Dear Caitlyn Jenner - Let's Talk Woman to "Woman"

Dear Caitlyn Jenner,

As much as I would like for you to just go away, it's apparent that you won't be fading away from the limelight any time soon. You've got a brand new reality television show that's being actively hyped beyond what it's worth. You keep landing interviews and awards, and you're constantly trending on social media.

In fact, the media in general keeps insisting that you're socially relevant... so it must be true. And since you seem to be here to stay (at least for a little longer than the average sideshow flash-in-the-pan) I guess it's time we have a little heart-to-heart chat.  You know? Woman to "woman".

I know that you're brave. You're courageous. You even have that shiny new ESPY to prove it. Walking across a nationally televised stage in six-inch heels must take an awful lot of courage. I certainly don't have the balls to do it. (That's called sarcastic irony, people. Please hold your scathing emails.) You even admitted in your acceptance speech that you'd never felt more pressured in your life (and you've known the pressure of representing your country in international competition, so that's saying something).

"Picking out this outfit - okay girls, I get it! You got to get the shoes, the hair, the makeup, the whole process."

You're right. It is quite a frightening process. And most of us have to figure it out without famous fashion designers and professional make-up artists at our disposal. Still... most of us fumbled our own way through the process by high school prom. (Although photographic evidence from the eighties suggest some of us never really found success.)

But there's much more to bravery than simply matching your dress to your shoes or finding the right shade of eye shadow.

I don't think you actually "get it" at all. To be fair, it's not entirely your fault. You haven't lived your whole life as a woman. You haven't traveled through the world in fashionable yet uncomfortable women's shoes, and you haven't been shaped by all that entails.

You were never told you throw like a girl and known it was meant to degrade you. Bravery is playing ball anyway.

You've never dealt with the onset of your period in 8th grade gym class, a red stain spreading brightly across your white shorts. You never had to ask to be excused in the middle of class to go to the bathroom and had the male teacher question your motives. You never had to walk out of that class as every classmate watched your retreating form, hearing the snickers of all the boys who saw that red stain on your backside. Bravery is walking back into that class and enduring two years of snide comments and name calling because of that one embarrassing gym incident.

You've never dealt with boys' braggadocious detailing of their sexual encounters which labeled you a slut but gained them high fives and pats on the back. Bravery is opening yourself up to intimacy again anyway.

You've never woken up after a raucous night terrified that you'd forgotten to take your birth control pills. You've never had to wonder how you would cope with a positive result on a pregnancy test. Bravery is facing life for the next few uncertain weeks anyway.

You've never suffered through a business meeting where men talked to your cleavage and didn't take you seriously because you're "just a woman". Bravery is succeeding anyway.

You will never have to fear being too weak to ward off a rapist. Bravery is learning to defend yourself and walking dark streets confidently anyway.

Being a woman isn't all bad, of course. The pinnacle of femininity lies in motherhood.  You'll never know what it's like to feel the first fluttery kicks of a baby growing inside you. Or the rush of hormones as that baby slips into the world. You'll never know what it's like to nourish that baby at your breast.

You'll never feel as cherished as a woman feels when a man engulfs her small hands with his larger ones as he gently helps her out of his car.

Remember what you told Diane Sawyer, back when you were still Bruce? You said, "My brain is much more female than it is male."

I think you are wrong. It can't possibly be. You can't possibly know.

You don't get to define us, Caitlyn. You're too new to the game. Besides men have been defining us for far too many centuries (and it wasn't all that long ago that you considered yourself one). You don't get the privilege of deciding how a woman's brain thinks and feels... or at least how you think it should.  Because how could you possibly know how a woman's brain thinks and feels without the composite experience of being a woman for your entire life?

How dare you try to wrap what defines a woman into a tidy little pink-hued box? How dare you?

As a woman, I'm more than a little offended at your blatant disregard for the fact that being a woman is more than feeling emotional and wearing heels and dresses and makeup. It's more than being sensitive and nurturing or feeling decidedly feminine. That's not what makes someone a woman any more than being a man is the sum of playing sports, getting dirty, or feeling aggressive (In which case... I'd probably be considered a man. Wonder if I could get an ESPY....).

