Dilettante: Watching my trans friend come alive

The first conversation happened in 2011, at around 2am. Most drunk conversations are silly and incoherent but sometimes, all that alcohol gives you a sense of sharp clarity. They were my housemate and we were close; at some point, they took me away from the dancefloor and we went to sit in a corner. “I think I may be non-binary”, they told me, and so we talked it out for a little while. I asked questions; they answered.

The second was in 2015, at my birthday party. We were in a pub in south London, in the depths of winter, but one of my guests, a colleague I got along with well, resolutely stayed outside, alone. I went to see her after a little while, and noticed that she’d been tearing a napkin into increasingly smaller pieces, methodically. She was having a panic attack. I sat with her and we chatted; she wasn’t “she” at the time, but that’s what we ended up talking about. She was trying – struggling – to come to terms with this epiphany she’d had. It was tough.

I can’t actually remember when or where the third took place. It probably was over a glass of wine somewhere. She was my ex; a former partner who’d remained in my life after our break-up. She told me she wasn’t a “he” but actually a “they”, and I raised my eyebrow and asked if, perhaps, she wasn’t a “she” instead. I knew her pretty well after all. She told me she wasn’t sure, but would get back to me when she had an answer. All she knew at this stage was that something was up, and required investigating.

The housemate, the colleague and the ex; quite the trans triptych. They aren’t the only ones I know or have met, by some distance, but they are the three people whose lives and experiences have shaped my views the most. All three of them had been troubled and obviously quite unhappy. Some transitioned easily and others took their time, hesitated, procrastinated and panicked a bit. All ended up changed by the process.

Well, of course they were changed by the process – that’s the whole point of it – but the shape and texture of their bodies was the least of it. Slowly, I watched them become more self-assured, happier, more profoundly themselves. I’ve no idea if they would describe it in this way but, from the outside, I’d compare it to putting on a pair of comfortable trainers, after years spent walking around in shoes a size too small. We can, as people, get used to more or less everything, but what a relief it is to finally wear something that fits.

Parts of the process were quite fun as well; transitioning means going through a new puberty in more ways than one. I didn’t grow up with a little sister but instead, I got to show these grown women how to put lipstick on, and tell them why that dress shape just wouldn’t work on them.

Other parts were unnerving. The housemate and I would go to the cinema together often; as she started presenting as a woman, we went through an awkward phase. She just didn’t know which bathroom to use, as she didn’t want to make people uncomfortable but didn’t want to be unsafe either. In the end, we decided that the easiest course of action was for us to go pee in the women’s together. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked.

It was also a rare thing, in that it was a problem with an easy solution. Coming out as transgender means fundamentally changing your relationship with society. How you relate to your gender shouldn’t really be anyone else’s business but, in practice, everyone ends up having an opinion. My friends felt lighter because they could be who they were but, in other ways, their lives got markedly heavier. Suddenly, logistics had to be negotiated, plans had to be formulated in advance, there was always this gnawing fear that something bad could happen. It was painful to witness.

It’s also fair to say that things haven’t taken a turn for the better recently. Over the past decade, transphobia has crept further and further into both public and elite discourse, with no off-ramp in sight. There are a thousand columns to be written on why that is, but what this one wants to say is: god, what a waste. What a waste, to watch people you love live in fear when they should be feeling freer than ever. What a waste, to make transgender people feel so unwelcome, with so few attempts made to understand what it’s like to be them.

Campaigners may speak of chromosomes and gametes, but that only helps them to obscure the truth further. Trans people exist and will keep existing. Their lives are as worthy as yours or mine. I feel lucky to have watched so many of my friends blossom; my only wish is that, in the future, those who come after them will be able to do so in a world that doesn’t try to squash them back down.