Tag Archives: coming out

National Coming Out Day Once Again

Well, it’s National Coming Out Day again (or so Facebook tells me), and a lot has happened in the past year. Most particularly, I’m now out as trans — I wasn’t quite ready to do that yet last year. In terms of coming out/transitioning, it’s been a big year. One of the best things is that I now actually have language for myself and words that feel comfortable to me.  Continue reading

Gender and the New Job

Navigating new situations is nearly always a tricky thing, gender-wise. The past two weeks at the new job have been a bit mixed. Overall, it’s going well (more occasionally awkward than actually bad). I’m out, I think, although not in so many words — I haven’t directly said that I’m trans (no one’s asked), but I have stated that I prefer masculine pronouns in front of my entire training class.  Continue reading

Starting My New Job Tomorrow

Tomorrow marks the start of my new job — the first full-time, non-internship, non-temporary job I’ve ever had. In some ways, I’m eager to start: the sooner I start, the sooner twelve months will be up, and I’ll be able to search for jobs in Chicago. It will also be good to adjust to the new schedule and to have an income again (especially with the job market as it is). At the same, I’m nervous for a lot of reasons. I’m worried about coming out; I’m worried that I won’t do well; I’m worried simply because it’s the first day, and I don’t know what to expect. Above all, though, I’m anxious because it’s so different from what I want to be doing with my life (and I’m an idealistic recent college grad who wants to change the world).  Continue reading

Searching for Connection, or Looking for Heartbreak?

EXPLORING TRANS — FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 2010, 1:21 AM

I’m probably never going to meet any of the people who were in my life before I met my parents, before I came to the U.S. It’s something I’m working to accept. Oh, I might be able to track them down — unlike some of my friends, I was one of the lucky ones. I have the names and cities of my birth parents, and the agency through which I was adopted still exists. And part of me really wants to find them, part of me really wants to meet people who are actually biologically related to me. Part of me wants to know whether I look like them, whether I inherited any of their traits or skills. Part of me wants to know — know for sure, know for certain — whether they loved me. Did they give me up because they didn’t want me, or because they wanted a better life for me? Continue reading

Culture Shock at Work: Leaving My Queer/Trans Bubble

I started my first day at a temp job today — in a random warehouse in small town, WI. It started horribly. The place was a mess and utterly disorganized, and we waited there for an hour because they weren’t ready for us, but that wasn’t my real problem. I felt so incredibly queer and weird and other, and not in a fabulous, affirming kind of way. Silence and a room full of mostly white, sort of rural, presumably straight and cis people. And then there I was, in my skinny corduroys and hot pink nail polish, with my short hair and brown skin and button-down over binder — not yet passing for male, and reading INCITE! Women of Color Against Violence’s The Revolution Will Not Be Funded in attempts to ignore the awkward silence and not feel so alone. Continue reading

My Most Important Accomplishment of 2010

What’s the single most important thing you accomplished in 2010?

That’s definitely a big question. 2010 will always stand out in my mind as the year I graduated from Bryn Mawr College. Aside from it being rather an accomplishment, my graduation year should be fairly easy to remember given that I’ve spent four years with it being a core part of my college identity (Questions typically asked upon meeting someone: Name, year, major . . .). Continue reading

It Gives Me Hope

Walking down the stairs at my parents’ house this holiday season, one of the first things I noticed was my Christmas stocking. All of our stockings were hung in a row at the landing, hand-knit stockings that my paternal grandmother made for each of us long ago (so long ago, in fact, that I cannot remember a Christmas without them), our names knit into the border at the top of each stocking. Mine, this year, had a little sign my parents had made, which designated the stocking as belonging to “RYAN.” Continue reading