By AJ

We all face special challenges this time of the year.  Will our families accept us, will they honor how we see ourselves, will they respect our decision to do what we have to do to survive?  I wish everyone the very best of luck and happiness in the season.

Like everyone, I have struggled and continue to struggle with the OUT v. STEALTH question.  For some, the question represents the answer they need to find.  Once they have been able to form the question in their mind, they can then find the solution.  Some men stride boldly into their gender, telling the world, "this is how I am, and you can accept it or not, it’s up to you, but it will not change who I am or how I live my life."  I have such a great respect for these men; they pave the way for all of us, they make it a better world for all of us.

I will take that path some day, and do my part to be an OUT, contributing member of our society, educating others on our diversity.  But for now, I have chosen, and continue to choose, a different path.  I am a police officer for a small municipality in a suburb of a big city.  I was happily, (or not so happily as I see now,) existing as a "Dyke, female," cop for the first 5 years of my police career.  This is what other people saw.  Minding my own business, I knew I was transgendered, but I had never dreamt of exploring just what that meant to me in hard core terms.  I thought that since I had lived with it for this many years, that I could just exist this way forever, and never act on what I knew to be the truth.  I also thought that I would never have the strength to act on anything, that I wouldn't be able to stand up to my family, friends, and society. 

Then WHAM, it hit me one day.  I could no longer live full time as a female.  I panicked, what was I going to do?  How was I going to deal with this?  I loved my job, and couldn't dream of quitting.  Why quit you ask?  Because society and the medical profession still has GID or Gender Identity Disorder listed as a "diagnosis."  I'm not sure what the medical wording is, but a diagnosis of a psychological anything is a no no in the police world.  As I researched future, I also found out that GID is not protected from discrimination.  I snuck into a room to take a peek at the BIG BOOK OF STANDARD OPERATING PROCEDURES or SOP's for short.  Police Officers are held accountable for these SOP's and General Orders, and they are somewhat more strict than some private sector jobs or other public servant jobs.  We sign off on them, saying we know them, and agree to live by them.  The SOP's frown on psychological mumbo jumbo, and they definitely frown on controlled substances which is what testosterone is.  I can take it, but I have to tell my boss, "Um sir?  I have to take T but I can't tell you why.  Okay, thanks, bye."

I was stuck between a rock and a hard place.  I knew that I had to do something but I wasn't sure what.  I decided to take the first step and seek out a counselor who was well know for treating transgendered individuals.  I went to see her every month over the course of a year, and then took the tests associated with the Harry Benjamin Standards of Care.  After that, I agreed to go to group counseling as a support base, and every month, I trooped up north, two and a half hours one way, to go to a meeting for two hours.  But as soon as I connected with these individuals, I knew that I had found the one group in the world that I could identify with totally.  But the whole time, I told not one person except my SO, who by the way is the BEST SO IN THE WORLD.  She has stood by me, every step of the way, and supported every crazy decision I have made.

I say crazy because that is how I feel sometimes, in a good way.  I found a Dr. in the big city, that treats transgendered patients.  And before I even had a letter that said I had been diagnosed with GID, I went and plead my case.  "I must have testosterone," I said.  "I need this to survive, I cannot stand even one more day, looking and being treated as female."  The kind Dr. took pity on me, after I unwrapped my arms from around her ankles, and made me promise not to sue her if she provided me with the testosterone.  I assured her that I would not, and took my script to the far away drug store where they would never know me.  Slowly, everyday I looked in the mirror, and waited for the changes to appear.  I didn't think, couldn't think, what work would say when the changes started to appear.  Later, I took my letter, more precious than gold, that says I have GID, to the kind Dr. in the big city, and gave her a copy, and thanked her for saving me from I don't know what.

Slowly, the changes began.  At first it was just my voice, and then my appearance started to change too.  I started to grow hair on my chin and jaws, and sideburns, gotta love those sideburns.  But the whole while I didn't tell anyone from work.  My friends and family started to ask questions, and I answered all of them.  Even the ones my Mom didn't want to hear.  She is still having a hard time with it.  My work on the other hand, never really said much.  My boss asked me one question, one time, that wasn't really relevant and never asked anything again.  But what has happened, is that I appear more male than female, and most of the time, the general public calls me sir.  Even the officers that I have worked with for years, occasionally slip and call me him, or he.  And these guys have only known me as female.  There is even a running joke between me and one of my best friends at the department where he calls me "Tom" because a citizen thought that was my name, and I say back, "Yeah, whatever," and we both laugh, hard, every time. 

It seems like for the people that I work with, it’s just not a big deal.  Which make me think hard about upsetting the apple cart.  I think about how great it would be to be male full time, to have everyone see me as male.  But then I think how crappy it would be for people to see me from the parameters of the diagnosis, and speak about me in the past tense.  Like how much fun they had working with me till I got fired for opening my big yap and telling everyone.  I'm reluctant to throw anything in anyone's face for just this reason.  If I tell them, then they HAVE to deal with it.  If I don't, then it can stay in the closet with the other non-issues like "I just thought she was a hairy dyke."

When I'm away from work, I pass as male, all the time.  I get to have that reality away from work.  I have a new daughter, one year old, that has known me as Dada since before she was born.  She will probably be the one that OUTS me in the end.  Small children have no pretenses.  Thankfully, they have no shame, and she will probably be very happy to tell everyone that I'm not a girl, that I'm a man, and she should know because I'm her Dada.  Peace, AJAXQ