Being Transgender: A Sudden Decision? No. Of Course Not.

I entered into a facebook discussion again just now having been asked to weigh in and be the person to answer all the questions that can be asked about transgender issues.  Again.  Maybe I should just write a book about it and then when the same questions get asked again and again and again I can just say "Buy my book, the answer is on page 82."

My plan was just to say that I'm not up to answering questions.  Instead I was forced to correct a mistake that had been the basis of much of the conversation up to that point - the quite common belief that the word "woman" is derived from "womb."

The discussion, as too many are right now, revolved around Caitlyn Jenner and whether she could possibly claim to be a woman.  (She can.  Case closed!)  And the accusation emerged that her decision to transition was of a man suddenly deciding to be a woman.  (There's no sudden.  Case closed!)

My plan tonight was to write something about myself.  Because it was two years ago tonight that I stood in front of my mirror and everything that I'd been hiding from for so long, in terms of gender, could not be hidden from any longer.  Two years ago tonight I said hello to myself as Clare - a name I already knew - and welcomed myself into freedom.  Two years on and I have not regretted it for a moment.  The last two years have had lots of difficulties, as those close to me know well.  But my life is vastly better now than it was then.  Once you learn to love and accept yourself it changes everything, no matter what happens in your outward circumstances.  My only regret is the same one that so many transgender people have - that we didn't do it all a lot sooner.

Instead of that writing, there's this.  A single response on facebook.  Much longer than planned because it gives so many reasons why this "sudden" decision is delayed by so many transgender people.  And in some countries and societies there are far more reasons for delay than here.  Sometimes good reasons why someone will never be openly transgender at all - such as wanting to stay out of prison or wanting to stay alive.

Apologies for the bluntness in this.  Actually I don't apologise.  That's a lie.  But if you are offended by swearing, don't read this - there are a few naughty words arising from feeling very strongly about these things, feelings that come from my own experiences and the experiences I've heard of in the lives of friends or seen in the lives of others who I do not personally know.  Some people have experienced far, far worse than me.  Compared to many, I've really had the whole experience of transitioning very easy.  But compared to NOT being transgender, it's been bloody hard.

No need to read on.  Of course, there's no need to have read this far either, but thank you. I'm mainly blogging this so I can look back on it myself and remind myself, not that I'll ever need reminding, of all the reasons why there's nothing sudden about the choice to come out and live as the person you are rather than the person you were told you had to be.  The following was just typed straight out and has not been edited in the slightest for posting here.

___________________________________________

The word "woman" is not derived from womb. Not sure where that erroneous idea came from, but: http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=woman There's loads online about the etymology of the word.

In any case, there are medical conditions in which cisgender women are born without wombs. Is anyone here accusing those women of not being women? Is anyone here going to define a person's gender by their genitals or their reproductive organs, rather than by the actual person? Is anyone here going to reduce such questions to body parts? Is anyone here going to say that those women cannot be women because there were born without something "fundamental" to being a woman? I sincerely hope not.

I am the friend in question but I'm really not up to answering all the questions at the moment because so much is going on right now that's taking pretty much all of my energy. There's so much good information online. So anyone who wants to learn can learn, from loads of transgender people who have written a ton of good stuff about their experiences. Just google it. Take time to research it and read just what transgender people have gone through in order to be able to live as the people they are.

But here's a rant I accidentally typed:

Just to say, it's not sudden. By no means sudden. This has always been with me in some way but I couldn't face it, face myself and accept myself until two years ago. Because from earliest childhood society told me that I couldn't be me, that such thoughts were evil, even that I am an abomination. With such crap thrown at you through childhood and adult life it's hard to accept yourself. And when you know that shit will be thrown at you when you do deal with it, by idiots, by the ignorant and by bigots, it's hard to act on that acceptance. And when you start to deal with it and get rejected by friends and family and when every time you leave the house you are abused by people then it's fucking hard to continue. And when you haven't got the privileges and riches of Caitlyn Jenner and the cash to pay for everything she's done then it's even harder. When private health care isn't an option it's difficult. When national media insults you. When hatred is thrown at you for even daring to live as the person you are then life can be more than a bit difficult. Overcoming all the crud that's been thrown at you for decades when you have done your very best to deny who you are because of who society thought you should be when you were born is never easy. Never. When people fear you. When news agencies and politicians try to get other people to fear you and think that you're only doing it because you're some kind of sexual predator who wants to assault and rape women in a toilet. When you are at far greater risk of being beaten up, and in many countries murdered. When obstacles are put in your way or it's made impossible to be legally recognised as your own gender. When in many countries even trying to be yourself would result in a prison sentence. When you see transgender friends assaulted. When you are sexually assaulted in a transphobic attack (which happened to me). When churches reject you. When they throw you out of ministry. When they seek legal help to try to make it impossible for you to even enter the building. When ministers try to exorcise the devil from you for daring to openly be who you've always been inside. When you are told you are damned to burn for eternity for being transgender. When friends turn from you and family members won't even speak to you at your own mother's funeral (which happened to me). When all these things happen it's just fucking hard to even consider coming out and saying "Yes, I am transgender. Yes, I am going to live as myself rather than as a shadow, a wraith. Yes, I am going to accept myself and love myself". So difficult.

So no. It's not sudden. It's not sudden at all. It's just very, very difficult because of all the crap that gets thrown at us and which makes us feel worthless until we find that immense courage needed to turn round and live as the people we already know we are.

