We're More than Meets the Eye

“It’s not a big deal,” “Does it really matter?” “It’s just so hard for me to remember,” “You can’t expect me to be okay with this, “No.”

These are just some of the many reactions or excuses given to trans/non-binary folx when they inform/remind others about their name and/or pronouns. Sometimes, the responses are much worse. As a result, there are many times when people don’t tell or correct their peers, either out of fear, or knowing that the effort is futile. Why waste the energy if you know the recipient refuses to acknowledge it properly, right?

To some, this may not appear to be that big of a deal. Why does it matter so much, anyway? It’s just a name, it’s just a pronoun. Well, let me try to explain in a way that maybe everyone can relate to, even if your name or pronouns do align to those given to you at birth.

What’s some physical attribute that you have that you dislike? Maybe it’s some freckles, a wart, acne. For this example, let’s stick with acne. Most people tend to not like it, and will go to some pretty decent lengths to improve it, right? Maybe they pop their pimples, pick at them, wash their face often or not at all. Maybe they even use special products, or go so far as to take medication to correct it as best they can.

Now, imagine you were born with this giant pimple right in the middle of your forehead. It’s one of those cystic ones too, deep under the skin that bubbles up, can vary in degrees of redness, pain, and visibility. It’s not something that you can just pop or pick away, and it’s been with you since day one. But that’s not all. No, you are defined by this skin abnormality, so much so that it's what everyone calls you. “Hey Pimple,” they say. “Looking red and bulbous today, Pimple!”

You hate it. You are not your pimple. You are separate from it, your own person regardless of its existence on your face. Its presence doesn’t define who you know you are, but when you try and tell others that, they don’t listen. They still call you Pimple. In their eyes, because that’s what you were born with, that’s what you’ll always be- Pimple.

You want so badly to be rid of this thing that plagues your face, this thing that others use to define you. But, in order to do so, you’d have to go to extensive lengths. You’d have to go to your doctor, who would either go the medication or surgical route- or even both. First, however, you’d have to find a doctor that will work with you on it. You may go to dozens of doctors before you find one that won’t tell you that you’re fine the way you are, that you just need to give it time, that it’s easier just to live with it, that doesn’t make you go through years of therapy beforehand to ensure that you really want this thing that brings you so much misery off your face for good.

Once you finally do find a doctor that will work with you, and either doesn’t make you jump through a thousand hoops or you’ve checked all their little boxes and crossed all their t’s, it’s time to pay. Regardless of whether or not it’s just medication, or just surgery, or both, it can get pretty expensive. Your insurance- especially if you’re located in the United States- probably won’t cover it either, as it’s an elective procedure, or medication that isn’t “necessary.” Even though for you, for your mental well being, it is necessary. It can literally change your life, let you live your life as you, be seen for more than just the pimple that lives on your face. They don’t care though, and you could be paying hundreds, thousands on medication or the procedure alone. That doesn’t include pre-op, post-op, and maintenance visits, either. That, you’ll have to pay separately.

Maybe you’re lucky enough to have that kind of cash, and the time off from work that you would need to make it happen. Or, maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re already barely making ends meet, so trying to add in these other massive expenses is daunting, or even impossible. For now, perhaps for a long time, you’re stuck with this pimple on your face, that everyone sees and reacts to instead of You, your person, your character, everything that makes you the person you are underneath the pimple that brands the first thing that people see.

Either way, the whole process takes time. Time that is spent wishing this pimple away, wishing that people would see past it to the you that you know you are. In the meantime, you do what you can to try and hide it- wear a hat, leave your bangs on your forehead, use concealer and makeup- anything to try and keep it out of view, especially with strangers so that they don’t start calling you Pimple before they even know you.

But it doesn’t always work. More often than not, it doesn’t make much of a difference at all. It’s like people can just see right through your disguise, or have this little radar that just screams PIMPLE! PIMPLE!! at people when they see you. It’s disheartening. No matter what you do, what lengths you go to with what you have available, it doesn’t seem to make a difference in how people perceive you, and treat you as a result.

Sometimes, that feeling of hopelessness just… really takes over. No one is ever going to listen to me, see past this thing that isn’t me, but apparently defines who I am in society. No one cares about me enough to look beyond the pimple, listen to my name, learn my character and respect me as I am. As pimples can change, even long lasting cystic ones, this can also impact these feelings. It can become tender to the touch, swell a little more in size, become red or enraged. This may make it harder to conceal, and bring more of these negative feelings, thoughts, and fears to light.

