A Valentine for My Community

chronic illness, community, crazy, disability, genderfluid, genderqueer, mental illness, non-binary, resilience, self-care, sick, trans, transgender, transphobia, Valentine's Day

Source: https://img0.etsystatic.com/000/1/5289670/il_340x270.196259270.jpg

TW: transphobia, ableism, abuse, trauma, denial of self

Valentine’s Day has never been my favorite holiday. OK, I’ve absolutely hated it. But I wanted to use today to send out a valentine to my fam, to my community. I want to thank you for being alive and being you, every day. I want to thank you for having the courage to find yourself and be yourself, despite all odds. Even when it doesn’t seem like you have a choice, thank you for going down that path anyway. Thank you for holding and nurturing your selves, your real selves, even when it feels so hard to do it.

Thank you for holding each other up, for reaching out to others again and again. Thank you for writing and building community, as you can, if you can. Choosing to be ourselves in this world is choosing to stand up to a lifetime, a society’s worth of abuse and trauma and no no nos.

But again and again, we claim ourselves. We take ourselves from the clutches of a world that likes to determine who we are for us, and we wrap our selves in blankets, hold our selves close, watch our selves grow.

Whether or not you are involved with someone else this year, and however that relationship is, take the time to celebrate the love for yourself that has gotten you this far, and the love for yourself that will get you through. Because that is the strength and beauty and toughness of our community: self-love, even when mixed with shame, even when it’s hard to find, even when we don’t have it—finding our selves, being our selves, is self-love, despite it all.

Happy Valentine’s Day. Thank you for being here. Thank you for holding on enough to be here.

We will thrive someday. We can thrive.

Always remember yourself, OK?

Getting it Half Right: What to Do (and Not to Do) When Your Client Says You’re a Transphobic Therapist

agender, cicssexism, cis entitlement, cisgender, fatphobia, gatekeeping, gender specialist, genderfluid, genderqueer, mental illness, saneism, therapist, transgender, transphobia

Trigger Warning: discussion of bad therapy, transphobia in clinical practice, fatphobia, saneism, suicidal ideation, homophobia

I’m continuing the story of how I called out Former Therapist #1 for his transphobic gender policing and gatekeeping. I am really pissed at him right now, because he has done so much to take away my ability to work with other providers. I’m putting our exchange here and then some of my feelings about it in footnotes.

Let this be something that other providers can learn from, so that other people don’t have to deal with this pain.

I’m not the only one dealing with or writing about this. Check out this lovely example of therapeutic invalidation (plus an intersection with fatphobia) from Rooster Tails Comic:

The lady who ran out on me then came back in with another person.... it felt like I was in a job interview. So weird.Source: http://www.roostertailscomic.com/comic/happy-mental-health-awareness-week/

Two weeks after I sent a letter to Former Therapist #1 about his mistreatment, I got this email from him:

5/30/14

Hello [Birth name],[1]

I didn’t want too much time to go by before I acknowledged your much appreciated letter I received.  I have been doing a lot of thinking and reflecting on your letter.  I’m planning to send you a response soon.  I’m consulting my colleges [sic] and other gender specialists as well.  I didn’t want you to think my delay was in any way me ignoring or rejecting your letter.  I want to acknowledge the courage and integrity you displayed in your letter with a response that is as thoughtful and respectful as I can make it.

Thank you again for the letter.  I will send my response as soon as it is ready.[2]

[Former Therapist #1], LICSW

I replied almost immediately:

5/30/14

My name is [real name]. I hoped that you would know not to call me by my birth name at this point.

Are you talking with anyone who’s actually trans*?

Also, I am now seeing [current therapist]. If you talk with any providers, I recommend talking with her. She is the only provider I have seen who has been gender affirming. If she has the time and energy, she would be a great resource.

I received no reply to this email. It was early on in my trying out new names and pronouns, and his misgendering hurt a lot. I especially was appalled that he did it in email, after such a gender-relevant letter. Four days later, I sent him another email:

6/3/14

Hi,

[Current therapist] says that she’d welcome a call from you.

[Real name]

It was at the moment of his misgendering me as his first interaction with this letter—that moment when I 100% gave up on him as a therapist. I was just done. This time, he replied on the same day:

6/3/14

[Real name],

I have placed a call to her today, left a message,  and will consult with her further.  Also my apologies for wrong naming you in my last email.  I realized the mistake right after I sent it, but still no excuse.[3]

[Former therapist #1], LICSW

I received this letter about a month after I sent my own letter to Former Therapist #1.