To accept myself is a decision I made two years ago. In my early forties. Two years ago tonight. A decision which pretty much instantly ended a period of thirty years of constant depression.

Dreamscape. When Dream Lingers into the Waking. And Calls Unto Renewed Death.

An hour after waking:

I hate that dream.

I hate that house.

It's not happened for a while in any of its variations.

Tonight was the worst, not necessarily for the events but for the place.  Other dreams have far worse events.

Dream events are nothing compared to this place.

This place is entirely the essence wrongness.  I have no better word.

Every wall, passage, room, staircase is wrong.  Physically the walls look just as walls, ancient wood.  But psychically they exude the stench of something far beyond simple death.

The fabric far beyond darkness.

The wood, the walls, the house itself is hard to survive inside my own being.

And it has HIM in it.  Whoever he is or represents.  HIM.

There is no light in HIM, none.  None.  Just venom, hatred.

Somewhere in that house, he will be.  Always writing, whatever HIM writes.

Tonight he saw me and moved with more resolution and speed than I've seen before.

Urgency.  Urgency.  Desperate to come to me.  To steal all light from me.

He is fear.  That place is fear.

The whole place is twisted by Presence, vile presence, manifesting whatever it wants and able to exclude Spirit-Source from the house, able to transform calls to Spirit and fight back, increasing the wrongness and the manifestation.

But worst of all is HIM.

I feel HIM now.

I see him grasping for me because this dream takes too long to fade.

If I must go to a dream house, can't I go to the other one?  Yes, there's a door there that passes through to an Elsewhere that isn't right.  And I can't not go to it.  But that Elsewhere feels like Hell has passed away and the place just needs to be brought to life.  Tainted but not threat in any major way.

Tonight's house, ancient wood, is entire threat, entire psychic danger, sometimes physical danger.  And tonight's house remains into the waking and calls for me to return.  Return and have the hope of Spirit, of the creative, of Being, ripped from your being.  HE can do it.  There is no Spirit there to stop him.

And I see him now because whatever HE is, that is still within me.

Mother of being, protect me.
Father of light, protect me.

Because that place, that HIM, are within and they want to return me to my death.

Inside.  That place is real.  And it wants me to return. To stay.  In waking and sleeping.  To stay.

If dream is manifest psyche then inside me, that place is real, HIM is real.

And he must one day, in my waking, be addressed and fought.

Mother of being, guide me.
Father of light, guide me.

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.

Autism and Sensory Processing: When Even the Quiet is Overwhelming

Something written about an experience of today.
Written as it flowed.
Unedited.  Not proof read.
It's honest.  It could be nothing else.
But it's by no means some polished jewel.
Right now, this is my life, or at least a part of it.
And it hurts.
And again, I do not know how to deal with it.
And again, I will begin to learn.
All will be well.
It's just not well now.

___________________________________________________

I never used to have this problem.

Not like this.

OK, I knew that it existed.

But I'd learned long ago to live with it, to work round it,

To cushion my head against the blows.

Now I cannot escape this problem.

I admitted my autism

And never expected any of this to happen.

I knew there was something.  I always knew.

But this whole thing has taken me by surprise.

Something within decided to show me a series of revelations:

"Here's what you are really like.

Underneath the forty year development of defences, strategies.

Underneath all your learning to focus.

Beyond the skills you learned in tunnel vision, tunnel hearing, tunnel senses.

Here, here, here is what you really are.

Here is the truth."


There was no escape today.

I have lost those skills.  All my learning wiped away.

Without those ways to cope, this is now my life:


The streets were paved with Hell.

So I sought out the sanctuary of a library.

The peace, the near silence of a library.

The only way I could see to cope with that Hell until I was called into life again.

Not so.  No.  Things were too bad for that.

The library.  Too noisy for me.

With quiet noises coming.

Many noises.  All around.  Unpredictable.

Music.  Two sets of music.  Driven to the heart of my head.

Voices, so many voices in so many places, in quiet conversation.

The clicking of computer keyboards.

The intense sound of a soft broom on the floor.

Sudden things being dropped.  Scaring.

Each suddenness a new instinctive threat to be considered.

Footsteps on the stairs.

The overpowering machinery of the lift.

The sound of the building, breathing in air conditioned cool.

So much noise.

So much more than that.

All of it quiet without.

But each sound appearing as an explosion within.

And so much movement.

And so much light.

So much pain.  So much heat inside.


The approach of a kindly man who asked if I was OK

Far kinder than the man who laughed in my transgender face this morning.

Or the two guys laughing and insulting me in the street.

Not that I cared about them.

I am too sure of myself right now to give a shit

When the idiots and ignorant try to rubbish me with abuse.

The kindly man wanted to stay, to chat

Because he heard me say I was artistic.


Until he walked away, with speed and determination

When he realised I was not artistic but autistic.


With all my old defences I would have hardly noticed it.

And that man would have hardly noticed me.

But now.  Undefended.  Naked.

The confusing quiet of library became unbearable.

Every sound, every suddenness a new scream within.

Back to the noise and movement of the more predictable streets.

And home.  Fast.  Weeping on the Metro.


Weeping.  Because I could not escape the feeling that I have failed today.

The Guilt and Shame of Autism. The Needless, Regretted Guilt and Shame.

Yes.  Another post about autism.  Wasn't this meant to be a blog about gender? - a plan that went wrong from the very first post.

