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.

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?

Days of Gratitude - Happy Pride. In Photographs and In Parades.

Here we are, five more days of my Sunday Assembly gratitude diary.

Some were very good.  And then by the end of the days, things weren't good.  That's life.  As my mother would say regularly, "It's all part of life's rich tapestry."

But the first day was good, even though the walk went a bit wrong.  The footpath that I was trying to follow for part of it doesn't exist anymore.  It's been swallowed by a rapidly expanding opencast mine and nobody thought that it might be an idea to divert the public footpath round the mine.  I tried my best to adjust but ended up somewhere I hadn't wanted to be and then had to spend an hour walking along busy roads in order to get back to my route.

It was well worth it though - those last 2 1/2 miles were fabulous.  And my viaduct photo.  Hah!  Take that, Bridges on the Tyne (and other rivers) website.  It CAN be photographed.  Even in summer.  So there!  Bridge and railway nerds will want to know that this is the Plessey Railway Viaduct.  I guess that very few of you will have walked underneath it but I can recommend it - and there is a bus stop near the start of the path so you won't have to walk for an hour by those busy roads.

14^th July

Grateful for another walk.

A little over 7 miles. But all of these pictures were taken in the same 50 metre stretch. Part of the 2 1/2 mile section during which I didn't see a single person.

The fallen tree in the third picture was my seat for eating lunch. On the other side of the river is a little waterfall. Very pleasant.

Also, I am boastful because I think my bridge picture is much nicer than the ones on a useful website about river bridges in the area.

15^th July

Grateful that on Monday I returned to meditation after a too long break. Grateful that at the end of the week (and this morning) I can say I have kept it up.

Grateful for this book. For now it is being a useful place to practice in. Grateful for the decent meditation timer on my phone.

Grateful to have half made the placard the book is sitting on.

Half ready for the Pride parade and maybe the Alt Pride picnic afterwards.

I'm not quite sure why this picture was posted on the 15th.  It was taken on the 14th.  But hey, Blob looks very happy to by lying in the clover even though he didn't manage to find any with four leaves.  I have never found a four leaf clover.  Ever.  I don't think that explains anything about my life though.

16^th July

Grateful for the Northern Pride parade.

For the picnic.

And for an unexpected meeting.

Well, this is my gratitude diary from the Sunday Assembly Newcastle group.  Glad that a few from the SA were able to to carry the banner at Pride.

SA is a "radically inclusive" movement.

17^th July

Grateful to return to the Quakers and to join them for lunch.

Grateful for flowers on the way to a Pride vigil service that I then couldn't attend.

18^th July

Grateful for a very quiet day and time to recover physically and mentally.

Grateful that there are many things which are not forever.

Why A Queer Pride Parade Is Not The Place to Keep Jeremy Corbyn

The Pride parade in Newcastle on Saturday was great.  It really was.  Northern Pride Events Ltd. do a fine job organising everything each year with the police and local authority so that the parade can happen.  I may have a few issues with other aspects of the event across the weekend but, for me at least, joining the parade is one of the great pleasures of the year.

It is perhaps the moment in which the most people gather together in Newcastle and all have smiles on their faces.  And it's pretty glorious.

This year the parade was also pretty political with various political groups being represented among those who walked.  I've been reflecting about something in particular regarding the manners in which political groups parade for Pride:

The manner in which their walking is acceptable and adds to the visible display that demonstrates the reason why we parade.

And the manner in which their walking can be unacceptable, diminishing the visible display and supplants the reason for the day with other reasons that steal from the festival and from the people the festival represents.

So, a few thoughts:

A: I personally want Jeremy Corbyn to remain leader of the Labour party.  That's just my view.  Others disagree.  And that's fine.  At Pride that's not important at all.  Not.  At.  All.

B: I know some of the people actively campaigning for this to happen. And they're all nice.  I really like the people I know.  I'd happily stand by them in much of their campaigning if I had the energy to do it.

I was talking and walking with one of the prominent local campaigners later in the day.  I really like him a lot and am really grateful to know him.  He does a whole load of good in Newcastle and beyond and to be honest I look upon him with some admiration and am glad every time he encourages me that I might be able, health permitting, to do much good too.  Among the active campaigners there are many people like him.

C. And here is my grumbling point:

I honestly don't think that "Keep Corbyn" placards are appropriate at a Pride parade.  I think they are great, in their place.  But that place is most definitely not a Pride parade.

The Pride parade is about LGBTQIA+ people.

