Lessons learned from when coming out goes bad

[Marlena Dahlstrom]

As mentioned, I went to the nail salon last Saturday en femme and consequently got color on my fingernails as well as my toenails. Since the color looked really nice and was light "natural" color that wasn't visible at distance, I decided to do an experiment in androgyny and leave it on Sunday.

Sundays I have a routine, I like to read the paper over brunch at a favorite restaurant. Over the months I've become friendly with one of the waitresses, Maria, a grandmotherly Latina. When I found out she likes going through the coupons in the Sunday paper, I made a point of giving them to her and to thank me, she gave me Christmas cookies during the holiday.

When she came over to pick up the coupons today, Maria immediately noticed the nail polish because it was similar to her color. The way she responded sounded like she found it kind of cute. Since she wasn't working the section where I was sitting, I told that if she had a minute, I'd share a secret with her.

A little later she came over and I said something to the effect that it wasn't the first time I'd worn polish, and pulled out one of my photos. She said I looked pretty and I thumbed through some of the other photos. I thought it went well. Oh was I wrong...

This afternoon, I stopped by a fast-food place to pick up a snack before the Super Bowl. I sat down behind a couple and unintentionally eavesdropped while waiting for my order. Gradually, I realized the woman (who was facing away from me) was Maria and she was talking about me. (Talk about coincidence...) She was telling her companion how she didn't know what to say and how the more I talked about it, the sicker she got to her stomach. Apparently it upset her enough that she talked to the restaurant manager about it.

Needless to say, listening to her was painful in so many ways. Painful to know that my crossdressing caused her physical revulsion. Painful to know that I'd misread the situation so badly. Painful to know that I'd made her so uncomfortable.

Just to clarify, I don’t feel bad as much about exposing her to something that her prejudices made her uncomfortable with, it’s more that because I was a customer, she didn’t feel comfortable saying how she felt.

I guess part of it is that confiding in her was tangential to our “professional” relationship. I don’t have any problem telling a sales clerk at a clothing store or make-up counter that I’m shopping for myself — it’s relevant to my purchase and if they want my business then they should serve me regardless of their personal feelings. If I’d come in en femme, then yeah, I would’ve expected the same. I dunno… this particular situation felt different.

Some days being trans just sucks...

But in the vein of "Why do we fall? So we can learn to pick ourselves up," here's some lessons learned (with much thanks to friends at another for helping my sort out my thoughts):

• I now have a greater appreciation why “I Will Survive” is the gay national anthem. Actually, I’m only half-joking. After an emotional beat-down — which I’m sure many gays experienced coming out in the 1970s — I can appreciate the affirmation of saying: You think I’d crumble / You think I’d lay down and die / Oh no, not I / I will survive. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, but I’m still here.
  
• Jude pointed out that we get so used to this being everyday, no big deal, that we forget that for much of the world, it’s not, and that we are perhaps the first trans person this person has ever met, up close and personal.
• What hurt the most was hearing that sort of reaction from someone I thought would be OK with it. It’s one thing to get stares and giggles while out, or to get a hostile reaction while doing outreach — I hate to say it, but I’m used to experiencing bigotry in that context. But in this case, part of me was kicking myself for misjudging someone so badly. In this case, I think I was a bit over-confident based on the the nail salon experience the day before.
• Sometimes you just never can tell how folks will react. Maria had seen my Halloween pictures of me as Little Red Riding Hood and seeming had gotten a kick out of them, and likewise seemed to enjoy the fact that I had painted nails that morning. So each coming out really is a bit of a leap of faith.
• While this incident went badly, I’m not going to let it outweigh all the positive ones I’ve had. Usually coming out is a liberating and positive experience. So I’d like to think I won’t be overly fearful of confiding in people in the future (although I admit I’m feeling a little gun-shy at the moment).
• While I’ve felt it’s important to show folks photos of me en femme to try to give people a sense that I’m not what they’re probably picturing — Klinger or Dr. Frank N. Furter – I need to be sure to ask if people are interested in seeing them, since it could be perceived as TMI and being exhibitionist in the wrong way. (Normally, I do but I mistakenly skipped based on Maria having seen past pictures, her enthusiasm for my nails, and me having told her that I’d share a secret with her if she was interested.) That’s one misstep I feel bad about. The other is putting Maria in a position where she felt cornered. It would’ve been one thing if I’d showed up en femme, in which case I would’ve expected to be treated like any other customers. But this was tangential to business but in a setting where she felt constrained by “commercial courtesy.”
• I’m not quite as fully self-accepting as I thought. Initially I did feel bad for making Maria so uncomfortable — and yeah, it was more than just for the reasons mentioned. There was a part of me that felt bad that I’d physically sickened someone. (When I posted about it at the Betty boards, I named the thread “chastened” (definition: to correct using punishment or suffering.)
• But Tink points out that if we reframe the situation we see it for what it truly was. Imagine that I’d been talking with her and when the topic comes up naturally, I pulled out a picture of my girlfriend, who’s another race. Or if I were gay, I pulled out a picture and said, “That’s my boyfriend.” Neither photo is a graphic tongue-down throat picture, but maybe we’ve got an arm around each other. Had I overheard Maria express similar feelings about race or sexuality, I would’ve had no problem saying to myself, “What a bigot!” I’m sorry that she can’t look past her prejudices to see me as a person, but that’s her problem.

As far as what to do tomorrow, when I go in again for brunch, I’m planning to take Tink’s advice to go and act completely normal, offer Maria the coupons as usual — and only if she seems distant, will I apologize for the manner in which I came out (but I won’t apologize for being who I am). We’ll see what happens.