If gender is nothing more than a social construct (like so many liberal psychologists would have us believe), then gender isn't something we experience separately within ourselves anyway. Instead, it is developed in coordination with our fellow citizens. In basic terms, our gender is largely formed by how we are treated by other people, by our experiences functioning within society. It is the byproduct of countless choices made over time. Being a woman is a collection of certain experiences, of certain indignities endured and courtesies enjoyed. Some are based on our biology and some on how society views us and treats us. What makes a woman is a jigsaw puzzle of varied pieces.

So Caitlyn, since brains are shaped by experiences (just like studies of London cab drivers show) and gender is a construct developed by societal experiences, your brain can't possibly be female, because you've experienced most of your life as a man. You've been largely shaped by a male identity. You've lived male experiences and been shaped by the treatment of a society that has viewed you as a man for most of your life (and still does to a large extent)... for better or for worse. No amount of reconstructive surgery or fancy dresses and high end makeup can change that.

You don't get to be a woman any more than Rachel Dolezal gets to be black. No matter how hard you wish you could or how much you "identify" or how much you spend on reassignment surgeries or how many ESPYs you are awarded. You don't get to be a woman. Period. I'm sorry.

I don't know where you fit into things. It's a pretty crappy spot you seem to be in. But stop pretending you know what it feels like to be a woman. You don't. And while you're at it stop trying to define what it is to be a woman. That's just too freakin' complex to even begin to try and define.

There isn't a box that we can all fit in, so stop trying to stuff me in one. But if we do for some strange reason end up in the same stupid box... just so you know... I'm man enough to hip-toss your girly butt out of it.

Kay? Thanks,
~Alice

Breaking Down Gender Stereotypes... Or Not

Almost a week ago a friend shared this video on Facebook with the assurance that the incredible story portrayed would have me "ugly crying...and then cheering".  The seven minute video tells the "inspiring" story of the Whittington family and their transgender child.  The video was shared by the family at the Harvey Milk Diversity Breakfast, where the Whittingtons accepted this year's Inspiration Award.

Ryland Whittington

The Cliff's Notes version of this fairy tale happy-ending story goes something like this:  Jeff and Hillary Whittington welcomed their first baby in 2007, a daughter (by all observable biological evidence) they named Ryland (Interestingly, although arguably irrelevant, I know 3 people named Ryland...and all of them are male).  As Ryland grew up, she seemed to go through a tomboy phase, rejecting things girly and embracing superheroes and boy's clothing.  Realizing that this wasn't "just a phase" they sought professional help and their suspicions were confirmed...Ryland, although plagued with the biology of a little girl,  identifies as a boy.  Faced with the staggering suicide rates among transgender people, the Whittingtons refused to let their child become another statistic.  So they let Ryland be "his true self".  Five year-old Ryland got a make-over, close-cut boy's hair, bow ties and boys swim trunks, and a whole new bedroom (out with the sissy-girl pink and lace).  They sent word out to friends and family that Ryland would be raised as a boy and switched masculine pronouns for the feminine ones they had been using.  And according to Ryland's parents, he's never been happier.

My friend's promise of a good long ugly cry were not met (although I don't cry easily.  I'm kind of a soulless thick-skinned person with no heart.  I did cry at the end of Ol' Yeller, though, if that makes me seem more human in anyone's eyes).  In fact, I walked away from the "inspiring" video kind of shocked.

I'm all about embracing our authentic selves, and the Whittington's sentiment that parents should love their children "with no strings attached" is one I applaud.  But I've tossed around this whole gender identity thing in my head rather obsessively for several days now, and the Whittington's decision to raise their biological daughter as if she were a son seems extreme.

I freely admit to not understanding the concept of transgender people, and even after doing some thorough research on the internet, I don't think I understand it one bit better.  The information is confusing and contradictory and often incredibly vague.  The transgender classification is a fairly recent addition to gender and sexual issues, so there isn't a whole lot of research out there.  Some experts classify transgender as a psychological issue.  Others as a physical one.  And suggested treatments vary from simple counseling to hyper-invasive hormonal treatments and body mutilation to achieve "gender reassignment".