It's about inclusiveness and the celebration of all people regardless of sexuality and gender.

It's political and should be a call for social justice, the rights and freedoms and acceptance of all people, here and worldwide.

It's a remembrance of everyone who has fought to get us where we are.

It's a shout out for those people who suffer today because of their sexuality or gender.

It's a shout out for those people who through persecution or fear of rejection or any other reason cannot stand openly and say "I am gay" or "I am trans" or "I am a polyamorous trans bisexual" or whatever else they may desperately want to be able to say.

And for other people who may not even think about any of those things it's a chance to be fabulously themselves and enjoy a party atmosphere before partying on for the rest of the day and night.

The Queer Pride parade is many things.  They all concern us.  They don't concern Jeremy Corbyn,

What it is not is an excuse for a campaign to keep a single person as head of a single political party.  I say that as someone who happens to agree fully with the aims of that particular campaign.

The parade is about LGBTQIA+ people.  Not about a political personality.  We may love that personality.  We may loathe them.  But unless they've just been putting through anti-queer legislation that we want to campaign against, then Pride is not and will never be about them.

I would also think it completely inappropriate to display placards for any other leader, or calling to support any other party, or even those awful Nando's flags from last year.  I'm only grumbling about Jeremy Corbyn supporters because they were the ones I saw with the most placards that had party political campaign slogans on display.

I am very happy that members of the local Labour party parade. I am happy that members of the Green party parade, that a church parades, and people from Trades Unions and all kinds of other groups.  Hey, I'm far from being a Conservative but if the good people from LGBTory showed up then I would be very happy to see them.

Some parading from those groups are queer, others are allies. It's all good. I am glad that the organisations that parade are either inclusive already in their policies and practicalities or their members campaign for full inclusiveness.

But I only remain happy as long as they parade as part of their ongoing efforts for equality and freedom rather than as an attempt at converting anyone to their own group.

And that doesn't matter what group. Labour, Green, Conservative, those Socialist Worker people with their SWP placards, religious groups, Unions, workers from Asda or Sainsburys. Any group.

March with us, stand with queer people of all the different varieties we exist in.

But don't use our day, our one day of the year of publicly celebrating ourselves, for your own cause.

Because then you're not being an ally. You're being an idiot. You're distracting from the day. Diluting Queer Pride.

It's an issue if someone simultaneously claims to be our allies and then hijacks our parade for their own purposes.  I for one do not want allies like these.

If you plan to promote your cause on our day then I for one would prefer you to naff off and not walk with us.

I was at a rally for refugees recently. Some people brought placards about the EU - it was just before the referendum. They were told in no uncertain terms not to display those placards. It was a refugee rally NOT about the EU and whether anyone thought we should remain in it or leave.

So why the hell do people think it's appropriate to display their "Keep Corbyn" placards at a Pride parade?

I happen to agree with the sentiment and the call to keep Jeremy Corbyn - assuming the members of the Labour party (I am not one of them) vote to keep him.  And assuming they are allowed to vote for him, which is another matter for campaigning.  Yes, I agree.  And I agree that campaigning for this political cause is a valid course of action.

But that's not the point is it?

This is our parade.  This is our cause.

For one day, for one moment, if you want to promote some other cause, just butt out.

If you want to promote some other cause, then do so.  But do it somewhere else.

For just that one moment raise all queer people up.

For just that one moment forget about your own agendas.  Leave them behind.

Please, if you brought your own agenda this year then leave it behind next year.

Please, next year stand solely for us, not for yourselves.

And if you can't do that, then don't parade at all.

I don't want you claiming to be our ally if you hijack our parade.

If you want to hijack it for your politics then, and I'll put this in undiplomatic words, just fuck off for the day.

If you want to hijack it for your politics then I don't want you there.  Stay away.  Please.

We can meet for a drink later.  We can walk together with your placards on another day.

But on our day march for us and us alone or fuck off!




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Days of Gratitude - For Food, Friends and Fellowship ... And Unexpected Meetings

Hoorah!

Some more days from my gratitude diary.  I am immensely grateful for the diary.  After nearly six months I can say that it has helped me a lot.  It's not the only thing that's helped me in the first half of the year.  The biggest three helps - all of which either didn't exist six months ago or were very new six months ago are this diary, the realisation of how much I can do with a bus pass, and my friendship with Amanda.  Without each of those three I would not be as well as I currently am.  I am immensely grateful for them all.

