Language, Our Story, and Identity

I love language, the way it evolves, the way it changes. I used to, and still do occasionally, peruse the dictionary, looking up the roots of words. Sometimes, looking up a word from a book I was reading, I would get so distracted I would forget about the book and suddenly it would be one o’clock in the morning. This rarely happens anymore, what with all human knowledge available on my phone, and the need for a physical dictionary diminished. I miss the size and weight, the opportunity for exploration, and I still prefer a paper and print book to reading on a screen.

I would get particularly distracted if the dictionary had an appendix of Indo-European roots, taking a deep dive into history, providing insight into how words are related, both within and between languages. English is especially curious because of the way it readily borrows words from other languages, sometimes taking unexpected turns. There are words that sound related, but actually have completely different sources. Such as “penal” (indo-european root “kwei” , having to do with punishment, but also “price” and “value”) and “penile”, which is derived from  “pes” meaning tail. Others related in such a convoluted way, one would never guess. For instance, the words “criminal” and “discriminate” having a common root. Meanings twisted and turned inside out and backwards.

Word building from Greek and Latin roots is common in English, especially in scholarly research. One term of freshman Latin (the last Latin class offered by my school district in 1970) did more for my vocabulary than any English class. Of course, I am not a linguist, just a curious individual, and as such, prone to error. But even our errors have meaning to us.

The love of language is called “linguaphilia”: lingua=language, philia=love of or attraction to. But it could also be twisted to mean something quite different. You see “lingua” also means tongue, both as in language (My native tongue is English. Or perhaps it’s American?) and that amazing organ in our mouths. And “philia” is often used to mean an unnatural appetite, or liking for. Can you see where this is going? An unnatural appetite or liking for tongue: Another helping of lengua con mole, please! Or worse: a tongue fetish. I am unnaturally attracted to people's tongues. And that ain't right!

A missed opportunity for identity

I learned a new word recently: Autogynephilia. I could relate. Auto=self, gyne=woman, philia=love of or for. Love of oneself as a woman. It brought to mind the euphoria of watching my own transition. How the more feminine I see myself and the more feminine I feel, the more I like myself. That moment in front of the mirror dressed in a skirt and blouse, wearing makeup and a blond wig after scores of times doing so, when my world shifted. Suddenly, I saw the real me, and thought “This is right! This is who I am!” Questions I never knew existed answered in a heartbeat. Aspects of my life that puzzled me becoming clear. 

The word was coined some years ago by a sexologist named Ray Blanchard in his research on transgender people, but as a fairly recently hatched trans woman, who eschews most social media, I was unfamiliar. So I looked it up, and OH MY GOD! My understanding went from “I love myself” to “What a creep!” 

Naturally, I delved deeper. I watched videos. I read articles. I checked references. The gist is Dr. Blanchard studied a small number of self-described transexual women in the 1980s and broke these individuals into two groups. The traps and the pervs. Of course, he didn’t use that terminology. He grouped these women into feminine presenting homosexual men who transitioned in order to attract (trap) heterosexual men. In other words, to broaden the pool of potential sex partners. The other group were the autogynophiles: heterosexual men who were sexually aroused by the thought of being women (the pervs). In either case, there was a clearly sexual motivation to transition.

Blanchard’s work is more complex than this obviously biased synopsis, and I would encourage you to explore it on your own. The problem is that Blanchard's work ignored the reality of the lived lives of his subjects, focusing on the sexual aspects, like a good Freudian. And the concept of autogynephilia has been used by the anti-trans community to delegitimize and stigmatize the transgender experience. 

Who am I really?

My point is not to simply criticize, but to give an example of how words and their meaning can change due to context and usage. Language is complex. Just as the context of words can alter their meaning, the stories we tell about ourselves, the language we use to describe our lives can change the meaning of the events we experience, and the way we view and feel about ourselves. 

