Vibe Check: The price of authenticity

In an attempt to move this newsletter forward, I'm trying some new, more personal, formats. These will be 'Vibe Check' (which is a life update from my transition), 'Passing Moments' (a wider observation about queer life), 'The Look' (focusing on clothes, makeup, or other aesthetic aspects), and 'The Big Story' (this will be monthly, longer, and more in-depth than the others, and will only be available to paying subscribers - it'll sometimes be factual and sometimes a bit more experimental and fictional). They may all stick, or I will abandon the ones that readers don't think are working. Therefore I would love your feedback. Tell me which of these upcoming stories you like, because every word of this comes from my own hands, and I appreciate every one of you who subscribes. You can email me or write to me on Bluesky.

As I went on my summer break, I felt this year was the year when I would need to come out to everyone. Not as a life-threatening necessity, but in order that I can be the same person in all environments. Living a double life has caused me to worry what people think when they see me presenting in a certain way, to go to specific bars and cafes because of the clientele and the way the staff treats me, and to allow people in environments where I am still semi-closeted to deadname me.

I was prepared to allow that, and there will be a certain amount of deadnaming for at least the next few years, because my passport can’t be changed until I can apply for the gender-specific documentation in my country of birth, and my country of residence won’t change anything until the country of birth has. This is what trans people in many places have to go through, and it's enough to make one assume that governments don't want us to transition. It’s likely to result in at least some awkward conversations in airports for the next few years, given my face and my gendered appearance no longer matches what my ID photos suggest people should expect.

The act of being my authentic self in all aspects of my life feels like a positive, radical step forward when I think about it sometimes, but it comes with a lot of drawbacks that I can’t get away from.

Older friends and possibly family will distance themselves

I have a good gang of friends around me who have known from the start about me, but there are many who don’t, or who are assuming this is a phase I will move out of eventually. I’ve heard people tell me they are confused, or that they don’t understand why someone with a successful career would do this. I’ve also had a message from a family member who confessed she didn’t understand what I am doing, and wasn’t “good with all this PC stuff”, but hoped I was happy.

Given that family members continue to tell me they are losing someone in this transition, that’s a heavy cross to bear, and is adding pressure when it took a lot of courage to come out to them at all. It’s hard to hear from someone who you care about that you’re causing them major heartache by wanting to self-realise.

I haven’t brought up my transition with every one of my friends, because I sensed a wariness in some people that made me feel they weren’t open to trans issues. Adding to that, there will be people who say they support me, but will be nowhere to be seen once physical or mental changes become more apparent.

Not everyone at my workplace might be sympathetic

While my management have said that they want to help me, and will support me if I decide to come out, it’s going to be hard. Insofar as enforcing preferred name and pronoun usage, I’m likely to be on my own, because it’s not the kind of place where advocates spring up to help. I'm going to come up with a plan on how to roll out the news to teams; I now understand that the burden doesn't need to be totally on me, and I should expect a certain level of support from people-management specialists.

No matter how supportive people are, the fact is my career would be in a much better place if I didn’t feel the need to come out as trans. I would be judged entirely on the quality of my work, I’d be more trusted by stakeholders who may not enjoy identity politics, and I’d have the cis male privilege of the general assumption that I know best how to do my job. It will be interesting to see if more micromanagement is obvious when I’ve been "out" at work for a while, and whether or not I am tagged as something like "dramatic", when that word has never been used to describe me up to now as far as I know. I won't feel the temperature of the water change until it's really hot.

What helps me is I have been essentially dressing and presenting that way without saying anything for the past two years, so the change won’t immediately be a shock to anyone. What will be tough will be putting up with being the subject of chatter and gossip when people don’t think I’m listening. I want to resolve the disparity between what I call myself in almost every other walk of life and what I call myself at my workplace, but the problem will be if people don’t clock an instant physical change, and assume it is posturing. Which brings me onto…

Feeling I’m “Not Trans Enough”

As a friend told me a few days ago, if I make a major effort with my appearance, go into work every day wearing expensive makeup, and make serious progress with my voice training, I run the risk of being perceived as “trying too hard” or “doing it for attention”. If I do nothing, dress down, and dress and appear as plain and informal as many cis women, I’ll be seen as not really leaning into my transness. There is no pleasing people, especially when they already feel I am asking too much by coming out at all.

What to wear and how to look isn't the most important thing about trans. I'm not doing this so I can play dress-up. I just have to have a strong compass of how I want to feel, and what makes me comfortable.

This is all going to need enormous mental strength. I hope I’m woman enough to withstand what may be about to come.

Have you got a coming-out-at-work experience you want to share? Email me or find me on Bluesky!