On Leaving Behind The Influence Of The Bruderhof. The End of An Affair

A fabulous piece of art I found on this page.

Until tonight I have continued to try to like and affirm the Bruderhof, a Christian community in the anabaptist tradition.  I have tried for years. I used to succeed.  At one point their literature saved my faith - although I honestly wish now it hadn't.  At that time I was going through a very difficult period and was finding Christian faith hard to accept.  Someone in a support group - an atheist of all people - pointed me to the Bruderhof because they were giving away a few free books.  Without those books I would almost certainly have left Christianity behind in 2001.  It's fair to say that for some years I loved their books, magazines, articles.  From works like Inner Land by their founder, to works by the Blumhardts, to writings about war, and their publications by other people such as Daniel Berrigan, the Jesuit peace campaigner.  I treasured those books.

I liked the Bruderhof especially for their pacifism and love of justice.  They say many things that people of good will can agree with and even, sometimes, aspire to.

On the other hand though they love injustice too and call it Biblical. Hence this article, published today. It's an article that calls LGBT+ affirmation a "plundering" of marriage from our society, an "extinction crisis," and a "looming disaster" that we mustn't forget when dealing with flood victims. (Really. It says that.)

http://www.bruderhof.com/en/voices-blog/world/responding-to-the-nashville-statement

I've just come back from Greenbelt, a mostly Christian festival attended this year by more than 11,000 people, a festival that's affirmed LGBT+ people for a long time, a festival where I am safe to be transgender and my married gay Christian friends can celebrate their love for each other as well as their love for Jesus and the Bible too.

If I prayed, my prayer for the Bruderhof following the death of their long-term leader would be that the next generation of it could embrace the justice of accepting people just as Greenbelt accepts them. I hope too that their founder, Eberhard Arnold, would have managed to walk in acceptance by now. But given that the article is by the son of the leader I doubt it will happen. (The Bruderhof leadership tends to run from father to son.)

Because to discriminate against queer people and then proudly quote the Beatitudes when anyone says you're wrong is something that I think Jesus himself would have been disgusted by. I'm convinced that he would have said that if you're persecuted for acting unjustly then you bloody well deserve it! Sorry guys but any persecution arising is because of religious bigotry rather than because you're some imagined heir to an Old Testament prophet.

And when you call the idea of accepting people like me an "extinction crisis" you don't deserve to be supported by people like me. Yes, you stand against war and for much that is good. But so do many other groups who have learned not to use and misuse an ancient religious text as an excuse for such homophobic and transphobic statements.

I've enjoyed much that the Bruderhof have published. At one point I had an entire shelf of their books. But it's increasingly hard to own Plough Books knowing they come from an organisation that hates what I am while proclaiming they love people like me.

Perhaps, and with reluctance too, it's time to move on. To chuck out many of those books, especially those written more recently, in an age where homophobia is - at least in the countries in which the Bruderhof operates - a negative counter-cultural statement rather than any kind of societal assumption.

Perhaps I must say goodbye.  It shouldn't be that hard.  I'm no longer a Christian of any variety and as I look at Christians around me a great many work hard for peace, fraternity, love, justice and all manner of spiritual and physical fruits while at the same time embracing the queer communities.

Not just perhaps.  Definitely.

Because I don't need to have my "transgender self-conception" forgiven and overcome.  No thank you.  And when you say that my very existence as myself needs to be forgiven, ultimately that's a statement not of love.  It's a statement of violence, of rejection, of hatred of my very person.

I would say that to any Christian who tells me I need to be forgiven and healed for being transgender.  You hate me.  Pure and simple.  No matter how many fine words you speak about love and truth.  You hate me.

Humbly, people of the Bruderhof, I would ask you to seek new light.  I would ask you to consider whether there are other ways to interpret your holy book and the society and people who wrote it.  Many other Christians have managed to do so and some of those are staunch and unswerving in their great devotion to the texts before them and to the saviour they believe in.

If they can do it, take the risk of having been wrong, can you do it too?

My own love affair with the Bruderhof has been waning for some time.  It is now over.  I can't be in love with those who see me as part of a potential end to the human race just for existing and daring to stand up and be who I am.  I can't be in love with the haters who are too proud to admit they intentionally fail to walk in the love their Jesus speaks of.

Life is too short and too precious to waste more of it in even quiet support of the Bruderhof.  Wisdom must prevail in this case.  When there are Christians like the ones I met at Greenbelt this weekend, who could ever need the Bruderhof?

__________

A couple of follow-on posts for today.

 

The first concerns a response to the Nashville Statement by a denomination of which I was a member:

The Nashville Statement on "Biblical Sexuality" was recently published by a coalition of conservative Christians. Last night I read the response of the Bruderhof Communities to the statement and it prompted a regretful blog post.

This is the response of Metropolitan Community Church. Until I quit church totally I was a member of this denomination.

I no longer believe in God but I see in this response a far greater witness to all that is life, love, wonder, and compassion. Here's a short section:

"WE AFFIRM that the grace of God in Christ gives transforming power, and that this power enables a follower of Jesus to put to death the siren song of the sins of legalism, patriarchy, homophobia, transphobia, and willful ignorance. We affirm that to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord is to walk in the full embrace of all of God's children."

I'd like to thank Metropolitan Community Church (MCC) Denomination and Northern Lights MCC for continuing to be beacons of love and inclusion in our communities.

I'd like to thank too all the other Christian groups and individuals who have taken the step of accepting LGBT+ people, sometimes very bravely and with the real risk of total rejection by other Christians.

I'm glad that many such Christians remain my friends. Some of you are LGBTQIA+. Some are not. Thanks to all of you for being you and embracing people like me.

__________________

The second concerns the response of a wider group of Christians:

Another follow up to my post about the Bruderhof and the homophobic, transphobic statement released this week by various evangelical Christians.

Here's a response to the statement by a collection of LGBTQIA affirming Christians, some evangelical, some more liberal.

http://www.christiansunitedstatement.org/

I don't share their faith but I applaud their response. And I see the names of people I greatly respect among the initial signatories.

Experiences Of Northern Pride From One Autistic, Trans Queer Woman

 

 

 

My experience of Pride was surprisingly good yesterday. Of course I never approached the main stage or the dance tent or the cabaret or the fair ground. With my sensory issues it's hard to be there at all. I have to miss out on some of what is on offer. And I admit that I miss out on some of it by deliberate choice.