I have labeled myself in many ways throughout my life, trans woman being only one of them, and a very recent one at that. I am someone's child, a sibling (both sister and brother), a parent, spouse, lover, friend. An addict, both active and recovering. A student, chef, musician, runner, bicyclist, mechanic, artist, craftsman. A liar, cheater and thief. A nice guy. I have identified, more or less, with each of these, and more, acting out of them in various ways, at various times.

As a recovering addict, I am familiar with not only the concept of denial, but its consequences. Denial is self-deception aimed at protecting ourselves from reality. This can be helpful at times when the full weight of reality might be overwhelming and paralyzing. As when a soldier goes into battle, knowing there is a strong chance they will not survive, but denying that they themselves would be the one to be killed or maimed, so they can do what is asked of them. Or getting up every day, knowing on some level ones life is finite, and going about our business anyway, without giving it much thought.

In the case of addiction, denial is more destructive. I could fool myself into believing any number of untruths in service of the next fix. “I’m only hurting myself”, “this time it will be different”, “it’s all your fault”, “I’ll quit tomorrow”, “I’m in control”, “I just need a change of…” location, relationship, job, whatever. Anyone who’s been to twelve step meetings will be familiar with this kind of thinking.

At heart, I knew these were lies, but denial allowed me to live with the fact that what I was doing would likely kill me. This kind of denial is a way of not looking at things we know to be true, but are not ready to face. The process of recovery requires letting go of our denial and facing the truth, allowing us move forward. And while the task of uncovering and overcoming denial in addiction isn’t easy, much of what keeps people stuck in their addiction isn’t buried too deeply. At least that was the case for me.

Secret truths

There is a deeper kind of denial however. Truths about ourselves to which our conscious mind has no access. Things that might be the result of trauma, or perhaps innate to our genetics. Things with such strong social taboos surrounding them that they are unfathomable to us. And so, we find ways to unconsciously cover them up, to avoid looking. Or ways to numb some vague sense of unease, of being different, not quite fitting in. Substance abuse, eating, sex, shopping, anger. You name it. 

One of the ways, other than drugs, I used to cope was having secrets. Of course this went hand in hand with being a drug addict. Lying about where I was and what I was doing, about where the money had gone, or why I was falling asleep at the table, or unable to sleep, or getting sick. But secrets became their own way of life that followed me into recovery. I was uncomfortable with not having a secret or two. One of my favorite secrets was cheating on my partners. 

Actually, lying and sneaking began well before I started using drugs. We all learn pretty early on about lying. It starts small with things like “No, I didn’t pull my sister’s hair”, or “I didn’t eat all the cookies”. And most of us, after getting called out on it a few times, decide it doesn’t really work that well and abandon the practice for the most part.

But some of us discover that we can get what we want by being dishonest. Maybe our parents are so distracted they don’t notice or care. Maybe we can’t resist sticking the toy in our pocket and walking out of the store, and when we don’t get caught, it becomes a way of life. I stole that toy, and then had to hide it from my parents. I stole food from the pantry and hid it under my bed. I smoked with my friends. 

Recovering from toxic secrecy

Puberty brought more secrets. Even though my household was fairly open about sex for the 1960s, there was an atmosphere of sarcasm and shaming for any vulnerability. It was not safe to be genuine, and I was unsure about my changing body and all the feelings that came with it. Masturbation was something to hide. My step brother had Playboy magazines, and I would sneak into his room to look. Pretty common stuff, but it added to my sense of detachment, and the idea that I needed to be dishonest to survive. 

When I started having girlfriends, it was natural to me to sneak around with one girl while also seeing another. Always looking for the next best thing. Vaguely unsatisfied. Falling for the fallacy that lots of girls made me more of a man. A lover, not a fighter. Societal messages about what it meant to be a man were confusing at best.

I was deeply insecure about my sexuality. When I was seventeen, my first sexual experience with another person was a nonconsensual encounter with an older man. I was ashamed and confused by this and it brought up the question: was I gay?

Intellectually, I knew there wasn’t really anything wrong the being attracted to someone of the same sex, and I knew gay people, but I couldn’t accept this in myself, the social stigma was too strong. Besides, I genuinely liked girls!

