Marginalized Perfection
because the cost of imperfection is often too much for queer and trans communities to face
I’m not perfect.
I think that’s a good place to start, and I do enjoy being honest.
Sometimes I have a bad habit of tracking dirt and mud into the house from my gardening adventures. Asking for directions when driving the car is impossible. If you try to call me, my phone might be off or not charged or on silent for days. I’ve yelled at my kids. I’ve forgotten birthdays and anniversaries.1
That’s just the easy list. I’d rather not admit to the other things where I’m so much less perfect.
And if I do admit those things, will you blame my transness?
This is the paradox. As the member of a marginalized community, my right to exist – to have healthcare and representation and visibility – all rests on how I am seen and perceived by the mainstream. If I step out of line, I risk having my queerness used against me.
And if you’re laughing about this, please enjoy all the following references.
LGBT inclusive education programs are to blame for a decline in grade averages.
“It’s sad […] whether they are teaching radical environmentalism or homosexuality. Can you imagine that they are teaching this instead of math and science? And they are. And Margaret’s right, that’s the reason our test scores are so shockingly low compared with the world.”
Hurricanes have happened because of Texas’ failure to enact an anti-trans bathroom bill.
Gay men were blamed for HIV, then for COVID, now for MonkeyPox.
Lots of us were responsible for the 9/11 attacks. Just ask Jerry Falwell.
“God has protected America wonderfully these 225 years. And since 1812, this is the first time that we've been attacked on our soil and by far the worst results. Throwing God out successfully with the help of the federal court system, throwing God out of the public square, out of the schools. The abortionists have got to bear some burden for this because God will not be mocked. And when we destroy 40 million little innocent babies, we make God mad. The pagans and the abortionists and the feminists and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People for the American Way — all of them who have tried to secularize America, I point the finger in their face and say 'you helped this happen.'"
We’re responsible for other natural disasters, too, like floods, fires, meteor showers (okay, I couldn’t find a news article for it, but it’s there somewhere).
We broke Rome (apparently). Was it that fragile?
We’re even to blame for our own deaths.2
Sure, these are all far-fetched items played out by conservative soapbox types who want to grab attention and get people angry. Some of them are even effective. Misinformation is a big market.
But the bigger penalty for any marginalized community is the one we pay when any one of our members steps “out of line” and acts in a way that makes the rest of us “look bad.”
This happens when a queer person gets divorced.
It happens when our children get into trouble, especially if they get arrested for it.
It happens when we fail to get a promotion or lose a job.
It happens when we are homeless or houseless.
This happens when a queer person murders someone.
It happens when a queer person commits any crime, no matter how small.
It happens when one of us commits domestic abuse or violence.
It even happens when we speak out in an angry voice.
Put on a smile. Say nice things. Be polite. Don’t correct others so much. Just… get along.
I have struggled with these feelings throughout all of adulthood as a queer person. I know that I need to put out a strong image of the calm, even-toned, collected queer person who can work with anyone, who will laugh at all the right jokes in polite groups, the kind of person who won’t go against the grain too loudly.
I need this. I need to be seen in this way so that I am granted the space I need to exist. I actively portray this perfection out of desperation to keep the things I need for survival. Things like my right to marry the person I love, to adopt my own children, to hold down a job, to own a home, to see a doctor, to travel, to vote, to expect a modest count of civil rights.
But what if I have a bad day? What if my emotions get the better of me? What will you think then?
Will you blame testosterone for my outburst? Will you think that I am emotionally unstable and unfit as a parent/employee/home owner/dog owner? Will you question whether I should have access to healthcare or employment or housing or civil rights? Did I deserve what happened? Was it justified because of who I am?
I have lived with this fear of my own imperfection for so long. There are things in my past I’ve never told anyone about, things that are shameful and hidden and secret, things that would make others nod knowingly and say, “Well, you know why that happened.” Because being queer, belonging to a marginalized community, there are so many eyes already watching and judging every action in every moment. How could I, or anyone like me, just happen to be a normal person who has a bad experience when there is this easy surface-level thing to hold accountable?
What if I told you about those things?
What if I told you I was abused, physically and emotionally, by a spouse? And how does your feeling about that shift when I tell you that she was gay? What if I told you that I was sexually assaulted? Maybe you would feel sympathetic, maybe you would care a great deal. Does your opinion change when I tell you that the person who did it is also transgender? And for me, how do I talk about these experiences without feeling like I am harming my own community? How do we move forward and heal from these kinds of trauma when we must protect the very people who have hurt us? My confession is damaging to all of us.
And so we strain and hold our breath, we smile through the difficult moments, we refrain from sharing.
We pretend to be perfect.
What does that cost us?
Your (very imperfect) trans friend,
Robin
In fairness, she forgot our anniversary that year, too. We both remembered a week late.
Gay and Trans panic defenses have a long history of being used to justify the murder of queer folks.
Thank you for writing this - I never realized, never even thought about, a pressure a trans person would feel to be perfect lest their imperfection be used to judge the entire community. If my wife or I screw up no one will judge other straight/cisgendered couples (correct terminology?) by our screw up. It is a privilege I have that I never recognized before.
My son's online gaming friend of the past year and a half only recently let him know that she is transgender. He adores their time together and I hear him laughing hysterically late at night online with her. He didn't believe her at first, but when he realized she was being honest they stayed up until 6am talking.
I don't know why this anti-trans thing got going and I am horrified at the meanness and cruelty done, and shocked how these haters are SO PROUD of themselves... I wonder what the hell is wrong with these folks who are so filled with hate over something like transgender that does not affect them and they probably never even come across in real life (that they are aware of).
I went back to my son and hour after he told me about her and shared with him that I am proud that somehow she felt safe enough to talk to him and that he is being a true and good friend to her.
💜 Thank you for sharing. I’m going to share it, too.
Falwell was a particularly vile creature, along with his tele-evangelist fraud family. (I love Hitchens’ slam on him on CNN.) And they are/were only the attack dogs of the deep, razor-wire-laden, hate-filled waters.