Trepidation

By Brooklyn Moore / Fall 2021

Statistically, I'm not doing too hot.

In America the average life expectancy for someone like me is between the ages of 25 to 30, which is incredibly disheartening when you understand that the average life expectancy of a Cisgendered man is sitting between the ages of 74 to 80. Growing up in America, I was often told that I was sitting in a country that would allow me to be me, and I would succeed in anything I tried if I put in hard work and was determined enough. However, after I came out as Transgender in the year 2016, I was very quick to realize just how unwelcoming the majority of Americans are to those within this country who differed from the norm.

There are many aspects to living I had trepidation about—the most prominent being the simple task of picking the right door. I remember just staring at the two doors in front of me, both marked by blue placards indicating the right or wrong door. I was getting confused stares in the women's and feared my taller, more masculine frame was causing more eyebrow raises than I desired. While I had not yet started my progression with hormones, I thought I appeared, by the grace of genetics, to look more gender ambiguous. I was nervous, this seemed more of a massive step than I was expecting—almost like riding a bike for the first time. After pacing for what seemed like a generation I mustered whatever confidence I had and opened the door. Unfortunately, that confidence faded quickly when I realized I was not alone in the restroom. Though the eye contact was brief, I could tell the man was not as forward thinking as I would have hoped, and immediately recognized I was different. Much like a deer in headlights, I had no time to run before I was shoved against a wall. He held me there as colorful statements where spit at me, reminding me at once just how different I really was. I have no recollection of any real characteristic he presented, but I can tell you his voice seemed to carry the same emotions as I did. We stood there - him shaking me and screaming at me and me begging him to just let me go. Both of us had fear and anger laced in our tones, almost asking each other why - why was I so different from what he knew and understood, and I asking him why he seemed to care as much as he did? I don’t remember his final words to me, but I do remember falling to the disgusting floor and just staring at the off white tiled walls, not 100% certain about what had just happened. I realized I was both hysterically laughing and crying, and in that moment I understood two things. One, I understood why he was so angry—he was afraid of change and whatever fragile understanding of masculinity that I had ripped away from him. He didn’t throw me at a wall because I was Transgender, he threw me against that wall because he was scared of the idea of me and the change that I would bring. Second, I realized that the mens’ room was, in fact, the single most disgusting place I had been in, but for the first time in sixteen years I had chosen the right door.

I am now twenty-one and my faith in America has changed significantly. Despite the fact there is still discrimination around every corner and live with that looming age expectancy and experiences such as the one I just explained, I am still rather optimistic in America's ability to change. That original promise of success and fulfillment is being made more realistic and possible through outspoken voices from both the trans and cisgendered communities. That fear that overwhelmed that man is being slowly chipped away. There is more acceptance within the younger generations, and the continued push for more representation is working to slowly change minds. America is stubborn in its beliefs about those that challenge the norms, but there seems to be a willingness to accept change. So in spite of my life experiences and expectancy, I am still optimistic for the future and hope America can make good on that promise.