George has had a relatively uneventful
path compared to many of his peers, but he struggled too. After offi cially changing his name and gender marker in 5th grade, most classmates treated George as they always had, but occasionally he’d talk about teasing on the school bus or vandalism of his locker. That winter, I began a six-month legal battle with his insurance company, which off ered benefi ts only for transgender people over the age of 18. Isolation from kids who related to George’s challenges led to a year-long search for community support. And then there was the endless discussion about bathrooms, prompted by George’s uneasiness using public facilities amid fears of being outed. We worked through each challenge, supported by new friends in the transgender community. My true-grit kid continued to shine through; growing into himself more each day. It’s been fi ve years since George and I
had that fi rst conversation about gender. In that time, he’s become a spokesperson for transgender kids like him, participating in panel discussions, speaking at rallies and leading his middle school Gender and Sexuality Alliance (GSA). I’m a leader for a local non-profi t organisation centered on transgender and gender-expansive youth and their families. For me, telling my story to educators, legislators and, most importantly, parents, is my obligation to George, passing the knowledge I wish I’d had when he was little to those who can benefi t from it today. This is not an account of George’s transition. That’s a story for him to tell, if he so chooses. Looking through my eyes, George was not the person who needed to transition at all. He’s always known who he is. It was the rest of us who needed to change, to see him. And now that I have, I can’t stop marveling at the tenacious, beautiful, creative, silly and authentic person he is. George changed everything I thought I knew about being human and true to yourself. He is a gift.
* I use the pronouns he, him and his
throughout this essay to honor my child’s true identity. When G was born, we mistakenly thought he was a girl.
Ali Yocom (she, her pronouns) is the mom to two boys Alex, 19 and George, 14. She is the co- chair of Transforming Families MN, a peer led organisation that supports gender expansive and trans youth and their families. When not parenting, working and advocating, Ali travels the world, makes and appreciates art and writes about the adventure of it all.
24
‘What’s fabulous about b
clinical responses to systemic Y. Gavriel Ansara
All names of people coming for therapy have been removed and potentially identifying details changed or composited for safety and privacy.
Asma, a young woman from a Middle
Eastern background, was wondering how soon she could change the assigned ‘boy name’ on her driver’s licence to one that she felt refl ected her own gender and personality. Her friends and co-workers at the university cafeteria where she worked knew and respected her as ‘just a regular girl’, which is how she understood herself and how she craved to be acknowledged. Unfortunately, her conservative parents insisted she at end her favourite cousin’s wedding in traditional ‘male’ at ire and suppress any ‘feminine’ gestures that might make their guests uncomfortable. She described posing for the wedding photos that would become permanent keepsakes of their family history, while smiling with eyes that were at turns brimming with unshed tears or simply “dead inside, with the light switched off ”. She had known the wedding would be a turning point, a boundary violation so fundamental it would compel her to resist any future eff orts to get her to ‘act like a boy’. Aſt er the wedding, she would be done with becoming invisible to make other family members comfortable. She described the wedding as a kind of unavoidable and spiritually violent coming- of-age rite. Like scarifi cation or branding, she knew the wedding would leave an indelible mark on her that went so far beyond her comfort that she would fi nally feel able to tell her parents, “No”. No, she would not be dressing in stereotypically ‘male’ clothing or removing her makeup before she leſt her room in the future. T ere would be no more furtive sprints from her bedroom to the front door to prevent her parents’ discomfort at seeing her dressed as herself on her way to work. Asma came to see me soon aſt er the wedding. Tears streamed down her face as she described not feeling welcome in her family or her community. If things did not change soon, she hissed through grit ed teeth, then she would lose her family altogether.
Asma’s experience is characteristic
of a kind of trauma routinely faced by many people of trans and/or non-binary experience, and poorly understood by many therapists: systemic trauma. Goldsmith et al. (2014) defi ned systemic trauma as the contextual aspects of institutions, cultures, communities, and families that contribute to trauma, maintain post-traumatic stress, and aff ect post-traumatic outcomes. T ese authors noted that empirical research on systemic trauma has been increasingly valued in the fi elds of health, nursing, social work, and human rights. Ansara (2010) and Ansara and Hegarty
(2012) defi ned cisgenderism as the ideology (system of thought and action) that invalidates people’s own understanding of their genders and bodies. Cisgenderism typically functions beyond the level of intentional and hostile acts by individuals. Unlike ‘cissexism’, which is a kind of discrimination directed at people due to being perceived as ‘trans’, cisgenderism addresses forms of invalidation beyond the ‘cis/trans’ binary. Although cisgenderism can aff ect anyone, it is oſt en ubiquitous in everyday life for women and men of trans experience and for non-binary people (people who do not identify as either women or men): when a non-binary person on a bus smiles at a child and the parent remarks, “Say hello to that nice lady!”; when another person on the bus scowls and asks, “What are you?” or when a woman of trans experience tries to fi nd a safe place to pee and receives unfriendly glances, harassment, or even physical assault simply for using the toilet that matches her gender; or when a man of trans experience waiting for a routine medical appointment is called “She” by the receptionist and has to worry about his safety and privacy. In our quantitative content analysis of
peer-reviewed scientifi c research on children’s genders, Peter Hegarty and I (Ansara & Hegarty, 2012) documented two forms
Context 155, February 2018
‘What’s fabulous about being non-binary?’: Non-cisgenderist clinical responses to systemic trauma
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