Dear [real name],

Thank you so much for your thoughtful and courageously honest letter. I have read and reread it multiple times, consulted with some of my fellow colleagues,[4] and done some deep personal and professional reflection before responding in order to give your letter the respect and consideration you disserve [sic].[5]

First, I feel deeply sorry for the pain and suffering you have endured during your treatment with me. One of the guiding principles of my practice as a gender specialist[6] and a therapist is the basic human right of self-identification. Upon reflection, I now realize that I did not respect or encourage that right in our work together.[7] I also feel very sorry for the lingering gender binary prejudice that you felt in our recent work.[8] Eliminating prejudice in all forms continues to be one of the primary goals in my practice. For all these things, and any other moments of pain and suffering you have experienced during our work together, I am truly sorry.

In your letter you offered advice on how I could improve my future work in the gender field. I have taken this advice to heart. I have begun a thorough review of previous and current gender work in my practice, with a focus on improving quality of care.[9] Thank you for suggesting consultation with [current therapist]. We have already exchanged messages, and, with your consent, we will be in further consultation in the coming weeks. Since gender is such an evolving field of study, ongoing education and training to keep my skills current is obviously necessary.[10] I appreciate your sincere wish for me to rise to the challenge you have initiated with your letter. My hope is that I can and will rise to the challenge in my ongoing work.[11]

I am very happy to hear that you have found a therapist whom you feel very comfortable with. I am also happy to see that your right to self-identify is not only being respected, but encouraged.[12] I hope this leads to higher levels of self-affirmation for you.[13] I wish you the best of luck and hope you continue this courageous journey you are on.[14]

With respect and appreciation,

[Former Therapist #1]

A critique by which other therapists may be advised…

  • Always gender your clients appropriately, and apologize if you do not.
  • Vehement apologies for malpractice are always welcome. They do not, of course, erase the damages of said mistreatment. But they at least are a step in the right direction.
  • They are much more sincere and effective when they come with a plan for changing or avoiding the errant behavior in the future—which this one did. At least for some of the problems here.
  • It shouldn’t have to take deep reflection to help you realize how much you wronged someone. If it does, you should note that that is evidence of a long journey ahead. (This therapist didn’t recognize that the level of reflection required for him to realize how hugely he’d messed up was evidence of the level of work he needs to do.)
  • They should be led by the injured party’s wishes—so listen carefully to what the problem is. (This one only did that halfway.)
  • Any kind of social change should be led by the people directly affected by the oppression. (This therapist only consulted with other clinicians—so that did not happen here.)
  • Be humble about your own knowledge and impact, especially if you aren’t a part of the oppressed group. (This therapist showed humility by reflecting and making changes—but he did not show humility by still claiming expertise in gender.)
  • Feel free to wish someone the best, but be careful that you maintain boundaries while doing so. (This therapist slightly crossed a few lines here.)

[1] I very clearly said in my letter that I am now trying a different name, and expressed profanity at the use of my birth name.

[2] The rest of this email made me feel relatively warm and glad that he was doing this work.

[3] If he realized the mistake right after he sent it, then why didn’t he send another email correcting himself and apologizing? I find it depressing to think that this person thinks that he can regularly work with trans people.

[4] I specifically said in my letter that he should consult with trans community members, and that, given the quality of “gender specialists” in the area, I wasn’t sure that they would be a good resource.

So the fact that he consulted with colleagues—I’ve met most of them, and most of them are gender tools—isn’t really that helpful. But I suppose it’s a small credit to them that they recognized he had mistreated me.

[5] I asked him to think deeply, and I’m glad that he did this. I am a little nonplussed that it took such deep thinking and consultation to realize how messed up he’d been. But at least he realized it.

[6] My current therapist says to be very wary of anyone who labels themselves a “gender specialist.” “Anyone can do it, and it shows that they’re trying to claim expertise in who you are.” The fact that he still thinks he can claim this label after me sending him a letter like that is pretty appalling. It’s kind of like claiming the word “ally” instead of having it be applied to you—except with direct clinical consequences.

Former Therapist #1, you are not a gender specialist. Not at all. You are not an expert or specialist in who I am. And you, as a white, straight, cis man, certainly do not know what gender-based oppression is like and clearly have not taken the time you need to attempt understanding from people who do have lived experience with it.

[7] For the most part, a pretty good apology! At least, he said sorry a lot and explained how he’s trying to fix it.

