Roots: Strings

A philosophical exploration of Truth and the truths that obscure it.

Truth is like strings.

Knit it together with the fabric of your experience and you can make a fine coat to wrap yourself and your grotesque imaginings in.

Tear it away, you’ll reveal a naked and mad animal lost in a void beneath.

We live in an absurd universe that our limited senses and all of the tools we have created are incapable of truly perceiving.

Our lives are so small and short and painful in their own ways. Death is always on the horizon.

We are only capable of falsehood as we are ultimately incapable of knowing any objective truths. Deep down, we all wonder if we were to just— let go of all the lies we tell to cover up the truth, that the Truth would then actually be revealed and the fabric of reality would completely unravel itself.

So, we keep hold on our strings, and make certain we stay grounded, scooping up bits of fabric from reality and knitting lovely coats we tell ourselves are real. We move through reality saying things like, “This is who I really am,” believing whatever it is we might believe about the experience. We are all wrong.

The only “Truth” I’ve been able to infer is that there is none, there are only subjective experiences that vary from being to being, who may or may not exist.

I have no way to even know I even exist apart from the experiences I have affirming themselves. But it’s impossible to draw any real truth from that other than what’s subjectively garnered through my limited senses and tools. We can claim little pieces of fabric of reality we pick up and tell fabulous lies about them, but no matter how much we bury ourselves in falsehoods, we’re completely incapable of knowing anything for certain.

Overwhelming, isn’t it? I’ve been using “we” a lot just to try to be inclusive of you on this journey with me, but the truth is that these are all just things that run through my mind constantly. I’m always denying these wild ideas I think are true and making a A LOT of assumptions to move through this experience, acting as if I’m entirely wrong about everything I believe deep down in the void.

I’ve got a lovely, but torn coat made from my experiences. A long time ago, I went through hell and my coat was torn off, I saw the void on the other side then. I know I’m not the only one who’s been there. A man there offered me his coat, and I wore it for too long. It took a long time to shed his and get mine back. His wasn’t the first I’d worn either.

We’re constantly trading around coats like this, changing always, becoming different and different and different. Often, our coats aren’t just made of one material, but are an amalgamation of different materials hastily stitched together by our truths.

Even if we have perfectly functioning bodies and minds, the flaws we cover with our coats are ever-present even in the best of us. Layer your physical and emotional flaws on top of these, along with trauma, the weight of the burdens you carry, etc. and this existence can quickly become quite unbearable.

We are constantly seeking out ways to cope with our flaws, especially the ones preventing our understanding of our own ineffable nature and the nature of reality. We’ll buy into anything sold to us. Anything that we can take with us to keep the void beneath well and truly hidden.

This is a great problem for humanity. We must presuppose so much in order to function. Whether we’re religious or not, simply existing takes something of a leap of faith, be it faith in ourselves, faith in others, faith in the laws of logic, faith in our subjective truths, etc.

You may be thinking, “Oh no, she’s going to preach to us about God now isn’t she?” And yes, I am, but not like you might think.

Religion provides some powerful strings to guide us through life, showing us where and how to pick up the best fabrics and design the perfect coat, but just like in all things, the moment people proclaim a truth as Truth, it becomes a falsehood. There is no more Truth to be found in religion than anywhere else, no matter what some apologists might say. Most religions are designed to show people the void. They are taken to the edge of the unknown, shown the nothing beyond the veil, stripped, and emptied out; fresh vessels ready to be filled with happily bought falsehoods.

This isn’t to say religion is inherently bad, no, just inherently human and constructed like everything else we’ve built. No one has the answers we seek. No one can, and anyone claiming they do is a liar who probably just wants to control you for personal, political, or financial gain.

I’m no better, I want to control you too, but I want to control you in such ways as to enable you to control yourself. As I peel back the layers hiding the void in others, I’m careful to whisper, “It’s okay to be empty. It’s okay to be no one. It’s okay to be small. It’s okay to be meaningless,” It’s okay that all of this is true. It is absurd, we’ll likely never make any sense out of it as our senses are so limited, but that’s no reason not to try.

Trying, against all odds, to exist is really what life is about at its core. We can’t know, we can’t understand, but we can always try. Now and then if we try, almost will be good enough; almost existing, almost speaking Truth or almost living our lives by it, almost prolonging life, almost sharing burdens, etc etc. Anything that stops us from trying cannot be a good thing. Truth, therefore is not a good thing. When we think we have found Truth, we stop seeking it and raise our falsehoods in praise above our heads, shouting them to the heavens for all to see and hear our grotesque imaginings. That is the one thing we should never do.