I have come a long way in the first half of this year.  My mental health has improved a lot, especially since the middle of April.  I'm actually quite proud of having reached the point I am at now as I was a long way from it six months ago. It feels good.  Or at least it feels good when it's not feeling bad!

So here we are.  Four more very varied days.  A couple were very quiet.  A couple were very busy.  And one of them went in a brilliant direction that I couldn't have predicted if I'd had all the astrological skills of Russell Grant and Mystic Meg combined and if I lived in an alternative universe where such astrology actually works.

18^th June

Grateful for a quiet day and for friends.

Grateful to have had the time to write blog posts for Blob Thing who is getting increasingly thoughtful at times.

Grateful to have learned more about quick photo editing on this phone. On the old one I could do nothing.

Although it turns out that negatives can be almost terrifying!

Grateful to have the confidence in me to go out unshaven and dressed in a short skirt and a panda top complete with panda hood.

Beth's friend saw me and called me adorable. Yay!

19^th June

Grateful to visit the Quakers today for the first time in ages. It was nearly silent worship but I go away with things to think about.

Today they unveiled this colour wheel. Each crayon is next to handwritten text, adjectives that members of the meeting had written about Quakers and being a Quaker. Each crayon has a specially made label.

It really is rather a special thing.

And afterwards there was a shared lunch.

Very glad to have been there today.

20^th June

I went for a short walk today. But plans changed quickly when I encountered these people crossing Monkwearmouth Bridge. Grateful to have joined them and walked with them to North Shields.

Grateful too for the good people at The Sage this evening singing songs to protest Nigel Farage and the UKIP event.

Glad to actually have the mental health today to stand with them, hold a placard, and sing out.

21^st June

Grateful for this £1.99 box set from Oxfam. I just finished season two and am almost in awe at it. This was 1984. Tea-time children's television. Yet it was THIS show.

Probably the best Robin Hood version ever. I can rave about it.

And grateful to look at my photos and other people's photos from Monday.

Many good people.

Pleased with how this picture worked out for me.  I took it on Marsden Beach if anyone is wondering.  Just before this we made a friendship circle round the rock stack.

When I am told that Autistic Pride is a bad thing

 The background:

 

A comment on Facebook saying that we shouldn't have autistic pride - or gay pride, black pride, Etc. - because pride comes from achievements not from something innate.  A comment that said that all this "pride" noise comes from people who see themselves as substandard.  A comment that said that after autism pride could come left big toe pride, skin pride and oxygen-breather pride and it would make as much sense.

That's an opinion.  And he's entitled to have that opinion.  And disagreeing with an opinion is not a judgement on a person.

 

But I'm the kind of person who is into the whole Pride thing.  I am transgender and I'm autistic and that's made life hard.  But I am proud of who I am and proud that I am finally learning to accept myself and be myself and that will lead to a better future.  And I'm so into it that I wear badges that say "Autistic Pride" and a bracelet too that was made for me.  So a short (by my standards) response to the comment happened.

I'm posting it mainly because it's part of who I am and I can look back on it here when I am feeling bad about myself or feeling low because of the latest social or sensory problem that's hit me or I've not managed some really basic thing due to a lack of EF skills.  That's a function of this blog for me, or at least it has been recently, that I can look back on the bad days and know that actually life is pretty damn good even with the difficulties I have.  If there were zero page views I would still post because it's worthwhile for my own well being.

 

Image taken from here. I'd be very tempted if I lived in the USA.

 

The off the cuff response:

 

I'm proud to be autistic (and queer and trans ...)

All of the various pride groups come from people being told they have to be ashamed of one aspect of who they are or told they are less than other people because of that aspect or are or have been discriminated against socially and/or legally.

We are proud to be these things because we've been told we shouldn't be. It's not because we see ourselves as substandard. It's because we've been told that we are substandard and we deny it, and continue to deny it and say that we're as good as anyone else and we're proud to be who we are in the face of having so much crap thrown in our faces by those who would put us down.

One of the definitions of pride in the dictionary is "conscious of one's own dignity." Yes. We're proud. We know our dignity as autistic people. Even though it's been a fight - and it still is a fight in some ways and in many places - to have our dignity accepted by others. We refused to have our innate dignity stripped away by society or individuals. Because we KNOW that we are different, not less. Autistic pride is autistic self respect. It's acceptance.

Well I'm proud anyway, regardless of whether anyone else is proud.

Left-toe pride? Skin pride? Oxygen breathing pride? Of course not. Because none of those things has been a cause for discrimination, bigotry, hatred, or anything else. Nobody has insulted me in the street for breathing oxygen. Have they insulted you for it?

