Womb Man Has a New Subtitle

Androgynous Kris  by Greg Barton

 

I’ve been toying with the subtitle of Womb Man to help it more adequately reflect what’s inside. It’s still pretty close to the original subtitle, but just different enough to give it what it needs to accomplish that.

 

Womb Man is less than 10,000 words in length as it stands now–more a booklet than a book.  It shouldn’t take more than a couple hours to read, if that. I hope it will help explain what being transgender is like “from the inside” and that it will help alleviate the discomfort that causes transgender folks (or intersex folks and any other member of the gender spectrum other than cisgender  and heterosexual) to feel unnatural and unable to enter fully into life as who they genuinely are.

 

I’ve been an outsider all my life because I hid (as best I could) the way I felt about my assigned gender–whether the assignment was natural or surgical. I still don’t know–will never know–if I was born intersex and altered to fit the female gender binary (the one I least identify with) because, although intersex gender-assignment surgeries were common when I was born (usually ‘intersex’ to ‘female’), no records were ever kept to hide the fact from the people most affected by the decision (the infant itself) and others. (Intersex was deemed a correctable “birth defect” back then. No more. These days it’s illegal to assign/re-assign gender surgically until the child is old enough to decide who he or she is and what s/he wants.)

 

I never dated or married.  I separated myself from that opportunity simply by way of never letting anyone know (except once) who I really am (as a gender)–and that ended badly. (The story is in the book.)

 

Have I been lonely?  Not really, unless I don’t fully understand the word. I’m not sure what loneliness is, never having felt what being part of a genuine couple is.  And I’ve seen chronically-miserable couples who are a lot lonelier than I have ever felt. (Mismatched couples are significantly lonelier, I expect.)

 

I’ve probably substituted (with imagination) what I’ve denied myself (by remaining hidden and resolutely unavailable) in real life. I’m never alone: there is always something going on in my mind and I rarely visit what’s there if it doesn’t serve me in some positive, uplifting way, because to do so would invite depression and “if only…”

 

• “…If only transgender was a societally-understood ‘thing’, the way it is now, when I was a grade school student and teenager, I could have embraced it then and transitioned and few would ever even remember me as female all these decades later…”

 

• “…If only I had put myself out there and sought out others who were like me (even though I didn’t know they existed back then!), I could be in a relationship now that has lasted decades and will last a lifetime…”

 

You can easily see what “if only…” gets you when you slog down that road:  self-pity, occasional (or perpetual) self-loathing, and pity from others. That’s such a dead end street. I certainly don’t want to hang around people who are on perpetual self-pity parties, so I decided a long time ago not to turn my brain into a welcoming pity pad for the “what ifs” in life.

 

Instead, I looked for other ways to enrich the life I was given. I invested my heart where it did the most good and felt the most at home: with critters, with writing and acting, with working at animal sanctuaries and in Hollywood, and with Carolyn and DeForest Kelley and other welcoming, accepting friends, whether I  outed myself to them or not (as I have done more frequently the past ten years since finding out about transgender and realizing that it’s a defining part of who I really am). All of the people I involve myself with in a significant way are uniformly welcoming, loving, open and as genuine and refreshing as   pristine, light rainfall.

 

Celibacy has its rewards, you know. People can sense that I don’t have underlying “ulterior motives” on the rare occasions when I truly befriend them. They feel utterly safe with me. They, too, have secrets that they feel they can share with me, knowing I’ll never “out” them and that I love them without limit and honor their truth and their trust.

 

Everyone I’ve ever known at all well has regrets and moments they wish they could revisit and correct. (Some have entire lives they wish they could revisit and correct, based on what they’ve learned in hindsight.) I’m the last person on earth to judge anyone, because I’ve always lived the life of a self-imposed, formerly confused and questioning, outsider. I’m sure my sexuality has been discussed and theorized endlessly by people who know me less well; all they needed to do is ask, but speculation might fit and confirm their various agendas better, or they might feel uncomfortable about out-and-out inquiring.

 

My nephew’s mother-in-law asked me one time why I never married, and I said, “If you want the answer, I’ll tell you. But it might make you uncomfortable and that’s the last thing I want to happen.”  She said, “Tell me.” I did.  She remains one of the most loving, accepting human beings I’ve ever met. She’s a treasure!

 

So these days I’m living one of earth’s most transparent lives. Avid readers of my books and close friends know everything about me that’s worth knowing…and plenty that isn’t, probably! But vulnerability and transparency create fond bonds. Anything less is a subtle sort of subterfuge, based largely on fear (false evidence appearing real).

 

Until you feel you can fully trust the good, the bad, and the (successfully or unsuccessfully) hidden parts of yourself with someone else, your relationships will always remain superficial and anxiety-provoking. At least they do for me.

 

So I’m finished playing for 100% universal approval. Universal approval has never been even the faintest of possibilities for anybody. (Anybody! A few have come close, but they,too, have detractors. I’ve even read comments from individuals who have disparaged De a time or two–but they weren’t people who actually knew or interacted with him; they were on the fringes, more than likely jealous individuals.)

 

The people who continue to love me are the ones I want to be with, anyway.

 

Take me as I am: a cracked pot. But just look at all the light that’s coming through the cracks!

 

I hope you’re still with me, but I’m not holding my breath. It’s fine if you’re not.

 

To the rest of you, who do not (or cannot) accept me as I am, you belong to a different tribe and I wish you well!

 

Just, please, do no harm (to me or to others like me) as you make your way through life. Be kind. Everyone is struggling with some kind of challenge that you probably know nothing about, never having walked a mile in their shoes.

 

Humane, compassionate people live in all tribes.  Remain humane to those outside your tribe and you’re good to go!