Mediocracy

While most people pay little attention to me, a select few choose to insert themselves into my day. Somewhere in their smooth and narrow brains, they conclude that it is their right, nay, their duty, to inform me that they don’t like how I look. Whether it be my long hair, nascent beard, manicured nails, or flowy sartorial choices, to them, I scream queer. I am. Queer, that is. That’s not my concern. My only issue is people who make it their issue and harass me.

I was assigned female at birth. All that means is I have a vagina, and everyone assumed I’d identify strongly with that or something. I don’t get gender. I’m non-binary, take testosterone, and attempt to look as androgynous as possible. I love my beard, though. I can’t bring myself to shave it ever. Someday, it’ll be as long and luscious as my hair. I also haven’t changed my name. Grace is a beautiful name and aptly describes how I approach myself and others around me. I swear I'd be in prison if I didn’t give people grace for their slights and outright disrespect. Navigating this callous world with love and understanding in your heart is essential, not to mention the finesse necessary to survive daily microaggressions.

I’ll admit that most people think I’m a gay cis-man, and sometimes I lean into that. Other times, it feels safe to tell people I’m trans. Either choice can be damning, depending on who I’m dealing with, or it can be outright dangerous. I don’t know if some men see me as a disgrace to their kind with my silks, cashmere, and make-up; all I know is that too many men have used violence to express what they must feel is righteous anger toward me. Especially before my voice changed completely or my beard grew in. I got clocked pretty quickly as trans, and people responded according to their comfort, with very little consideration for mine.

A wide array of questions and reactions are relatively common. If I had a nickel for every time someone said, “Can I ask you a personal question?” after finding out I’m trans, I’d buy Twitter. I’d probably be unhinged enough by then to do it, too. Sometimes, the person asking will wait for me to grant or deny permission; sometimes, they continue their question. It’s usually about what procedures I’ve had done. Only the bravest ask about bottom surgery. I find most people are genuinely curious and well-intentioned. That doesn’t excuse it; it just endears me to them and makes it more likely that I’ll offer an honest response. The others who don’t mean so well, and those who don’t wait for my consent, get lies and trolling. It’s easy to make a person squirm when you pretend not to know what they mean by “How far do you intend to go with this whole thing?” When they have to explain precisely what they are referring to, they suddenly become less interested in asking.

I’ve been struggling a bit with confidence and motivation lately. I’m thirty now and already feeling defeated in life. I don’t have a job anymore. I left my last one because I was harassed, and corporate did nothing about it. I worked there for seven years before starting testosterone and never had an issue bigger than misgendering. After I started changing, though, the aggression started. You could say it reached a boiling point when I woke up in the men’s bathroom with my head in the toilet and my pants around my ankles. I didn’t see their faces; they took me out as soon as I opened the door. Because I couldn’t say who did it, and there weren’t cameras in the hall, the powers that be decided HR had nothing to investigate. They said, “Even if my claim was founded, there was no evidence to corroborate my story or find the perpetrators.” That’s administrative speak for “It’s our word against yours.” Or something like that.

Suffice it to say, I’m traumatized from a job I had five years ago and haven’t worked since. My therapist has tried filling out applications with me, but she can’t force me to show up to the interviews. She recently suggested I find myself a life coach or accountability buddy. Someone who can help me find and apply for jobs, take me to the interview and ensure I walk in the door. That’s therapist speak for “You need someone to hold your hand.” I respect it.

I took her advice and found someone I thought I could relate to. He’s not queer, but he looks close to my age and self-identifies as an “ally.” That’s better than nothing. The three life coaches near me who list themselves as gay or lesbian are well into their fifties. I haven’t met many elders who aren’t at least a little terfy. I’ll take my chances with a fellow millennial, especially when they take the time to say they support 2SLGBTQIA+ and list every letter. He also gives a phone number that says, “Text only to set the first appointment.” I love that—the siren’s call of my generation. We’ll go to great lengths to spare ourselves even the simplest phone calls, particularly with a stranger.

Hi, my name is Grace. I want to set an appt with u soon.

Hi Grace. My name is Charles. I’d love to set up a meeting with you. Have you had a chance to review the tiers I offer? What kind of services are you looking for?

Not really. I’m job hunting, so I need help with that. I also need some confidence boosts and more motivation for mundane tasks.

That would be my second-tier service. The most pertinent offerings are weekly video calls, unlimited texting, personal habit analysis and reforming, resume building, and application assistance. That is $350 a week or $1000 a month paid upfront. How does that sound?

Yeah. Do u take insurance?

At this time, there is no way for me to accept insurance for my services. However, I can operate on a sliding scale with proof of financial need. Is that something that interests you?

Yes, I can bring in bank statements or whatever u need.

Perfect. Bank statements and, if you have any, income proofs and bill statements.

I don’t have any income right now, just bills and debts.

Are you free to meet tomorrow at 3:45 p.m.?

Yes.

Great. I’ll send a pin. See you then.

Thanks!