I'd had a difficult morning. Much anxiety and tears and I wasn't going to attempt Pride at all. I was going to Durham - to give my soft toy a birthday adventure because I'm odd like that. But I decided we'd go and see if being part of the parade was possible. I had a look but it was too crowded and noisy and I wasn't coping. There was an opportunity though for the birthday toy to meet the mayor of Newcastle and to point out to a vegan that the flag she'd been handed was representing Nando's.

Later I found myself watching the parade. That's a new experience for me. I've never watched it before. Keep together next year guys! Too many big gaps were forming.

But about two thirds into the parade a friend from Spectrum Theatre - a group for autistic adults - spotted me and dragged me (I exaggerate) into the parade. So I paraded and wished I hadn't left my trans flag at home and had dressed more wildly for such an occasion. My soft toys paraded too of course and really enjoyed it. Because I'm odd like that. Everyone was fortunate. The weather forecast was for lots of rain but the parade was dry and much of the day remained dry too.

I saw more trans flags being toted than I've seen before. And noticed more of other flags too - I hardly saw them at all other years. Bisexual, Asexual, Pansexual, Poly. It was good to see. Pride events can forget to be properly inclusive and sometimes they've been known to actively stand in the way of proper inclusion. These flags had nothing to do with the organisation of the event but each one clearly stated "We WILL be included. We are here and are not going away."

I wasn't going to enter the actual event. I knew I'd want lunch and you're not allowed to take lunch with you. No more friendly picnics are possible at Pride unfortunately. I also knew it would be very noisy and that it's always hard work to be there. But I entered the event. Knowing there would be free pens inside.

I hastily drank my bottle of tap water on the way in knowing that it would be binned otherwise. The signs say "No alcohol" can be brought in but I knew from last year that my tap water would be confiscated too.

A couple of the delights inside:

The worst thing I experienced was the stalls - from relevant LGBT+ groups, local friendly crafty people, and corporates and unions. It wasn't the stalls themselves that were bad. But the gap between the rows of stalls was just far too narrow. It can't have passed the minimum width for health and safety by much. It was really crowded and it was hard to move or to see everything and I got pretty overwhelmed with it. I know a lot of people found it difficult, including the stall holders. Northern Pride need to take a good look at this because it's just uncomfortable and it's not as if there's no space to spare to make it a much more comfortable experience for everyone.

The most enjoyable thing for me was the youth and children's area and not being turned away from it by a grumpy security guard like happened a couple of years ago when I actually had a reason to be there. I knew that a woman who does lots of woodland and craft things was there this year so I went in and made a dream catcher with her. The main tent had lots of craft activities and also had a sensory area run by Sensory Spaces an excellent local charity working with autistic children. In that area I found friends who happened to be there. It was pleasant and relaxed. It was also at the point furthest from any of the different music going on around the site.

It was also good to bump into lots of people I've met in different places over the past four years. Only one of those places, Northern Lights MCC is directly connected with queer issues. I'm fortunate to have found safety and acceptance in so many other places and to have found good people almost wherever I turn.

I spent zero at Pride. One of the stalls had free bottles of water and I was able to finish off a cake at the Northern Regional Gender Dysphoria Service stall in the health zone. That was enough to get me through. Hoorah!

I left the event just before five o'clock. Others may stay until midnight and then go and party the night away. But five o'clock is a record for me. By that time I'd had enough and I was wandering round the health zone in a "Clare has quite an obvious learning disability" kind of way that happens when my brain has really had enough. I have an IQ above 150 and have many coping strategies. But sometimes autism becomes very, very obvious.

That was my Pride. I'd thought about going to a Pride service with the Unitarians this morning but they had to cancel unavoidably. I'm glad the local Anglican Cathedral offers a Pride service too and that it isn't the only church in the city centre to hang rainbows. I don't think I can make the vigil service tonight run by MCC. That's a shame.

The picture by the way is from last year. If I'd known I'd be parading again this year in dry weather I'd have taken my placard again. And left everyone wondering what the hell those flag colours might represent.

Consequential Loss - Notes On A Radio Play And Autistic Theatre

I recently took the plunge and joined up with a theatre group for autistic people.  It's a pretty new group and the people there are varied.  There autism is as varied as they are.  What everyone shares is enthusiasm.

The core group meet currently for one day a week, being joined for the morning by a group from a local college of ESPA (Education and Services for People with Autism).  We have fun and are supported in what we do by two paid staff members who work more or less full time for the Twisting Ducks Theatre Company which is run for people with learning difficulties and (now) autism.

I feel very fortunate to be able to go and have fun with the people of Spectrum Theatre - the autistic child of the Twisting Ducks.  It is hoped that in the future some extra funding can be obtained which would mean that the work of Spectrum could develop a lot further.  Also in the near future there's going to be an eight week creative writing course - which we're really meant to call creative storytelling in recognition that there may be people on that course who have amazing imaginations but who can't write or can't write well enough to set down their fantastic stories on paper.

I'm also very fortunate in that the current funding obtained for Spectrum means that the day that's laid on for we autistic people is free of charge.

I've met some great people in Spectrum, all autistic and all experiencing joys and trials that accompany our condition.  And it's just one more way for me to open up to my own creative possibilities and the possibilities of others.  For now it is a place I will stay.  I make no predictions for the future.

Almost the first thing the core group were asked to do was to write a radio play.  Each of us would write, with the idea being that we will record the plays and put them out on a local community radio station.

I've written quite a lot in the past year, though not as much I would have liked.  But I've never attempted a play either from scratch or from adapting one of my crazy stories.

I have now written a play.  And then it had to be edited - the censor's pen had to be used.   The broadcasts would be daytime and I accidentally wrote something with adult content and language including rather more swearing than families would appreciate.  I'd written a late night show or something to adapt into a theatre piece with a 15+ age warning.

I've been my own censor though.  The fruity language has been removed or toned down and I wonder in places whether I've lost realism.  I've adjusted quite a few lines.  Watered down sex references and some imagery that the BBC controller would have banned.  I'm glad the actual plot is unchanged.  There's still the darkness and light, the despair, the betrayals, the hope.  I'm glad I haven't been asked to make the plot insipid

There's also the matter of religion.  One of the characters is a religious homophobic bigot.  I can write religious bigots.  I know the subject first hand!  The character is quite extreme but I've known people who are equally extreme and equally nasty about it too.  I thankful I didn't get quite that bad myself in my own years of religious homophobia.  I think that the character worked as I wrote her.  She's still there too.  She's surviving the censor.  But her language and bile is a little mellowed.  I also considered the intended audience and wondered whether they would be up in arms about my attack on the Christian faith.  It's not really that of course, just an attack on a particular manifestation of the faith, the version that names people like me as abominations.  For a late night broadcast or a theatre I'd let it stand.  But not for this intended broadcast.  So I've taken pains to point out that not all Christians are like that.