Six Months Ago - Positives, Gratitude, Hard Days and Craziness

I've been looking back at old Facebook posts this morning.  And there are things that I'd completely forgotten about.  Six months ago someone inspired me to write five positive things a day for five days.  I ended up writing them for ten days - the days immediately before Autscape, which was itself filled with positives.

The days contained so much good.  And so much bad.  Unless good and bad are just labels we apply to things and not a reality in themselves.  I've added in a few of the photos taken in the good of the days.

Six months ago I was into some quite crazy stuff.  And then I pulled away from it because of my mental health and because living in the security of habitual living was easier than living in the possibilities of craziness.  I think now I am returning to the crazy and this time I might be ready to lay aside the habits.  Time will tell. 

Six months ago today was day three of the positives.  Yes.  Six months ago today I helped plan and then officiated at a pagan dog funeral.  That was such a strange and happy day.  I need more of them.

OK. Someone inspired me. So here goes:

Day 1 of 5 positives.

1. Spending the evening in a healing environment with some rather wonderful people.
2. Eating too much of the chocolate banana bread that Beth cooked.
3. The words received in meditation tonight.
4. Learning that there is a mantra/prayer with the gorgeous name Ho’oponopono.
5. The unlikelihood of having met the person who inspired me and the way Spirit arranges these things.

Very little sleep. Haven't been able to go to the sacred drumming and have spent time collapsed on bed crying my eyes out because the sensory crap is just so damn painful today. All out of spoons today. So this is going to be a challenge:

Day 2 of 5 positives.

1. The friends I've met in the last two years.
2. The books I'm sharing this bed with.
3. The partial relief gained by sticking in Alpine MusicSafePro earplugs.
4. An unexpected decision made about placing tattoos on my wrists.
5. It's been hard work getting to number five but this is just a bad day, not depression and not despair. This - on bed, alone, only semi-functional, with earplugs - is so much better than things used to be when writing lists of positives every day as part of a self-harm support group and some days sitting for an hour and struggling to come up with a list of one. Of course there are many other positives - the roof over my head, having Beth and Kit, abundant water from the tap, the sunlight, and so much more.

Here goes. Far later than planned.

Day 3 of 5 positives. Ooh, they're positive today.

1. Helping to write and then co-officiating at a pagan funeral for a dog owned by some people I've never met before. I kid you not!
2. Spending so much time outside in quiet places and getting mildly sun burned arms.
3. Lying, deeply relaxed and content, in the grass on the route of an old railway while H sang Wiccan and Sufi chants to me.
4. Sticky toffee pudding and cream in the house of strangers and gluten free steak pie in the house of a friend.
5. The sheer unexpectedness of the day and the joy and laughter shared, even on the day of a funeral and that this list could extend a long way today. On days like these it is so easy to so much love my life and how different much of it is to how it used to be. 

Positives. Day 4 of (unspecified number)

1. The completely unhealthy indulgence of eccles cakes covered in left over clotted cream from last night.
2. Being so massively touched by part of "The Dying of the Light" (the last Skulduggery Pleasant book) even if I may be emotionally scarred for life by the trauma caused by what happened!
3. Giggling repeatedly at just how unexpected yesterday was and how different life is than I could have ever planned.
4. The deep love I have for certain of my friends and the joy that knowing they exist brings to me.
5. Spirituality is becoming light-filled and joy for me rather than an excuse to continue to chastise myself and live with guilt or shame.

Positives. Day 5 of however many, written while unreasonably stressed about a missing phone.

1. Buying a nice Celtic knotwork ring in Tynemouth for 50p.
2. Sitting out on rocks near Tynemouth, proving that it's possible to be completely alone at a tourist seaside place in August, chanting and praying and generally getting on with nature.
3. Being lent some books. Obviously someone thinks I don't have enough to read already!
4. A surprise phone call when I got to Whitley Bay resulting in a total change of plans and time spent with a friend by a river (which may now be home to my phone).
5. The feeling of tiredness having walked from Tynemouth to St. Mary's lighthouse before going for a walk.

Positives day 6 of 5

1. Church tonight and completely losing it in giggling fit during the service. Pub after church with friends.
2. The friend whose photo is on the facebook wall immediately under the box I'm typing this in. Love you.
3. I have my phone back and the hug from the friend who returned it was a wonderful hug. Love her hugs.
4. A happy afternoon with another friend, sitting in the deliciousness of Tea Sutra and wandering being a tad insane with her before meeting the friend mentioned in 2.
5. BUS PASS! Wow, so excited. Impatient too because it can't happen yet. But I learn it will be able to happen. Bus Pass. Bus Pass. Wow. Wow. Wow. Hallelujah. Now wondering if another friend knows about this.
6. The number of friends mentioned in those positives. And now I'm home and my family are here. As is another friend.
7. Blimey, when did life start to get good?

