half an hour. Walking toward the water cooler, the words of a song came to mind:

"God on the mountain/is still God in the Valley/ He’ll take what’s wrong/ and he’ll make it right/The God of the Good Times/ is still God in the Hard Times/The God of the Day/ is still God in the Night."

As Cindy sipped the water, she whispered, "Thank you, Lord, for being God of my Night."

Cindy rinsed out the glass, turned off the light, and went to bed. After all, she had a big day ahead of her.

  

  

  

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