Hi all,
Thanks again for the input.
Virginia,
I understand what you're saying about correspondence. I agree. The "Big 'I'" that yearns to be free is not different, really, than the "Little 'I'" that gets me through my day. The connection is there so I realize I'm never completely invisible, so to speak. Still, once in a while, I hurt. And who said life was free of pain? Oh no, not I!
Kimberly, Anita,
Thanks for your posts, gals.
Although the presence of Roxanne in my life (a presence I'm very grateful for) may have something to do with all this, the core issue remains mine alone. I need to figure out, as Virginia so often says, what "CJ" is worth to me. I remember vividly what Kathy--Amanda Bower's wife (and a one-time SO member of this board)--said a few years ago about her attraction to crossdressers: she's put off by CD's who aren't at ease with, and who've yet to reach some peace of mind about, who they are as crossdressers and she's quite taken with those who are and who have. It scares me to think that, even after all this time, I may not be completely at ease with who I am. I think one of the reasons for this is that, obviously, I'm not completely sure who I am (and, here, I can hear Jeannie, up in the peanut gallery, throwing confetti down on me while screaming, "Of course you aren't, you silly cow! Who is?"
). Well, I still have my fine-bristled brushes in hand and my pots of colourful paint around me; the work of art that is my life is nowhere near finished. I'm still painting.
Curly,
I liked the essay. I really did. However, I've found it harder and harder, over the years, to look at my life that way. I used to hold this very Platonic belief that the body is a thing apart from the mind or soul. In Plato's view, the body, far from being "the temple of the soul," is "a prison for the spirit." This worked well for me, this way of seeing, as it was doubly the case, given the fact that my gender dysphoria almost forced me to regard my body as something truly alien to my "true self" (and for a radical instance of this "physical self-alienation," look up
Body Integrity Identity Disorder). While it may be that "I am not my body," it would be a mistake to believe that "I am only my mind or brain." Without my body (and, of course, I include my brain as part of my body), I would not have a mind (under normal circumstances, that is). The opposite is true, as well (at least, for me); I cannot have--or be--a mind if I don't first have a body. Brains make minds. In fact, it's what they do best.
I've come to see myself as what I like to call a "brainmindbodysoulheartspirit." Yeah, cumbersome, I know. But much closer to the truth (as I discern it) than saying, "I have--or am--a body" or "I have--or am--a mind." Being a brainmindbodysoulheartspirit has the distinct advantage of, on the one hand, making clear the relationship between what's physical about who I am and what's non-physical about who I am (however conceptual it may be) and, on the other hand, of bypassing the thorny issue of how, exactly, my mind (emotions, thoughts, feelings) influence my body (and vice versa).
Now, I understand what Ms. Sandin is talking about. As a person not only living with, but thriving despite, a physical disability, she has good reason to state the the condition her body's in has no bearing on her sense of self. But she cannot deny that her withered arm is hers and nobody else's. Or, at the very least, she isn't--for some obscure psychological reason--forced to deny that it's hers. This isn't the case with someone who has a transgendered identity. Take someone with a severe enough gender dysphoria and chances are that person will not recognize his body (or those parts of his anatomy that mark his gender) as his own. Further, if Ms. Sandin had been taught to "devalue" herself--as people belonging to sexual or gender minorities are taught to, both directly and indirectly--rather than value herself, she may not have come to feel the same way about her body.
Having said this, Curly, I also understand why you posted the link. There is a definite parallel between Lisa Sandin's body and, for instance, my own. Both bodies can be construed as having the potential to limit the development of a healthy sense of self-esteem. Both bodies can be thought of as potential prisons for our spirit. Yet, they need not be so. But I have to tell you, Curly, it takes a hell of a strong spirit--one that thirsts badly for "freedom in the soul"--to overcome the limits imposed by either a dysfunctional body or an "alien" body. It's questionable whether this can be achieved with little or no support from our social environment (or worse, with active discouragement from our social environment). When those around me will stop seeing me as bizarre, weird, perverted, sinful, or mentally ill, perhaps my body will stop being anathema to me.
Much more room is now made to accommodate people who, like Lisa Sandin, are "differently abled" (a term I loathe, by the way), despite the occasional look of pity she may get from some people. The same is rarely true of people who are "differently gendered" (or differently anything that has to do with differences of the mind rather than of the body). The reason is simple: most people are still labouring under the misconception that an "abnormality" of the body is not under the control of an individual's will while an "abnormality" of the mind is. This is simply not true. And transgendered people, amongst others, know this. But most people still don't. Hence the need for education. That room is made in society for someone because her body is different is a great thing. That no room is made for someone whose mind is different is not such a good thing. Generally, people will find it much easier to deal with visible minorities than with invisible ones. Often, invisible minorities choose to remain invisible precisely because they're keenly aware of the (moral, religious, psychological) censure they'll face should they make their existence known. And the kicker is this: it matters little how morally upright, spiritual, and law-abiding members of some of these invisible minorities may be, they're still seen as defective or dysfunctional by most people who cling to traditional mores and community standards (people who Virginia sometimes calls "the great unwashed masses").
Anyway, sorry, Curly; this whole post is a digression, I think. My point was that Lisa Sandin is a butterfly born. She may be born missing an appendage but her capacity for flight remains unchanged despite it. Her wings (her soul, her spirit) have not been damaged. Some days--not always, but some days--I'm very much aware that my own wings are still glued to my body. And they still abide in darkness. On those days, I hurt. But only on those days.
Love,
CJ