[8] I think he missed the point of what I had experienced in our more recent work. I had told him that his commenting on “reevaluating” my gender showed how much further he needed to go in his understanding of gender. I told him that no one except me gets to evaluate my gender. He didn’t really address this in my letter.

I had also noted that he had projected ideas about what my gender was onto me—not necessarily binary prejudice. Extra apologies aren’t a bad thing, necessarily, but I am concerned that he is still stuck to the gatekeeper model of trans care, and he didn’t address that in his letter.

[9] I am so glad that he is doing this! I asked him to look into it and he says that he is. Wow. I’m not sure many people would take this to heart like that.

[10] This feels like a veiled “you non-binary people are so new” comment. Just because the Standards of Care only recently started to recognize us doesn’t mean that we only recently “evolved.”I know that he was referencing a field of study—but we are people, not a field of study, and we’ve been around for a while.

When I first started seeing him, I needed him to have cultural competency and awareness of non-binary people then—six years ago, not just now.

[11] I was truly uncertain as to whether he would take up this challenge or not. And I don’t know if he has, really, or if he just said he did. I am glad that the therapist I knew, who was committed in ideals to eliminating prejudice, if not always in practice, is trying to put his ideals into practice now.

I only wish that he was listening more carefully to me, and to other community members, more than his fellow quack “gender specialists.”

But I am glad that he has taken this to heart and trying to make changes. That is so important and goes a little ways towards helping me feel a little less wounded by all of this. (Although I still have a lot of trauma and trust issues with providers, thanks to him and others.)

The fact that we had such a close and long therapeutic relationship I hope helped for him to reflect and take this seriously—and the fact that I could leverage that feels really important and good.

[12] I appreciated this part of his wishes.

[13] This starts to get… I don’t know—like he’s back to being my therapist again? I really can’t imagine anyone except a therapist saying that in this way.

[14] There are so many things that he could be referencing in terms of “courageous journey.” Does he mean my journey for healing mental-health wise? Does he mean my transition?

When people talk about “courageous journeys” to trans people, they often are talking about transitions. If he meant my mental health journey, it again feels a little weird-are-you-my-therapist-or-not-boundary crossing. I suppose that boundary is also crossed with referencing transition, but there’s so much more in there with transition.

If he meant my transition—well, whew! I mean, there are a few awkward things about that. One is that it’s pretty patronizing for him as a cis person to call my journey a courageous one. Even if it is, even if does require a lot of courage.

It’s especially galling given how he’s already tried to shut down that journey before. I imagine that’s why he said it—he wanted to say, “Hey, I’m trying to affirm who you are now.”

But that ship has sailed, bro. You missed that opportunity. It’s a little late now.

And saying that you hope I continue it now—it implies that I’m considering discontinuing it. The only way I’ve really considered doing that is by suicide. And I’m sure you didn’t really mean, I hope you don’t kill yourself. But maybe you did. I don’t really know, because this was so vague.

It’s not about you…

#LeelahAlcorn, agender, ally, cis entitlement, cisgender, cissexism, coming out, ftm, genderfluid, genderqueer, mental health system, mental illness, mtf, non-binary, parents of trans people, privilege, pronouns, saneism, solidarity, suicidal ideation, therapist, therapy, trans children, trans men, trans women, transgender, transition, transphobia, youth rights

TRIGGER WARNING: family abuse, suicide, transphobia, transmisogyny, #LeelahAlcorn

“I’ve watched as parents get supported for struggling, and failing, to cope with their child being transgender. I’ve seen parents talk about deliberately misgendering their child for months on end because it was too hard for them. Parents who used non-binary pronouns, despite not having a gender neutral child, because they didn’t feel ready to switch over to the pronouns their child preferred. One common thread through all these conversations is “I need…”

“You know what? It’s not about you!

“We don’t get to pick the kids we raise. We don’t get to choose their height, their hair colour, their IQ, their skills, their goals, or their gender. It’s that simple. I couldn’t pick singing skills and you can’t pick gender. And it doesn’t matter if you think you were raising a boy and instead, whoops, she’s a girl… or vice versa… or neither… or both.

“…The benchmark for being a good, supportive parent to a trans child is not “well I didn’t kick him/her/them out”. If you can’t manage to use your child’s preferred name and pronouns, you are not a supportive parent.

Because I'm Fabulous

I remember being pregnant with my children, feeling as their gentle flutters progressed into full belly flops on my bladder and painful karate kicks against the backs of my ribs. Back then I had no clue what my children would be like; they were more like ideas than real people. I’d sit in my rocking chair with my hands clasped gently over my stomach and wonder who they’d be. Dreaming of children who loved singing as much as me; envisioning singing rounds, our voices weaving together in harmony.