The Bible says money is the root of all evil. That’s a lie, the root of all evil is Truth itself. Money can be the root of all evil if, perchance, money were your Truth and you live your life acting to maximize potential for it. But then again, maybe good and evil don’t exist at all.

Maybe, somehow, in some great cosmic contradiction, none of this is true at all and I’m just as wrong as everyone else upholding falsehoods, but it seems likely to me given none of us is capable of answering the most fundamental questions, that it has to be true, but I’ve been surprised plenty of times before, particularly by existing in the first place!

Whatever this experience of existing actually is; whatever my nature and the nature of reality are, I’m glad I’m here and I’m compelled from the void on out to try to understand it and my place in it. Whether or not I actually have a place is irrelevant, it’s the trying itself that matters; we should never stop trying.

I think that if we maintain critical awareness of our limitations and flaws, seeing ourselves at all times as the Emperor and knowing we have no clothes, we would all be able to navigate our experiences more effectively. We might always be aware of our limitations and flaws, constantly coping with them and never living in denial of them, and we might become less susceptible to people offering truths in order to control us for personal, political, or financial gains. We might become less likely to lie to ourselves and to others. Rather than taking on coats and burying ourselves under falsehoods, we might live comfortably naked and mad, but always trying to prove ourselves wrong.

For me, that’s a hopeful thought and I hope it’s good food for yours. I’m great at being wrong! It’s one of few things I can actually do right, and I’m sure you can too if you try.

I wish I had more to offer, but beyond that, all we have is subjectivity. We tell truth at our best when we embrace our limitations and flaws, and pour our subjective experience into one another like wine, from one ineffable void to another. I’ll leave you with a song that does exactly that and a hope you might create truths to share with us one day too. Enjoy!

If you hate the taste of wine
Why do you drink it ’til you’re blind?
And if you swear that there’s no truth and who cares
How come you say it like you’re right?
Why are you scared to dream of God
When it’s salvation that you want?
You see stars that clear have been dead for years
But the idea just lives on
In our wheels that roll around
As we move over the ground
And all day it seems we’ve been in between
The past and future town

We are nowhere, and it’s now
We are nowhere, and it’s now

And like a ten minute dream in the passenger seat
While the world was flying by
I haven’t been gone very long
But it feels like a lifetime

I’ve been sleeping so strange at night
Side effects they don’t advertise
I’ve been sleeping so strange
With a head full of pesticide

I’ve got no plans and too much time
I feel too restless to unwind
I’m always lost in thought as I walk a block
To my favorite neon sign
Where the waitress looks concerned
But she never says a word
Just turns the jukebox on and we hum along
And I smile back at her
And my friend comes after work
When the features start to blur
She says these bars are filled with things that kill
By now you probably should have learned
Did you forget that yellow bird?
How could you forget your yellow bird?
She took a small silver wreath and pinned it on to me
She said, “This one will bring you love”
And I don’t know if it’s true
But I keep it for good luck..

Roots: Worries

On everything making me hollow.

I’ve got a lot of baggage, and with the burden of the things I carry comes a lot of concerns.

This is just the core of who I am. I can’t do anything about it. I’m sorry.

But I know everyone else carries similar burdens. I’m not alone here. I can recognize fellow human beings when I see them, and I know what it’s like to carry things that are so heavy they cause you to bend, and even break.

I worry about those things, the bends and the breaks. People really aren’t terribly different from trees. We share similar concerns.

Every tree needs space, light, water, and nutrition to grow and make healthy fruit. Space is never a problem for trees. They respect their own kind and recognize that the growth of their peers benefits their own growth.

I need space to voice my concerns, and see everyone’s need for that space. Without it, what goes unheard is added to our burdens. We also need physical space for growth and spreading our groves. We all should do what we can to give ourselves and everyone else that space both literally and figuratively.

We need light to see and navigate the world. Where we can’t see, light must be shed or we should never grow there without the knowledge of what was seen. Light enables us to synthesize water and nutrients into oxygen. If we don’t have it, we succumb to toxicity and decay.

Water comes from outside resources and should always be shared with all the life that surrounds us. It is precious wisdom granted from survived storms and surrounding lakes, rivers, and streams. Through absorbing it, we grow ever wiser and more capable.

Nutrients also come from outside resources, we need to get them from the surrounding soil, through complex networks that rely on other creatures, like fungus, animals, other varieties of plants, and so much more. Obtaining nutrients is, we’ll suffice to say an incredibly complicated and nuanced process that relies on sharing needs and burdens.

