“It’s a fucking freak!”

All trannies and SOFFAs hear of, and frequently fear, bathroom horror stories. Those of us who have been around the block a few times are repeatedly discouraged when discussions lead back to often primitive bathroom dialogues – at support meetings, in educational trainings, in defining transition at work, or any number of situations.

For some, they hope to pass well enough, so they don’t encounter any confrontations when using bi-sexed bathrooms – “This is the women’s room!”. Others are frustrated with the reality that most places have gendered rather than unisex or single unit bathrooms.

While passing is often integrally linked with comfort in bi-sexed bathrooms, it is by far not the only concern of risk.

Bathrooms, like locker rooms or the beach, are places where trans+ people can feel exposed and vulnerable. We worry about who will see what, how we can “protect” ourselves from the configurations of our genitals being exposed to others. We fear being mocked, or worse, being attacked because our bodies may not be congruent or may house scars that reveal our past.

There are places, though, where there is a sense of comfort and safety. How relieved we can be to discover a locked changing room or a unisex bathroom that offers a safe harbor. But does a locked door or a single-stall bathroom equal safety?

“I wanna see, I wanna see!!!”

A small child, while simply filled with curiosity, is being nudged to warp that healthy sense of wonder of the unknown to hate-filled words and an exploitive desire to expose.

“He’s a freak. He’s got no dick!”

The door to the unisex family bathroom at a large mall slowly closes after six or eight pair of eyes scan my body, fixating on my crotch as I struggle to pull up my pants – to cover myself, not out of shame, but out of fear of what was unintentionally revealed, because of a faulty lock and assertive eyes.

Knowledge is a powerful thing. No one can take it away from you after you acquire it.

Early in my gender journeys, I was warned of “male privilege” by lesbian feminists; I was knighted with it by MTFs. I was shunned because of its potential by some who feared that testosterone would erect the patriarchy within me.

I heard over and over how “lucky” I was, that FTMs always pass so well and I would never have to worry about being in danger of being “found out”. While therapists, and even others who had already transitioned from female to male, meant to reassure me (or themselves), they were filled with many presumptions about what I needed, and in most cases were just plain incorrect to equate “passing” with safety.

In public, I pass 100% of the time. My bearish build, long beard, thinning hair, and deep voice are all strong indicators of others’ perceptions of undeniable masculinity and malenss. But passing doesn’t automatically bring the safety the MTF friends used to talk about and long for. Passing doesn’t change the fact that while I may not be in as much risk on the streets from violence, I am at an increased perceived danger to women who cross the street when they see me walking at night out of fear of the violence they project from me. Passing has also not meant I now have higher paying jobs or other privilege associated with being a man.

I have chosen to live as an out tranny – a transactivist, a poly trannyfag with the twist of female-identified or born partners, an organizer who focuses on trans+/SOFFA events. Some believe that I strip myself of privilege by being out. If they are right, I hope it does remove the privilege constructed by some arbitrary social cues and secondary sex characteristics.

Some believe that by being out, I risk exposure and danger. By wearing a “subvert the dominant gender paradigm” t-shirt, or freely discussing trans+/SOFFA and queer issues in public, referencing my female past… I open myself up to stares, jeers, criticism, and potentially even physical violence.

I'm not wearing my Transexual Menace T-shirt. I have no publicly visible markers today, of my transness, my queerness. But they know. They've stolen a piece of my history - taken against my will, without my consent.

I refuse to deny my history – to construct a “little boy” childhood – when being raised as a girl strongly influenced the person I am today. I refuse to shift my passions of activism to avoid possible violence from others' knowing my transness.

Many people presume that being out increases the potential for discrimination, harassment, or "embarrassing" explanations. Some say that by maintaining one's outness, it places undue pressures and burdens on friends, family members, and co-workers - putting them in awkward situations.

I am voluntarily out to my parents, my siblings, my partners, healthcare providers, co-workers, activist colleagues, many local merchants, and others. Part of the respect I show those around me is to clearly discuss with them that it is MY choice to be out and that might not be their choice. I turn over to them, the decision(s) of how out they wish to be, and how they wish to deal with my transness or how out they want to be. In honoring that family and friends transition – not just me – I recognize(d) they need to make choices about if THEY wish to be out or not.

One of my brothers is a high-ranking officer in the military. While I’m not sure how “out” he is in his every day interactions, I know he has taken risks and ended up being able to help a co-worker by his willingness to be out. His co-worker’s “daughter” was becoming increasingly more masculine and wanted support, but had no idea as to how to access any resources. My brother’s co-worker also needed support. My brother was able to offer support to his fellow officer, because he was open about his kid "sister" who is now male, and he was able to ask me for resources for his co-worker. That support and sharing would never have occurred if my brother remained stealth about my transition and his family history.

My parents live in a very small town. They have chosen to be fairly out about who is in their family. While I’m not sure they fully understand some of the risks of being so out, I’m thrilled to continue to hear back from them about how positively people have responded. It gives me hope that a small town, with some fairly conservative and not-always-very-progressive thinkers, have continued to welcome them. My parents' outness normalizes the “freak factor”.

Everyone defines that "freak factor" in different ways. For some, it might be being the only male-appearing person in the OB/GYNs office. For some, it might be ending up in the emergency room and having to explain that their husband is a non-op, passing FTM before the physician steps in. For some, it might be clarifying why their resume only has work experience dating back 4 years. For others, it might be not putting up their spouses picture at the office. For some, it's always carrying cash so as not to have to provide identification or credit cards that may house a different name/gender. For some, it might be never walking shirtless down a sandy beach. For others, it's erasing their child's history so as not to have to explain how their little girl is now a successful, talented man.

I emerge from the bathroom, refusing to be defeated, knowing I did nothing wrong. I exit knowing that my body is not like other peoples' bodies. I imagine the string my mother used to talk about, running through my body - pulling that string up to the ceiling, my back straight, my head held high - just like in ballet class. I make eye contact with each one of these people who ridiculed my body, affirming that I heard them and that I am not ashamed.