Yesterday I was at a college alumni event (one of those things that colleges in the USA hold to get the alumni stoked so they'll open their checkbooks), and I was talking with a classmate that I'd never seen before, and eventually I mentioned that I was trans.
She kept saying, "you're so brave."
I've never understood why my transitioning should be seen as "brave." I've always seen it as being like jumping out the window when the building you're in is engulfed with flames -- you jump because you don't want to die and your chances are better if you jump. I got onto the path that eventually led to transition because I realized I could either move ahead or I could just lie down and wait to die, and I didn't want to die. By the time transition came into the picture, it was just the next logical step and I could just follow the rather well-worn trail that my trans foremothers had blazed (cf.: AMC trail crews.) And, to be honest, I've been very lucky: my transition and now living as a woman has been a breeze (by my standards.)
No, that didn't take any courage.
What I really have to summon all my courage for is just getting out of bed in the morning. Living my life and being me often feels like a heavy load, and I'm always afraid my strength will run out before the end of the day.
I think I know where this comes from: it's how I felt for most of my growing up. Every morning I lived in dread of the events that would certainly occur to make me feel unbearably awful, defective, morally defective, and I didn't know how I would survive them. And every evening I did my best to forget everything that had happened that day and lose myself in a fantasy world where neither I nor the Hell I lived in existed.
PTSD sucks