Then they were born. Short, chubby, bald people who looked a lot more like Winston Churchill than either their Dad or myself. People that screamed randomly, pooped on themselves, and considered “gah” to be an entire conversation. I still had no idea what they were like except loud, messy, and highly uncoordinated. They slowly evolved into their own people. Emma was colicky and had a desperate need to be…

View original post 1,367 more words

Letter to Former Therapist #1

ableism, activism, agender, ally, cissexism, coming out, dehumanization, disability, dysphoria, gatekeeper model, gender fluid, genderqueer, mental health system, mental illness, misgendering, non-binary, privilege, saneism, suicidal ideation, therapy, trans narrative, transgender, transition, transphobia

TRIGGER WARNING: Cissexism/transphobia in therapy, saneism, suicidal ideation

This letter is pretty self-explanatory, but I want to give a brief introduction. I had been seeing this therapist on and off for six years, and it was only after we stopped seeing each other, mostly for reasons unrelated to the content of this letter, that I realized the full extent of what had happened in that office in terms of my gender. This is something that is still very painful for me to process, but I am sharing this (slightly edited) letter with you all because I hope that sharing my story will help other people in similar situations, or other people who are considering therapy. If any providers are reading this post, take this post to heart and consider if any of it applies to you. If it does, make changes to your practice now.

Written: 5/1/14

Sent: 5/17/14

Dear [Former Therapist #1],

I have realized in the past few weeks that there is something more I need to say to you. Feeling both anger and loss, caring about and valuing much of our therapeutic time together while realizing how you hurt and utterly failed me in this way–it isn’t an easy combination of feelings. When someone has both given so much and also deprived me of something so important, the emotions are not easy to navigate. I know that you have always had good intentions for me, but good intentions and positive effects are, as you must know, not the same, often. I am going to give you some feedback here that I hope you will take to heart, so that you can have a positive impact and a practice where all clients are treated equally. Although I am angry about this, and I wanted to show you that impact in this letter, I also wish you the best in implementing these changes. Please get in touch with me if you need further input, or if you otherwise want to respond.

I talked with you in one of our sessions a few months ago about my doubts and worries about us working together again. I told you that you had shot me down years ago when I had first brought up questioning my gender to you. What I didn’t do then is remind you what you had said to me.

I don’t remember every detail of those conversations we had when I was 18, but I do remember the traumatizing parts. I remember that, back in what must have been our first or second session, you asked if I wanted a penis. Uncomfortable, and confused as to whether this was the only measure of trans* ness, I said that I didn’t think so. Shortly afterwards, I think you must have concluded that I wasn’t trans*, or I must have concluded that I didn’t want to repeat that uncomfortable conversation, because we stopped talking about it for a while.

Later, maybe months or a year later, I worked up my courage and brought it up to you again. You said that you thought I had penis envy or wanted a grab at male privilege. (At the time, I was too clueless about feminism to know what you meant, so I mentally shrugged.) You said that I wasn’t trans*. “But you’re so feminine!” you said. (This was especially hurtful, given my current gender identity. I don’t identify with the word “feminine,” but me having some characteristics that get categorized that way doesn’t mean that I am a woman.)

I didn’t talk with you about it again until five years later, this current year, when my internalized transphobia and gender dysphoria (among other things) was making me suicidal. (Partly, I had buried it for some time, but I found a journal entry that showed that even in the midst of that fog, I was aware of my dysphoria. Besides, a lot of why I’d buried it was because I hadn’t been met with affirmation from you at all.) When I brought up my gender identity as one of my concerns about working with you again, you showed that you had evolved in some ways. You told me that you had been naive then, and that you were sorry. (But I don’t think you remember what you said! At least, I hope you didn’t, with that response.) You said that one of a therapist’s most important jobs is to eliminate their prejudices, and now you have no personal investment in your clients’ genders. You said that you understand that for people who don’t fit into the binary, trying to fit them into the opposite-gender box can be just as damaging. (Here, given that I hadn’t talked about my gender with you in five years, I felt you were subtly gendering me again.) Then you said, “Given all the evidence, I think it’s time for a reevaluation.”

