Red post boxes, and other coming out stories
It was around 8:25 next to an old red British post box that I knew I was Rachel and she was my future. Nine year old me smiled and walked briskly to school. Accepting this about myself was the easy part. It was all the future coming outs that would be the problem. Even to this day I have to guage my audience, understand their personal perspective before I open up about myself. Each coming out, even if I think they already know, is a mini adventure in nerves and hopes. Not that my experiences have been negative, but even so, it is an intimately personal part of myself.
My parents were the last people I told when I came out at seventeen. They asked me why, and after they said they considered it a lifestyle choice I had my answer. I was at once thick skinned but incredibly naïve, an all boys school student who basically knew nothing of how the world worked. Coming out in 2000 was easier as I had none of the world awareness I have in 2023. Indeed, probably the reason I find it hard to relate to many trans narratives is that being Rachel was easy, coming out was easy, and I never once faced abuse for simply being me. It was never my cross to bear.
I think this is why it is easy for me to argue that being trans is a normative part of life, not some societally imposed burden that is to be carried. No-one coached me to be me, no-one sold me a life-style (though I found out all about Transformations when I turned 18), and not a single person approached me in a club and tried to groom. Being me, Rachel, is as natural as breathing, an unconscious act of self that requires no trappings to simply be.
This is the reason I am careful about judging other folks coming out stories and lived experiences. I had is stupidly easy, and yes there were bumps along the way, my trans existence has been a mill pond compared to the storms others have faced. It is easy to judge, to talk about a right way of existing, but each life has to be lived on their own terms. There is no one sized fits all approach to existence, making the idealised trans narrative of suffering, self-discovery, and burdens all the more pernicious.
Coming out to my hockey team in 2000 required more courage than I realised. I had to get a medical note from my GP stating I was transitioning, and even then, I had to use separate changing rooms to the rest of my teammates. This coming out was all the more ironic considering the 2023 conversation, a note waving any issues that were raised. As far as I know, I was the first out trans female hockey player to play for a university side in the UK, and I think England hockey were in discussions about this. I came back to hockey in 2017 and play it to this day, and am grateful that hockey has an inclusive approach compared to other sports.
On the grand scale coming out to someone is a significant matter of faith, trusting that the person you tell will not weaponise it against you. When I tell people I am trans it is not that I wish to be seen as transgender, as my internal identity is very much female, rather, it is to acknowledge that part of me which could lead to complications unless I am honest. My womanhood is never internally in doubt, and honestly never in doubt with the people who know me. I come out to them because it is a facet of my history, and my research, and I hope that they will see it as simply another part of who I am rather than my totality.
My research means that I am perpetually coming out to colleagues as a matter of course, my intersectional self as up for discussion as the work I am doing. Saying I am trans is nothing more than an aperitif to the conversation, a chaser to better understand my mode of thinking. It stops being a matter of social etiquette and becomes a matter of scientific identity. These comings out are professional courtesy rather than social necessity. In 2023 it is less about hidden secrets and more about authentic voices.
There is no one way to come out, no one reason to. No person should ever be forced to come out without their consent, and no person should ever feel obliged to state they are trans just for the sake of it. I come out for multiple reasons, mainly because I have no fear or shame about myself. My past is an aspect of who I am; I had a boyhood, privileged selective all boys Grammar School education, and then grew into the woman I am today. That is my life. I see no shame in being open with people about that. For me it is normative, yet for others they have been whipped by society to see undying shame in it.
I have other coming out stories, of understanding my sexuality, or appreciating my working class northern roots, of dating folk across the gender spectrum. Each has a different flavour of honesty to myself and to others. My gender identity is but one of my comings out, the first for sure, but not the last. Each of my intersections is normative for me, my mode of existence, yet for others they can be complex and not entirely understandable. Much like some aspects of their lives are not quite understandable to me. When someone comes out to you it requires empathy and compassion, for even if you do not understand their map of the world, they are attempting to build a bridge between them and you, and it is vital you offer a supporting hand in ensuring that bridge is solid. Their coming out to you is an act of faith that you will not react harmfully, and it is up to you to reciprocate good faith even if you do not understand.
We are all complex people, and I, Rachel, understand that my complexities are what make me a rich and textured person. Last time I walked past that red post box I smiled, the adult woman I am today glad that the nine year old boy was not scared of embracing the future I now represent. Do not let anyone tell you that self-acceptance and coming out to yourself are a bad thing. Everything requires that first step, and I am really glad I took mine.
