I’m out, if you haven’t noticed.
I don’t conceal my identity as a trans* or queer person, and I don’t wish to. It makes me happy to talk to people about being who I am, about trans* and queer issues, and for them to know more about me. This makes me feel, weirdly enough, safe. I wear my fear like armor, and no one can touch me. It gives people the information they need in order to respect me, or at least try to understand me and where I’m coming from as a human being. Without this piece of vital information, a person might not be able to see why I’m uncomfortable while at the beach, or why I need to go home early to take off my binder, or why I don’t want to come with them to the bathroom.
In the context of relationships and sex, me being open about being trans* allows a potential partner to quickly evaluate whether they are comfortable pursuing a sexual relationship further. Based on their reaction it also allows me to evaluate whether I feel safe with them. Just me telling them that I’m trans* opens the door to have a conversation about it, and about all of the other things you should talk about before sex, like consent, how I want my body treated, and what terminology to use, etc. More on that another time.
The point is my outness makes me feel safe, but I have the privilege of being out both socially and professionally. My friends and family give me a lot of support and my career has not yet been hindered by my transition. This is not nearly the case for everyone.
The trans community of the internet occasionally makes it a point to talk about stealth vs. out, and has made it a point to shame people who went stealth. Some people argue that being stealth does nothing for the trans community. Some people are very much against stealth shaming. Everyone’s opinion is valid, because everyone has different experiences, and it’s a complicated issue that changes depending on the context.
For me, stealth shaming has no place. Ever. Each and every individual trans person is allowed to do whatever they want with their identity and their body. Every trans person is radically different, and depending on the why we identify, our race, class, nationality, etc. can affect the way that we interact with people on a daily basis, and whether we choose to be “out” to them.
For example, I’m not going to correct the woman at the grocery store who wants to see my ID while I’m buying a bottle of prosecco, even if it causes me a lot of dysphoria, and if she makes a rude comment like “Oh I thought for sure you were a boy! How funny!” or “Oh! You’re actually a woman!” It’s not worth it, because she has an ID in her hands which to her is basically the word of god. I’m also not going to out myself to the person on the phone who misgenders me in a language I myself am not yet comfortable with.
For me, the everyday misgendering is a part of life. When it gets to the point that I’m perceived as male more of the time, then I’ll have different battles to fight, primarily bathrooms and random encounters with jerks on the street. But on a larger scale, I can be out and can take comfort in the safety net that I’ve woven over the past few months.
If I worked in a conservative rural American town in a blue collar job where all of my coworkers were Westboro Baptists, I would have to rethink my outness. Not only would it be uncomfortable, but it would be downright unsafe to be out. I have the privilege of not being in this situation, and I try to make up for people who can’t be out by being REALLY REALLY OUT.
Outness is situational. Stealth is situational. And both are dependant on how other people perceive us, and on the privilege we have. Don’t ever tell someone they should be “more out.” It’s not your life, your brain, or your body.