Since the broadcast will be in Newcastle I've pointed to a few of the churches here in which being queer won't result in the preacher abusing you or consigning you to hell for your sexuality and gender.  Who knows?  Perhaps someone will hear it who is a Christian and is queer too but hiding the truth and fighting against themselves through guilt.  Just as I did.  Perhaps someone like that will hear and something will be planted in them that helps them seek out a place where they can live their faith in more freedom.  I can live in the hope that a radio play might do some good.

I've deliberately kept the scenes simple.  Deliberately linked them with narration from the main character.  I think, as a first attempt at writing a play, it has worked out well.  Unfortunately I now want to re-edit it to put some of the fruitier language and imagery back in and have two versions of it to play with.

Each of us in that core group has written a play.  They are as varied as we are.  I've ended up being the only one of us to include nothing from the realms of science fiction and fantasy.  Much as I love those genres - and need to get back to working on my post-apocalyptic dystopian novel - I've ended up firmly rooted in the real world.  The other plays are each filled with their own surprises and it's a good thing that they are such contrasts from each other.

My first scene was initially written at a Spectrum session.  We were all told to write a scene.  One simple idea popped into my head and it just flowed with hardly another conscious thought.  Two friends meet in a cafe.  One confesses to the other that she is having an affair.  She was having it with a man named Graham.  But as I wrote his name my pen paused, almost the only break it gave to my writing hand.  My pen considered its options.  Crossed out the word Graham.  And wrote the word Erica.

Since that day I haven't made any enormous changes to the scene - just a few, arising from details the characters gave me about themselves as they wrote the rest of the play for me.  It's always nice when people can hardly believe that I've just written something from scratch in a writing session.  That happens sometimes.  Other times I can hardly write anything at all and any words that get miserably scrawled should really only be filed in the embarrassing section.

I hope that writing the play has taught me something about the process.  Something I can put to good use later.  I hope too that it will give me a little more confidence in writing conversations.  I never used to include much in the way of conversation because I didn't think I understood the rules of conversation well enough to write one.  I hope that this play is a step on the path to being able to write realistic and engaging talk.  I don't think I'm there yet.

Sometime soon I'll probably post the whole play here.  Unless I go crazy, edit it more and try and get someone more professional to record it.  That's always a possibility.

So, onwards with Spectrum.  See where it leads.  I'm guessing it may throw me in a few surprising directions.  And I'm happy with that idea.

My Transgender Coming Out Story - A Tale of Difficulties and Deep Joy

So this is me.  Or one version of me.  A selfie taken a few days ago in a moment of deep joy and contentment at the top of a hill not too many miles from home.  I share it because it's where my story is right now, four years after coming out as a transgender woman.  There I am.  Just me.  In what is one of the stranger pictures.  You won't see many selfies of a transgender woman in a post about being transgender that look quite like this one.  Welcome to my reality.  I like it.  Especially when I'm being a little more crazy or weird than usual.

I just read an article about what one person has learned coming out as a non-binary trans person at the age of 43. After 100 days they say they did everything too fast. Their experiences are those of one person.  It is their truth.

My experiences and truth are also those of one person. They're bound to be a little different because I'm a woman, pure and simple, and about as far from non-binary as any woman gets. The article got me thinking about my own transgender life and the way I came out to the world and began to live publicly as a woman.

Here's a little of my experience. Just one woman trying to navigate her way into her truth. I've free written what follows and haven't edited at all.  Any mistakes are my own.

I came out to myself in a way I couldn't ever deny again at the age of 43. 43 years to get to that point. From then on things moved quickly.

2 weeks on: I dressed solely in women's clothes. Except when preaching. Not publicly in skirts and dresses. Not yet. But solely in woman's clothes I'd bought for myself via the miracle of very cheap charity shops. I didn't have a clue what I was doing. Everything was a matter of experimentation and sometimes I got it very wrong and nobody told me quickly enough before I had a chance to inflict my lack of dress sense on the world.

4 weeks on: I had told pretty much everyone that I was now Clare. The church leaders panicked about how to tell everyone and that delayed legal changes and the whole process. Most people were okay about it. Some people rejected me. Some people told me at length how staggeringly wonderful they were to not totally reject me. Gee, thanks!

8 weeks on: Having sorted things out with the church and had a ten day holiday as Clare (during which time my transition was officially announced to the congregation) I got round to legally changing my name. Much paperwork. Some people change their name quite often. They must love paperwork.

I was that (appearing to the world) 40 something man in a frock. Dark shadows of stubble. No make up. No hair removal. Hair that I'd cut short a few weeks before coming out. Totally, completely obvious. I was yet to meet anyone from Tyne Trans (as was). I had asked the GP to refer me to the gender dysphoria service – 27 days after coming out to myself, half of which was waiting for the appointment! - but my first appointment wasn't until three and a half months after signing that deed poll. To all intents and purposes anyone who saw me in the street would have clocked me as a cross dressing man not as a woman determined to be herself.

And sometimes, unsurprisingly, the world made things bloody difficult. Bloody difficult. Transphobia is real. If I had phoned the police every time I experienced it I would have been phoning a lot. Every. Single. Day. At times it was horrible. Truly horrible. And I was one of the more fortunate ones. Others have suffered a hell of a lot more than me after coming out. Every one of them is amazing for getting through that hell. When people quote the suicide and attempted suicide rate for transgender people I can only wonder why it isn't higher. For the record, in the UK nearly half of all transgender people have attempted suicide.

Four years have passed since I came out and demanded to be called Clare and she. Woe to anyone who deliberately calls me he or protests that they don't see an issue with it if I get misgendered or who tells me it's too hard to remember that I'm female and so would like to be addressed as female. Fortunately that doesn't happen much now – and most people I see never knew me as he. Yes, pretty much my entire life, excepting family, is filled with people I didn't know four years ago.

I've learned a lot in those four years.

Would I do it again? Come out like that?

You bet I would. Except I'd have done it quicker.