I worry that there’s not enough space, light, water, or nutrition for us in the world. I worry about the influx of pain, hate, lies, and outrage that poisons and dries our water, consumes our nutrients, robs us of space, and blocks out the light.

I worry that the forest we call humanity is in grave danger of succumbing to toxicity and decay.

I worry that if I don’t tend to the groves around me, that is exactly what will happen. In this case, space isn’t enough, just voicing my concern isn’t enough. I want to uproot myself and take action, and I worry about how trapped and dependent my roots and ties to the grove make me.

I worry that far too many trees around me are bending and breaking. I worry about the greedy who come to cut them down before they were done worrying. I worry about all of their, and my, unfinished and failed tasks. I worry about the consequences of succumbing to our own limitations.

I worry that the world is on fire and that no one is doing anything to put it out. I worry that more and more every day, people just seem to want to burn the world. I worry about being consumed by one of their fires.

I worry about losing the ability to see and be seen. If I fall in the woods and no one is there to hear, did I even exist in the first place? I worry that people are forgetting people are people and not trees or any other abstractions. I worry that anonymity in our vast communication networks has opened a doorway that demands we have more faith in humanity than ever and we’re just wasting time turning our fellow trees into windmills to tilt at. I worry I’m surrounded by technology made to process all people into blind and belligerent idiots to sell more and more garbage sold with ads projected on our burdens.

I worry about being uprooted by abusive, predatory, greedy individuals who undermine us for personal, political, and financial gains. I worry about how those devils twist our roots and summon demons from them to hurt us. I worry they’ll leave stop. I worry they’ll uproot me and everyone around me. I worry that all the lies, manipulation, and gaslighting that living anonymously underground empowers is creating too much toxicity everywhere that is killing me and my fellow trees, forcing us to turn to ourselves for nutrition, and eat our own. I worry I’ll do that..

I worry that we worship our own fears and doubts these days and will do anything to escape them. I worry there are wicked men on poisoned pulpits hurling down more and more toxicity everywhere, spurring it on with whips that drain people of their faith and good will to empower their wickedness and make it easier and easier to spread. I worry that faith is constantly abused like this. I worry God can’t possibly exist because the same thing that compels us to rely on Him compels us to behave like this.

I worry about what they’ve done to empower only their own kind with it. I worry about what they’ve done to women, people of color, gender, sexual, and romantic minorities, and yes, also men. I worry about the system they’ve designed to make us all wicked sinners like them.

I worry about the trauma caused by all of these things and more compounding on all of us every day with more and more hate, outrage, and war.

I worry there’s no hope, even I’m rotten to my core. I worry that I’m right and no one can understand or do anything about any of this truth. I worry that trying will never be enough. I worry that almost might be the best that we’ve got.

I worry that nobody knows what it’s like. I worry we can no longer relate. I worry that we’re more connected than ever, but learning we were alone the whole time.

I worry that the same distance, disassociation, and disinterest we have for death will be what we become to one another. I worry we’ll never be able to look each other in the eye anymore because we all know the truth of our lies. I worry none of it matters anyway. I worry the nihilists are right.

I worry that if I share my whole existential crisis, we’ll all cease to exist.

I worry that it’s all too much, and all too little at the same time. I worry that it’s not just trees I have so much in common with, but everything of all kinds. I worry I’m not different. I worry I’m not the same. I worry I’m too much. I worry I’m to blame. I worry I’m never enough.

I worry I’ll never stop bending. I worry I’ll never stop breaking. I worry I don’t worry enough.

I worry my doubts and I will never work this out.

Roots: Navigating the Storm

A map to help us navigate the storms swirling around online discourse.

Twitter is a raging storm of bigotry, lying, anger, and trauma.

It can be an incredibly difficult place to navigate through any discourse. This is especially true of the discourse over trans rights.

This article will be offering many years experience in outreach and advocacy and three years delving deeply into it on specifically Twitter.

Think of this piece as street philosophy.

I’m a poorly trained philosopher, but I’ve spent most of my life studying literature, among which has been a great deal of philosophical literature and many classes that offered philosophical perspectives in secondary analysis of the media we covered in my program. Philosophy is very close to my heart, so while I’m not well-trained in many deep philosophical concepts, I do have a strong understanding of many and am a very deep and informed thinker. I’m certainly not qualified for any formal philosophical debates, but I can draw a map with words that might help us all perceive this bizarre digital hellscape we occupy.

Think for a moment of Twitter as a video game.