The symptoms of gender dysphoria (the distress a person feels when they perceive a mismatch between their biological gender and their perceived gender) are not physical.  There is no blood test or MRI to confirm diagnoses.  There are only vague psychological symptoms.  Most parents of transgender children report that the first clue to their child's transgender condition is that their children severely dislike playing with toys or otherwise engaging in activities that would typically be associated with their gender,  while simultaneously being attracted to toys and activities that would typically be associated with the opposite gender.  And it doesn't seem to go away, so it is more than "just a phase".  This is in fact, the first thing that clued in the Whittingtons to the notion that their daughter might actually be their son.

And here is where I have a huge, huge, HUGE problem.  Because we are constantly encouraging our daughters to bust through gender stereotypes.  We tell them that it's okay to play with trucks and to get their hands dirty and to be bossy (Oops.  Sorry I mean, "assertive").  We tell them there is more to life than raising children and cooking and cleaning and making men happy, and so encourage them to pursue higher education and fast-paced careers.  We even push them toward careers in fields that are traditionally masculine like science, technology, and engineering just because there don't seem to be enough women there (What is wrong with women these days?).  On the other side of the coin, we are pushing our boys to be more sensitive and emotional and creative.  We allow our boys to paint their toenails and carry My Little Pony backpacks to school...because they should be allowed to express themselves in whatever way they want, no matter their gender.  Let's break down these confining gender stereotypes and the world will be a better place!

And yet...when a little girl hates the color pink, and frilly dresses, and long hair...and instead craves pants and sports and superhero costumes...we begin to suspect that there must be something seriously wrong with her...she might just be a boy.  So much for breaking down those confining gender stereotypes.  It makes me want to spit (and that would certainly not be very ladylike).

Before you pounce on me and start screaming vitriolic hate about my closed-mindedness and accuse me of missing the bigger picture, insisting that there was much more than just a tomboy phase going on here,  let me confess that there were apparently (at least by the parent's accounts) more distressing signs of Ryland's gender dysphoria.  Yes, I do realize that I am over-simplifying Ryland's condition.  But across the board, parent's claim this as the first clue to their child's identity issues.  And, having been a child who was an extreme tomboy, who refused dolls and dresses and instead loved Tonka trucks and StarWars storm troopers...and being a woman today who abhors pink and Nicholas Spark's novels while engaging in stereotypical male leisure activities (like hunting and fishing and karate and weight training)...I have to wonder what might have happened to me if my parents had been the more liberal open-minded activists that Ryland's parents are.

I can't say what I would do if I found myself in the Whittington's shoes.  I've thankfully never been there.  But I am a mother through and through with a fiercely protective all-consuming love for my children.  And while I don't know how I might react to my child's insistence to being the opposite gender, I can assure you that if I decided, with the help of professionals, that my child needed to switch his or her gender identity, I know from a deep place of mother bear conviction, that my child would most certainly NOT be plastered all over the internet as the newest LGBT poster child for tolerance and acceptance.  Unlike my friend who promised ugly crying over the "touching" video, who lauded the Whittingtons as "fantastic" and "amazing" parents, most of the world isn't so accepting.  In fact, violence and discrimination is the norm.

No, even if I decided to raise my daughter as my son (a stretch for me to imagine), there would be no mass announcement to friends and family.  There would be no fanfare.  There would be no Youtube videos or national awards acceptance.  I would quietly and privately raise my child, protecting them from the cruelties of a harshly opinionated world, while lavishing them with all of the love and acceptance I could muster.  Call me crazy.

But maybe the Whittington's have an agenda to push.  I hope it's worth it.  Because for every word of praise and encouragement for the family that I've read online, there have been five negative comments of disgust and revulsion (mostly toward the parents).  This child will forever be in the public eye under the microscope of social scrutiny.  I hope it was worth it, Whittington's.  You just sacrificed your child on the altar of change, acceptance, and progressiveness.  Maybe you're the crazy ones.