Over the next couple of decades, I did explore my sexuality more, but had difficulty overcoming my inhibitions as far as having sex with men, and while it was fine when it did happen, it wasn’t compelling in the way being with women was. Still, I was unable to shake an underlying sense of sexual tension when around other men, which made forming friendships difficult. I needed to hide, because if you knew who I really was, you wouldn’t like me.

In a number of contexts I explored the concept of gender and sexuality being on a spectrum. And I was drawn to mythological and poetic ideas about the internal masculine and feminine. I was able to think of myself as being somewhere other than at the extreme of heterosexual masculinity. But exactly where I stood, I didn’t know. The idea of being transgender wasn’t even on my radar. The closest I could come was to jokingly say I felt like a lesbian trapped in a man’s body. My first wife was bisexual and one of her lesbian friends once told me I was the only man she ever met that she might want to have sex with. I was flattered. But identifying as a lesbian in a man’s body sounded disrespectful of the lesbian community, and not something I deserved.

My second marriage was was very dysfunctional, despite both of us wanting to be good partners and parents and actively exploring our spirituality. My drug addiction progressed, and caused further deterioration of the marriage. Eventually, I got into recovery in earnest, got divorced and entered into another long term relationship. Going to meetings, doing step work and service work, being a parent and working long hours meant exploring my sexuality wasn’t a priority. The twelve step community I was involved with was pretty conservative, and while it was super supportive of my recovery, I didn’t feel I fit in socially. But I did learn something about changing my story. 

Changing language to change the story

I learned that if I change the words I use to describe my experiences, it changes the way I view my place in the world. When I consciously state my gratitude, I am no longer always a victim. When I say I chose to do the things I have done, I become empowered to choose differently. My default thinking shifts away from an immediate “no”, and “it’s all your fault”, to “let me take a moment and consider my part and what am I willing and able to do, and what I am not.” Empowerment and boundaries. 

I also learned that new words and definitions create the potential for new ideas. Hearing other people’s stories allowed me to consider new possibilities for myself. The internet opened up a wealth of stories and ideas. Of course both good and bad. But with new terminology for gender expression and stories that normalized some of the things I was feeling, as well as watching people in my life exploring their identity, my thinking on my own identity began to shift.

I started thinking of myself as somewhat gender-fluid or gender non-conforming. But still mostly a straight, heterosexual man. Eventually, when I found myself without a committed partner for the first extended period, after more than forty years of serial relationships, I began exploring feminine gender expression. I made new friends, and started being more honest about who I was.

Without a partner and the need to hide myself out of fear, I was free to be myself. And I was tired of living a lie. I am eternally grateful for the people in my life who were accepting, and even encouraging of my exploration. Finally, armed with new terminology, and personal and social permission, I looked in the mirror one day, saw myself for the first time, and my world suddenly changed.

My heroic journey

My long journey brought me to this point, and I am grateful for every bit of it. Each experience, whether traumatic or joyful, easy or difficult, has brought its gifts, its share of wisdom. Only by going through them could I have arrived at the amazing place where my life now resides. I look at photos of myself as a teenager, and think “what a pretty girl”. But I don’t know if I would have survived transitioning at that age at that time in the world.

I remember an incident in my early twenties, during a particularly dark period, picking up a self help book and reading about self love, and understanding the meaning of each word, but having no place in myself to absorb the concept. In fact, for most of my life, I wondered if I was capable of loving anybody because I didn’t really know what love was. Now I know. I love myself and the world around me. I feel awe and gratitude for the wonders of the universe and the human psyche. I feel incredibly privileged to have the opportunity to experience life both as a man and as a woman and all the lessons those experiences provide.

Today, I look in the mirror and see a beautiful, strong, joyful woman. And yes, occasionally, I am sexually aroused by that, so perhaps there is something to Blanchard’s hypothesis. I feel whole, and that wholeness includes my sexuality. I look forward with joy and fascination to every new adventure, and I wish the same for you. 

Love,
Miranda Rose