Last night I was online, starting with multiple entertaining viewings of S#!T Ignorant People Say To Autistics which everyone should watch and never, ever say any of those things. That turned to hopping between autism videos on Youtube.  There are so many good, educational videos - and some terrible ones too.  Really terrible.  Morally horrific.  But we won't get onto the less than savoury aspects of Autism Speaks, or onto bleach cures, anti-vaxxers, other autism cure and prevention videos or any of the other rubbish that makes most autistic people so angry and only increases their pride and willingness to make good videos.  No.  We won't get onto those horrific things.

I happened on one of the good ones.  Not perhaps a well made video but with excellent content.  It contained a list I hadn't encountered before, of traits that may be seen in females with Asperger's Syndrome.  And that video linked to the blog containing the list, yet another autism blog that I haven't seen before.  So much to read and study.  So little time and energy.

I found myself going through this list in some detail, not just a quick "Yes, yes, yes ... yes, no, yes ... ooh, nearly a perfect score there." - which was educational.  Possibly is was a bad move because I didn't find the list until gone midnight and it took rather a while.  By the time I finished, my drugs had long since kicked in and when I closed my eyes I could see and feel figures passing over my head and stopping to press my forehead in a most colourful manner.  Either I was completely shattered or the angels were being very active!  I really must learn to escape the internet earlier at night even when it is absorbing to the point of saturation.  I must learn to say "The page will still exist tomorrow, Clare, go to sleep."

As I read the list and discussed each point with myself out loud, I was amazed.

Not by the amount of things I tick "Yes, definitely" to.  I've got used to ticking "yes" on these checklists, and questions and tests.  Clare is autistic.  OK.  Moving on.  That's old news even if she hasn't worked out what that means for her life, her person, her past or her future.

But I was amazed by the way total honesty with myself last night led to the amount of things I tick "Yes, definitely, and I've always felt massively guilty or shameful for it and tried my best to stop this, get rid of it, not have it as part of my life."

So much shame.  So much guilt.  So much self eradication.  And some of that shame and guilt are over things that I look at and wonder how I could have ever felt that way.  The rest of it I know to be unfairly felt and applied, but can understand where it came from because those things are so often frowned upon in polite society.

You know when I said that accepting my gender makes a much bigger practical difference to my life than accepting my autism ever would or could?

I think I was wrong.

At this moment all the changes that have come through transitioning to live as "female" seem almost insignificant compared to the vast range of things that learning to be autistic includes.

Yes, gender is a big deal and dealing with it transformed so much.  Dealing with gender pretty much cured decades of depression and a large black shadow that hung over my life even on the best of days.  It meant I could smile more and better and learn what it meant to cry tears of joy.

While each facet of autism is small, they are beginning to add up to something bigger than gender, whether that's in the way I treat myself, the way I interact with the world, or the way the world treats me.

Gender tackled gender.  Learning to embrace my autistic self tackles everything.  Nothing in my mind, in my life history, in the way I think and behave is safe from the magnifying lens of the autism microscope.

Maybe if anything was safe then I wouldn't be autistic!  After all, that list includes such things as "Analyzes existence, the meaning of life, and everything continually." Yep. I don't just analyse.  I over-analyse.  Everything. Even the things that have no deep reason behind them. And get told about it frequently and told to stop it and just accept what is and get on with things.

So not only is dealing with this harder for me than gender transition, it's bigger too and, if I am faithful to this process, it will transform every part of my life.

Shame must fall away.  Guilt must fall away.  Into true self acceptance.

This is just who I am.  How I'm wired.  And how, at least in the broad strokes, countless thousands of other people are wired.

I have killed myself for too long.

Now is the time for resurrection.  For self knowledge.  For accepting without making value judgements about the so-called "good" and "bad" aspects of who I am.

Now is the time to learn to be autistic.  To learn to be me.  To learn to live.

Now is the time to love myself.  To be proud of who I am.  To be proud of what I am.

Now is the time to allow others to love me - and lovingly critique me - without rejecting that love.

And now is the time to learn better to love others.  To be proud of who they are.  To be proud of what they are.








Now is the time to build myself up.  To stop falling back on forty years of abusive self criticism based on needless shame.

Now is the time for forgive myself for all the abuse I have poured upon myself.

Now.  Now is the time.

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.

The Problems and Politics of Passing for a Proud, Autistic, Transgender Woman

What follows is part of what I wrote to someone today on facebook.  They were asking about some transgender issues, mainly about hormone treatments and surgery.  They weren't asking about "passing" though we'd mentioned it earlier in the conversation.  But I got sidetracked.  And when I get sidetracked into something that I'm passionate about then there's almost no stopping me, especially online (see the other sixty posts on this blog for evidence of that).  So here goes, some thoughts on passing, as written almost stream of consciousness in a facebook message but edited and tidied a little here.  And inevitably added to greatly in places.  There's also a section missed out because it mentions a friend whose life is nicely anonymous to a trusted friend in America but who doesn't need even a tiny part of their story plastered here for the world to see.

_______________________

Passing in some ways is a toughie for transgender people. We know we shouldn't have to pass. And we know that we should just be able to be who we are. But we also know that it makes life easier - I used to get abuse pretty much every time I left the house, from idiots and now it's a very rare thing. So we get caught up in the politics and pros and cons and the fact that some people will NEVER "pass" no matter what they do. We talk of how not being invisible, not passing, speeds up the change in society. And recognise that you've got to be brave to be the one standing out. I've gone through all this with trans issues and many people have written eloquently of the issues and of their good and bad experiences of passing, not passing, and of not wanting to pass in the first place.

