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shotokanandscience-blog · 7 months

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Why I am Visible

Why I am Visible By: Sydney Taylor Ph.D

In an era of heightened connectivity and access to information, a troubling narrative persists: "I/we feel that trans and LGBT is being forced down our throats." A phrase that emerges in casual conversations, social media debates, and even public discourses. Beneath its casual veneer, this statement is not innocuous. Instead, it reveals a deeply entrenched bias and perpetuates harmful stereotypes against the LGBT community. And this very sentiment has spurred me to shift the direction of my writing. Instead of elucidating the scientific basis for transgender identity – a topic I'm deeply passionate about – I feel compelled to address this troubling narrative head-on.

So, why am I visible? And why do I, and countless others in the LGBT community, continue to raise our voices even amidst backlash?

To address the phrase: suggesting that trans and LGBT identities are being "forced" on society is an insidious mischaracterization. It paints a picture of an aggressive, imposing community trying to alter societal norms for mere whimsy. The reality is vastly different. Our visibility is not an act of aggression but one of survival and affirmation. Our stories, our identities, are not a trend or a fad; they are intrinsic parts of who we are. And yes, we talk about them, often loudly, because for too long, our voices have been hushed, our identities invalidated.

Being visible isn’t just about personal validation. It’s about paving the way for younger generations, ensuring they grow up in a world more understanding and accepting than the one we did. When I first realized I was a transwoman, there weren’t many visible role models. The internet hadn’t yet become the refuge it is today. Imagine being on the cusp of a profound realization about your very being and feeling entirely alone in it. Now, with more of us choosing visibility, we hope to send a clear message to those grappling with their identities: You are not alone.

Furthermore, visibility is about challenging the very misconceptions that breed statements like the one I've mentioned. If we remain silent, if we hide, these biases go unchallenged. By being present, by sharing our stories, we confront these prejudices head-on.

And let's address the elephant in the room. The notion of something being "forced down one's throat" suggests an unwanted imposition. But asking for equal rights, dignity, and respect isn't an imposition; it's a fundamental human right. When society confronts its biases, it's uncomfortable. But growth is often uncomfortable. It's time for society to grow.

I understand change is challenging, especially when it concerns deeply held beliefs. But progress demands evolution of thought. I am not here to "force" anything on anyone but merely to live my truth, to stand tall amidst a society that might prefer I don’t. My visibility is my resistance and my affirmation. It's a beacon for those who need it and an education for those willing to learn.

The Lost Elder Generation:

As an xennial, my understanding of self and identity was a journey filled with the shadows of the generations that preceded mine. We were navigating uncharted waters, and the guiding lights, the potential mentors, were conspicuously absent. This absence wasn't a natural occurrence but was carved out by societal prejudices and a health crisis that was grossly mishandled.

The societal norms that governed the lives of the Boomer generation and those before them were strictly defined and rarely challenged. To be LGBTQ+ was not only taboo but also perilous. Being 'different' was not only frowned upon but was often met with aggression. Underlying these palpable threats was a societal construct deeply influenced by religious interpretations, which provided an echo chamber of condemnation for anyone not fitting the traditional mold.

The clandestine lives many LGBTQ+ elders led were not just a choice, but a necessity for survival. Their secret signals, like having a single ear pierced, were acts of defiance and a silent shout for recognition, a beacon for others like them. The undercover bars they frequented were not just places of merriment but sanctuaries, though often these havens were under threat, marked for violence by those who opposed their very existence.

However, perhaps the most heart-wrenching and incalculable loss to the community was the HIV/AIDS epidemic. What began as a health crisis soon morphed into a political and societal weapon. The apathy and neglect shown by figures of authority, including the Reagan administration, was not mere oversight. It was a reflection of the deep-seated prejudices, a calculated negligence that sought to weaponize the disease against a community already pushed to the margins.

LGBTQ+ elders faced a life where they were constantly reminded that they didn't belong, where love was overshadowed by fear, and where self-expression could cost them their lives. This lack of visible role models, due to societal suppression and the devastation of the HIV/AIDS epidemic, meant that successive generations had to rediscover their identities in isolation.

But history, while poignant and painful, is also the foundation on which we build a more inclusive future. Recognizing and understanding this lost generation is the first step in ensuring their struggles were not in vain and that future generations have the acceptance and understanding they deserve.

Social Stigma: A Death Sentence for Many

Isolation and societal stigmatization don't just bruise the psyche; they can deeply scar it. Such ostracization is perilous, leaving a catastrophic imprint on one's mental well-being. For many, the burden of non-acceptance becomes unbearable. Some turn to drugs or alcohol as a temporary refuge, spiraling into addiction, deteriorating health, and even fatal overdoses. For others, the anguish reaches a point where they view suicide as the sole escape.