Positives: Day 7 of 9. Minor geek edition.

1. Sense8 got renewed for a second season. We walk with pride!
2. Beth says she's going to buy me a Leeloo multipass toy.
3. Person of Interest season 4 awaits me.
4. Skulduggery Pleasant. All of the series. All of it. And that the three of us are going to the Derek Landy talk and signing in a couple of weeks.
5. The hope that Star Wars episode 7 will adequately compensate for episodes 1 to 3. I can live in hope, even if it's unrealistic.

That's enough of that because there has been good on this quiet day. Being outside early this morning. Getting important financial things done and only having to pretend to be my aunt twice in order to get them done. So many good things to be thankful for. And things most of us take for granted - like automatic washing machines. 

Crappy head day. When the social and sensory is massively draining before it even begins. Nyah. Nyah. (But not Nyan. Cat. Not that cat.) But. Here goes.

Positives: Day 8 of 10

1. Daniel Barenboim is playing piano for some Beethoven with the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra. 'Tis stunning. Love Beethoven. Love Barenboim.
2. Spending time with a friend. Long text conversation with another friend. Friends. And that there are very special ones. The ones with whom the connection runs so much deeper for me than family.
3. Tea in Tea Sutra. Of a variety that the staff pretend to be able to pronounce but they never pronounce it the same way.
4. The name of Valkyrie Cain. And that I'm getting closer to working out my own name. But not my true name. Wouldn't want that of course. At least 4 friends will know what that means!
5. The book Everyday Meditation by Tobin Blake. Among the best £1.50s I've ever spent in a charity shop. So glad to have come back to it, each day with it is a pleasure.

Brain fog, foggy, foggety, fogged.

But the lights that unexpectedly penetrate fog can be incredibly beautiful.
So the plan is to enjoy the lights when they appear rather than spending all the time shivering in the dark and chill of the inner fogginess.
And then the wind will blow and the fog will clear and the greater light will warm and heal.
Blessed be.

Get 'em in early today. Positives: Day 9 of 10.

1. All the overload symptoms earlier were complete horrible (swear words) crud to cope with. But they don't last forever and concerted self care means crisis level has been reduced to "Danger, Will Robinson" level and that feels SO much better. Things DO get better.
1b. Ear plugs. Silence. Closing the door of the room.
2. The jar of lemon curd I bought in Scots Gap last week.
3. Only 117 pages left of the last Skulduggery Pleasant book so I can finish it before going away.
4. Today's sunshine and warmth.
5. The anticipation of the Autscape conference this weekend and the talk and book signing in ten days time. Anticipation can be a wonderful thing.

Positives: Day 10 of 10 It's the final count up.

1. The day improved greatly. Felt so rubbish this morning and everything was still too loud and cried quite a few times. It's much better now.
2. Walking this afternoon with a friend at Shafto and at Bolam Lake.
3. The carrot and coriander soup that friend bought me from somewhere.
4. This: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L9R3IchTZBENine days until we go and get the (signed) book.
5. My counsellor/guide from White Lodge when I was sixteen, who has just published some wise and relevant words.
6. That this is the final day of these positives because tomorrow I leave for the Autscape conference and that's exciting. And it's the unknown too so that's a bit daunting. 

Because the fight for LGBTQIA... rights is not just a gay rights issue.

The more I read articles about LGBT issues, or LGBTQIA... issues the more I think we need to separate the T, and Q, I, A, from LGB.  Yes, we've all been persecuted, legally and socially. Yes, we still don't have full equality and the situation worldwide is still atrocious.  But lumping the TQIA with LGB when they're such different things doesn't come without problems.

So many times the headline will use an acronym such as LGBT but the article will consistently speak of "gay rights" which is an unintended exclusion of heterosexual transgender people and of all the other people under that LGBTQIA... umbrella who are not gay.

Perhaps we need to stop speaking of gay rights and gay equality and gay anything else unless the issues only surround gay people.  Otherwise, just speak of rights and equality.  I fully support gay rights.  But the issues surrounding trans rights can be very different and so often end up being sidelined and forgotten in what is a praiseworthy celebration of the varieties of human sexuality.