And then this year I've been forced, in bigger ways than expected, to consider autism. And then recently I've been starting to read wider into other disability areas, something that is probably going to take quite a lot of time and reading and talking with people to truly get to grips with in any deep sense. And what I find when I read is that there is EXACTLY the same language.  So many groups of people speak of passing - the need to pass as "normal", the different reasons why people would like to pass, the need to not pass if we want society to change at any pace, the dangers to oneself of passing, the dangers of not passing, the politics, the thought that it is not the place of people to conform to society merely because they are different, but the place of society to learn to accept those people.

It's exactly the same language.  However, I am beginning to work out that there is a big difference though between transgender passing and autistic passing.  A whopping, massive difference that means there are two forms of passing that mean very different things.

Passing in trans land is to fit in to society's picture of what you should look like if you're claiming to be who you are.  Society says that there is a certain picture of what a woman looks like, sounds like, walks like and so on, or what a man is like and if someone appears in public who doesn't fit either of those two boxes then there will be a reaction.  To seek to pass is, in some way, to seek to fit into one of the two societal boxes.  Which is understandable, given that it makes life easier.  Passing says, yes, I am a woman or man and am proud of this but for whatever reason I'm going to seek to fit in with what you say that woman or man should be.  I'm pretty lucky.  I don't have to do a lot to pass reasonably well.  At this stage it's almost not an issue for me - though I'll keep up the hair removal that's already paid for and still spend four minutes a day applying makeup.  At this stage I almost fit into one of the boxes naturally.  But other transgender people will not be able to "pass" whatever they do.  And many transgender people don't fit in one of those boxes anyway - because those boxes aren't the only options for a human being to inhabit.

Passing in autism land is to fit into the picture of someone who isn't you, passing as neuro-typical in order to gain the privileges and simple life of an NT person. There can be lots of reasons for this.  A negative reason is shame.  Many autistic people are told that the outward signs of their autism are bad and they come to believe it and end up spending their lives trying to cover up who they are in order to avoid rejection, from others and from themselves.  A positive one - though one that needs to change in the future as society changes - is that sometimes an autistic person has to pass in order to fulfill a dream or to be able to follow a particular career. Not passing as neurotypical means almost automatic exclusion.

I think that's a big, big difference even though the language used about it is the same. Passing in trans land is hard physical work at times - not that I'm a hard worker.  Unless you are non-binary - which brings up a whole load of new passing issues - you don't pass by saying that your brain and soul are anything other than you know them to be.  You just change the physical. Whereas passing in autism land or in most mental health lands is a mental and emotional thing. And that's stupendously harder. Passing in trans land says "I am a woman (or whatever else) and proud". Passing in autism land says "I am autistic but for some reason I don't want to let you know, or know that I can't let you know because then you won't let me do what I want to do so I am forced into a pretence in order to have anything like the life I want."  Passing in (the binary bits of) trans land is thus all about externals, fitting how you present externally into society's picture of who you already are internally.  Passing in autism land is quite the opposite.  It's all about externals, true, but it's about fitting how you present externally into society's picture of who you are NOT internally.  Which is massively exhausting.  I'm only now realising that as I watch others who have to pass and as I let go of all the defences I'd built up against allowing myself to be me.

I think of those people who pass for neurotypical in their day to day lives because they have to.  At this point they have no real choice.  It's either pass as "normal" or do something very different with their lives.  Of course that's wrong, in many ways it is abhorrent, but just at the moment it's how things are. Hence the calls from many autistic people for autism acceptance rather than autism awareness. I hear the cry and see a local group say "It's autism awareness month, hey let's all wear blue." Except, I say, and my friends say, and those I've been reading online who are autistic and proud, "Hey let's don't because the organisation telling us to wear blue is one that we really, really want to stay clear of if we want to be proud as autistic people rather than thinking of ourselves as deformed."  There are lots of posts online about autism acceptance, such as this one by Amy Sequenzia, whose writing I quite adore.  The organisation mentioned about is called Autism Speaks and almost the first advice people have given me when I've asked is "avoid Autism Speaks."  There's loads of reasons for that - and if you look online you can find a ton of good autistic people who will tell you the many shortcomings of that organisation.  I am fortunate to have people around me who give me good advice and probably that single phrase "avoid Autism Speaks" set up the foundation of the ethos for so much I believe about autism and about wider issues.  Here's Amythest Schader again about that avoidance - I watched this with child earlier today, alongside a lot more of her videos.

So it's only really when dealing with the ASD things, letting the defences down and seeing what happens that I've been able to see just how hard I've been working, every day, to be what I'm not and appear as what I'm not. And it's only when that's happened that I've been able to turn around and say "Fuck Passing!" and believe it. This feels SO good. Physically it feels wonderful to let go and start to learn to be myself - to learn to be autistic as a wonderful blog post put it. Emotionally and mentally, it is a new freedom. Calling myself Clare brought great freedom - without which I wouldn't have been able to take this step. But this brings even more freedom. (By the way, I don't ever swear!  But Fuck Passing!)  Amythest Schader in one of her youtube videos puts forth the idea of "guerilla stimming."  Basically, to stim everywhere whenever you need to and not hide it.  Because society will not change while autistic people are invisible.  Just as the pace of change for transgender people has increased almost directly proportionally to the visibility of trans people in the last few years - and the conservative counter-reaction and shouting has increased too in its death throes - so the pace of change for autistic people and for people from a wide variety of excluded groups will increase with visibility.  To stim publicly and with pride and just to present yourself  as completely normal in your stimming is to change society.  If you don't know what stimming is, here's one of those Amythest youtube videos on the subject.