Recent data from the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention paints a grim picture. Suicide ranks as the 11th leading cause of death in the U.S. In 2021 alone, 48,183 lives were lost to suicide, with an estimated 1.7 million suicide attempts. That equates to a ratio of 14.04 suicides per 100,000 individuals. Men seem especially vulnerable, being 3.9 times more likely to die from suicide than women. A staggering 69.68% of all suicides were white males, translating to 0.03% of the white male population taking their own lives.

But when we dive deeper into the LGBTQ+ community's statistics, the numbers are even more alarming. Various surveys indicate that over half of LGBTQ+ youth have contemplated suicide. A study cited by John Yang on PBS notes that 41% of LGBTQ+ youth have harbored suicidal thoughts. The Trevor Project estimates an alarming 1.8 million LGBTQ+ youth (ages 13-24) attempt suicide annually. Reasons include societal stigma, rejection from family, bullying, threats, violence, and dwindling access to gender-affirming care. Additionally, untreated mental health issues compel many towards substance abuse as an escape route.

Furthermore:

70% of LGBTQ teens battled anxiety symptoms in the past year.

57% experienced symptoms of depression.

Despite 81% desiring mental healthcare, 56% could not access the necessary care.

Globally, LGBTQ youth are 3.5 times likelier to attempt suicide than their heterosexual counterparts.

Diving into sub-categories reveals more disheartening data:

Trans teens are 5.87 times more likely to consider suicide.

Gay and lesbian youth: 3.71 times.

Bisexual youth: 3.69 times.

The Trevor Project found that LGBTQ+ youth, who experienced discrimination or faced physical harm, were over twice as likely to attempt suicide. Alarmingly, less than 40% of trans youth are fortunate to reside in gender-affirming homes, intensifying feelings of isolation during adolescence. For younger adolescents, this can be especially harrowing. One study disclosed that a quarter of suicides among 12-14 year-olds were LGBTQ+ youth, with family conflicts as the predominant trigger.

The Hidden Truth: A Journey to Self-discovery.

Growing up in the 80s and 90s, the visibility of trans and broader LGBTQ+ individuals was minimal. Many trans people who transitioned often relocated and lived discreetly due to the palpable dangers of being openly trans or gay. The few representations of trans individuals that did exist were limited to sensationalized portrayals on shows like Jerry Springer or demeaning roles in movies. Furthermore, the adult industry perpetuated stereotypes, further marginalizing the community. Given this environment, one might wonder how a young trans individual could even begin to identify and articulate their feelings, let alone seek the necessary support and affirmation for their journey towards self-realization and happiness.

From my earliest memories, I was keenly aware of how different I felt. Even as I understood my inner self to be female, the societal norms of the 80's and 90's offered no space for such expressions. Those who dared to stray from society's rigid expectations were met with stigma and exclusion. My passion for sports granted me a facade of normality, a fit with the gender I was assigned at birth. But away from sports, with my sister or female cousins, I could briefly be another side of me, even if just for a while. In that era, for a boy to exhibit any femininity was viewed as the ultimate shortcoming. Society's messaging was clear: women were secondary, and any boy who bore the slightest hint of femininity faced derogatory labels such as pussy, sissy, gay slurs, or even being called a girl in a demeaning way. The deeply embedded religious dogmas of the time further entrenched this bias, casting out anyone who didn't conform. Consequently, many, including myself, buried their true selves deep within.

As puberty set in, my body's transformation felt like the cruelest of betrayals. Night after night, I wept in solitude, wrestling with a profound depression that stemmed from my inability to reconcile with my changing exterior. I was trapped—a young woman imprisoned within a young man's physique. And to further complicate matters, I was attracted to women, not men. In a society steeped in homophobia, my feelings and identity seemed incongruous. Tragically, society's prejudice was so pervasive that I had internalized that very same homophobia.

At 18, a significant revelation struck me during an election. On the Ohio ballot was a proposition to ban gay marriage. Raised to believe that homosexuality and gay marriage were wrong, I entered the booth ready to support the ban. But as I scrutinized the proposal's language, clarity dawned: who was I, or anyone, to dictate whom another could love or marry, given mutual consent between adults? I cast my vote against the ban. Regrettably, the majority in my state weren't prepared to embrace acceptance, and the ban took effect.

