She's Not There
Jun. 30th, 2006 10:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
magidI read She's Not There (Jennifer Finney Boylan), the story of an MTF transwoman figuring out who she was, and changing to be who she always felt she was inside (subtitled "A Life in Two Genders"). The journey is complicated with years of denial, family relationships, and a fairly public job, too. Not surprisingly, it's an interesting read.
It's made me think about gender identity and sexuality. The author describes always wanting a different body than what she was born with, and I realized that while intellectually, I can sympathize, I don't really grok it. I've always felt female, even when I've noticed having some more typically male attributes. That's what my body is, and that's how I am. It's hard for me to imagine them being separate things. I accept that they are, for some people, but that's all about intellect, not emotional understanding. (Which makes me feel cold-hearted, especially towards any transpeople reading this, though that's not my intent.) (I also wonder what people living before reassignment was possible did to ease their pain.)
The other part of this is that she cites a doctor who says that approximately a third of post-op people keep their original sexual orientation, about a third switch, and about a third lose interest at all (what about people who start out bi? No clue.). Which makes things difficult for those who are partnered with them (unless they're bi, too, I suppose). The author still loves her wife*, and her wife loves her, but in a different way. They're partnered, raising their kids, but her wife seems to be straight. And it's unclear whether the author is still attracted to women in general, or men, except that she loves her wife and doesn't want that to end, or what. I keep coming back to this part, how it works with the already-extant partnerships (and close friendships), because in this case, she came out long after those relationships had been established. It must make a difference, knowing from the beginning that person X is trans, so their body might change to match their mind someday, rather than having it sprung after years of togetherness. I think this is the big difference between the transpeople I know and the author; I assume it's partly a generational thing, as well as cultural.
There were other interesting parts of the book, but these are the two I keep rolling around my brain. I think it's been particularly interesting because the book I read just before, Wild Seed (Octavia Butler), has two people who can change bodies (for all intents and purposes, at will), but seem to keep their inherent gender identities even when in an opposite-sex body. I wonder now whether the author did that intentionally, or didn't consider an alternative.
* A non-MA way of ending up in a legal same-sex marriage in the States!
It's made me think about gender identity and sexuality. The author describes always wanting a different body than what she was born with, and I realized that while intellectually, I can sympathize, I don't really grok it. I've always felt female, even when I've noticed having some more typically male attributes. That's what my body is, and that's how I am. It's hard for me to imagine them being separate things. I accept that they are, for some people, but that's all about intellect, not emotional understanding. (Which makes me feel cold-hearted, especially towards any transpeople reading this, though that's not my intent.) (I also wonder what people living before reassignment was possible did to ease their pain.)
The other part of this is that she cites a doctor who says that approximately a third of post-op people keep their original sexual orientation, about a third switch, and about a third lose interest at all (what about people who start out bi? No clue.). Which makes things difficult for those who are partnered with them (unless they're bi, too, I suppose). The author still loves her wife*, and her wife loves her, but in a different way. They're partnered, raising their kids, but her wife seems to be straight. And it's unclear whether the author is still attracted to women in general, or men, except that she loves her wife and doesn't want that to end, or what. I keep coming back to this part, how it works with the already-extant partnerships (and close friendships), because in this case, she came out long after those relationships had been established. It must make a difference, knowing from the beginning that person X is trans, so their body might change to match their mind someday, rather than having it sprung after years of togetherness. I think this is the big difference between the transpeople I know and the author; I assume it's partly a generational thing, as well as cultural.
There were other interesting parts of the book, but these are the two I keep rolling around my brain. I think it's been particularly interesting because the book I read just before, Wild Seed (Octavia Butler), has two people who can change bodies (for all intents and purposes, at will), but seem to keep their inherent gender identities even when in an opposite-sex body. I wonder now whether the author did that intentionally, or didn't consider an alternative.
* A non-MA way of ending up in a legal same-sex marriage in the States!