There was a point in all this that I could have taken the neurotypical blue pill and continued to deny what I'd always half known. I've taken it for years. But thanks to my friend, deep thanks to her, I've been able to find the strength, courage, and curiosity to take the red pill. Staying in Wonderland with all its challenges. Rejecting the false living. And what I'm finding is that this particular rabbit hole is far deeper than expected.

And this rabbit hole doesn't allow me to pass as normal. Because everything adds to everything and words like authenticity have to win. Yep. As you say, be yourself. Be proud. Be free. And so on.

Hmm. Sidetracked a little there and the whole Autism Speaks section was rather a sidetrack within a sidetrack. Kind of foresee that once I get myself a little more sorted I'll have no option but to be some kind of activist in a bigger way than tweeting and retweeting about it all. Actually this whole ramble about passing is a sidetrack and wasn't meant to happen.

Unrelated Thoughts on My (Lack of) God and My Autism

I've just written a couple of comments on facebook and find I don't want to lose them.  One was about God and faith.  The other about autism, particularly my recent discovery that it's OK to stim, even that it's a very good thing.  They are personal.  They're just about my life - and really that's not wildly interesting so feel very free to stop reading now.  And they're just ephemeral facebook comments, not classic literature to inspire the centuries!  But I want to save them.  Because one revealed something to me.  And the other can stand if ever needed as a reminder of joy, a reminder of why the path I'm on is a valuable one.

Firstly, God.  How very orthodox, to place God first.

Following on from the gorgeous song from the last blog post an old friend commented, through his experience and love.  When I lived closer to him years ago he would have been the only person anywhere who could possibly have convinced me to rejoin the Jesus Army and give myself to those people and that vision.  Finally cutting links with that church meant I lost contact with him and that saddened me.  But by the wonders of social media - and in this case through a wild coincidence - he's back in my life in some way.

As part of the discussion he quoted the Bible:

"For I know in whom I have believed,

and am persuaded that

 He is able to keep that which 

I have committed unto him

against that day"

A perfectly good verse to quote.  I can understand it and understand having a lived truth in which that verse can be grasped, believed, experienced.  I can understand it because I applied those words to myself for many years - before my faith fell to pieces.  I had a response to this from my life - although admittedly it may mean more in the context of the conversation.  A response of honesty, but certainly not a response to argue against my friend's experiences of the Divine.  A response that reveals to me some of the faith in my faithlessness.

I am unpersuaded. There are many times I want to walk away totally, to not believe in anything 'beyond'. Part of that is my pure but possibly imperfect logic. I have argued out the dogma too many times. And much is a result of all the unhealthiness of my faith for too many years, why I embraced it, and how I allowed it to curse me even while grasping onto it so much as my hope and meaning.

But yes, I don't know how to not believe. I may not exactly be orthodox in faith. Much of the time I can't conceive of the reality of a being who is god. But I cannot believe that there is no other, cannot believe that all there is is the universe and gravity pulling us forever into earth. Whatever happens, I fail to stop looking beyond - both to the beyond without and the beyond within. I can't let go. No matter how much I've tried, and no matter how much holding on has deeply hurt. And Spirit can't let go of me.

So here I am, joined the church that should have been my last and which I was meant to have left behind. Getting lost in worship when I can't hold onto that belief. I cannot walk away. It's impossible. Much of the time I am faithless or have a faith that most Christians wouldn't recognise as Christian. But I remain. Because, through everything, I am held by that which is infinite, that which is fully life, that which is the Real, is Being, is Truth, is Eternal. That which is the ground of love and the ground of fire.

Hmm. That last bit might sound suspiciously like faith to some people. You might even apply a label to those words, and say that they are God.

Secondly, autism.  Thoughts unrelated to the above.

Just saying.  Rocking, pacing, moving, stimming feel so damn wonderful.  So much better than forever forcing myself to be outwardly still, to sit without moving.  Some of it is restful.  Some of it releases.  Some of it is grounding.  And some of it feels like joyed strength flowing into me.  All of which comes as something of a surprise.

I have always rocked but almost never let it happen because I felt too guilty and shamed by it.  "It's wrong.  It's bad.  Sit still.  Be quiet.  Be respectable." Thank God these things can change.  Learning to lose that guilt, and guilt over some of the ways my brain is wired, is starting to bear fruit.  At last.

I know there's still quite a way to go in learning to be able to allow my body to move as it wants to.  Learning to be myself:  It's so difficult.  At times it's felt impossible.  I've been so near the edge through all this.  So scared at times.  Close to needing a psych ward.  But it's essential.  And after the hell comes the self acceptance and the renewed smiles.

That's all.  Two thoughts.  Unrelated.

The Universe Laughs At Me Through A Song

The universe is laughing at me.

I didn't want to mass play a song today, post it on social media in two places and know I have to learn to play it.  That there is NO choice.  I didn't want to spend hours on the same 4 minute simple song.  Yet I find that something in this hits all the right places, just like all the minor 6th chords and tri-tones that got thrown into my playing this morning.  I got so lost in that piano this morning.  I really must get round to getting it tuned for the first time since getting married - which was nearly twenty years ago!

