*Tips for Trans Teens*: What's a Legal Name Change All About?

I decided to legally change my name shortly after I began gender therapy, with the prospect of being prescribed testosterone at least another half year away. In transition, there’s no hard-and-fast rule about when to change your name (if you decide to change it at all), as opposed to a legal genderchange, which does require a certain chronology (at least in Massachusetts). To change my name, all I had to do was pick one, file the appropriate paperwork at probate court, pay the exorbitant fee (~$200), and wait the 5 weeks to receive my official name change document in the mail. Unlike others I know, I did not have to announce the change in the newspaper or even appear before a judge; all I had to write was that the change was “personal”/”name I use daily” and I received the stamp of approval. I got the impression that as long as the change wasn’t in service of evading a past crime, the state didn’t really care why I wanted it.

The minute I received my official name change document in the mail is where the fun began . With this piece of paper in hand, I suddenly felt the power, duty, and burden of having to inform everyone from my school to my bank to my job to my utility companies. As soon as the name change order was stamped into being, my former name ceased to be “real” and the new one was “who” I was … yet the old name persisted on everything I had touched up until now.This left me feeling in a sort of limbo where everything felt false, down to even the perfunctory level of giving my name to the barista for my daily coffee. Unless I went to everyone individually and changed it. (I acknowledge that this sense of
“falseness” was a personal — and actually somewhat unexpected — reaction, and not everyone who doesn’t immediately switch over to using their new name after a legal change is somehow deceptive. Moreover it was a personal feeling of not being true to myself, rather than feeling I owed it to everyone else to not “trick” them — none of their business, in my opinion!)

However, to go to everyone and announce my name change was, in a sense, to announce my transition.


Not that the nice lady at my bank necessarily assumed that this signaled that I was on a gender transition journey, but my new distinctly male-sound name would raise some eyebrows. I felt a somewhat political urge to explain anyways, even though most people would make a professional attempt to be nonchalant about it —  a way of sending the message that gender transition didn’t need to be awkwardly danced around in everyday interactions. I ended up assessing it on a case-by-case basis, with telling my landlords via note-with-my-rent-check being the most nervewracking. In some instances I haven’t even got around to mentioning it, particularly in over-the-phone services (i.e. cable, electricity, etc.) where the only indication of who’s on the other line is my high, pre-testosterone voice. Does not taking every opportunity to change my name and explain myself make me a coward or a transperson refusing to be the open book that society expects us to be about our personal lives and bodies? Jury’s still out on that one.

In certain places — for instance, my work as a server and bartender — I couldn’t just announce a name change without explaining more to my curious coworkers, who literally have to refer to me by name a 100 times a night, not to mention my name being emblazoned on every kitchen ticket and receipt I print up (you never really notice this until you have to!). I thought, in those first moments after I had completed the legal change, that I could and would keep going a wile with the old name until I was realistically closer to receiving hormones. But once I had it, I almost felt like a kid with a special gift that they just had to show everyone. Or at least to everyone safe — and when it comes to coworkers/peers in our generation, I feel protected by the general youth attitude that everything’s “cool” as long as you’re being yourself and not hurting anyone.

In retrospect, I see that I didn’t think ahead to how the name change would “force my hand” in coming out as trans to the myriad people in my daily life … though I am still waiting to tell my super-macho barber until he is literally trimming my beard for me. But I don’t necessarily regret legally changing my name so early in my legal-social-medical transition process. It gave my coworkers and school administrators time to really adjust to the idea that I would be changing and started the conversation about my gender pronouns, which is another work-in-progress. But I also sense, now 6 months after my new name became law, a question behind their sometimes exaggerated attempt to use my new name: when is your body going to follow? It’s really, once again, none of their business, and only the truly adventurous (or perhaps “rude” is the word?) venture to ask about when I’ll begin testosterone. But that socialized part of me trained to please does get anxious during such interactions. My only response to this subtle questioning gaze is to keep it private, when part of me wonders whether I should be super vocal about it to demystify and destigmatize the hoops we transpeople jump through to get what’s ours. Coming out to yourself as trans is half the struggle and the victory, but each step you take seems to bring a whole new way to come out. My legal name change put into motion a process that I’m doing my best to approach with dignity and joy.


An earlier version of this appeared on Tips for Trans Men. Posted here with permission.

"But How Do You Know You're a Man?": On Trans People, Narrative, & Trust

When I do "Trans 101" workshops for adolescent audiences, I sometimes simplify my transition into an explanation that I think they'll grasp: When I was born, the doctor looked at my body and declared that I was a person who would grow to become a woman. But I eventually knew in my head and in my heart that I'd grow to become a man. And I have done so, with some effort and assistance.

In these words I'm addressing an unspoken question that lingers in the air: But how do you know you're a man?

I've been meditating on this query lately, and I keep coming to the same counter-question: How does any male-identified person know he is a man? And does my answer really diverge greatly from how many men, trans or cisgender, would answer?