The theme you imagine doesn’t matter, but for our purposes let’s use the ever-so popular massively multiplayer online roleplaying game World of Warcraft (WoW).

In this game, you create a character and assign it a class, and pick a side, and join parties in a conflict.

Here is a list of classes and descriptions.

Choose one:

Warrior: Has no time for bullshit. Blocks quickly and often. Disarms and debases enemies, striking at their hearts when they are at their weakest.

Paladin: Protector of the weak; always wants to be the hero for their cause as they are a true believer in it. Will support you when you’re down, but only if it benefits the cause.

Hunter: Strikes from afar with piercing words of truth, raining hell on enemies when things get hairy. Distracts and manipulates targets when necessary.

Rogue: Backstabs enemies of their party with cold, calculating precision, manipulating conflicts so that they turn in the direction of their party. Poisons with “white” lies, as long as it harms the enemy.

Priest: Healer who takes care of their party desperately. Will do and sacrifice anything to care for them, blinded by their own light as they do what’s right by their party, but has a dark side; a shadow cast by their light.

Shaman: Harnesses the elements, absorbing damage from the chaotic world around them, which they release on their enemies, lashing out in violent bursts. Filled with rage that must be mastered, or else..

Mage: Hurls words that burn and freeze enemies. Can use their powers offensively or defensively. Rains hellfire from the sky focused on the immobilization and destruction of their enemies. They will get you banned.

Warlock: Much like a Rogue, but far more devious. Uses magic spells to burn, poison, and afflict enemies. Summons demons, using their enemies past mistakes to destroy them.

Druid: Shapeshifter who tries to be everything to everyone. Can play any role needed, but always stretches themselves too thin. Avoids combat and seeks balance wherever possible but does what they have to do. Blamed for every mistake on all sides.

I’m sure we’ve all encountered people a lot like I’ve described above. I certainly have. I could point to individuals and tell them what classes they play. Often, players switch between them.

Many already very clearly think in terms similar to these. Warriors and Paladins as I’ve described them are the sort of people who many would point to as social justice warriors. Many refer to themselves in profiles as things like “social justice mage,” all of these classes and certainly more exist in both the real world and the current form of the game.

Mainly, I play a Druid, but I’m known to also play Shaman as well as many other roles. If you see yourself in any of them as I certainly see myself, reflect on that with me as we continue.

Whichever you chose, I want you to now understand that the harm caused by these classes to their enemies in the actual video game can be understood as very real harm on Twitter, and indeed in the real world.

Our words, some philosophers would say, are actions. On Twitter, when we use these actions, there are very real consequences. Something to keep in mind here, is that these actions break Newton’s third law. The reactions to them are not, by any measure, equal and opposite.

Words, therefore, are powerful. Extremely so. Words are, no matter how much many like to deny it, literally violence.

No matter what your class, there is power in you to harm, heal, inspire, disparage, encourage, demoralize, enchant, manipulate, slander, poison, protect, betray, and so, so much more.

The pen is truly mightier than the sword.

Look at us on Twitter, with our digital pens drawing ourselves as characters in our own epic fantasy narratives, crushing our enemies.

So many of us operate exactly like this, blind to all of the very real damage we are doing. We behave like our characters would behave, we play our role, we do our best for our side, and we defeat our enemies as we’ve been trained to do by not only video games, but so so much more of our media, very much including social media.

Is it any wonder, given the digital cultures we now occupy, that we have developed such abominable Us vs. Them mentalities?

Just look at how we are socialized. We breed so much hate and fear of one another into the world. Our role models are all these digitized heroes. Even the book-based heroes are digitized these days.

These works reflect reality in such fascinating ways. We truly pour ourselves into everything we create. We have all these archetypes because they exist in the real world. They have been derived from real experience. We can get as complex or simplified with this line of reflective thinking with any subject. I’ve intentionally chosen video games to make use of a very simplistic media form that can be used as a lens on a product that is produced to be addictive to interact with, just like Twitter.

Twitter wants us to behave like this. The environment is designed for having fun and blowing off steam with anonymous masses, mindlessly playing your class as you click away your enemies one by one. They want it to be like this. They want it to be addictive. They want you to have that sense of leveling up as you grow and gain more and more followers.

They want to keep you there, so they can keep showing you advertisements. So, as your followers grow, so will the weight of their pockets. On Twitter, we even frequently see enemies created for the purpose of covert advertising. There are paid actors who create outrage intentionally while talking about products, services, organizations, etc. It is a very widespread problem. When we slay those enemies, as we’re so often compelled to do, we inadvertently advertise for them, unwittingly spreading viral marketing through our anger.