I most definitely didn't want to mass play a song about God that I don't even mentally agree with.

And it's totally certain that I didn't want that song to be a song from the Jesus Army.

But the universe doesn't give a shit what I want.  It does things to me anyway.  Most of us find the universe seems to have a carefree attitude towards our desires.  And most of the time the actions of the universe turn out to be good in the end.  Life is more fun that way, when there are unexpected bonuses from time to time.

So.  Here's the song.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Zfv1LZlU9U

Over the years the Jesus Army has come up with some truly atrocious songs.  I could give examples from the years in which I was involved with them.

And then there are ones like this one.  When the Jesus Army does something well, which to be fair is quite often, it really does it well.  It's a simple song.  A simple accompaniment.  In many ways if I applied logic and analysis it would seem like nothing special.

But the song, for whatever reasons, brings me both tears and peace.  And vibrato through bones and muscles and so much more.  There is something in this that bursts into and beyond every energy centre (if energy centres exist) something that I can feel on every level.  This is something that so much pulls at the physical chest, the inner core, that I can let it become the entire universe for a few moments.

When music is the universe, when all else ceases to exist, that is the best.  There is nothing better in my life.  Ever.  When I sing and play and all else vanishes and all that remains is vibration and spirit then that is bliss.  Bliss.  Does everyone sink into music so much that the universe disappears?

Of course, you might hate it!  That's OK.

I Am Autistic: My Path From Long Denial of Autism To Acceptance, part one

There. I've said it. I am autistic.

My previous blog post covered all that, a public statement, a very real coming out about my autistic brain. If you haven't read it and wish to, the link is under these words.  The first post provides some context to this one.

But how did I come to realise and accept this? How did my fifteen year rejection of an idea become acceptance of a truth? How did I come to be thankful for a truth that I could never properly consider before?

There were reasons why I kept steadfastly rejecting the idea, why I could not even begin to conceive that I could actually be autistic. I'd been able to joke about it – the joke came up too frequently, whenever I was over-literal in interpreting language, whenever I strongly exhibited any trait that would stereotypically fit an autistic pattern. But I couldn't take it seriously.

I couldn't deal with the idea until I'd dealt with gender issues and found some control, balance, happiness and hope in my life. While still indulging in self-rejection and self-hatred, while still seeing myself as a monster (or “abomination” as I thought the Bible said) I couldn't possibly have looked closely at the idea of autism.

I couldn't deal with the idea until my mother died. Unconsciously I believed in some way that I'd never hear the end of it if I took autism seriously. She would say “I told you so. Because I understand perfectly.” And she would say it too often for me to cope with. Of course, she might never have said things like that at all. But unconsciously I believed that she would and so could not face the idea.

And I couldn't deal with the idea because, in honesty, I didn't know enough about autism. Most of what I “knew” was based on stereotypes of very troubled children, very unruly or very silent or both. And I wasn't like that. I wasn't unruly as a child. I got on and did the school work without rebellion. And I wasn't more silent than others, at least not abnormally so. I didn't cope well through childhood and had lots of issues but I wasn't like that,was I? I wasn't like thosechildren in lurid TV documentaries. So I couldn't possibly be autistic could I? Asperger Syndrome was a silly idea, it just couldn't apply.

The only adult, openly autistic people I'd spent time around didn't help me either. They may not have been like those children but theytreated their autism as a guaranteed reason why they couldn't and wouldn't amount to anything in life. They said things like “My brain is deformed so there is no place for me in society, I can never be accepted.” They were without hope of a future which is a deep shame and a deeper shame when I consider just how intelligent they were and how much they had within them of wondrous quality. When the only autistic adults you know repeatedly say things like that then it's impossible to conceive that you too may be autistic, impossible to conceive that things may be just as hopeless for you.

Of course, now I firmly believe that these people were wrong. Not through their own fault but because of whatever had been told to them repeatedly as they grew up. It's so sad to know that there are people who, because of their autism, have been told that they are deformed, useless, of no value, and have come to believe it so strongly that nothing anyone else says can get through.

So for all the years of having this autism, Asperger Syndrome idea dancing in my head over and over again it was completely impossible for me to consider that it might actually be true rather than me just having a few coincidental similarities, sharing a trait or three. And I could explain those traits away. After all, as I told myself – entirely erroneously – isn't everyone somewhere on the autism spectrum? (No, most people are nowhere on the spectrum. There's my ignorance on display again.) So if I saw similarities it meant nothing. Nothing at all. Final verdict. End. Of. Story.

My perfectly held logical theories about my brain being nicely neurotypical began to fall apart only when I met other adult autistic people who didn't feel the same way as those I had met before. It was almost as if the universe knew I was ready for revelation and so began to throw autistic people at me. These were autistic people getting on with life, not letting their autism diagnosis get in the way of living. These are people with determination, people who believe in themselves and in their abilities. Yes, their autism can be challenging. Sometimes it can be very challenging indeed. But sometimes it can be helpful too. These are people who accept that their autism has helped to make them who they are and that in many ways they are better people for having autism, despite the challenges and struggles they have faced and still face in dealing with it.

These people, thrown at me by the universe, have changed my life. They didn't mean to do it but things cannot go back to how they were. I began talking with them about autism. About how it felt to be autistic – if “felt” is the right word. About their experiences. About symptoms. About expressing symptoms and about hiding those symptoms. I fully expected that taking to these people would kill the joke in my life. I'd be able to turn round and say that I was nothing like that. No, not me. I'm not like them. It's amazing just how defensive a person can be against an idea.

