Very late to the party. Late enough that there’s not even anyone round to ask if this is ‘fashionably late’. That’s a no then.

Damn you Medium recommendation algorithm.

Anyhoo, I’ve read some of your more recent pieces and have little recent to doubt that you’re in a better place now than when you wrote this heartfelt piece.

So, I have a take (clearly far from hot by now, but you have a microwave right? And I have an observation.

The take is this. Cis people simply do not agonise like you do in this piece. They. Just. Don’t.

I get it. Cis society is conversion therapy for trans folx. To the extent we self-police. There was a point in my life where I no longer had to hear people say ‘boys don’t do that’ I said it for them. As a result I drank for 30 years before coming out at the age of 48.

Do I feel like an imposter? Of course. We ALL do. Frankly I’d be deeply suspicious of any trans person who says they don’t know what that’s like, but guess what? I’ve yet to meet such a person.

Again, cis people, IMHO, don’t feel this way. When was the last time you heard a cis woman say she feels like a fraud? You don’t. She might say she’s a bad feminist, a rubbish wife, a terrible mother, a worthless woman. But she won’t be thinking that the thing at fault is her gender. Or rather she won’t be thinking it’d be fixed by her being a man.

Yes, I invoke the binary out of simplicity. Why not? THEY do. That’s the system we live in. Deeply flawed. Painfully shallow. Fatally simplistic.

The trans lived experience absolutely puts the lie to this model. Do we question the model? No. We trust the consensus. You know what? Fuck consensus. Yes, that many people CAN be wrong. Weight of numbers does not imply fact. That’s a logical fallacy.

My defiance is born of my observation. We’re all far stronger than we believe ourselves to be. I’m 49 now. And I have had my fair share of knocks in life. Guess what? I’m still here. Some of those knocks were like knapping flint, knocking off bits of me that were extraneous, leaving only a hard, flinty, sharp weapon. And I’ve over-egged my own analogy because I’m far from just a weapon. I know who I am, what I stand for, and I take pride in it. I own it.

I often express it as a function of age and life experience that I DGAF, but that’s not strictly true. I REALLY do give a great many fucks. But I make sure they’re things that count.

The opinion of cis society does not make that cut.

We’re worth far more, you and I, Devon, you beautiful soul.

Thanks for the article.

Much love, many hugs,


Capricious by name, steadfast by nature. Trans femme dyke. Smutsmith. Provocateur. Poet. Idiot. Kicking names and taking ass.

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