Transgender people are often said to have a "narrative" to their lives; we're encouraged to see our journey toward recognizing our gender as a story with an articulable pattern. The truth is, though, that everyone's gender is a story; it's just that trans folks are more likely to be -- perhaps I could say "are given the gift of having to be" -- aware of it.

The story of becoming a man, a woman, or a person of any other gender often follows aspects of that most instinctual of story arcs: the hero's journey. For instance, my personal narrative was one of effort in seeking a transformative goal (a quest), assistance (tools provided by medicine, law, and intangible emotional support), and mentorship by those who went before me (guides).

And my manhood was ultimately achieved through what could be considered rites of passage -- which is to say a similar structure to communal cultural tales of how one achieves cisgender manhood. It's simply some details that vary.

I do see one key difference in how all this plays out, however: Trans men make this invisible process disconcertingly visible by flipping the variables. While a cisgender man may be born with certain inherent potentials to physically embody a manhood that others will acknowledge socially, he's not necessarily imbued with the demanding drive, the internal compass, the awareness of the systems and tropes he's drawing on, and the deep gratitude concerning the specific man he'll be.

It's quite possible to reach cisgender manhood externally (for instance, by reaching a certain age or displaying changes in voice, facial hair, etc.) long before one reaches an internal sense of his own unique self -- and, further, before one reaches a sense of how hard he'll fight to be that self, no matter the costs or resistance. For trans men it's often much the opposite case.

Manhood is an accomplishment, an internal need and quest, for both cis and trans men. (The same could be said of cis and trans women in regard to womanhood, of course.) When we acknowledge this, the necessity and intelligibilty of questions like "But how do you know?" fades away.

Ultimately, seeing this will help dismantle one of the structuring cultural approaches to transgender people: mistrust. Mistrust that we know it's the right time for us to transition. Mistrust that we won't eventually regret transition. Mistrust that one's sexual orientation won't suddenly change by sleeping with us. Mistrust that when we say we're men, women, neither or both, we really, truly are.

I'll end this meditation with a response I sometimes give to that mistrust: Socially, we're all taught when we're young that just because there's something we don't like or wouldn't do, it doesn't mean it can't be fun or useful or important to someone else. As childcare-worker friends delightfully put it, "we don't yuck someone else's yum!"

As children, we learn a vital truth: To be decent to others we share communal space with, we must look internally and adjust our own instinctual "I personally wouldn't do that, so it must be wrong!" response. At the same moment, we're trusting that those around us are also sparing us from their judgments. This is something we as cisgender and transgender adults would do well to remember and enact.

In so doing, we won't simply be living lives of disingenuousness. This process actually changes us, helps us grow, opens our minds to ways life can be lived differently. It's part of maturing. It's part of building what we all need as humans: strong communities, families, and senses of self.


Originally published on Huffington Post. Re-posted here with permission.

LGBTQ Role-Model Alert! *ANGELICA ROSS* - Transgender Techie

This month, let's applaud ANGELICA ROSS, a trans woman of color who's blazed a trail for transgender people in technology!

Angelica founded a nonprofit, TransTech, to train trans people in web coding and graphic design, so they'd have job skills to earn income with.

As a trans man myself, I find it inspiring when other transgender people, like Angelica, figure out creative solutions to issues that harm trans communities -- such as unemployment, poverty, and homelessness.


This is what Angelica told me in an interview for The Advocate

"TransTech emerged from my story, [which] is the same story for so many trans women of color. When I began my transition, I was fired from my job, estranged from my family, and introduced to sex work and the adult industry."

After that setback, Angelica decided to teach herself web coding and graphic design, and was able to become successfully self-employed as a freelancer.

"Over the course of 10 years … I discovered technology as a path to independence for trans people. I no longer had to face on-the-job discrimination and harassment if I didn't want to," she explained. "I could log-in and make money without people caring about what I look or sound like."

TransTech sounds like a fantastic idea, and I'm excited to see what comes from Angelica in the future. You can support her work here


Photos courtesy of Joey Grant from TransTech. Header photo by Myles Brady.


Why This Mormon Lesbian Shouldn't Have Waited So Long to Come Out

At the age of 27, I announced my sexuality to family and friends: an agonizing decision, since my religious background (Mormon/Church of Latter Day Saints) does not agree with homosexuality. 

Though I was in adulthood when I came out, my teenage years bore many instances where my homosexuality shone through. I chose to ignore these; I dismissed them (or, to use another word, suppressed them) as something that would eventually go away and eventually be gone forever.

My lesbian sexuality, however, never disappeared.

While my suppression seemed to work throughout my adolescence — I was no longer a lesbian! (supposedly) — it did not last into my adult years. I got married to a good man and we had a daughter. After my baby was born, the combination of years of denying my true self and hormonal changes affected me in such a way that I could no longer ignore my sexuality.