And I wouldn't allow a religion to delay anything. I truly wish I'd come out to the church in the middle of a sermon I preached. It was very tempting indeed and I wish I'd done it. After coming out I was told that it would be "inappropriate" for me to preach or lead anything in case "anyone is ever worried." All the confusion. All the having to meet with diocesan pastoral advisors and so on. Just so I could be banned and yet find that the congregation itself was supportive. Yeah, I wish I hadn't let the panicking of the CofE delay me for one second.

If I knew now what I knew then I wouldn't have been so afraid. And to be honest I spent the entirety of those 8 weeks in a state in which my great joy at accepting myself was mixed with an immense amount of terror. Some days I didn't know whether I could do it and without my immediate family and the support of another church - Northern Lights MCC - I might have taken longer about the whole thing.

If I knew now, there would have been less fear. And I would have reached that deed poll milestone quicker.

I have regrets. I shouldn't. Because what's the point? I might as well regret not coming out when I was at college – and I was thinking only this morning of a couple of times the truth was very close to the surface in my mind and how things could have been different if I'd only chosen to speak one sentence differently. I might as well regret my A level choices or giving up the violin when I was nine or anything else that I can't change. Maybe they're not regrets. And each one led in some way to my life being as it is.

But I'd certainly change some parts of the coming out process if I had the chance. Not just the CofE thing.

I regret not telling my online world en masse rather than having to pluck up courage - through terror, always through terror - to tell people one at a time. I'm grateful my mum accidentally outed me to some people, after which I just said "To hell with it" and told the rest.

I regret that my Facebook account is not the one I had under my old name. There were many years of history on that old account and I wish I'd kept it back than and closed this one. The account is still there. With no friends. My old name isn't even friends with my new name.

I regret how defensive I've been about the whole trans thing and how much of that arose from fear and an expectation, borne of 43 years of self rejection and self hatred, that many people who reject and hate me too. I guess most people who come out can got through an over-defensive time arising from that same fear. Bear with us, we get over it – just don't expect us to ever give way to prejudice. We won't.

But these regrets and others are only little compared to the satisfaction and life-changing wonder of coming out at all, of acceptance. It's not just that I'm happier as Clare, more content, and so on. My life has been completely changed in many ways that wouldn't have been possible probably had I not done this. Or if possible, very unlikely.

I have met so many amazing people I wouldn't have met otherwise - including many of you. I've been so blessed. And I meet many more amazing people every time I uncover a little more of myself – this transgender, autistic, creative, weirdly spiritual, nature loving woman.

I've done amazing things too. In my own way. And being Clare has allowed me to start to work through other aspects of my life and being and slowly begin to heal and allow myself to be me.

Without coming out I don't think I'd have been able to accept being autistic. I don't think I'd be exploring creativity as I am. I wouldn't have encountered Broadacre House, wouldn't have completely transformed my faith and spiritual life - and I don't think I'd ever have found the freedom to leave church and start to find my own path again.

Yes. It's been bloody difficult. And there have been lots of difficult things in the past four years. Autism - yeah, that's been tougher than being transgender in very many ways. I've cried. Lots. I've been rejected by some. I've been labelled an abomination by my own church pastor (not the CofE or MCC one). My mental health, while generally much improved, continues to be a minefield just as it always has.

But it's been worth it.

Fabulously, profoundly, superbly worth it.

And I look forward to my future as Clare, as the person I'm discovering myself to be. I am excited for my future. Excited to meet more amazing people and do more amazing (for me) things. Excited because there always seems to be a new surprise when you allow the surprises and give them permission to bring change.

I'm typing all this in my bedroom. Nearly everything in here isn't just something I didn't own before coming out. It's something I wouldn't have considered owning at all. Not just the obvious clothes. But soft toys, my books, the purple Buddha on the wall, that whisk over there that doubles as a head massager (buying it was hilarious), precious things from autism conferences, poetry books, writing books, the meditation material on the bed, precious items from Manchester, even a series of books called Skulduggery Pleasant. I wouldn't have read those if I hadn't come out.  I look at this room and know that my life is almost infinitely better for coming out.

My life is very much not as I would have expected it to be. And the changes just keep happening.  There are more on the way that I know about.  And there will be more surprises too.

I give thanks for Clare.

In ten days time I will give thanks again. For it will be the fourth anniversary of the night I looked at myself in a mirror, fully dressed as myself without guilt for the first time in my life, and greeted myself as Clare for the first time. Welcomed myself into the world.

The Special 250th Post: The Way Things Are Now. Seven Joys.

This is the 250th post.  That's an important milestone for me though, objectively, it's just another number.  I decided a while ago that I wanted to write something more out of the ordinary for this post.  Or at least more out of the ordinary for my blog.  I didn't want it just to be some days from my gratitude diary.  I didn't want it just to be some photos from an enjoyable day out.  I love both of those things and they're going to get another mention later.  I wanted something more.

The trouble was, I didn't know what that more should be.

Should I give a rundown of everything that's happened in the three years since I began posting?

Should I give a rundown just of this year?

Should I state some of the things that are important to me?

Should I list the things that bring me joy, the things that are providing meaning and centre and direction to me at this point?

I didn't know.   I'd written the 249th post - one of those with photos from an enjoyable day out.  And I didn't know what the 250th post should be.  Not yet.

Tonight something happened.  Something that only filled a few seconds of my life.  Literally.  A few seconds.  And now I know.

This evening I attended a free event at the Literary and Philosophical Library in Newcastle.  The second I've attended this week and the third I've attended ever.

I was pleased to be at this one, a talk by Laura Bates, who started the Everyday Sexism Project and wrote and compiled the excellent book Everyday Sexism.  If you haven't got a copy of that book then get one and read it.  It's worthwhile.  It doesn't matter whether the book is a real eye opener for you or whether you know it all already.  Either way it's worthwhile.

Yeah, I was pleased.  She spoke at Newcastle University a while back and I missed hearing her and was glad to be free to hear her tonight.  She spoke well.  It was clear, eloquent and highlighted many of the things that the project has expressed both through hard evidence in print, and in soft evidence of anecdotes - evidence that becomes very hard when the anecdotes are piled on top of each other, thousands upon thousands upon thousands upon thousands.

Laura Bates is great.  She is.  The project is great.  And the work that she's found herself doing since the project began is great.  I don't think she could ever have predicted it when she started what was planned as a tiny thing.  I am glad I attended her talk.

