What does Pride Month mean to me?
By Hannah Carton, Head of Administration
What does Pride Month mean to me?
As a transwoman it seems like a straightforward question. I am extremely proud of the journey I am on and how far I have travelled in such a short space of time, I am proud to be part of the LGBTQ+ community. A community with so many brave souls who face discrimination every day; from the wider public and even their own family and friends, simply for being their authentic selves. And respect for those who went before me, who faced tougher times when there was even more prejudice and hate.
That said, being transgender isn’t all I am. Sure I’ve made peace with being trans but it's far from all I am. What is being trans or part of the LGBTQ+ Community but another label, another box. I don’t want to be recognised as simply “a transwoman” I want to be recognised for the confident, smart (hopefully) and positive woman I am. Even though I am no shrinking violet, I would prefer to be a wall flower and just fade into the background, if all that I am is a transwoman.
So, what does pride month mean to me? It’s a more complicated question than it may appear at first asking. I’ve spent most of my life hiding from my true self. I’ve never been to a pride let alone actively taken part in one. For 40 years I’ve tried to fit in, to be the CIS hetero guy I was “meant” to be. I tried very hard to live the life that was expected of me by society, by my parents.
Even though I’ve known something wasn’t right with who I was from a very young age. For as long as I can remember I felt like I wanted to be a ‘girl’. But my childhood was in the 1980’s, I grew up in a northern industrial steel town (think Billy Elliott and you won’t be far off). My dad worked, ironically, in the “iron mill”. The Only time I’ve ever really faced any trans or homophobia is when I’ve been back to my hometown. It still has that small-town, small-minded attitude, even today. But in the 80’s...
As a child my dad thought I was a little “soft” which really irked him. For example, I‘ve always had a phobia of spiders and I was never interested in fixing things (like my bike) and my dad could barely contain his disappointment with comments like “are you a girl?” In my dad’s 1980’s world being a girl was a weakness and was meant to be demeaning. Only he had no idea how I truly felt. I’d learned to keep my feelings hidden from everyone, including myself.
I dipped my toes in and out of exploring my gender identity throughout my childhood, teens, twenties and thirties. Exploring it would often mean wearing women's clothes and occasionally letting someone in and then having waves of guilt and shame. I would tell myself I will grow out of it. “It’s just a phase” - A phase that lasts a whole life Isn't a phase.
One of the things, other than shame, that contributed to me burying my feelings was my sister. She had lots of health issues, a common cold that the majority of us would be able to shrug off in a few day’s would put my sister in hospital for a week. I didn’t feel I could burden my parents anymore, even if I felt I could talk to them about it (which I didn’t), they had enough anguish without me creating more. So I buried my feelings. And as I grew, I felt a growing burden to give my parents the grandchild they’ve always wanted. And like all kids and young adults I had a desire to make my parents proud.
And that’s how I lived most of my life. Identity conflicts, guilt and shame. Burying emotions and feelings and lived the life my parents wanted for me. I got married and then divorced. I moved overseas and got married again.
Then either side of turning 40 two things happened that changed my life. I had a son and shortly after my sister passed. Those two events broke down the emotional silo’s I’d created over four decades. The silos didn’t crumble, they exploded.
After decades of struggle with my gender identity and closing off my feelings and emotions. Years of trying to be the cis hetero guy my parents wanted, the things I did to “man up” - all that was shattered. Denial was no longer an option. I had to find a way forward with the real me.
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom” - Anais Nin
Over the next few years my second marriage ended I grew closer to my son, living in a country where it is illegal to be trans, I felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. I can stay where I was and be close to my son or I can head back to the UK and look after myself. I did the former for a few years, while exploring my identity with my therapist and kept inching forward anyway I could without coming foul of the law. COVID, in a way, came to my rescue. Losing my job due to the pandemic my only next step was to move back to the UK. Where my journey proper could begin. But that’s another story.
Now, after four decades of denial, I still sometimes feel I’m not really part of the LGBTQ+ community. Rationally I know I am, but I don’t always feel like I am. I don’t feel I have a big connection to it. That's not some internalised homo or transphobia. I‘ve denied for so long and I’ve come so far in such a short space of time I’ve not truly registered pride is for me. But it is, I am a proud transwoman.
Since letting everyone in to gender identity, everyone in my life has been so accepting and positive. My parents have grown so much in the last 40 years too. From being brought up in a borderline homophobic environment as a young child, my parents have embraced diversity. They have been accepting and inclusive to the LGBTQ+ community for years. And since I let them in to my authentic self, they’ve been supportive and accepting. Sure, they’ve had their struggles, but they accept me for who I am. I couldn’t ask for more.
I see Pride Month as a time for all those who dare to love who they love, and to be who they are despite what society may say and to celebrate our bravery to simply be ourselves. It’s a chance to come together to say we are here. A time for our allies to cheer and celebrate us and for us all to stand up and say we’re not going away, in a time of culture wars trying to create divides and vilify the trans-community the unity pride brings means hope. It’s a time that reminds us we’re not alone.
So, what does pride mean to me? I’m still learning...
Hannah Carton
Head of Administration