This final sentence shows how much further you need to go. You do not get to evaluate my gender. You do not get to tell me who I am. Not any more than you get to tell your cis clients who they are and what genders they should be. Not only had you led me away from my true self for an extra six years, invalidated my gender identity, and used pathetic tropes to degrade who I am (trans men don’t just transition for a grab at male privilege! And the words “penis envy” should never be uttered with any kind of seriousness in a gender therapist’s office)–not to mention that you seemed to think inquiring about my thoughts on my genitalia was a good way to both break the ice and determine my gender–you now were judging yourself professionally fit to make those calls again! Instead of realizing the significant damage you had wrought on me (and probably many other trans* clients), instead of working tirelessly to correct that damage, you simply said that I might be able to convince you, the ultimate authority on my gender, that I am trans*–this time around.

As a first-year in college, I specifically sought out gender specialists so I could start exploring my gender identity. I naively thought that it was a safe space to do so, and foolishly bought into the idea that I could trust my therapist over myself. While I know that your statements don’t hold complete power over me, and, of course, they don’t determine my gender, your authority played a large role in squelching my shy early feelings of my true self, feelings I’d been conscious of as trans* since high school, but had been waiting for a place to show. It is true, also, that especially in the early stages of gender formation, we tend to listen to others over ourselves. You have a huge responsibility!

Had I received nurturing and competent care when I was 18, I might be in a very different place today. Many of my mental health issues would at least be different, if not lessened or resolved. I might have been exposed to less or different trauma. I might even be a few inches taller, if I’d decided that testosterone was the way to go! I’d already be myself. Maybe I wouldn’t have gone to the point of considering suicide to get here.

I think that you still don’t understand the gravity of what you did five years ago. You still don’t understand the danger of labeling yourself an expert on others’ genders, or the absolute destructiveness of the gatekeeper model of trans* care. In many ways, you taught me how to advocate for myself in therapy, and how to break down the barriers of authority between therapist and client. Yet you still cling to authority in this way. I shouldn’t have to convince you of who I am. I am certain that you don’t ask your cisgender clients to do so. I should be able to simply be, in therapy of all places. I should be supported in all ways to become more myself!

Your discouragement took away six years of my life as myself. It likely took away many others’. Please look deeply into yourself and your practice to see what amends you might be able to make with other people you have harmed through your prejudice. You have a responsibility to your current and former clients to do so. If you fail to do this, you continue to fail the trans* community. Reach out to former clients and apologize, and ask if there is anything you could possibly do to connect them to resources or help now. Check in with current clients to be sure they feel affirmed. Never “evaluate” anyone’s gender again. Ask for accountability and feedback from the trans* community and other gender specialists (maybe them, but having met many of them, a lot of them seem as or more messed up). Please look deeply into yourself and your practice, in these ways and/or others (it is ultimately your responsibility to figure this part out) to make changes now for affirming, egalitarian care. You know the stats–lives are on the line

One more thing. I am telling you all these things, taking this time and energy, because I have seen you walk the walk of eliminating prejudice before. I hope that my trust that I have placed in you is not ill-spent. I have faith that you will take this feedback seriously and do your best to right these wrongs.

Your former client,

Still fucking known as,

[Birth name]*

*Since this letter was written, I have started trying [current name] and using they/them pronouns.

The Thing About “Crazy” (Part 2 of 2)

ableism, accessibility, accessible movements, mental illness, privilege, saneism

TRIGGER WARNING: saneism, ableism

Note: This is a summary of various ideas from a conversation I had a few months ago with the person I was dating at the time. Sometimes there are direct quotes, sometimes there’s paraphrasing. Thanks so much to them for agreeing to make this available for other people to browse, and for their contribution! 

Say yes to “craziness” in our lives! Break yourself free from the control saneism likes to exert on all of our behaviors! Why? How? What does this mean? Take a look below…

