I was once asked on a Sunday morning to spend about 10 minutes talking about what it is like being transgender in front of a congregation of folks.
I was a very visible member of my community. I was well known in multiple circles. Professionally and personally visible. It's hard to transition in the spotlight. It's hard to transition in the dark. It's hard to transition.
When I began my transition, I didn't even know that's what it was. I sat and I wrote one day about how I had the right to be handsome. I began to explore simple things like binding... packing... dating... sliding my foot further into the masculinity I seemed to have been born into. Masculinity I used to curse.
Why am I not like them? Why do I talk differently? Why do I walk differently? Why am I so othered by the boys and girls. Why did I feels so immersed in shame as my body began to change and breasts began to form?
Now I look back and it all makes sense. Now I look back and I dream of a life wherein I had role models - big bold beautiful trans folx to show me everything I ever needed to know about myself. That I am and have always been a boy.
As I explored artificial ways of making my body fit the image of what I somehow always knew it should be, I found something I had never had before. Confidence. I finally started to feel like I fit in this world.
It wasn't until I was in my forties that I realized my name was Jackson. I didn't realize I was a boy. I didn't realize I was taking a bold step into discovering myself. I simply knew my old name didn't fit and this was the name that describes who I have always been.
And publicly, surrounded by many well meaning folx and a few not so well meaning folx, I transitioned into the man boy pup that stands before you today.
I transitioned in a community with few peers, no resources, and a whole lot of people accepting me exactly where I was, even though that place seemed to sometimes change from one day to the next.
So I stood in front of that congregation and I told them
10 minutes is not enough time to tell you the shame that comes with being misgendered.
10 minutes is not enough time to tell you the fear involved with using public restrooms.
10 minutes is not enough time to tell you the pain of living in a body that never seemed to fit.
10 minutes is not enough time to tell you how invalidating being dead named feels.
10 minutes is not enough time to tell you how much harm a lack of family support can cause.
10 minutes is not enough time to tell you how glorious it feels to walk - for the first time in your life - with your shoulders back because you are not trying to hide something that shouldn't be there.
10 minutes is not enough time to tell you what it feels like to receive a baby boy book from your mother at Christmas when you're 45.
10 minutes is not enough time to tell you how scary and affirming it feels to have a entire doctor's office ask you to come share your bad experience as a trans person because they want to do better for the next trans person.
10 minutes is not enough time to tell you how it feels to see my partner's "I'll go with you" button and to know she - and the others in my circle - would use their cis privilege to stand between me and danger every single day.
10 minutes is not enough time to tell you how it feels to be unquestioningly supported by your employer in the face of repeated misgendering and gender-related mistreatment.
10 minutes is not enough time to tell you how my life would have been changed if only I had role models and resources and support as an adolescent.
The greatest gift I can give to myself and my community is to continue to live with authenticity, vulnerability, and visibility.
I'm proud to be Jackson. Proud to be a transgender man. Proud to be surrounded by amazing brave and beautiful folx who inspire me to be the best version of myself each and every day.
10 minutes couldn't possibly be enough time.