But something happened.

And it happened less than fifteen seconds before entering the library to hear the talk.

It was this:

Two women passed by me in the street.
One of them pointed at me.
She said "What the fuck is that?" (exact quote)
And they walked on.

I was surprised.  That kind of thing doesn't happen much to me.  Not recently.  But more than anything I was amused to receive such a transphobic comment when almost at the door of a talk about sexism.

Now.  I could write this 250th blog post about this incident.  About transphobia.  About the pressures on transgender people to look a certain way.  About the quest - which I confess I followed somewhat - to pass.  About the privileges a transgender person gets if they pass.  About the privileges they lack if they don't pass:  Namely the privilege to be able to walk down a street without being abused for being transgender.  I could write a lot about the meaning of this kind of abuse, about how those women were saying in effect, "I believe that a woman has to look and be like this and you don't fit the picture in my head and so, as a lesser human being, it is acceptable to insult you."

I could write about how all that fits in with sexism.  With gender stereotyping.  With sexual stereotyping.  How women are pressured to look a certain way.   How men are expected to look a certain way.  How trans women and trans men are expected even more so to look a certain way.  How non-binary people get stuck in the middle of all this and how that in itself raises a whole load more issues.

I could.  I could write lots of thoughts that are in my head - thoughts that have been developed over the past three and a half years since I realised that I absolutely needed to transition and started to tell people and live as the woman I am.

I'm not going to write all that.  Not today.  I'm not.  Because all those things are out there for you to read already.  Some of them are in posts on this blog expressed with a greater or lesser sense of clarity or coherent development.   But mainly because this is my 250th post on this blog.  And I want it to be a happy one.

I thought back to three years ago.  Three years ago my life was different.  Three years ago such verbal abuse was almost a constant in my life.  Because I didn't pass.  (And had worse dress sense and less confidence)  For a while, almost every single time I left the house alone I would receive verbal abuse of some kind.  It was really very bloody horrible.  At times I didn't know how I would be able to do this transition thing.  Perhaps without the support I had - from family, friends, Metropolitan Community Church, and the local transgender support group - I would have backed out and said it's too hard for me.

That was three years ago.  Abuse.  Abuse.  Abuse.  When alone in the street, abuse.

Things are very different now.  Abuse is rare.  I was talking with someone about this today.  About how far I have come along this path of being me.

Things are very different now.  Mostly, any abuse doesn't affect me.  Water off a duck's back.  I was feeding ducks today.

So.  My 250th blog post.  Isn't about abuse.  It's not really about the three years since starting this blog.  A blog I started in order to write about being transgender, about transition and which hardly turned out to be about that part of my life at all because, let's face it, it's actually quite dull!

My 250th blog post.  Is about some of the things that help me.  Right now.  Things that have developed during the last twelve months.  I have found this year very difficult at times.  But I am blessed in so many different ways.  These are a few of them.  Not all of them.

One year ago none of these things were in my life.

Three years ago I hadn't really thought about the possibility of these things ever being in my life.

Thing the First

This autumn I joined a choir.  Not just any choir.  A brand new choir in Newcastle.  This is SHE Choir, something that already exists in London and Manchester.

It's a women's choir.  A women only space.  And it's the very first time that I've managed to be brave and confident enough to put myself forward to be in a women only space and part of a women only organisation.  The first time.  That's massive for me.  Massive.

A friend who has never got to the choir - a friend from another singing group I attend sometimes - posted about the first rehearsal on Facebook.  I thought it sounded good but normally I might have scrolled over it.  A designated, explicitly women only space.  I'm not ready.  For some reason, probably relating to wanting to sing some more, I clicked on the group and took a look.

The group description began like this: A community choir for women, anyone who identifies as a woman, or anyone who identifies as gender fluid/gender queer.

Yes!  Yes!  That's the reason why I felt able to get to that first rehearsal.  A group description that was specifically trans inclusive.  Without that sentence I would probably have stayed away.  Afraid of not being accepted.  Afraid too of the perceived horror of possibly having to drop an octave sometimes when I sang.

I got there and found that I was completely accepted into that space as a woman.  And I cannot tell you what a relief that was, how good it felt, and how much it meant to me.  I am crying a bit while typing this paragraph because it has meant so much.  To have such a welcome and warm acceptance as a woman among a group of woman none of whom I had ever met before that evening.  It blew me away.

I've loved having that choir in my life and seeing those people each week I've been able to be there.  I love that I'll see them again this weekend and during next week and that we'll be having a little performance very soon.  I love that there is never even the slightest sense that anyone might be looking at me a bit weird for being transgender.  I love that.  Because I looked at myself a lot weird - and much worse than weird - for most of my life.

Yeah.  SHE Choir has helped me a lot.  Every week.  Plus singing is fun and I need to do more of it next year as my mental health continues to improve.  Plus there's the added bonus that I am singing the lowest of the three women's parts without yet having to drop down an octave.  Not once!  It's a push sometimes but I've hit every note without even switching to head voice.  Does that make me happy?  God yes!

I'm not the only one the choir has helped.  Someone at the rehearsal this week was saying just what it had meant to her to be there.  And there are others too who have found something that satisfies a real need they have, whatever that need might be.  It's been a force for good for all of us.

Thing the Second

I quit church this year.  After twenty-six years.  That's been very good for me.  Not because my church was a bad place filled with bad people.  Far from it, and I've already mentioned how I might not have made it through to this point without the support I found there from the moment I first walked in the door and happened to be greeted by the then pastor who within three short sentences let me know that I was in a safe space to be myself.

I officially joined that church.  Two years and a few days ago.  Much to my own surprise.

I officially left again this year.  Which was also much to my own surprise.

I am very glad I did.  Quitting, putting a definitive stop to my church going, has given me a great deal of freedom to explore more about who I am, what I believe, how I want to live and so on and so on.  I'm still exploring.  That will never end I hope.  And in the exploration I am finally learning what it truly means to live as myself and finally learning what it is that I can be passionate about without it being a self-destructive passion.

Thing the Third

I have a bus pass.  An autism diagnosis may not have brought me many practical, physical benefits.  But it's brought me this one.  A bus pass.

And it has changed my life.  In a staggeringly big way.  Especially once I got it through my thick head what having it could mean.  That didn't happen until April 22nd - a date I've written about in this blog.