Our pain is being used for greedy ends. Better societies would be focusing their outrage toward curtailing the damage this sort of thing is causing, but we are so blind we never think to try doing or saying anything about it.

But we sure do like to talk shit on the internet!

Rather than punching up at the problems in society causing our outrage, we are compelled to swing sideways and continue fighting the imaginary enemies in our preferred digital hellscape.

What an absolute waste of time, and detriment to humanity.

We just want more and more followers, so we can get more and more powerful and imagine ourselves defeating more and more powerful enemies.

We don’t care who we hurt.

If it gets us likes, retweets, and increases our following, we will do it. For the good of our side in our preferred conflict.

We will play our roles and we will defeat our enemies.

No matter what it takes, we will be victorious.

“For the Horde!” one side shouts, “For the Alliance!” the other. Each pointing fingers at one another, and never at themselves.

We all lose in between. Bigotry, lying, anger, and trauma rage on and on and on.

The worst of humanity can’t help but emerge in the sound and fury.

We don’t see those on the other end of the keyboard as people. We see them as digitized enemies to defeat, or to now move away from the metaphor and get literal, we see ideas and ideologies.

When individuals become ideas, and groups become ideologies, we must understand that humanity is more often than not lost in translation.

Those of us who participate in discourse, especially online, must be aware of this fact if we are to navigate the storm. We must understand that there are people on the other end of the keyboard, and our words can do very real harm to them.

This is a thing to remember as we venture in digital hellscapes like Twitter. The other players are very real, and we should be careful not to hurt them. We should not see them as enemies, but fellow people and be kind to them even in their worst moments. Everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt. No one is perfect. We are all very much flawed creatures with animals inside us who come out to respond to threats, even the imaginary ones. I wish we could all acknowledge this and be critical of it.

It is always better to help an individual overcome their flaws than to attack them and deepen them.

Our words, which remember are actions, can either deepen divides, or work to bridge and overcome them.

To do the latter, we have to first understand our own flaws, and learn to cope with them. If we’re incapable of this, we will inevitably become demoralized and fall mindlessly back into that simplistic video game mindset, overcoming our enemies for catharsis and points for our team.

We should do everything we can to avoid these mindsets. If that means disconnecting from the game, that is what we need to do. I know that’s hard, especially with how addicting it all can be, but it’s important to be able to take a step back.

However, it’s also important to understand that many of us out in this digital hellscape can’t really do that. Our lives are so full of trauma and abuse everywhere that awful places like Twitter feel like an escape. Before we know it, we’re ignoring our friends, our health, our sanity, and so much more just for one more ring of the notification bell.

For many, there’s really not much else. The digital life is their lives. Most of the social interaction is via social media. This is becoming more and more common every day.

I feel a great deal of sympathy for people like that. They’re usually the most traumatized of us and I wish that we could have more patience for one another and help our siblings in humanity to find pathways to healing.

But we don’t, we spiral on and on, uncritically on the offensive, destroying one idea and ideology after another and scoring points for ours, no matter who it hurts.

Bigots, liars, and dishonest actors all the while stir the pot, draining more and more from the soul of humanity.

Faith is the last thing I’d like to talk about here. Faith in humanity.

In this digital hellscape, we certainly can’t have blind faith. As I’ve already discussed, there are so many forces with vested interest in spurring on conflict who create outrage with intentional purpose.

We talked about greed, one of many reasons a person or organization might engage in this behavior, but there are so many more wicked ends we might abuse faith in humanity for. Undermining your perceived enemies being a big one.

Those Rogues and Warlocks who engage in subversive tactics to undermine and poison discourse are often the most toxic part of the storm. They lie, manipulate, and cheat for dishonest gains. They obfuscate the truth and rob others of context, perspective, and information. No one, but the most wicked tend to play these roles, even if they truly believe they are doing it for good.

Bit scary, because these, along with Mages and Hunters, the last purely destructive classes, are the most beloved in most video games. People love to destroy, it’s an unfortunate part of our nature. It takes special people to be builders and creators.

In our digital hellscapes, anonymity is an ever-present ally and enemy. It both protects us and completely destroys our ability to have faith in one another.

How can we know who is trustworthy, and who is spreading poison?

Faith, sadly, is the best weapon we have, but we cannot use it blindly.

We have to sharpen our faith and use it to reveal humanity. No matter what, we should love and seek to understand those we see as our enemies. Learn about the person hiding behind the keyboard.

