Aunty Lauren’s All-Aussie Trans Adventures: Confidence and Safety

A couple of weeks ago I had a night shift at work, which is usually an excuse to wear a full face of makeup. Typically black eye-shadow and dark lipstick. It’s a good way to regularly practice my skills, and it’s fun!

After my shift I had to pop into the shops for some cat food or something, as I left the place after being casually misgendered by the kind-hearted but clueless cashier I passed a young fellow in his early twenties, as we made eye contact he gave me probably the shittiest sneer I have ever seen on a human face.

I don’t get particularly shocked by this sort of behaviour by strangers, instead I just get filled with unbridled trans-rage. Any ugly sneer at me, I take as an ugly sneer at all the trans and gender non-conforming I care about. And so I turned around and asked if he had a problem and he scurried off without a word.

Confidence and visibility are extremely important to me. I’m only a few months into my transition, so I don’t know what the future holds for my hot bod but the possibility I was never pass as a cis-gender woman is something I consider often.

At first, this was a huge concern for me, as it must be with a lot of newly out trans people, but within the past few months as I’ve become friends with lovely folks both online and off, the importance of passing has dwindled. As I’ve immersed myself in the community, I’ve learned to be proud to be visibly trans.

Initially, the possibility of not passing for me was equated to myself looking like a ‘freak,’ a ‘weirdo’ or ‘ugly.’ If this sounds like bigotry directed at trans people, that’s because it was. It was my own internalised transphobia. And while I would never consider a non-passing trans person a freak, I was so willing to label myself a freak. But what’s the difference? If I am considering the hypothetical non-passing trans person I could be as a freak, I was, in a way, considering every other non-passing trans person a freak. I was simply directing that bigotry at myself while not being outwardly mean to others. If I’m a freak, what does that make others? ‘Um,’ and ‘uh’ says past me.

I’ve grown so much in the past year it’s almost painful. The restructuring of my values, the widening of my empathy. It’s been a beautiful time as I’ve met others, listened to their stories and even had the chance to help and inspire others. I can’t stress how wonderful that feels. Now I consider being a visibly trans person in my local community to be a sort of holistic way of supporting the people I care about. Visibility is an important factor on the path to normalisation and acceptance.

But while usually all I experience is a few harmless lingering glances from strangers, my experience at the shops reminded me that a lot of people are going to disapprove of me just being who I am. And while the dude at the supermarket didn’t want to throw down in the alley and witness the might of my flaming dragon kick, there are others who certainly would. The world, too often, is not a safe place for people like me. Particularly for trans women of colour.

I am now learning to master the balancing act of positive visibility and personal safety. Being a visible member of a marginalised and often disdained (by huge assholes) group always carries the risk of violence and assault. And it’s about managing that risk and understanding safe and potentially unsafe environments. The mere fact that I feel I have to consider this just to exist fills me with the aforementioned trans-rage, but it’s a consideration that all women all over the world have had to take into account since forever. ‘Welcome to womanhood’ said one of my friends as I expressed my concerns.

To me, it’s in a consideration of my environment. If I’m at a pub for example, I make, probably unfair in some cases, snap judgments on the clientele of the place. I consider the staff and their familiarity with me, I consider how rowdy or drunk the strangers around me are. There are so many little unconscious calculations that go into determining a simple thing like whether I can comfortably use the women’s restroom or if I’ll be confronted, as I have before, by an intoxicated patron telling me that I couldn’t be there and that I had to leave (I didn’t leave, by the way. I peed and I would pee again.)

Making these considerations and calculations, looking at the world around me and reading and listening to other people’s stories has led me to decide to learn how to look after myself if a situation ever escalated into violence. There are proponents within the LGBTQIA+ community for self-defence training, especially as we witness a spike around the world in homophobic and transphobic violence. In part due to a backlash to increased visibility of issues affecting the LGBTQIA+ community, and the normalisation of radical far-right voices in politics playing kickball with our lives. So let me be clear; the fact that I and others within my community have to even consider learning how to fight off attackers speaks to a staggering failure of a society that still struggles to respect our lives (and often struggles to decide whether it should respect our lives.)

I am one of the proponents for self-defence within our community. We too often face a harsh reality, but in saying this I want to stress something; that it’s not our fault. It’s not your fault if you were made the victim of violence, it’s not your fault if you’ve been harassed or been made to feel scared just for existing. It’s never, ever the fault of the victim for succumbing to an attack. Ever.

Represent your community, learn how to defend yourself, but remember who the burden of responsibility for bigotry and hatred lies with (hint: it’s not you.)

Shout out to my public toilet ally Alyssa for being one of my best girrrrls and my professional boxer brother Dan for helping my perfect my hadouken)

Lauren Butcher

(Read more of Lauren’s work here)

Image:- Danica Zuks


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