I can now go places and not worry about us not having spare money to afford to go places.  Today I went to Morpeth - a Metro ride and a bus ride away.  I wouldn't have done that without the bus pass because of the cost of getting there.  Last week it was Woodhorn museum and a park.  Since April I have been out exploring and visiting places more than I have for the previous five years put together.

The bus pass has removed a worry and enabled a better life.  Which leads me on to 

Thing the Fourth

Photography!  I had taken photos before this year of course.  But I've taken far more this year and developed a love for it that may develop further as the next year progresses.

I have quite a cheap phone and it's the source of all the photos I've taken since replacing an even cheaper phone.  I'm counting the new phone as thing the fourth even though that's slightly cheating.  Oh well.  It's my blog and I make the rules!

Photos have brought me joy.   Taking them.  Posting them.  Remembering them.  A record of all the places that bus pass enables me to go and of the places I'd have gone to anyway.

Thing the Fifth

Blob Thing.  Yes.  My small pink soft toy has unexpectedly helped me.  He was made on New Year's Eve last year and I didn't know what to do with him.  The way he has become an important part of my life has astonished me.  His blog currently contains 119 posts.  And that way that's developed has astonished me too.  I love my soft toy dearly.  And I love his sister too who was added to the soft toy family in July.

Thing the Sixth

Writing.  Yes, that's new too.  It's not that I wasn't writing a year ago.  I was.  Sometimes.  It's that my whole relationship with writing has changed in the past twelve months.  I want to write about that more at some point.  A year ago I would write a blog post.  Every now and again.  I'd written a few not-good poems in the previous couple of years.  This year it took off.

After an enthusiastic beginning in December 2013, between 2014 and 2015 I wrote 57 posts on this blog.  This one will be the 176th this year.  That doesn't include the 119 posts on Blob Thing's blog.  That's 295 posts so far.  In 336 days.

But that's not all.  This year I've found the confidence to go along to something called The Writers' Cafe, a regular meeting for writers that takes place in a cafe.  The clue was in the name.  I've known about it for ages but would never attend myself because hey, I'm not a proper writer.  How could I ever hope to fit in among all those other people who must be proper writers because they go to The Writers' Cafe?

Just before the summer break I plucked up courage.  And why?  Largely because that friend who had clicked "Interested" about the first She Choir rehearsal clicked "Interested" on a Writers' Cafe session.  It sounded interesting and seeing her interest was enough to spur me to be brave and attend.  Was she there?  No she wasn't.  And I have never seen her there.  She's a very busy person and can't be everywhere she wants to be but has greatly improved my life through not turning up for things!

I found a warm welcome from the "proper" writers and was amazed to find that I did fit in, that the free written exercises we did were good for me and that what I wrote didn't seem to be total crap compared to everyone else.  In fact nothing I heard that day sounded like total crap.  We produced very different results to each other and some other people were also worried about sounding like total crap.  Aren't we a strange bunch of people.

So I went back and when time and mental health have allowed I've kept going back.  I've met good people and hope to get to know them all more next year and to meet more people connected with the many writing events that happen here.

The blog.  The cafe.  But that's not all.  I've written more at home too.  Stories.  Little bits of prose.  I wrote a 9,500 word story for Amanda's birthday and will one day return to it, improve it, and extend it.  I've written shorter stories, quite a few short pieces from prompts, things that won't ever see the light of day too.  I've written a 7,500 word monologue from an unrepentant killer.  I have nearly finished the draft of a Christmas story that will head towards 10,000 words.

In short I have written far, far more this year than I ever have before.  And I have loved it.

And that's not all.  Last month I had a moment of total clarity and as a result of that moment I gave up something in my life that could have been very good.  I gave it up and gave it away.  Because I knew that it wasn't what I was meant to be doing.  What am I meant to be doing?  Yep.  Writing.

I am very excited for next year because I know that I will allow myself to write more.  My skill will improve and I'll learn new writing skills.  I'll work through a course or two too.  I'll meet people and share the writing experience.  Perhaps I'll even find the bravery to get up and read things I've written, to perform.  And if I see something that looks exciting perhaps I'll even submit writing to publications or competitions, without caring much whether it is every published or prize winning because I'm writing it for my own joy.

Yeah.  Writing is big in my life right now.  And as I head into 2017 perhaps it's the thing that is bringing me most excitement and meaning.  I am loving it.  I find I am gradually releasing a passion into being.  I believe that writing will take me somewhere.  Somewhen.  Those unknowns are exciting too.  But if writing just leads me to my own joy and satisfaction then that's fine too.

Thing the Seventh

The Sunday Assembly.  Especially the Sunday Assembly Newcastle Gratitude Group on Facebook.  If you read this blog with any regularity or irregularity you'll have seen it and seen how I got a bit obsessive about trying to post in that group every day.

Thing the seventh is really this: Gratitude.  It's finding the joy every day.  Even on the days that are pretty crappy, the days on which I want to give up.  It's trying to look past all the rubbish bits and find that blessing in everything.  The group has encouraged me to do that and I've only missed nine days in eleven months - most of them because I was too busy doing good things and forgot to post.

Gratitude has helped me greatly this year.  As the song by Tankus the Henge says, "Smiling makes the day go quicker."  I could link that into another of the good and unexpected things this year has contained for the first time.  There's been a lot of crap in the last twelve months.  A lot of crap.  But it's been a great year.

Seven things.  That's enough.  A 250th blog post filled with happiness.  My closest friends and family might point to my list and say "What about this?"  "Isn't this thing new and important?"  My list of six isn't exhaustive.  I know full well that this year has contained many other brilliant things, some of which will come round and hit me with their meaning next year. 

The list is joyful.  It's positive.  And it all looks to my future with confidence.  This is part of me.  Now.

This is my life.  It's not quite what I expected.  But it's mine.




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Photo Challenge Nine: A Rainbow Flag, Plus Pride, Prince, And The Ruining Of Art

I didn't have to ask for a challenge.  She told me.

She said "A rainbow flag."

I was quite thankful.  This would be an easy challenge.  It was so easy that I even considered making it harder for myself.  So easy that I already knew where I would find rainbow flags.  I do not possess such a thing.  Not a rainbow.  I do possess a pride flag.  But it's not the rainbow flag for gay pride but the three colour flag for transgender pride.  I am happy to possess such a thing and it was really touching when a stranger gave it to me last year at the Northern Pride vigil service organised by Northern Lights Metropolitan Community Church - the church I left, with no ill feeling, at the start of this year.