You’ll know truth in humanity by how much it hurts. You’ll see the burdens they carry, and they will always have a lot of fruit to offer from within if you take the time to help them unpack.

When you find each other, hold one another close and help each other grow and heal in this endless redemption arc we call life, and maybe, just maybe, we might manage to weather this storm.

I want to harness this storm, and use it to defeat itself; to share my experiences with it and talk about everything I’ve learned with hopes that others might learn from the maps I draw of my crossing.

This storm will never be easy to navigate, and getting across the gaps in our discourse can be impossibly hard, but with a bit of perspective and perseverance, humanity can and will harness this storm, and find the freedom we so desperately need, bridging all divides and overcoming all obstacles together, unabashed and in good faith.

I hope this helps you and I to meet one another there.

Roots: Detransitioning

Enough is enough.

First of all, don’t panic, I’m not detransitioning; I’ve just got something to say.

For a long time now, the subject of detransitioning has weighed heavily on me. It started several years ago when I met a detransitioned man who we will call Ken for the purposes of this article. Ken was a former transwoman who had detransitioned several months before I met him. He had been deeply traumatized by the experience and was desperately seeking a pathway to healing.

It wasn’t so much detransitioning itself that had left Ken with trauma, it was the conditions leading up to and following his detransition that had harmed him. Ken was told by local trans peers that he was “not the right kind of trans” by the TrueTrans™ crowd, primarily because he transitioned after 30. As a person who had endured dysphoria his entire life leading up to transition, Ken knew those accusations were nonsense and kept on battling his dysphoria alone.

Ostracized and isolated, Ken came to the decision that he would be better off in life by detransitioning to reclaim his male identity. Knowing that his dysphoria would return with its full intensity and dreading the moment testosterone would take control of his body again, Ken came out to tell the world, “I am detransitioning,” and then the floodgates opened. Ken endured a torrent of hateful, vitriolic rhetoric from the LGBT community he had once viewed as nothing but friends and allies, who did everything within their power to invalidate Ken and distance themselves from him.

When I met Ken some months later, he was anguished and desperate to have his story heard. So much so that he had become involved with a group of anti-trans activists who had taken him under his wing and who were grooming him to amplify his anger for the community who had disparaged him. His anger was so tangible that I honestly thought he couldn’t possibly be a real trans person, “Must be another sock account,” I assumed wrongly, completely unaware at the time of how nasty that trans/LGBT groups could treat detransitioners.

Thankfully, I realized my mistake before any harm was done, and Ken and I became friends. I keep a regular habit of checking my assumptions, and in this case I’d never been so glad that I did. Through our friendship, he was able to find some small amount of peace that the trans community at large had not afforded him and and not long after, cut his ties with the aforementioned anti-trans activists and set out to live his own life, vowing to avoid drawing any further attention to himself or the injustices that burdened him.

Ken deserves that peace, but I can’t live with injustice like that in the world. His story is not unique. It reflects the experience of almost every detransitioner I’ve since had the pleasure of meeting. Trans people and allies have it in their heads that there are particular types of people who simply are trans, and there are types who are not. Detransitioners are thought to be the types who are not, and excluded from the trans community.

What a bunch of TERFs we have become.

We exclude, ostracize, and hate our own. We treat them like bigots, liars, and enemies.

Selfishly, we fear them, terrified that it might mean we’ll be in their shoes one day. Little could be more transphobic.

Obviously I’m being hyperbolic here as not every trans person/ally reacts this way to detransitioners, but if these assertions turned your stomach, good. They should. That is the point. I am describing everything we should not want to become and I can only hope that it will help instill the desire to be better and call out this kind of trash wherever we see it.

When someone comes out to let the world know they are detransitioning, the response from trans people and allies should invariably be affirmative and supportive. They are embarking on one of the most difficult journeys of their entire lives. It should be no different whatsoever from the reaction to someone coming out as trans to begin with, because detransition is just another one of life’s many transitions, and it’s just as difficult, if not more so than transitioning in the first place. I would dare call it “stunning and brave” but that phrase wore out its welcome in my vocabulary ages ago.

As troublesome as these reactionary attitudes toward detransitioners are on their own, this issue runs far more deeply than them. This strikes directly in the hearts of political correctness and social justice activism. It is politically correct to assume that detransitioners are indeed not trans and the response from social justice activists is to bury their heads in the sand and hope no one notices they exist. Meanwhile, they get little to no social support, there is no one advocating for their rights, research into detransitioning is stifled, and too few seem to actually care that one of the most at-risk groups of people in the world is suffering.