I just read an article on four big companies and their stance on equal rights.  Hey, I'm glad big companies want equality.  But while the headline is LGBT, the article is "the fight for gay rights", "gay parade".  (Can we please, please stop talking of gay pride parades?)  And the T has naff all do to with "gay" because it is a gender issue, not a sexuality issue.  Just like cisgender people, a transgender person may be straight, or L, G, B or have any other sexuality and trans people, especially straight trans people, get lost under the crush of gay, gay, gay.  And intersex people get even more forgotten and lost in the lumping it all together and just talking gay, gay, gay.  Heck, even bisexual people can get lost and forgotten in the crush and that is part of that variety of human sexuality.

So can we agree not to speak of gay rights unless we're actually talking just about gay rights?

Different ... But Not Less: Autism, Temple Grandin, GPs, Ignorance and Celebratory Pride

"Different ... but not less."

Never less.  That goes for all autistic people no matter how supposedly "high" or "low" functioning we are.

And it goes for ALL disabled people.

No disabled person should be thought of as less, demeaned as a lesser human being.  No matter how severe the disability.

And it goes for all genders, sexes, sexualities, colours, nationalities as well.  It goes for all groups of people who have had to fight, and often still need to fight to be treated equally.

"Different ... but not less." 

This tiny quotation comes from the closing speech in a TV movie about Temple Grandin PhD, starring Clare Danes.  I haven't seen the movie - does anyone have a spare DVD?!  This three minute video contains that speech.  It would be nice to think that approaches to autism have come a long way since the 1981 conference where the impromptu speech was made.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YeWks6cgJ-k

If you want some extra entertainment try watching the clip while reading along with the English transcript youtube helpfully provides.  The software isn't quite perfect yet.  But as always, don't read the comments.  They include such things as "Can autistic women have sex?"  With the answer, "Dude, autistic people cannot have sex, they don't know anything."  All rather depressing that people think such things.

I happened to have a book by Temple Grandin in my bag when a GP said during a consultation, "How can you even think about autism when you can speak and are intelligent?"  That made it easy to respond with, "Hey, GP, look at this science book by an autistic lecturer with a doctorate.  GP, your views on autism are entirely wrong."  I find most people are amazed by that GP - surely everyone knows that there are plenty of very intelligent autistic people.  Everyone apart from that GP.

There is so much to know about the human condition that sometimes GPs don't know things.  The best GPs are the ones who admit that they don't know - and who find out what they don't know so that they can be of use.  The worst GPs are the ones who pretend they know everything.  Fortunately at least a couple of GPs here are open about it when there's gaps in their knowledge.

A GP my whole family likes fully admitted she didn't know about the referral process for adult assessment.  "But," she said, "I will find out and I will refer you and if there's any problem then I will contact you personally."

And the good GPs here are fully open that they don't know the ins and outs of the medical side of my gender transition.  But that's fine.  They are happy to follow instructions from the gender clinic.  And to a large extent they are happy just to follow my instructions, trusting me to know far more about it than they do.

Yes.  GPs do not know all there is to know about medicine.  That would be impossible.  But that's fine.  We cannot expect them to know all the answers.  Not knowing is acceptable, as long as they don't pretend to know everything and in doing so say ignorant things and mistreat their patients just as that GP said to us.

That's a lesson for us all.  We're all ignorant about things.  Let's accept that and be humble about our own lack of knowledge.  Let's all refuse to speak in ignorance as if we were the knowledgeable ones.  Let's accept that we really don't have all the answers, just lots of questions that we can't yet fully understand.

Regarding autism, I was ignorant.  Six months ago I knew really very little about it.  And although I keep reading, there is still a massive amount I don't know.  And although I have a few autistic friends, knowing them and learning of their lives doesn't by any means give me cause to say I know about the lives of all autistic people - because there is so much variation.  Six months ago I hadn't even come to the point of accepting that I too might be autistic - but I've covered that in another post.

I was ignorant.  Knowledge coming from the media, which often gets things wrong.  Knowledge coming from stereotypes.  Knowledge coming from seeing the sort of traits mentioned on Simon Baron-Cohen's autism spectrum test.  Basically - often dodgy knowledge and sometimes totally erroneous knowledge.


I was ignorant about autism.  I've been ignorant about many things.  Two years ago I knew virtually nothing about anything to do with transgender issues.  And yet I am transgender - so my ignorance really didn't serve me well!  There are many things I am still ignorant about and there always will be.  I am fine with that, as long as I am always prepared to own up to what I don't know and am always prepared to keep learning.  And I confess that on occasion I've slipped and haven't lived from a position of that humility.