I would have to go out and photograph a flag.  But that's easy.  Newcastle has the gay triangle.  It's not a place I go.  I am not into clubbing.  I'm not into pubs.  I'm not into noise.  And in all honesty it just doesn't appeal to me.  Plus I've heard too many stories of transphobic (and biphobic) abuse in the gay triangle and understand that I'm far more likely to receive verbal abuse there than I am outside of the gay triangle.  I did once go with someone to the Pride Cafe, only to discover that it had closed down.  But that's it.  I got invited to join a gay art group once.  I'm sure it would be fun and I'm sure the people involved like it.  But I said no.  Because if I want to join an art group I'll just join an art group - unless perhaps if I could find a lovely autistic art group.  That might be a good thing.  An idea has been wandering in my head that I will one day run something similar - an autistic writing group, or possibly a neurodiversity art group.  I wonder where that idea will wander.

Back to the challenge.  Simplicity itself.  I got off the Metro and headed to the triangle.  Certain of success.  Easy.  Thankfully.  Yes, I was glad of the simplicity and that I wouldn't have to walk miles like I had when seeking a white horse the previous day.  Glad because minor illness was stalking me even though I was telling it to go away and seeking an injunction to keep it at a distance.  Glad too because I had to be at a meeting that day and so did not have much spare time.  I had a little though.  Enough for a rainbow flag.  And some to spare after that.

On the way to the triangle I passed the Dog and Parrot pub.  That's a place I've been to once before.  There was a talk and discussion there centred on philosophy and mental health.  On the upper floor.  The decoration there was interesting.  Each wall was painted the same shade of dark back.  So was the ceiling.  And the floor.  Some people must like that kind of thing.  On the wall of the pub there is this tribute to Prince:

And there is this:  Pop quiz.  What do each of these three refer to?

The route passed the Centre for Life.  I would blog about this place except it's expensive to go in.  Do you think if I asked very nicely and told them that they would receive a couple of nice blog posts they would let me in for free for the day?  Do you think they would if I told them that Blob Thing and Winefride would enjoy the place?  Probably they wouldn't.  That's a shame.  I just know Blob would enjoy learning about life.

In Times Square, outside the museum, there is this sculpture.  I rather like it.

No visiting the museum.  Not that day.  It was time to walk on to the gay triangle.  And straight away, on the very first building I see, there was a rainbow flag.  I'd thought there would be.

What could be better than a gay pride rainbow flag?  No, don't answer that question honestly from your own viewpoint!  In my view, and for the purposes of this blog, something better than a flag is a flag represented in street art.  In a back alley there is this one:

And on the main street there's this one.

I'm quite sad about this.  It was placed there before the Winter Olympics in Russia in 2014 and represents the oppression of queer people there.  A situation that has not improved in the two years following the games.  There was such hope that by highlighting the problems in Russia the government there would be forced to act and improve their human rights record.  Hope.

I'm sad about this street art because of the people who have ruined it with tagging.  I am not a fan of tagging - although I freely admit that some of the more complex examples have merit.  Some of it is rather good and the colours and designs can add to an underpass or a plain hoarding.  Some of these tags I've even photographed and they're elsewhere on this blog.  There's a large quantity of well done tagging and street art here, all from the North East.  Yes, there is so much decent art in the North East.  But so much crap too.  Some of it is particularly grim.  [I wonder if anyone local will ever read this and understand the joke in the last sentence.]


I especially had it when it's just a bit of black spray paint. It's ugly.  It increases ugliness.  There are so many pleasing things in Newcastle - and in every city in the UK - that have been blighted by tagging.  So you can spray your name on a building?  So what.  F**k off please.  Yeah.  I love street art.  I think it can improve a place greatly.  It can have a message - such as the above art does.  [Art, but is stencilling graffiti at all?]  Or it can just be a thing of beauty, such as all those pictures I saw in Sunderland last weekend.  Street art can make me smile.  Looking at that website linked to above was a joy.  Street logos can make me smile too - and you'll often find me taking a picture of someone's logo on a lamp post or the back of a sign.

But tagging your name in a bit of black paint?  No.  I'm sure there's a whole tagging subculture.  But like I say, to anyone who would spray their name in a bit of black paint, f**k off.  And I don't care if you've climbed to a difficult spot to spray your name.  You've made something ugly.  You've helped contribute to the need for Newcastle Council to spend a quarter of a million pounds a year removing ugly tags. Congratulations.  [sarcasm]  Slow hand claps for you all.

Artists sign their paintings.  You're signing nothing and without the painting your crappy little signatures are just muck on a wall.  Muck.   And as for tagging your name on top of some art that added something to a street?  Whoever did that was acting in a very shitty manner indeed.

So.  My ninth day of photographic challenges was over.  I had succeeded.  Which was never in any doubt.  And it wasn't time for my meeting yet.  Adventure called to me.  I looked.  And behold, I was near the Redheugh Bridge.  And I realised that I had never walked across it.  Adventure beckoned.  And who was I do refuse it?

On Surgery, My Transgender Life, And Being A Woman With A Penis

Yay!  A post specifically about my transgender life.  When I started this blog and gave it the name "A Woman Reborn" it was meant to be about my transgender life.  I'd been meaning to start it right when I began to transition but it took me six months to begin.  A blog to catalogue the journey through transition.  That was the plan.  It got off to a bad start - the first post wasn't about being transgender at all.  Then it got into a transgender stride.  Five posts in a row just about being transgender.  Including thoughts, happenings, attempts at poetry, and the day I learned what it was like when your church pastor calls you an abomination.

Since then the blog has covered all kinds of things.  My journey from deep Christian faith into a place that is currently outside of Christianity.  Walking.  Photos.  And this year it's included a lot of gratitude.  It's also covered whatever the heck has been churning in my head at the time.  There has been creative writing too.

I hope that the next year will see a lot more of all these things - including more about faith as I continue to work things out and see where I sit within or without them.  My life is very much different to how I expected it to be when I began this blog.  And of course there have been posts about autism too.  There will be more of those.  It's inevitable.  The photos in this post are not transgender related.  They are all autism related and were all taken at Autscape 2016.

As far as a blog about transgender transition goes, this blog has failed miserably.  As far as a blog about the complexity (or simplicity sometimes) of a Clare goes, it's succeeded admirably.

But today.  A post about my transgender life.  Hoorah!