I have no intent to detransition, but if I ever were to, I would so desperately need support and validation from my friends and family. I’d need trained mental and physical health professionals who are fully equipped to help me through the process. I’d need legislation in place to make the legal processes of reclaiming male identity as painless as possible. I’d need support groups, crisis lines, shelters, etc. with resources available for to help me.

And I would get none of it.

It’s time for change; for justice; for the LGBT community and its allies to prune the toxic blooms that are growing out of our prejudice, before it rots us out and leaves us hollow.

Roots: Banned

“If one’s different, one’s bound to be lonely.”

Aldous Huxley

I’ve been permanently banned from Twitter.

Why?

Because I dared to say something true in a conversation on trans ethics.

I was called transphobic for saying that I am transsexual and that as a transsexual, I live in a liminal state of being, where I’m no longer considered what you would call a man but am not expressly female either. I explained there are differences between myself and people who are female that I find value in celebrating for the betterment of both groups.

Following the accusation of transphobia, I responded with the following:

“It isn’t transphobic. It’s just facts of life. Sex is immutable in spite of the fact many sex characteristics are mutable and we do change them. It doesn’t erase our differences or make us actually female.”

And as you can see, this is what I was banned for.

This.

The truth… How dare I..?

Twitter never has been the bastion of free speech, but with this, I think it’s time we face the fact that Twitter’s misgendering policy has gone too far.

Let me make myself perfectly clear. I don’t support harassing trans people with misgendering or deadnaming. Transwomen are transwomen, not men. Transmen are transmen, not women. We are what we are, not what your ideology insists we are. To demand otherwise is to deny reality. We undergo rites of passage to become transmen and transwomen. Not only do we have to come out, but we change our names, lifestyles, bodies, etc. Our entire mode of being changes from one state to another and we transform, like caterpillars into butterflies.

You’d not insist a butterfly is a caterpillar after their metamorphosis. Why would you insist a transman is a woman after his? I get why you’d not want to call him a man, but a transman??

You gain nothing from calling him a woman, and you risk causing traumatic distress in the individual. What is the point? It’s simply rude and cruel to deny anyone their personhood.

That said, we also need to be willing and able to acknowledge the full depth and breadth of our own personhood and all the difference and nuance that comes along with it.

Many are not willing, and I understand why. For binary transsexuals, the goal of transition is invariably to become the opposite sex, but we simply can’t. That’s an inescapable burden for us. Current technology and scientific understanding doesn’t allow complete mutability of human biology. Even so, it can be psychologically gratifying to be understood as a man/woman rather than a transman/transwoman and I completely understand why any trans person would insist they are simply a man or a woman when in fact they are a transman or transwoman.

That much is fine in my view, but to be unwilling to acknowledge our differences to the point it becomes detrimental to others and we begin engaging with the cognitive fallacy of change, it’s time to re-evaluate.

We are well-past the point of re-evaluation. Allies are turning against us because they’re being called bigots for realistically and rationally opining about trans people and issues centered around us.

These conversations are so difficult and nuanced, and it’s never easy to have them, but they are so healthy when they can be had, especially when common ground can be found and agreement/understanding can be built between concerned parties. Concerns tend to build up and ferment in our hearts when left unaddressed, where they turn to anger, hate, and bigotry. Rational debate is a powerful way for human beings to come together, lay those concerns on the table, and work to address them. To deny it is a disservice to ourselves.

…But denying it is now all we’re allowed to do, according to Twitter.

Bigotry has taken the next logical step into fascism in social media. Our concerns have fermented for so long that they’ve now become this. Not only are many still unwilling to acknowledge the nuance of our complex realities, we’re no longer allowed to talk about it. True facts about myself and people like me are now being viewed as hate speech and we are being banned if we dare speak the truth.

I’m not the first trans person this has happened to, nor will I be the last, and as prevalent as our suffering in this is, it pales in comparison to the suffering of women whose hearts are filled to the brim with unaddressed concerns that are going to continue to ferment. If these trends continue, we’re heading toward a bleak future of subjugation. Either a rightfully angry public will turn on us and try to squash us out of society, or we will become the dictators ourselves. We mustn’t allow either outcome.

Twitter needs to re-evaluate this policy and take measures that will allow people the freedom of speech necessary to have these difficult discussions. It’s certainly possible to do this whilst still protecting trans people from harassment and defamation. All it takes is human moderation. As it stands, our behavior is being governed by algorithms.

If Twitter won’t change its policy, we find a new platform, but no matter what, the discourse must go on.

Roots: Liminality

Of life on the edge.

