During my first semester as an undergrad at WSU I completed several paintings, most of which featured my archetypal red-haired girl; among my favourites of these (pictured on the left) is the painting of the red-haired girl sitting on a bus, peering out into the vast wheat fields of the Palouse; she is immersed in the music blasting through her headphones, unaware of much of the world around her—blocking it out through her music and through her own imagination. Though there should be more substance to the bus, it has all dissolved away, symbolic of the girl’s self-imposed isolation. She is, in effect, a human embodiment of introversion. It doesn’t take much imagination to assume that the red-haired girl is a literal rendition of the girl inside me. At this point in my life I still had not started transitioning, though I was well underway setting the stage for hormones and name changes. Looking back at a lot of my art, the image of the isolated red-haired girl pops up a lot; in high school she was depicted in states of alienation or experiencing intense physical/psychological pain (though what, exactly, was inflicting the pain was never shown...I’m sure you all can guess, though). But as time moved on—just before and after I started the transition—the girl’s isolation turned into a peaceful introversion.
I think part of me assumed that once I transitioned I would somehow turn into an extroverted, outgoing person. It never happened, though I still have caught myself thinking that perhaps there is something wrong with me because I don’t do things like initiate conversation. Yes, I’m shy. Sometimes it feels like social phobia. But overall, it’s a kind of serene, easy-going introversion. Typically I’m not put off when people do talk to me—indeed, I really enjoy spending time with friends or meeting new, friendly people. I just don’t initiate. It takes an external force to pull me from the world of my mind...and maybe this isn’t a bad thing. I (and you, too, probably) live in a world where extroversion is seen as something good and healthy; likewise introversion is associated with having low self-esteem, depression, and an unhealthy social and psychological wellbeing. Wow. But what if there isn’t anything wrong with introversion at all?
I find myself asking these questions a lot lately: what if the stupid societal assumptions are all wrong? You know what? I’m finding that society’s got a lot of unhealthy assumptions floating around—superficial beliefs that really don’t serve any purpose aside from making a select group feel good about themselves...all coming at the expense of a lot of other people. But we know this: it’s the basic set up of the in group vs. the others.
A similar issue comes up with respect to asexuality. This culture builds up this necessity for dating, sexual relationships, marriage, etc.—all, of course, under the added assumptions that these relationships are heterosexual and monogamous. It’s seen in the major focus around marriage, indoctrinated into us from our earliest memories (think fairy tales like Cinderella, where the handsome prince whisks the girl away into a monogamous, heterosexual relationship. Oh joy, just what every kid wants!) But what do you do when despite an overwhelming cultural drive, you find yourself not wanting sex? What if you additionally find yourself not wanting a romantic relationship?
I remember reading that an estimated, “60% of post-op MTF’s, regardless of quality of surgical outcome, will not use their new equipment for its intended purpose” (which I’m assuming is sex, as opposed to secret storage of small swag). I’m not sure where, exactly, that number comes from. I do know, however, that Dr. Marci Bowers is the person I’m quoting, and given her position I’d assume she would, of all people, have a fair idea of what that figure is. When I first saw that statistic over a year ago, I initially felt a little sad—I assumed the number was more indicative of the loneliness that far too many trans people have to live with. And while it’s certainly true that many trans people do live with a certain degree of loneliness (I know Donna Rose has written extensively on this topic), I also wonder what percentage of this number is due to trans people who just happen to by asexual (i.e. not wanting to have sex). What about trans people who are aromantic (i.e. not interested in having romantic relationships)?
In my “Coming Out” post I talked a lot about how identity (my identity, at any rate) is contingent on a lot of other factors—and the same is true in this case. My identities are all complex, but to simplify things a little it’s easiest to say I’m asexual. Beyond that I’ve assumed that I’m queer with a tendency to be homoromantic...but I’m coming to even question that. Lately, I don’t have any interest in any social relationships whatsoever aside from friendships. Is this just me being my awesome, introverted self, or is there something more to it? In my (extraordinarily limited) experience with relationships I’ve found that romantic entanglements are both extremely awkward and extremely stressful. What the hell? The damn fairy tales never told me that my relationship with the queer princess would make me uncomfortable or overwhelmed with self doubt and stress.
I’d like to know what you think—especially those out there in normative monogamous relationships. Not that I want you all to be horribly uncomfortable/awkward and stressed in relationships, but if you have had analogous discomfort it would certainly make me feel a lot less confused.
Society has fallen into some absurdist rigid rules such as binary gender expression and monogamous relationships at the expense of all others.
ReplyDeleteEven now these have been long discredited if you step outside of them you will likely find yourself ostracised by much of society happy to exist in their virtual handcuffs.
I signed up for one of these monogamous relationships for tax purposes which soon vanished and as a social aid for my partners work. What a cop out i hear you say and I admit guilt, I swore that it was unnecessary in an honest relationship and would never do it.
If I had been more desirable to others this would have been a problem but as it is two low sex drives have coexisted for nearly thirty years. I do wish closer non intimate relationships were more possible within these rules but when they start to form it is the others who shy away from what would be misinterpreted by their own friends!
I am sure we were meant to exist within a group dynamic rather than the nuclear family dynamic which is a fragile unit lacking reserve resources both physical and emotional.
Our present world is closer to nightmare than fairy-tale.
Caroline xx
The nuclear family, the extended family - they both work when they work and harm when they don't. One of my friends is in a nuclear family that rocks, simply because the extended family on both sides is destructive to the point where they have had to choose to completely disassociate themselves from those family members. Because they both come from that environment, they've worked super hard to build a family together that their kids can feel safe in and rely on. What would be extra strength and resources to another person, for them would drag their family down.
ReplyDeleteRather long way for me to say that in the end I don't think the family structure matters - it's the family members in it that make the structure work or not.
I'm an introvert and to be honest I think it rocks. Extroverts tend to seek validation from other people and generally need to be around people more often to be happy. And as much as Barbara might have sung to us about 'people who need people' I prefer the introvert path, where validation comes more from within. I LIKE being social, but I NEED alone time to feel sane.
As for the asexuality, I think it's pretty ususual to not want a sexual connection at all, but so what? Unusual isn't bad. The question is, does it bother you to feel that way? Is it adversely affecting other parts of your life? If not, then where's the harm?