During a Metro ride this morning my brain suddenly got itself onto gender and the relationship I have with my thoughts about surgery.  Surgery.  It's a big decision.

I typed this into Facebook via my phone:

My gender transition job:

To convince psychiatrists to let me have the surgery I want, when it's not a big worry and if it wasn't available I wouldn't really care.

Yeah. I want it. But it's not important and wouldn't make me any more me or any more woman. And if I won lots of money I would spend it on other things.

I am meant to tell the psychiatrists that I am desperate, depressed and dysphonic over genitals, and absolutely need new genitals to be comfy about my life.

But all that, and anything similar, would be a lie. And I am too honest for my own good in gender appointments.

So three years after my first visit to the clinic and more than two after becoming legally entitled to it I still fight for what I want as I have from the beginning.

I scream in annoyance for a while.

But then I think "so what?"

Maybe I can't be bothered to fight any more.

Maybe I am not worried much any more.

Maybe it doesn't matter anyway.

Because surgery is a happy extra. It does not change me. It would not change my life.

And I must stop. Because it's time to get off my Metro train. Life is not genitalia!

I read it back and decided to post it here, with a discussion on what my options actually are regarding surgery.

Some people think that as a transgender woman I really only have one option available to me:  To seek surgery and keep seeking and fighting for it because what else would a woman do if she didn't have a vagina?  For these people it's simple.   You're transgender = you want surgery.  They're wrong of course.  I've even been told that I am not transgender at all because I haven't had surgery and still have a penis.  They wouldn't believe me when I explained to them their error.

Some people know better and believe there are two options for a transgender person:  Either to have surgery, or not to have surgery - the "non-op" choice.  That's far better.  It's a choice any trans person has to grapple with - if they are lucky enough to have the possibility of following their choice.  For some it's an easy decision.  For me it hasn't been and my attitudes have changed drastically over the years since coming out to myself.

In reality, as far as my genitals, my "down below" parts are concerned I have four options:

A.  To have "the full job" and to have a new vagina created.  When most people think of a sex change operation that's what they're thinking of.  Most people, at least until recently, probably didn't think of operations for transgender men.  But I'm not one of them and this is only covering my options.

B.  To have more cosmetic surgery.  The end result looks identical to "female" genitalia from the outside with labia and clitoris and everything else but with no vagina.

C.  To have a bilateral orchietomy or orchidectomy.  This is the removal of my testicles - to put it simply, surgical castration.

D.  To have no operation at all.

Those are my choices.  There are pros and cons for all of them.

But C is out.  C is the most rejected of all the above options.  I don't want it.  C is out no matter whether they keep encouraging me to go for it.  Hey, have an orchiectomy because then you could opt for A or B later, but if you have B then you can't have A later so don't choose B.  That has been said to me at my last two gender appointments.  But I'm not listening to that.

C does have an advantage.  At present I have to have an implant injected into me every 12 weeks to stop testosterone production.  Surgical castration would mean I wouldn't need the implant.  But to be honest the implant isn't worrying for me.  I'd prefer to visit the nurse every few months than undergo surgery if that's the only practical advantage of an operation.

A is out too.  It's a lot of effort.  The preparations are difficult.  The surgery is difficult.  Recovery is difficult.  And then there are the dilations.  And, as it was put by a trans woman in a BBC3 documentary, "you have to sleep with a dildo up you every night for six months."

A is pretty much ruled out.  Too much work for a vagina that, being (almost) asexual, I don't need.  I don't need a hole designed for the insertion of a penis during sex.  Because such an insertion is something that I completely don't desire.  Three years ago I wanted A.  A lot.  But three years is a long time to think about it all and a long time to live my life as Clare.

Which leaves B and D.  Cosmetic or non-op.

Someone on Facebook mentioned happiness.  They said they had said to the GIC that surgery would increase their happiness.  I've wondered about my happiness.  Would surgery really increase it or would it make no difference.  So I wrote:

Thoughts from the top of my head.

Would I be happier? Now there's a question. Maybe. Slightly. But nothing or almost nothing about my happiness or unhappiness relates to genitals. I used to be pretty desperate for surgery, getting triggered or risking being triggered every time I undressed or used a toilet. It all used to be important that way. Now it isn't.

It's over 3 years since I legally changed my name, longer since I was referred to the GIC. And so far there has been nothing in my life made impossible by having a penis. [Apart from the illegal way a certain gym treated me when I was wanting to join 3 years ago, which would have resulted in legal action by myself had I had the energy for it.] Maybe I'm lucky in that.

I got over a big fear this year and went swimming as a woman. In my charity shop swimming costume. Nothing happened. It was fine. No abuse - but if there had been, well, if any of us had let abuse stop us we would never have got far with transition. I might not go swimming again - going in the pool was about the fear not the swimming. It showed me again that many impossible things are just in my own head and that the things that actually are impossible for me [of which there are quite a few] are not gender or genital related.

Plus of course there's the big advantage of no surgery - it makes things a lot easier when out walking and needing to pee!

And yet I still want surgery. Even though it doesn't really matter to me or to anyone important around me. Just as I still want hormone treatments and may yet finish the NHS hair removal funding even though it's so horrible for me on every level. Do the hormones help with my happiness? Probably. Does facial hair removal? Definitely. Would surgery? I really don't know.

I know it's important to others and we're all different. But for me it's becoming almost just a big fuss over nothing.

Woman with penis? I say so what. And nobody in the women's choir is glaring at me because I might not have the same genital configuration as me!

I say all that ... and yet ... and yet ...

And yet.  It takes me back to the top of this post.  And yet I still want to convince the psychiatrist and team at the GIC (gender identity clinic of the Northern Regional Gender Dysphoria Service) that surgery is the way forward for me.  I think I'm getting closer to the point at which they're convinced.  Maybe the next appointment.  And then they will refer me for a second opinion.  I'll be hoping for an early appointment.  I'll also be hoping that I can claim back travel expenses.  The reason for that is that the appointment will be in Edinburgh - and a freebie day out there would be lovely.

That's enough thoughts.  They're just my thoughts.  Nobody else's.  Other trans people have their own thoughts, fears, desires and opinions and they each make their own informed choices which are right for them.  My choice will be right for me.  Theirs will be right for them.  For me, if surgery didn't exist then my decision would be easy!  And it wouldn't negatively impact on my future.  Not really.  For others, surgery is a life changer.  We're all different.



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