On Anger

This month I tried to go on T, which didn’t work out. I also realised that somehow I had gradually surrounded myself almost completely with cis people who constantly misgender me despite knowing better and having had more than a year to get with the programme.

I am angry and exhausted and isolated. I am trapped in social norms under which my gender cannot be legible because there simply do not exist norms for being genderqueer, and there is nothing I can do to be legible. I am trapped in a patriarchal power structure under which I will never have the ease enjoyed by straight cisgender white abled men. I will always be disadvantaged because of how I exist in the world.

Sara Ahmed writes about the exhaustion and discomfort of failing to inhabit norms:

Normativity is comfortable for those who can inhabit it. The word “comfort” suggests well-being and satisfaction, but it also suggests an ease and an easiness. To follow the rules of heterosexuality is to be at ease in a world that reflects back the couple form one inhabits as an ideal.

Heteronormativity function as a form of public comfort by allowing bodies to extend into spaces that have already taken their shape. Those spaces are lived as comfortable as they allow bodies to fit in; the surfaces of social space are already impressed upon by the shape of such bodies (like a chair that acquires its shape by the repetition of some bodies inhabiting it: we can almost see the shape of bodies as ‘impressions’ on the surface).

You can feel the categories that you fail to inhabit: they are sources of discomfort. Comfort is a feeling that tends not to be consciously felt.

and

For some bodies to stand is to withstand.  We can be exhausted by the labour of standing. If social privilege is like an energy saving device, no wonder that not to inherit privilege can be so trying. There is a politics to exhaustion. Feeling depleted can be a measure of just what we are up against.

Therapy makes me angry. This isn’t a *me* problem, it’s a *the rest of the world* problem. I resent the suggestion that *I* should change anything about myself. Trying to explain any of this to people also makes me angry. Trying to explain a source of discomfort to people who are comfortable (“labels don’t matter, we’re all human!1!”) is frustrating. I shouldn’t have to catalogue and exhibit my pain, or satisfy idle voyeurism, in order for people to treat me decently. Please stop waiting for me to say “please don’t misgender me because it hurts my feelings” before you will pay attention and stop misgendering me. Just, be a fucking decent person whether or not you have power over me?? It’s as if some people need to be reassured that they have the ability to cause grievous hurt before they can magnanimously decide to not do that.

Why should *I* have to explain anything! Cishet people never have to justify to two mental health professionals their decisions to not have HRT. Cis and gender conforming people never have to explain to their friends what it means to be their genders, or why they’re still their genders whether or not they wear makeup. It is understood. But the result of me refusing/not being able to explain is that I am simply not understood.

Audre Lorde writes about anger in The Uses of Anger: Women Responding to Racism (1981):

Every woman has a well-stocked arsenal of anger potentially useful against those oppressions, personal and institutional, which brought that anger into being. Focused with precision it can become a powerful source of energy serving progress and change. And when I speak of change, I do not mean a simple switch of positions or a temporary lessening of tensions, nor the ability to smile or feel good. I am speaking of a basic and radical alteration in those assumptions underlining our lives.

My response to racism is anger. That anger has eaten clefts into my living only when it remained unspoken, useless to anyone. It has also served me in classrooms without light or learning, where the work and history of Black women was less than a vapor. It has served me as fire in the ice zone of uncomprehending eyes of white women who see in my experience and the experience of my people only new reasons for fear or guilt.

In The Transformation of Silence into Language and Action (1977) she writes:

I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood. That the speaking profits me, beyond any other effect.

I don’t know how to do any of this. It is difficult and unfair and frustrating. My instinct is to turn the anger on myself and self-destruct, because I am the one thing in this world I have control over and can easily change. That helps nobody but it is easy. I have no visionary words for great social change or relief or solidarity for the downtrodden. I am just a regular person who happens to be genderqueer. Why can’t everything already be easy. But here we are. Here we fucking are.

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On Anger

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