So fucking screwed.
I’m not staying at this school. But I’ve already been hired for a job next semester, and I’d hate to be all “hey, I’m leaving and can’t take the job” because that would be really shitty of me.
Since I’m not staying here, I’d have to *attempt* to transfer my credits. Which won’t. Math, science, SOME english, and my psych class will transfer. Nothing else will. Because this school sucks and only wants your money.
Also, I have a housing contract. In order to live on campus, I need to be a full-time student with 12-16 credit hours. Which is a complete waste of $15,000 because none of the credits will transfer. Wow. Actually it’d be $20,000 altogether but I get $5,000 in aid per semester. But, shit.
So my options are………..
A) Suck it up tell my employer that I’m leaving.
B) Stay here and waste $20K on classes that won’t transfer out and waste 5 months of my life.
Remember in the 90’s there used be a room in your house that was called the “computer room”.
Gender identity is far more complex than what you wear or what hobbies you partake in. It is more complicated than how you wear your hair or the toys that you played with as a child. Many trans* men proudly proclaim that they never liked dresses, they always kept their hair short, they were a ‘tom boy’. They keep anything ‘feminine’ close to their chest, secret and hidden lest someone clutch it and hold it aloft as ‘proof’ that they are not trans* enough.
This is my confession: in many ways, I was not a typically masculine child. My parents granted me the freedom to express myself without fear or judgement. I loved thePower RangersandPolly Pocketequally. I had long, flowing blond hair and perpetually scabby knees. I dabbled in make-up, played dress-up and skateboarded too fast down steep hills like I had some kind of death wish.
These things are not what make me a man. Equally, they do not make me less of one
The hardest part of coming out, for me, was not pronouns or family or work. It was the pressure to disconnect myself from certain aspects of my childhood, the person that I had once been (and still am, in many ways). To edit myself – talk about my eighth birthday and leave out the fairy castle cake, paint my experiences in blue rather than pink or purple. It was the sudden revelation that I could not talk about my first boyfriend, or any boyfriend, without it feeling somehow socially unacceptable, without someone double-taking or their smile freezing on their face.
I felt ashamed of the ballet class I took when I was five, the dress I wore to my prom, the snapshots on the walls that damned me for my ‘girlhood’. Like somehow, if I was a ‘real man’, I wouldn’t have or shouldn’t have partaken in these things. I erased whole sections of my childhood, consciously locked them away and didn’t talk about them for fear of being judged. Of being told I wasn’t really trans*, that my interests or hobbies or the way I looked took away my credibility.
I would never tell a cis boy that he can’t do ballet, or play with make-up, or dress up in pink. I would never tell him that those things mean he’s not a ‘real’ boy. Yet I still felt the shame associated with that, and still judged myself by those arbitrary standards.
Many of us boast about hating dresses from an early age, or about wanting to be Spiderman for Halloween like that somehow validates our masculinity. Like we have to dress up our childhood as a stereotypical boyhood in order to be real, or to be taken seriously. But if we liked to knit, or our favourite colour was pink, or we went to prom in a dress, that’s okay. It doesn’t define us. We can talk about that without being less of a man. It doesn’t make us fake, it doesn’t invalidate our gender, and it isn’t shameful.
We are not born knowing that the colour pink is for girls and that the colour blue is for boys. Gender isn’t formed by what you wear, what you do, what you like or how you express yourself. Gender is what’s inside you, and no one can define that but yourself. No matter what you looked like or how you expressed yourself as a child. My name is Michael, and I am a man who had a fairy castle cake for my eighth birthday. And I’m okay with that.
This is really interesting. A lot of trans* people are insecure about parts of their childhood in which they liked pink (or blue) or played with dolls (or cars). As this person points out, gender isn’t defined by what you wear, do, or like (or what you have worn, done, or liked in the past). Just like how liking traditionally masculine stuff doesn’t make you a trans* man, not liking those things (or having not liked those things in your childhood) doesn’t invalidate your gender identity.
i wrote this! super strange when something you wrote pops up on your dash!
panic station for a grammy
Being a girl costs a lot of freakin’ money.
Or maybe it’s because I’m starting from scratch.
Happy? The world is too fucked up to be happy. Prepare yourself for life to suck, because it will. You have to do things you don’t like. You have to do things you don’t want to do with people you don’t want to be with. You have to live places where you don’t want to be. Deal with it. Get prepared.
Sad? People have it worse than you. Count your blessings. You have food, even if it’s just ramen and old cereal. You have a house. You’re not a child sex slave. You’re in college, for fucks sake. You don’t know how lucky you are.
Feelings? Who cares. No one does. Feelings don’t matter. They’re just in your head. Ignore them. But.. how?