  • It makes us more comfortable with each other.
  • Alone or with others, do something in public that your inner social norms tell you that you aren’t supposed to do. Jump, dance, skip, hum, wiggle! Cry! Shout! Rock! Don’t conform to expected behavior when you want or need to do something else! Keep in mind, though, that this should be something that comes from you–this isn’t a chance to “make fun” of how “those people” look or act.
  • Remember that, although saneism directly oppresses people with mental illnesses, everyone is shoved into a box of behavior because of trying not to look “crazy.” If it wasn’t seen as “crazy,” how many behaviors would people engage in that they don’t engage in now?
  • I’m not talking about skydiving or revolution or starting a new business or whatever else people put the word “crazy” inaccurately onto (although that linguistic/psychological divide is there too, and you should do those things that you want but don’t allow yourself for, too). I’m just talking about those things, literal behaviors that mark people as crazy, that are “against social convention.”
  • Remember also that “crazy” is more often applied to people who experience other kinds of oppression as well, as a way to discount them. People can be considered “crazy” due to their defiance of norms/oppressed status, people who may not have mental illness. Just think about stereotypes of “crazy women,” or racialized stereotypes that also include “crazy” somewhere in that list of bigoted adjectives. Remember that refusing to police your own behavior based on this list of norms can be lessening this divide too. (That’s not to discount the fact that people often non-consensually read or label others’ personhood or behavior as “crazy,” and that there are many different ways that people try to survive in a world that has this reality. Stay safe, everyone. As safe as possible in the moment, anyway.)
  • You may feel frozen even thinking about stepping outside of the “sane” behavior box, a box you likely have tried very hard to conform to. That’s OK. Start small.
  • When we say yes to “crazy” behavior, in the literal I-don’t-mind-looking-like-I-have-a-mental-illness-right-now way, and in the figurative, bigoted way it’s used as well, we are saying yes to ourselves and others, just as they are. We are saying yes to the needs we may have to sob or shake or lie in bed all day or rock or hum. We are saying yes to our dreams, to the impossible, the fantastical, all these things that we deny ourselves and relegate to the supposedly illegitimate, impossible, unintelligible, ridiculous, even magical/exhilarating world of “crazy.” These are our realities, our literal realities as mentally ill people. These are also the realities of the world around us, who has closed its doors to literal insanity and anything else it doesn’t want to welcome with that word, thrown casually, “crazy.” “I cannot love crazy things,” we say. “I am unlovable if I am crazy, unhearable, illegitimate, not worth listening to or having around.” We say these things when we say the word “crazy.” Not only are we being saneist in terms of shutting people with mental illness out, we are shutting ourselves out too.
  • When we hold ourselves to these confines, it hurts us and the people around us, people we care about. We feel closest to the people we can be really genuine with—and that includes being open about our mental illnesses and being free to express parts of ourselves that are otherwise labeled as “crazy.” Make room for others, too, to be like that around you, to be their genuine selves.
  • It hurts others when they feel like they have to apologize for their craziness, when they feel lucky to have people that tolerate craziness. Don’t simply tolerate it! Celebrate it! It is about treating people decently, about treating everyone as whole people with entire selves that contain so much. It’s not a favor to do this. At its best, it’s a deeper, more loving holding of everyone around us. At minimum, it’s treating everyone like a person—which hopefully is loving! Haha, you aren’t getting out of love on this one!
  • Keep in mind that at all times, this is a practice of being true to yourself—not of appropriating, imitating, or making fun of others’ behaviors. Set yourself free from the grip of saneism on your life—but don’t make ugly imitations of what that might look like for people with mental illnesses that are not your own.
  • All of this has varied intersections and relevancies to physical disabilities and autism, but as that is not a part of my experience, I don’t want to delve into it more. I just want to recognize the closeness of policing of behavior and bodies and how it relates to other forms of ableism.

Also, check out this picture (source below):

https://www.facebook.com/MysteraMagazine/photos/a.260956163935285.67825.163953310302238/738865629477667/?type=1

Dreaming While Sick, Crazy, and Trans

ableism, agender, chronic illness, dehumanization, disability, dysphoria, gender fluid, genderqueer, mental illness, misgendering, non-binary, pronouns, PTSD, saneism, suicidal ideation, transgender

TRIGGER WARNING: discussion of suicidal ideation & statistics, also discussion of general oppression of sick, crazy, and trans people

 

We all have hopes, goals, dreams. We all want that shit to happen real bad. I think part of why it’s so hard to look forward in life as a sick, crazy, trans person, even for me, who has a fuckton of advantages, is that it seems like this shit is going to stop us in our tracks. We aren’t supposed to be “useful” or have goals or be able to interact with “society,” whatever that is. We aren’t supposed to be able to make an impact on those around us, at least not a positive one. We aren’t supposed to have futures.

And, too often, many of us don’t have futures. Many of us don’t see a future for ourselves. We fear that others will cut short our lives and our dreams or just our daily getting by. Many of us worry that no one will see us as worthwhile, for any of the above reasons. And it’s killing us. I know that, if you add up the attempted suicide rates for all the different diagnoses I have, plus my trans identity, it’s pretty fucking high. PTSD: 27%. Depression: 20%. Secondary care for IBS: 16%. Non-binary trans: 43%.