I was ignorant about autism.  But that's fine.  Because, in the main, I was able to accept my ignorance about other people and not tell them about it and say all those things that well meaning ignorant people have said to me in the last few months. Unfortunately the same ignorance meant I could not accept myself.

And if I'm totally honest, I think my beliefs, somewhere deep down, ran contrary to that statement of Temple Grandin,  "Different ... but not less."  I was fearful.  "If I admit this, if I tackle the possibility head on, does that mean that I am admitting that I am not just different, but I am less?"  The answer, of course, is "No."  It's taken seeing myself plainly in the mirror of another person's life to get me to realise that I can accept the possibility and not have to fear myself.

Like Temple Grandin, like my still few openly (to me or the world) autistic friends, like all autistic people, I am different.

But not less.  Never less.  Never.

In fact, I am proud to be me.

I am proud to be autistic.

And actually in some ways I am glad to be autistic.

In all the difficult times I am still glad.

When breaking down from sensory overload I am still glad.

Beyond all that, there is so much good in this

And I am starting to recognise all these good aspects.

Get that?  I am GLAD to be autistic.

I could not imagine my being to be anything else.

I am glad.  I am autistic.  Good.  Celebrate.

Because it makes me who I am.

About My Breasts, Fucking Passing, And The Wisdom of Autism

Warning in advance:  This post contains completely honest, no-holds-barred, discussion of my breasts.  If that is going to offend you, stop reading.  Right now.

Not long after I had started wearing skirts publicly someone at church asked me an important question:  "Have you thought of chicken fillets? That's what I use."  The person who asked was cis-gender and was wanting to say that using them is OK, because plenty of women use them.  No.  I hadn't thought of that.  In the amazing rush of coming out to myself and going full time two months later, somehow I'd missed thinking of buying someone to give me the appearance of an obvious bust, the appearance of breasts that could have been there for years.

So.  I bought breast inserts.  I bought bras of the right size to hold the inserts in place and wore them with pride.  All of a sudden, the public Clare went from being flat chested to having C cup fake boobs that plenty of people told her looked good.

They really helped with confidence.  Because you know that when the idiots are staring at the shape of your fantastic chest they're not looking so much at your manly looking face so won't throw abuse at you as much.  Unless they look up and think they've just accidentally fancied a bloke and start worrying about their own sexuality.  At least that was the mental theory that boosted my confidence - whether it had any basis in truth is an entirely different matter.

But the time has come to change.

For the last couple of days I have ditched those inserts.  I've been walking with my chest being the shape it currently is naturally.  Yes.  This really is an entire blog post about my breasts.  There will be no photos included!

So.  Why?  Why have I taken the step of putting aside those confidence building, good looking, breast forms?  Am I mad?  Do I want to start getting more abuse again?  Why, Clare?  Why?  Isn't your life hard enough?

Three reasons.

One:  For the good of my own health.

I've now been taking oestrogen every day for seven months.  The dose is still low - in fact it's still lower than what the normal start dose would be in the USA.  And roughly two months ago I started to receive implants of goserelin, which is an anti-androgen.  Basically, it blocks the production of testosterone (and of oestrogen too but that doesn't affect me).

The hormone treatment is having an effect.  I am going through the soreness that any pubescent girl goes through when their breasts grow.  And the inserts affect this.  Yep, it all gets painful at times.  Not that I'm complaining, just laughing at the pain because it means the hormones are doing their job.

The inserts I have are designed to fit over breasts that aren't growing - either because someone wants to add to what they naturally have, or because someone has had a mastectomy and wants to appear to still have their previous appearance.

That's no good for me because my breasts are growing.  That process has begun, though just as in any other female puberty it will take years to complete.  (Too much information?!  If that's the case, why didn't you stop reading when warned at the start?!)  The inserts, because of what they're designed for have a concave back.  And that's no good.  To press growing breasts into them is to try to force them into a shape that they shouldn't have.  And now they're growing there is less room in that bra so the pressure is greater resulting in increased risk of growing misshapen breasts.

So for my own health - and my own comfort too because any woman can tell you that extra constant pressure on growing breasts isn't exactly a blissful physical experience - I have decided to ditch the inserts, regardless of how that changes my appearance or increases the perceived risks.  ("Perceived" is probably the right word, rather than "actual".)

Two:  Passing.  Passing.  Passing.

