I have a voice now.  It’s strident, confrontational, and arrogantly self-confident.  It also comes from a place of deep hurt and anger.  But it’s a voice, and it’s more than I’ve ever known.

Years of silence have taken a heavy toll on me, physically, emotionally, and psychologically.  There is incredible hurt, yes, and there is incredible anger, yes, and both are due to a profound longing for identity.  I have spent most of my life playing by society’s rules, coming to self-definition through the terms that others have provided for me.  Some of these rules have come from my parents, some from friends, some from schoolyard bullies, some from complete strangers – the list goes on.

It’s only really in the last year that I have finally come to terms with my identity and it is only recently that I have begun to reconstruct it on my own terms.  I have come to my identity through experimentation, through study and application of theory, through worry and betrayal, but also through acceptance and support as well…

…and in this time I have come to find my voice, perhaps for the first time in my life.  I finally have the knowledge, both of self and of theory, to be able to articulate myself.  I finally have an understanding of the world around me and in that clarity I have learned that I was right all along.  I let society run roughshod over me for more than two decades but no more.

I have my voice and I’m not afraid to use it.  So listen to me carefully: I’m trans.

DO YOU HEAR ME?

This is the idea at least.  Having my voice, being able to scream my truth for the first time in my life is supposed to be empowering.  And it has been, more than I could possibly express, but…

But.

Something was off, something was bothering me.  And then I came across this post (which is excellent by the way) by hauntedtimber.  Not only does she make some excellent points, I directly saw myself in her.  Among other things, the following passage could almost be a passage about me – “I exist at the nexus of many forms of privilege and disadvantage. I’m not simply a woman, a transgender person, and a lesbian. I’m also white, able-bodied and American. I’m not poor. I have a college education. I live in a clean, quiet, safe neighborhood. I pass as cissexual. In many respects, I take my comfort for granted.”

There are a few nuances that differ, but by and large this is true about me.  But what really got me was the description of the radical feminism and the role that it plays in my life right now.

“Radical feminism appealed to me because it placed the blame for the fucked up ways of patriarchy squarely upon men’s shoulders. No words were minced. No excuses were made. Radical feminism was a fiery, take-no-shit approach to dealing with sexist oppression. It appealed to me because its intensity reflected my own anger and hurt. Finding one’s anger and hurt reflected in a philosophy and a movement can be a beautiful thing. It can provide a space of healing. It places the blame for the crazy messed-up feelings upon the true source of your pain and it makes no apologies. It turns the pain away from your core and aims it outward. It brings relief from self-hatred. It brings relief from the craziness. It’s powerful. It’s wonderful. It allows you to simply[sic]grow.”

This is very true to me.  Extremely.  It has provided an amazing space for healing because for once in my life I don’t have to the shoulder the entire burden of society’s collective ignorance.  Kyriarchy, and indeed, patriarchy, would still deign to oppress me but I know where blame lies now, without equivocation.

The problem though, is that if radicalism is such a source of empowerment and strength as it has been for me, why do I worry about it?  Why do I feel as though my radicalization and indeed, the discovery of my voice, are problematic?  Is it because I tend to be (or at least used to be) overly forgiving and obliging and it’s against my nature to be strident?  Is it because I’ve so deeply internalized society’s message that voice and identity are wrong if you’re a marginalized body?  Perhaps there are elements of those two but ultimately I think the greatest truth is in hauntedtimber’s words: “There is a danger, though. If one fails to move forward—beyond the hurt and the brokenness—one can become mired in anger, hatred and fear.”

I think I sensed this danger and I have effectively been sitting at a crossroads as a result.  Moving forward, not only forward but doing so in a constructive manner – that is the part I am struggling with.  My anger and my pain are both entirely valid and I will never try to claim that they are not.  And by rights, this society deserves to be taken to task.  Cis people absolutely, without a doubt, deserve every bit of anger I can muster against them, every bit of pain that I can muster against them.

But at what cost?  My soul?

I was writing a response to hauntedtimber and I had a mild epiphany.

I’m tired.  I’m really, really tired.  I’ve had to struggle so hard to come to the place where I am now.  I have had to spend obscene amounts of time thinking about these things since puberty.  I’ve had to contend with myself as well as the overbearing weight of society’s judgment.  I’ve spent untold amounts of time, reading and studying merely to find an identity that most people can take for granted.  My brain is constantly on high gear trying to analyze society.  Ever since I found my voice I’ve been taking the fight to the oppressors, trying to fight on my terms rather than theirs.  But it’s exhausting.  It’s exhausting having to justify your own identity over and over and over.  It’s exhausting having to explain basic concepts to people over and over and over.  It’s simply… exhausting.

And the looming sense of burnout has whipped me into frenzy.  I fight harder, I advocate more, I speak out as much as I can.  In a metaphorical sense I am screaming at the top of my lungs right now.  I’m doing it because I feel that burnout coming and I’m afraid that my voice will not get heard before then. 

But perhaps I’m only ensuring that my voice will give out faster.

Where then, is balance?