That’s a pretty fucking scary list. I have never taken statistics, and those are some scary statistics. I think sometimes about how suicidal ideation probably wouldn’t even be as present for me, though, if there wasn’t the shame compounding this stuff. Yes, I still might be a little crazy. Yes, I’d still be in pain sometimes from IBS. Yes, I’d still be trans and I’d experience physical dysphoria (not that all trans people do–but in this utopia, social dysphoria would be mitigated almost instantly). But in some utopian world where people accept you where you are, where people envision futures for all people coming from everywhere, where people don’t assume genders and affirm everyone, in this utopian world, I would feel like my dreams are more possible. I would feel like my life is more possible.

We don’t live in that world, though, and I know that you, like me, probably need some encouragement to get where you need to go. You need the encouragement to keep on getting out of bed (if you can) every day, maybe, to eat some food, maybe, to talk to people around you, even, or not, if you need to. You need encouragement to live your daily life, sometimes. I know I do, when I’m sick, crazy, and trans. Which is all the time. Sometimes just the sheer logistics of negotiating your life are too much. I want to say that that struggle is enough. It is good. It is important and noble. Thank you for doing it. Thank you for continuing to exist and live and love and care, and, yes–

dream. Thank you for holding onto those dreams even when everything seems to be falling about your ears.

They are possible. They are beautiful. They can happen. Existing is enough, and, yes, there is a future, and it is not only about a daily struggle, the daily struggle to actually do the dishes or floss your teeth or to get through the pain or for people to use your right pronouns or to be seen as a fucking whole human being. This is all life is, and it is not all life is. You can and do have a future as a trans person, as a sick person, as a crazy person, as someone with a disability. Remember that you deserve this shit just as much as anybody else. You have a right to be here. You have a right to be valued, to be heard. You have a right to be your own fabulous gendered self. You have a right to your mind and your feelings and for holding them, or not, however you need. You have a right to be sick in bed all day. And you have a right to take the space and place in the world that you have longed for.

Many people will say that you do not have a right to these things. But I see you, here, still living each day. I see you holding onto your dreams. I can’t say all your dreams are going to come true, or that shit is easy, because it’s not. But why not have dreams? They are wings on our heart. We all can use some wings sometimes.

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

–Langston Hughes

Also, some resources:

If you’re feeling suicidal, please ask yourself these questions. Is there anyone you can call to be with you right now, even if they aren’t someone who’s 100% affirming? What things can calm you down or make you feel better? Consider making a madness map: http://www.theicarusproject.net/article/mad-maps-building-trails-to-where-we-want-to-be-input-needed. What kinds of things do you want to do to yourself? Are you thinking of hurting yourself or someone else? If so, PLEASE call any or all of these numbers (I unfortunately don’t have numbers that are outside the US:

The Fenway GLBT Helpline: 1-888-340-4520

GLBT National Hotline: 1-888-843-4564

Q Hotline: 866-539-2727

If you’re 24 or under, Trevor Helpline: 866-488-7386

Check out this website (TRIGGER WARNING for discussion of suicidal ideation).

Also, check out this awesome link and recording of it, if you’re needing a little hope.

Hold on there!

The thing about “crazy” (Part 1 of 2)

ableism, dehumanization, mental illness, saneism

TRIGGER WARNING: ableism, saneism

 

OK, so when people say the word “crazy,” they can mean a lot of things. They can mean impossible, weird, silly, inappropriate, extreme, inconceivable, bizarre, ridiculous, stupid, inadvisable, and wild, among other things. Sometimes, even, they mean “mentally ill.” But not usually. Can you imagine how that would sound?

“Hey, did you go dancing last night?”

“Yeah, totally, it was so mentally ill!”

It’s usually not the meaning people are going for.

But when people use that word, “crazy,” and don’t mean mentally ill, many different things happen. They are, of course, implying that mental illness, and/or mentally ill people, might be impossible, weird, silly, inappropriate, extreme, inconceivable, bizarre, ridiculous, stupid, inadvisable, and wild, among other things (or that they do things that have those adjectives). That in itself is otherizing, insulting, and just plain saneist.

It is comparable to using words like “lame,” “gay,” and “retarded” out of context. Of course, there are differences. But many people throw these words around, and when it is brought to their attention, they say, “Oh, but I didn’t mean it like that.” When I called my THERAPIST out on using the word “crazy” in an inappropriate context, she said something along the lines of, “I like to use that word in all its contexts, but I’ll keep it in mind that you don’t like to use it.” Any provider using this word really needs to check themselves. Everyone should check themselves, but, come on, mental health providers, you are a breed of ill repute, but even you should know better than to throw this word (and its cousins, “insane,” “mad,” and “nutty”) out there out of contexts. Your clients might IDENTIFY as crazy! I do, sometimes.