I went through a difficult period of time where I isolated myself from my family and friends, most of whom follow my same religion. After I announced my lesbianism to those I cared about most, I had an intense feeling of abandonment. It was not a good time for me to finally release my sexuality and finally accept it myself — I’m unsure that there is ever a good time.

While I was now free from the burden I’d been holding inside for so long, I had a new burden that wasn’t much easier: I now had a family of my own, and I was scared to lose my husband as a friend and my daughter as my own. Many battles between my spouse and family ensued.


I give you this background about my situation to offer some advice as an adult.

I will begin by saying, I doubt that coming out as a teen is much easier than it is to come out as an adult. It’s probably more difficult, in a sense, as you are finding yourself and discovering all that is within you.

Then again, for me, I believe if I had come out as a teenager, my family would have had an easier time with my announcement. Not that it was all roses — but it’s clear that coming out as an adult after having started a family caused more problems for me than, I feel, it would have if I would have done it when I was younger.

My point is: no matter when you decide to tell your friends and family of your sexuality, it can be difficult. But now, looking back as an adult, having suppressed my lesbian sexuality all throughout my adolescence, I need to tell you: suppression is not the best plan of action.

So here’s my advice: If you know your sexuality or gender identity, despite your religious beliefs or family values, be true to yourself and care enough for yourself to be open about who you are.

There is nothing wrong with being a part of the LGBT community. There is nothing more liberating than identifying and realizing that you are part of a great movement and society where you belong no matter how you feel or what your sexuality is.


Sure, it’s easy to justify not coming out: people won’t understand, my family won’t love me, I’ll be made fun of. It is easy to shy away from that part of yourself by hoping it will go away or hiding it from yourself.

So, if you're struggling with what to do about your sexuality, coming out and finding the real you, I suggest you make a plan.

·       Decide when and how you’d like to let your family and friends – the people you care about.

·       Don’t wait too long to share it with others.

·       It’s okay to be selective with who you tell. Maybe you only want your parents, siblings, and best friend to know at first. Something to consider, though, is that the people you initially tell may share with others. While you can request that they not speak to anyone about it, be aware they may not honor that request.

·       Be prepared for the worst possible reaction. If you’re unsure how people will react, expect that absolute worst scenario. There’s nothing wrong with this. It’s a measure to prepare and protect yourself.

·       Consider counseling. If you don’t already have a therapist or counselor, it may wise to seek one out, preferably one with LBGT experience.

There is nothing wrong with expressing who you are and how you feel.  Be true to yourself and love yourself always — there is simply nothing better.


Photo courtesy of Flickr.

Must-Reads for LGBTQ Youth: 'GIOVANNI'S ROOM'

My first proper boyfriend was an Italian guy named Icilio.

We met at college -- well, in the changing rooms of the swimming pool at college, to be precise – and he followed me home. At the time, I really wasn’t that happy or confident as a gay man; we were about the same age but he was a lot more comfortable in his own skin than I was.

He was very patient with me but I was a terrible boyfriend.

Eventually, I decided to call it off. I can’t remember why -- whatever it was, it was an awful decision and one that I’ve often regretted. As a break-up gift (if there is such a thing), he gave me a copy of the novel Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin.

It may be overstating it a little to say that this book changed my life, but I read it at a time when I was struggling to work out who I was and who I wanted to be, and somehow this book became very much part of that process.

Giovanni’s Room isn’t a new book: it was first published in 1956. It is the story of David -- a young American guy left alone in Paris while his girlfriend is away traveling.

While abroad, meets Giovanni, an Italian bartender. They enter a passionate but uneasy relationship as David constantly tries to prove his heterosexuality and push the high-strung Giovanni away. I won’t give away all of the details of the plot, but in so many ways it is an incredibly sad story and nothing really ends well for anyone.

In many respects, Giovanni’s Room is an astonishing work: From its vivid portrayal of gay life in Paris at that time, to the exploration of the complexities of gay identity, sexuality, and relationships, to the sense of alienation -- but also freedom -- that traveling to different countries can present.

What is fascinating, too, is that the author of the novel, James Baldwin, was a black American man who emigrated to Paris. He did it to deliberately move away from the racial prejudice he was experiencing in the United States at that time, but also to find a new identity for himself as a gay man.

While it is easy to identify elements of this story that may feel a little dated compared to our lives today, there is a lot about this book that makes it essential reading for any young gay guys trying to figure out how to be authentic and have honest relationships with other people.

Location-based dating apps may have changed the game for how guys meet other guys these days, but that doesn’t change the harsh reality that relationships aren’t easy, building a life with another person isn’t easy, and sometimes people get hurt if you’re not ready to give them what they are looking for.

Read Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin. It is a beautiful book, it is an incredibly sad book that will make you cry, and it makes a really good break-up gift.


Photo credit: Flickr.