I’ve recently learned that my dad isn’t my biological father.

Before he married my mom, he’d had a vasectomy. They tried to reverse it but the attempts were unsuccessful. Still, they wanted a child and my mom was determined to carry one into the world. Thus, they opted for a donor.

I’m 35 years old and just now hearing the news.

There are so many complex thoughts and emotions brewing in me. This revelation feels so incredibly important, but meaningless at the same time.

On one hand, this changes nothing.

My parents are still my parents. I love them with all my heart. I don’t blame them for not telling me. I understand completely why they didn’t. They raised me as their own to the best of their ability and provided me a great foundation for opportunity in life. My dad broke his body working in factories for more than half his life to keep our family afloat. Carrying that sort of burden is what makes a man a father, not DNA.

On the other hand, this changes everything.

It feels like there’s this whole strange, new half of me that I never knew existed, that was buried away in my DNA. I have a completely different biological makeup than I’d previously understood. The man whose DNA I share is a doctor. An incredibly healthy one no less. Risks that I’ve feared my entire life from my dad’s side of the family are no longer things I need to worry as much about. Alzheimer’s, arthritis, diabetes, heart disease, and more. My dad endured a heart attack at around my current age. I’d feared for so long that the same might be likely for me.

It isn’t…

I now also know that I have siblings living all across the United States. Many of whom have kids of their own. I’m an auntie to at least five!

Two half-sisters have already contacted me through 23andMe, one of whom found all this out when she was 15 and set about doing all the legwork for the rest of us. She’s spent years seeking out the donor and our siblings. I’m so grateful to her for being so informative for me in this time of need. She told me his name, all about his history of endocrinology practice all over the country, his current location, health status, family life, everything I could hope for and more!

If I had learned all this but had nothing to go on, I’d feel so much more lost. Knowing his name and being able to learn so much about him and our genetic family so quickly has been such a blessing.

All at once, those new thoughts and emotions exist within me. A new, very deep well from which to draw life experience and inspiration from is here and I’m eager to dive into it, but at the same time terrified to. Right now, I really can’t know how this knowledge might change me.

I’m going through something a lot like a grieving process. My old self has died and there’s a whole new me here now. Who am I? I’m not entirely sure I know yet. But then again, I’m not entirely sure any of us ever knows the answer to that question.

I’m feeling very… between right now.

And that brings me to the broader topic I’d like to discuss today.

Liminality is a concept I have recently been grappling with.

The term has its roots in anthropology. It refers to the period following a rite of passage, during which one may have completed their rite and should, by all rights, be changed through the experience. But they exist in a state of betweenness, in which they struggle with the idea that they themselves have actually changed and society shares the same struggle in accepting them within their newly acquired role.

A good modern example of this might be the time following completion of a degree but prior to settling into one’s career in that field. Your rite of passage is complete, but yet the sense that any passage has actually been complete is liminal.

It’s like living on an edge. Split between your past and future selves.

Liminality is an aspect to life all humans endure. It’s a part of the human condition, there’s no doubt, but it’s an aspect to humanity that I find especially prevalent with regard to trans people.

Transitioning is interesting to think about in terms of liminality and rites of passage. The intent of our rite of passage is to change our sex from male-to-female or female-to-male, but given current technology, sex is immutable. Some sex traits are mutable, no doubt, but sex itself remains unchanged. Thus, our rite of passage can be thought of as incomplete. Moving from one state to the other is impossible for us. All that completing our rite of passage can possibly allow for us existence within a constant state of liminality.

We transfolk live on the edge, existing in a liminal reality every moment of our lives following transition. The idea that a transman is male or a transwoman is female is something that exists only in verisimilitude. When I’m seen by others and interpreted to be female, their conceptualization of me has the appearance of being true, but appearances can be deceiving.

While it’s possible for most anyone to slip in and out of liminal states, once we transition and slip into ours, the only way out is detransition. I’d happily choose intrinsic liminality over existence as a man any day.

This intrinsic, ever-present liminality is a huge part of what defines us as transwomen/transmen and makes us distinct from both men and women. It’s a burden we must carry as trans people. Those who are not can come to carry similar burdens following various rites of passage, but living on the edge is not intrinsic to their existence as it is to ours. For them, the edge is escapable. They can return from it to center themselves in reality with time and effort. For us, escape would only mean falling into the void. The edge is all we have.

So now, as I stand on the edge of this new well of experience and peer down into its darkness, I’m both terrified and excited to take the plunge and see where this new passage takes me.

I’ll see you all on the other side.