When we use the word crazy in this way, we can easily alienate people who have mental illnesses, whether or not they use that word to describe themselves. Don’t do that, folks. We already have enough alienation as it is.

There is another piece that happens, though. Not only are we ostracizing people with mental illnesses, we are also ostracizing whatever it is we call crazy. We are dividing it out, marking it as something that is not only all the other aforementioned adjectives, but also as something that is not worth listening to, is not worth our consideration, just as we mark people with mental illnesses as not worth our consideration. Craziness exists as an outcast of society. We draw a line, and on one side exists “crazy,” and on the other exists the “sane,” “civilized” world. Whenever we call anybody or anyone crazy, they are pushed over that line.

When we call things or people crazy in this insincere, inaccurate sense, then we are putting them over that line. We are putting them out of reasonable reach. We are saying that there are certain items, behaviors, or people that are not worth taking seriously.

The threat of being called crazy holds us captive in “sane” behavior all of the time. Whether it’s not admitting our true emotions, pretending to hold it together when really it’s taking a toll on us, or whether it’s simply that we want to physically move around more or in different ways than our years of schooling and societal expectation have allowed. Have you ever noticed that young children who are typically sane and neurotypical still have more leeway than sane and neurotypical adults in terms of their behavior? They can say wackier things and move their bodies around in ways that would be considered crazy for adults. There is still a line for children, but the line is different. It encompasses more. The fact that this line shifts for different age groups shows how constructed the idea of “sane” behavior is.

When we say the word “crazy,” we are limiting not only others. We are limiting ourselves. We are saying what behavior seems too fantastical or bizarre to exist in our polite society. We are not only refusing to love everyone in this world—we are, in many ways, holding back love for ourselves.

Of course, it’s much harder to hide a psychiatric or emotional disability than it is to hide the daily things that sane people are tasked with controlling for the sake of appearing more sane. “Passing” as sane is both a privilege and something that takes a deep toll. But, while it’s clearly harder for people who do experience mental illness, using the word “crazy” deeply affects us all.

Unless someone describes themselves as “crazy” as part of their identity as a person with mental illness, don’t use that language. Practice loving yourself and the world in a huge, hugging embrace. Give space for everyone just to be. Saneism takes its toll on everyone, albeit in different ways and extremes, and refraining from using “crazy” is a big place to start.

Three notes that may apply to listeners, friends, providers, or others

ableism, chronic illness, dehumanization, medical system, mental health system, mental illness, PTSD, saneism

TRIGGER WARNING: ableism, saneism, provider dehumanization/disengagement

 

To therapists: I am not a “case.” I am a human being. If I am a “case,” so are you, therapist sir or ma’am or whatever you may want to be called. You are a case of dehumanization. I am a case of humanity. We are not a “population.” We are a community. We are not just our diagnoses, and our diagnoses are more than us; we have our own whole full lives.

To medical providers: I have been living with chronic pain for five years, and a lot of that was malpractice. Even if my prognosis is good, and even though you have not been here for most of that time, sometimes, I don’t want to be cheery. Sometimes, I don’t want to be the easy “patient.” Often, I am not brave at all. Oh no—that word—“patient.” I am a human being, not a “patient,” not another file folder for your office, to be tucked away and locked after each half-hour visit, months apart… I wish much more, if not all, medical care was much more like acupuncture, where, once you adequately explained your perspective on the issue, you lay there and napped while other people fussed over you and actually put their heads together to try to put you together again. Take my problems seriously—and also take me seriously, as a person apart from an equation to solve. I know my own self best, and I want your best brain to help me.

To well-meaning friends and acquaintances who feel the need to diagnose and cure me right away: I may or may not have tried daily kale smoothies, aromatherapy (fragrance sensitive anyway), eating no gluten, exposure therapy, eating no dairy, traditional medicine, somatic experiencing, muscle testing, acupuncture, hiding in my room all day, exercising more, denial, yoga, constant discussion of my problems, tai chi, your grandma’s herbal tea, detoxing, EMDR, eating only broth, eating only cooked fruit, EFT, probiotics, just getting over it, considering the mind-body connection, blaming all my physical problems on my PTSD, blaming my PTSD on my physical problems, and/or meditation. I don’t even have to tell you what I’ve tried, and what was helpful, and what was total hogwash. You know what? Unless you suddenly became the expert on my mind and body, it’s none of your business!