Things didn't work out that way. Rather, talking with these people began to confirm that the joke should be taken seriously. Very seriously indeed. I don't want to say much about the people I talked with. They should remain anonymous as I haven't got permission to write about them and reveal any specific information. So I'll say as little as possible. And the language will be gender neutral. Sorry if that language confuses anyone. They know who they are and some who are close to me know who they are and will know who I'm talking about in the next paragraph.

Very recently I've had long talks on autism with one particular friend. One of those autistic people the universe threw at me. It's a completely unexpected friendship for which I am utterly grateful in so many ways. On one day, having already spent much time talking – it was the sort of day when a drink in a café stretches to many hours – they decided to reveal their autism to me. Not that they are autistic. I knew that already. And having talked quite a bit I knew some of the theory of what that meant. But on that day they decided to BE autistic around me, to show the reality, rather than doing their best through hard effort to fit into a convenient neurotypical pattern for my sake.

So we sat in a café and my friend goes from being the person they had until that moment presented to me, drops many of the walls and ways of presentation, and appears before me as themself. Gosh, convincing a word processor that “themself” is a word is difficult. They were nervous about it but believed and hoped that I'd understand. That nervousness was normal – I won't say how they behaved in front of me (nothing immoral or outrageous or loud) but it wasn't the way most polite English people would behave in a café when with someone they don't know well.

Their belief, their hope was right. I understood. To be honest I felt very privileged to be seeing a reality that not everyone gets to see. I felt very blessed to have been trusted enough by my friend that they let me see at least some of what their inner life is like and what their manner of being can be like when not trying to fit in to what we are told is normal.

They told me they had thought I might understand. My response was that there was nothing to understand. They had acted much as I might wish to act if I didn't feel so guilty about it. It seems I find them and other autistic friends pretty easy to understand. It's everyone else I find difficult. It turns out that how they are is just the way life already is for me underneath all my own defences and attempts to fit in. I am told that this understanding of one set of people and difficulty understanding another says a lot about me.

My friend told me that they had decided that I am autistic. They weren't the first. Another friend told me they had spotted it on a first meeting. I find I trust my friends. They are intelligent. They have wisdom. And, crucially, they have personal experience.

Everything in my new friendships pointed in only one direction. Never before had it been a direction I'd been willing to look in but I like these friends. I respect and admire them for who they are, what they do and the challenges they give themselves in being the best they can be. Because of their manner of being I could accept that what was true for them – and what they recognised in me – might be truth for me after all.

I'd taken the journey from a belief in the impossibility of something to a belief in the possibility of something – and, grudgingly, the probability of something. But I had to know. I couldn't be satisfied with a “might”. I needed confirmation. Or denial – though by that time I knew that confirmation was the more likely outcome.

It was time to consider things very carefully. Very carefully indeed. To stop joking and get serious. OK. I might be autistic. I am told there is a good chance that I am. It was time to research and find out for myself.

A Post About Autism in the Life of a Woman Reborn

Throughout my adult life my mother worked to an assumption, a belief that could not be shifted.

She believed, wholeheartedly, that she understood me thoroughly. And that affected the way she acted towards me.

I have had a long history of mental health issues and I have spent my life not quite coping with that life in general, with relationships; with others and with myself. My mother would say to me very frequently, “You think that because you ...” or “You're doing that because you ...” Bless her, she was trying her best. But in the majority of cases I could only disagree with her conclusions. Her words to me showed consistently that she didn't understand me or the way my mind worked at all. She could not have understood me in any case – for I was, to all appearances, her neurotypical son.

And she had another habit, arising from my mental health history and a history of not feeling physically great without developing any obvious serious diseases. She would give me diagnoses. Many diagnoses of physical ailments and mental health conditions that would explain what she thought was wrong with me. A new diagnosis would crop up with alarming regularity depending what she had been reading or what someone on Radio Four had talked about that week.

All of my mother's possible diagnoses for me failed. All of them sank into the background and were quickly forgotten about. Or they were knocked out of their place by the next diagnosis.

All of them were wrong. Obviously and demonstrably wrong.

Except for one of them.

Probably fifteen years ago my mother came up with a new diagnosis. She had been doing some reading, following another health issue being discussed on Radio Four.

And I have spent these fifteen years having to deny that diagnosis. Reject it. Swear that there was no possible way that it could be the truth. Mother, you got it wrong again. Very wrong.

Fifteen years ago my mother diagnosed me with Asperger Syndrome.

I rejected that – just like I rejected every other one of her diagnoses. And yet it stuck. And stuck. And persisted. It just would not go away.

Too many things fitted. And later I aced the test available at that time to lowly lay people – the Autism Quotient test devised by Simon Baron-Cohen. There were other clues too that added into the pattern.

But I still rejected it. I could not be autistic in any way. Impossible. And, psychologically I couldn't accept the possibility that my mother was right in a diagnosis, even if that only meant accepting that she had struck lucky on one occasion. Perhaps, sadly, I am only able to deal with this now that she has gone. Most certainly I am only able to deal with this now that I've dealt with my gender issues, accepting and embracing myself as a woman.

There has been a joke about me in my family for years. The joke, which really isn't funny, is that I speak in certain ways, think in certain ways, act in certain ways because I haven't got Aspergers. I am who I am because I am NOT an Aspie.