Readers of this blog will know that I recently have had to come to terms with being autistic, after so many years of denial.  This process has taught me so much and affected me in ways that I'll be working through for a long time.

I always knew that I had a tendency to rock, to stim, to do some of those typically stereotypical autistic things.  And I felt terrible about them and did everything I could to not do any of them.  Don't rock Clare.  Don't stim.  Stay still.  Stay very, very still in case the autism detecting T-Rex in your head sees you and devours you.  (Yes, autistic people CAN invent metaphor and play with words!  Even while often being over-literal about anyone else's metaphors!)

What I have noticed as I have begun to let go and let myself rock and pace and move and play with stim toys and so on - and I know that I have only begun, not finished - is that holding myself still was bloody knackering.  Letting go has been challenging but it's also being a source of freedom and I have a lot more energy through not fighting myself every moment of every day, consciously or subconsciously.

What I've realised is that for all this years I have been trying to pass as neurotypical.  And it's been such hard work even when denying my as yet unofficial diagnosis.  Passing.  Passing.  Passing.

And that realisation has come as something of a revelation and it's affected the way I can treat my gender presentation too.  Because I've been trying to pass there too - pass as reasonably cis-normative so I don't get abused, to look like what other people might think a woman should look like, so that I can claim the same privileges that any cisgender woman is automatically given.

With the autism I decided that, as much as I can manage it, I shouldn't try to pass anymore.  I should just be myself.  And that should be easy because I haven't got a lot to lose in my life and I know that the important parts of what I do have - my family, my church, my friends - are not going to be lost if I learn to be openly autistic, openly the person I am behind the masks.

With the autism I just haven't got the energy to pass.  I haven't got the energy to put on that act all day anymore.  To do so would be more crippling than it was when I didn't even realise how much I was doing it.  And I haven't got the desire to pass either.  I keep reading the writings of people who are proudly autistic and they have been influencing me so much.

So with the autism I came up with a catchphrase.  I penned it and proclaim it.  I used it in the last post on this blog.  I am massively thankful for the people who brought me to the point of proclaiming it.  And bear in mind that I never used to swear and would never have let such a phrase cross my lips in the past.  But ...

"FUCK PASSING"

Easier said than done. 

"Fuck Passing"

Because not passing is not conforming.  It's a risk.

"Fuck Passing"

 It's a letting go of security, of respect, of automatic privilege.

"Fuck Passing"

Yes, that's easier said than done.

"F.U.C.K P.A.S.S.I.N.G"

Because I'm still on the path of discovering what I am and what not passing might mean.

Yeah.

Fuck Passing.

I'm done with it.

I choose the harder life of standing out.

I choose the easier life of being free.

And that's fed back into my gender.  It's easy for me to say because I generally pass pretty well anyway.  I look reasonably like what people think a "woman" looks like.  But for gender too.  Fuck Passing.  I'm not going to get into all the discussions that could be made but these days my use of make up is minimal - far less than a lot of women wear every day.  And I realised.  In order to stay true to my little obscene slogan, the breast inserts had to go.

3.  Women.  What are they anyway?

To be brief:  Breasts do not make a woman.

That's obvious of course.  But if it's so obvious, why should I wear fake breasts?  Doesn't that imply somewhere along the line a view that breasts DO make THIS woman?  Aren't I just falling into some completely bullshit view of what a proper woman should be?

Yes.  At least to some degree - beyond all my concerns of security and self-confidence - that's what I've been doing.

So those breast inserts have to go in order to not stand against the misogynist world that would define a woman by her cup size.

That might be a bit radical.  And I know full well that in some ways that leads to questions about hormones and eventual surgery.  But there are other issues involved there and it's far more complicated than any discussion of sticking bits of silicon in your bra in order to appear "normal" or "acceptable".

So.  There you are.  My chest is worn as it comes.  And I walk with pride because this is who I am and this is what I am and this is the healthy, risky way to be.

And thus I had to buy new bras.  Those C cup bras will have to be put away, at least for the moment.  Who knows what the future will bring and what the medical treatments will do?  And thus I join the moans of all other women:  "Why are bras so expensive?" and "Why doesn't anywhere cheap sell them in my size?"  Honestly, I tried Primark.  Would anything fit?  Not a chance in hell!

It's a new day for my boobs.  What you see now is far less than what you would have seen a week ago.  But what you see is mine.  All mine.  And they are what they are and will be what they will be.

Fuck Passing.  Because the only person I want to pass as is me.