I Was On Inside Amy Schumer for 2 minutes.

After I taped my interview a few weeks back I was really anxious about two things upon it airing: bigots and liberals attacking me or the show. My interview on Inside Amy Schumer just aired a couple nights ago. I got a lot of praise from both trans and cis gender people on Twitter (no bigots!) but ultimately I knew what was inevitably coming. Academics and SJWs were going to be offended on my behalf (and on behalf of all trans folk) because Amy and I had a very candid conversation about my body and other topics. There are people waiting to write their next think piece and a very public interview where a trans woman is asked about her genitals is a rule breaker in the social justice world. (Whether or not the person being asked happens to be a trans woman who finds it particularly empowering to discuss her body and sexuality, as do many trans people I know.)

I think the more trans visibility there is in mainstream media; the more room we will allow for individuality. Like if the trans community were the Spice Girls I’d just be the funny, raunchy one instead of me having to lie about my personal boundaries in order to better represent a community that does it’s best to operate as a whole while we get our footing in the world. But it’s still early now, and some trans people are understandably scared that the flippant sex worker is going to screw up the rebranding process. We’ve watched some feminists call porn stars sluts and whores for years because of fear that they’d undo social progress for women. I understand the fear, I just don’t necessarily agree with it. So Amy got blamed first for not being well versed on the academic trans social political rule book before interviewing me and then I started getting blamed for not vetting the questions beforehand and basically for not being offended by the questions.

One article said it was humanizing and then another one would say it was dehumanizing. (Personally, saying one trans woman equals all trans women feels a little dehumanizing.) Even pieces from progressives that defend the show are still erasing my wherewithal and intentional responses. They seem to chalk it up to me not being as politically savvy as other visible trans women in media. While that may be true, I understand full well why it didn’t bother me. It’s funny how being a sex worker can make people feel they need to do all your thinking for you. I applaud every trans woman who honors her truth whether that means talking about something or choosing not to talk about something. I personally find it empowering and healing to talk openly about my anatomy and my sexuality in a fun, carefree way with a person who’s motives I trust. Let’s not forget I was on “Inside Amy Schumer”. Believe me, I would have been much more uncomfortable had I been asked about my penis on Charlie Rose. No offense, Charlie.

In summary, It’s the internet, so I know this won’t work. But I definitely don’t want more fighting. Especially if you think it’s on my behalf.

Born Bad.

     I’ve spent far too much of my life feeling apologetic for being different. I was an effeminate child and this was not something anybody was prepared to ignore in Richmond, Virginia. It only makes sense that I would grow up to continue the pattern of shame and embarrassment for my very existence into my adult years. All these strong males in my hometown were anything but when faced with an exceptionally small child who to say was “light in their loafers” would be a massive understatement. In fact, I didn’t even wear loafers, I outsmarted my mom into buying me a pair of platform flip-flops when I was 8 years old because the Spice Girls wore platforms. I still remember looking down and admiring how my toes hugged them even as I stood over my uncle’s grave. He had died from an overdose and from the outside I suppose I appeared to have my head slunk down in solemn contemplation but at such a young age I had simpler things on my mind, clearly.

      Every adult who encountered me as a child seemed to resent me. I came to expect it from men, but it always hurt more when a woman would be put off by my fluid, sing-song voice and makeshift rubber band pigtail bowl cut hybrid. I was all too aware of how uncomfortable I made the grown-ups feel and like any child psychologist will tell you, I internalized every last drop of it. I still remember every odd facial expression and every side comment made to another adult as if it would skip over my young ears. The seed was planted. I am feminine, I have no control over it, and being feminine is bad. Cue “Born Bad”. So naturally, I end up in a career where my morality is deemed debatable by a majority and I am forced to convince people endlessly that I’m not “bad” in spite of my unique gender identity or sexual honesty.

       It wasn’t until a few weeks ago in therapy I uncovered this narrative and how it was still tainting my view of myself and consequently my reality. I liken it to a dog on a chain. I would wander away from the stake in the ground and forget all about it until I inevitably felt the tug on my throat and returned to it. This narrative limited my freedom. Then I became a young adult, I discovered that my femininity did have some positive reinforcement when I hit 17. Boys didn’t seem to mind my girly walk and feminine charms once I started to hone my craft. For some unknown reason I didn’t seem to virilize with the rest of the rough necks and I was being admired by the burn outs and the odd balls who were willing to make some unusual sexual choices if at very least to feel more interesting. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t just sucking all these cocks for validation. Nothing was more intoxicating than taking out a guys foggy cock from his sweaty, unwashed jeans, and putting my mouth on it immediately. But while I satisfied my sexual hunger, the seed would still be there waiting.

      To be fair I might have been able to distract myself well into my thirties if I hadn’t accidentally found an extremely stable and loving relationship with my current partner. For me, my damage didn’t make itself known until I was profoundly happy. My natural inclination  when I uncover any personal distortions is to immediately share my finding with the countless other humans who I know are also suffering. Often I have to remind myself to fully digest and internalize these discoveries for myself first before quickly trying to share my new insight. Therapy has helped me to reassess my story and my worth before attempting a relationship with the world. All of our interactions are tainted by our own limitation and ability to understand ourselves and in turn our reality. I had to “fix my story”. This was tricky because this subconscious story of shame felt like innate fact as it had been planted in my mind at such a young age not unlike what organized religion does to so many.

    When I got to the core of my fears it came out in my therapist’s office as “I’m bad”. I paused for a moment and realized how insanely puerile that statement was. I pride myself on my unconventional empathy and nuanced approach to all human stories in yet when it came to my own all I could muster was “I am bad.” It hit me that the reason it sounded so oversimplified was because a child was saying it. With that realization, the spell had been broken. I blurted out, “The grown ups were bad. It wasn’t me!” That was a slightly better adjustment but didn’t ring quite as true as I thought it should. That line of thinking wasn’t worthy of the profound reality I think I deserve to dwell in now that I don’t hate myself. In that moment I learned the intelligent and supremely powerful notion of ambiguity. I learned how to have empathy for myself. I’m not going to start off by denying it to others. I touched my maturity for the first time recently and it was very healing.

Photo by Matthew Terhune Photography
Photo by Matthew Terhune Photography 2015