The summer between my high school years and my first year of college we got the internet and that dial-up tone made accessible a world of information. This newfound resource aided my journey of self-discovery, leading me to acknowledge my identity as a transwoman. By my early to mid-twenties, I was exploring and even receiving gender-affirming care. While my friends mostly stood by me, my family's lack of support proved a significant barrier. Their resistance made me pause my transition, pushing me to sacrifice my well-being in a bid to appease them. I might've become one of the oft mentioned "detransitioners", not from self-doubt, but due to an absence of the vital support I needed. For a time, I let societal pressures dictate my life.

The onset of the COVID-19 pandemic was a stark reminder of life's fragility. Witnessing acquaintances fall ill or succumb to the virus jolted me into introspection. It dawned on me: I could either live in perpetual fear and sadness or embrace my true self. Choosing authenticity, I faced initial backlash, a consequence I deeply regretted. But the sheer joy of finally living as my genuine self-affirmed my decision's correctness. I'll never retreat to that darkened closet.

My struggle isn't singular. For 39 years, societal expectations shadowed my actions. A lack of visible role models during my formative years further muddied my path. That's precisely why I won't vanish into obscurity now. I want to stand tall for the LGBTQ+ youth, sending a clear message: Embrace your truth. Those who walked this path before you are still here, fighting for your right to exist, happiness, and love. We don't want another lost soul, another tragic tale of drug abuse or, worse, suicide. Don't let fear or derogatory remarks push you into shadows. We belong, and so do you. Remember, you deserve respect and dignity.

The Rigorous Path to Gender Affirmation: Dispelling Myths and Understanding Challenges

Navigating the transition journey as a transgender person is more than just a deeply personal experience; it’s one filled with barriers and obstacles, both procedural and financial. The path to receiving gender-affirming care is often lengthy and strenuous, and far from the hasty and impulsive decision some critics claim it to be.

My own experience reflects the extensive process one must undertake, even as an adult. Prior to receiving hormone therapy, several months of therapeutic sessions were mandatory. The therapeutic interventions, while undeniably beneficial, represent just one of many prerequisites in the care pathway. For those seeking gender-affirming surgeries, multiple therapist recommendations become a necessity. It’s worth noting emphatically: no surgeon in the US is performing gender reassignment surgeries on minors. In fact, most gender-affirming surgeries, irrespective of type, are not available to minors.

For transgender youth, the process is even more circumspect. Their journey usually begins with puberty blockers, which serve as a reversible intervention, allowing time for reflection and certainty. Only once the care team is assured of the appropriateness of the next steps does the conversation about hormone treatments commence. Contrary to some misconceptions, this decision is approached with profound care. No child is pushed or coerced into treatments; the best interest of the individual always remains paramount.

The challenges, however, extend beyond the medical realm. A slew of bureaucratic procedures awaits those wishing to align their legal identities with their affirmed gender. From obtaining recommendation letters for ID or birth certificate modifications to enduring the intricate processes of legal name changes, every step is steeped in complexity. The intricacies multiply if the trans individual is a minor.

It is essential to emphasize that the journey of transition, from therapy to medical treatments to legal changes, is exacting. Those who embark on it are not seeking an easy path but one that feels authentic and true to their innermost selves. Another crucial point to reiterate is the reversible nature of puberty blockers. Moreover, early medical interventions during puberty often yield the most satisfying results for those who are trans, counteracting the effects of their birth sex's puberty. Delaying such treatments only magnifies the challenges and need for more invasive interventions later on.

In conclusion, the gender affirmation process is far from a casual decision. It's a testament to an individual's resilience, commitment, and pursuit of authenticity, navigated under the watchful and considerate eyes of professionals.

The Myth of Detransition: Understanding the complexities of those that do detransition.

Detransitioning, the act of reverting to one's gender assigned at birth after undergoing some form of gender transition, has often been misused as a point of contention by those opposing transgender rights. They assert it as evidence against the authenticity and importance of gender-affirming care. Yet, a more profound understanding of the subject reveals a nuanced reality far removed from these oversimplified claims.

Contrary to popular misconceptions, a vast majority of transgender individuals do not detransition. Data from gendergp.com sheds light on the minuscule percentage of those who do. In a survey conducted in the UK with 3,398 gender clinic attendees, only about 0.47% expressed transition-related regret. Even fewer among them opted to detransition. Meanwhile, a study in the US involving nearly 28,000 respondents found that while 8% reported some form of detransition, a significant 62% of this group did so temporarily, succumbing to external pressures such as societal expectations, financial constraints, or family pressures. Furthermore, studies from Sweden and the Netherlands similarly underscore the rarity of genuine transition regret, with only a tiny fraction of individuals choosing to detransition after undergoing gender-affirming surgery or hormone treatments.