I couldn't be. No. No. No. There was no way and I refused to look further into the matter. Except it kept popping up and there was no way to escape it for very long.

A great deal has happened recently. I've had to do a great deal of rethinking of my life and of my mind, my brain. There have been many revelations. Discoveries about myself. Discoveries about how I've used logical rules and brute force to suppress and reject things about who I am. Discoveries about just how much guilt and shame I've felt about these things that led, in part, to me building impregnable defences so the truth couldn't leak out.

A great deal has happened. I will be writing about it. I need to write many things in order to understand it properly for myself. And I need to write many things to explain quite how these things happened and how I can be so sure of my conclusions. But for today the writing needs only set out one basic fact of my being.

A great deal has happened: It's a process that has led from me rejecting any suggestion of Asperger Syndrome, any possibility that I am somewhere on the Autism Spectrum, to being one-hundred percent certain in my own mind that I am autistic. I. AM. AUTISTIC.

I've been having to come to terms with a lot. I've been having to strike down those defences. I've been having to start to learn to be who I am.

In a very real sense, for the second time in two years, I have had to come out to myself.

This accelerating process is proving to be very difficult for me at times. And combining it with suddenly having a very different set of hormones within me (As of a month ago I have been taking a testosterone blocker and increased oestrogen) is adding to those difficulties. There have been some awful days. And those around me have been subject to those awful days. At some point I will be writing about those awful days.

Realising this autistic truth about myself is not in itself a solution to anything. But it is a map, an explanation, a guide to why I am as I am. And that's a good starting point for gaining a better life.

It doesn't necessarily change as much as my revelations about my gender. But it's so much harder to deal with. All the gender revelations brought only joy, release, relief and understanding of much of my past. Coming out as transgender and living as myself, female, is pretty easy in comparison to coming out as autistic and having to work through so many things that are painful and have no easy solutions or simple solutions and sometimes, or often, will have no solutions at all beyond accepting them as part of who I am and getting on with life accordingly, without the old shame and guilt.

So, now I sit, impatiently.

I have been referred by the GP for a proper assessment for autism. I went to her prepared. I knew that asking to be referred for assessment would lead to the question “Why do you want to be referred?” So I took along lots of reasons, several pages of reasons to cover the very basics. I hadn't got a quarter of the way through when she cut me off and said “Yes, we'd better refer you.”

This referral may take a while, a long while, because like so many parts of the NHS, especially mental health services, there is a shortage of cash, a shortage of staff and a shortage of facilities. I crave the day the assessment begins or takes place. I can only hope the experts agree with me, and agree with autistic friends of mine, that this is the truth.

This is the truth:

I am autistic.

This is my coming out to the world. It may be premature since I am not officially diagnosed – not that official opinion will affect what is already truth. This is me. Coming out. En masse. Coming out as transgender was such a slow, adrenaline fuelled, tiring, terrifying thing. If I could do it again I'd get it over quickly. So here's a new coming out. To everyone at once.

I. Am. Autistic.

When School Government Targets Become More Important Than a Child. A Moan.

The school secretary just rang me.  Our child is at school, ill, needing to come home.  We only sent them in today knowing they could come home if too poorly to get through the day.  But the school wouldn't authorise child coming home ill because, through recent illnesses, they have just fallen below the government target attendance level.

So I just had a big argument with the secretary.  Child will now have a note allowing them to come home but "it won't be authorised".  Unfortunately I have to go out very soon so while I could in theory collect them I wouldn't be able to bring them home except via a two hour trip to town where they would just have to sit, very bored in an unfamiliar environment while I am at a music rehearsal.  Crap.  It's authorised by me.  Me, who saw how physically naff they were last night and this morning but who sent them to school anyway to try to do their best.  They're not well, but sometimes the body can surprise and provide strength to get through the day anyway.

Personally I don't give a monkeys about government targets - and since child is nearly top of the class in most subjects being off obviously isn't doing them much harm.  When a 14 year old gets A* GCSE level in science tests I'm not going to be too worried about their academic chances.  When they get Italian grades that shouldn't even be possible to get then I'm not stressed about them "failing".

I wouldn't be worried about academic chances either except that those bits of paper are usually quite useful later.  Happiness and authenticity trump any academic piece of paper.

Unfortunately the school secretary went on about the school having to meet the targets.  Don't want to send child home because the school needs to hit targets.  The secretary seems far more worried about a target than about child.  When government targets trump the well being of a child then those targets need to be abolished.  Immediately.  And when school staff are more worried about a target than about a child then the staff deserve to be sacked.  THE CHILD COMES FIRST.  Not the Department of Education.  Not the David Cameron idea of how things should be.  Not a target that might change after another election.

Yep, I'm one of those very annoying parents who is on the side of the child.  I'm not on the side of the school.  I'm definitely not on the side of the government.  I am on the side of the child, the person who should be served by the school and by the government's education policies.  And when a child is ill, then a child is ill.  It's not as if child is missing lots of school through truancy - and even if they were we would have to look at the reasons why rather than simply condemning the child or those who care for them.

I have to admit, my language with the secretary remained pretty calm.  What I wanted to shout at her was more along the lines of "I don't give a shit about your targets.  I care about the health and wellbeing of my child.  Why do you place an artificial target above children?  Is this through stupidity, fear, or anti-human evil?"  But no, it's not done to say things like that to school secretaries.  Saying things like that may be honest, but it's counter-productive!