When these emotions are rampant, when they take over your mind, you may have desires to take matters into your own hands. Maybe you don’t act on those thoughts, despite how loud they are. Maybe you start to, and talk yourself out of it before you do some potentially serious damage to yourself. Or, maybe you go through with it. Perhaps you weren’t able to complete what you set out to do, but you tried nonetheless, until you hit the point where you couldn’t continue. You still have that pimple.

These moments of severe pain may pass for a time. The pimple may not be as tender, as noticeable, and you may be able to get on with your moment in time. You may tell yourself that sure, it sucks that people don’t see you for who you are beneath the lump on your face, but you don’t have it as bad as others. Really, it’s okay. It could be worse. I’m okay.

That doesn’t make it okay. Sure, there are others out there who may have it worse. They may be in more danger, face more discrimination for the characteristic they are defined by. Maybe they were born with a scar on their forehead in the shape of a swastika, and everyone labels them as a Nazi. They just call you pimple, certainly that is better, right? This person with the scar, they’re beaten for the characteristic they were born with, a scar in the shape of something they don’t identify with. In fact, they’ve been turned down by jobs, have been refused housing, are beaten, and have had attempts on their life- all for something on their body that they didn’t get to decide to have. This person has it so much worse than you, clearly you can live with the pimple that plagues you. It’s not a big deal, it’s fine.

It’s not.

As a non-binary trans person who was assigned female at birth, I may face less outright discrimination than some of my peers- namely trans women, and those of color in particular. I haven’t been forced out of a bathroom, been refused a job or housing, haven’t been assaulted for being myself instead of the body I was given. Others, people that I know, have definitely had it worse than I. Does that mean that my struggles or feelings are any less valid? No. They still matter, and are still issues that need to be addressed, things that need to be worked on, problems that need to be solved.

I may not have a giant pimple on my forehead, and I may not be called Pimple, but I was born in a body that does not represent me. I don’t live in a body that feels like home. And, as someone who was born in the body of a female, I am treated as such. Women’s issues are still my issues, as even though I don't identify as one, those problems are still put on me when everyone around me doesn’t look past my body to see the person underneath. They see that I have a chest- even when I do my best to conceal with binders, baggy clothing, and button ups- and that I have hips, and mark me as someone to be treated the way they treat women.

I have told people that my pronouns are they/them/theirs, even wear a decently large pin on my name tag that declares it, and so many of my peers continue to put she/her/hers pronouns to my name. Many of the times I have corrected others, I have been met with a chorus of excuses as to why it’s just so hard for them to get it right, that I’ve begun to stop trying. Why waste the energy that I don’t have correcting people that refuse to listen, refuse to look past my body and listen to the person inside?

I would love to be able to get surgery to physically transition into the person I know I am. I don’t have the thousands of dollars it would take for the surgery alone. I don’t have money to afford the long time off work. I don’t have the means to make it a reality. I also have the displeasure of being a person with female reproductive organs that don’t function as they should, and every time those issues announce themselves again, I’m forced to be aware of just how much I don’t get to live my life as my true self.

When so many around me will always carry this feminine image to my name, despite my pleas and requests and reminders to the contrary, and my own body forces the reminder, it’s more than disheartening. It’s devastating. It’s given me many a dark thought, some so loud, so persistent that I couldn’t shut them out. I couldn’t turn them away, and keep going. I attempted some pretty serious things, all that have put me in dangerous positions. Many of these, I have done even before I knew that I was trans, before I had the knowledge and language to describe what I felt and why. I was just a kid, a kid who was hurting, who wanted to be seen for who they were and not what they appeared to be. I wanted to live- but as me.

So when we say that something as seemingly silly as a name or pronoun, that something as a seemingly simple word choice matters, it does. Trust me, it does. We notice who respects us, and who doesn’t. When we give gentle corrections, reminders, and requests, it’s not to ridicule you for making a mistake. It’s to help you fix it, to provide you with the opportunity to change your language, to show us that you care and respect us for who we are, and not what we appear to be, what you want or expect of us. We have people who are literally dying because others refuse to see us for who we are.

We just want to live.