Dr. Jack Turban's research provides valuable insights into the predominant causes behind detransitioning. His findings indicate that in the US, about 90% of those who revert to their birth gender do so not because of personal dissatisfaction or regret, but due to overwhelming external pressures. The National Center for Transgender Equality echoes this sentiment, highlighting lack of familial support, workplace challenges, discrimination, and harassment as some of the main drivers. Other factors, such as the exploration of various gender identities, health concerns, or financial issues, also play a role. Notably, only 5% of those who detransition do so after concluding that their transition wasn't the right path for them.

The complexities of detransitioning are further exacerbated by the healthcare challenges faced by transgender individuals. In many countries, including the UK, trans people find themselves navigating through a maze of administrative barriers, often spending years just trying to affirm their identity and access treatment. This prolonged and often arduous process, coupled with the financial and mental toll it exacts, can sometimes tip the scales in favor of detransitioning, even if temporarily.

In light of this evidence, it becomes ethically dubious to weaponize detransition statistics as a rationale to deny or limit access to gender-affirming care. It's paramount to strike a balance: while we must ensure that young individuals are making informed decisions free from external pressures, it's equally vital to prevent creating barriers that cause more harm than good. The data is clear: with the right care and support, transgender individuals are more likely to lead longer, happier, and more fulfilled lives.

Living in Fear: The Urgent Need for Dignity, Respect, and Safety in the LGBT Community

Safety, dignity, and respect are fundamental human rights, yet they remain elusive for many in the LGBT community. For decades, this community has faced violence, discrimination, and systemic oppression, with incidents like the tragic murder of Matthew Shepard and the revolutionary Stonewall riots — led by trans women of color — symbolizing both our progress and our pain.

Though the past fifteen years have seen monumental strides for LGBT rights and acceptance, we find ourselves at a crossroads. Recent legislative efforts, driven by fear and misinformation, threaten to push us back into the shadows.

Many states have introduced laws targeting drag shows and other expressions of queer culture. Bathroom bills, proposed under the guise of 'protecting' cisgender women, in fact endanger everyone who doesn't fit the narrow confines of gender norms. This not only victimizes trans women but also those who are perceived as 'non-traditional' in their gender presentation. The fallout has been severe and tragic. "Biological women" have been assaulted and even killed because of mere suspicions about their gender identity. Trans women, too, face escalating rates of violence, and trans men have reported assaults in male restrooms.

The myth that trans women pose a threat in women's bathrooms is baseless. Even if isolated incidents were to occur, laws already exist to punish assaultive behavior. The intent behind bathroom bills isn't to ensure safety; rather, it further marginalizes an already vulnerable population, placing them at heightened risk for violence.

Now, there's a new threat: laws aimed at barring access to gender-affirming care. Those denied this crucial care face alarming risks of suicide and substance abuse. We cannot stand idly by and watch our community suffer.

History offers a chilling reminder. As the Nazis rose to power in Germany, one of their earliest targets was the trans community. The world's first transgender clinic, based in Germany, was razed by the Nazis. The details of this atrocity can be found in a detailed article by Scientific American. The playbook being used against the trans community today eerily echoes those dark days.

It's essential to understand the broader implications of these attacks. While the trans community represents only 1% of the population and the broader LGBT community about 15%, we serve as a convenient scapegoat for political gains. If we fall, who's next? Which minority group will then be in the crosshairs?

It's not just about trans rights or access to medical care; it's about the very essence of a free and compassionate society. As we fight for our rights, we hope that our allies — within and outside the community — will stand with us. For today, it's us; tomorrow, it could be anyone. The march for justice must continue.

In Conclusion: A Pledge of Solidarity and Support

While this piece has delved deeply into the struggles and triumphs of the trans community, there are many more stories to tell and subjects to address. The intersex community, disparities in wealth for trans individuals, and their challenges accessing even basic healthcare are all topics deserving of their own spotlight.

I wish to make a heartfelt promise as I conclude this discussion. My journey, our journey, is not just about personal triumphs but about lighting the way for others. In the vast darkness of discrimination and misunderstandings, I promise not to pull the ladder up behind me. My visibility is not just for me but for every young individual searching for a beacon. For those who, like many in my generation, grapple with feelings of isolation and a lack of information, I vow to be a helping hand.

The goal is not to impose beliefs or identities on others, but to advocate for our rightful place in society — a place of equality, dignity, and respect. To every member of the LGBT community reading this: you are valid, you are seen, and your identity is cherished. Let's remain steadfast in our bond, and together, we will navigate and overcome every storm that comes our way.

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