Anastacia Tomson - Always Anastacia: A Transgender Life in South Africa

Being out

When I first understood that I needed to transition in order to live, I started thinking about the kind of life that I would pursue. Specifically, I spent much time thinking about the prospect of going stealth.

It was a real temptation, the idea of packing my bags and disappearing to some other town with no ties to the life I had pretended to live. Leaving behind my old name, my traumatic childhood, my confusing adolescence, and those first hollow years of my adult life.

I could settle somewhere new, where no one would recognise me.

Transition is a gruelling process. There is hardship at every turn: dealing with ignorant and insensitive health-care professionals to gain access to treatment, trying to convince government departments to amend identity documents, fighting against a conservative society that would sooner write people off as freaks than try to understand their struggles or ease their strenuous journeys.

Many people act as if they have rights to transgender peoples bodies, asking us intimate and inappropriate questions and expecting answers. Some touch without permission, and become offended when we rebuke them. People fixate and quiz us on our sexuality. They ask after our genitalia, whether weve had surgical procedures, whether we intend to. How we knew, whom weve told, whether we sit or stand to pee, how we have sex. Transgender people who wish just to sink into anonymity and live the peaceful life for which they have fought have my unending empathy and respect.

There was a time when I wanted that too when I used to say that I was not an activist. That I did not need to make my voice heard to make a difference. I was content to initiate change through my work, and felt that my activism was quiet and non-confrontational.

But, as I grew more confident in my identity, I discovered that not only did I have a voice, but that it insisted on making itself heard. I was a proud woman and a proud feminist. Discrimination and oppression based on gender, gender identity, sexual orientation, or race had always worried me, but I had never known how to address them. I had never felt that I had the agency to speak out, or anything worth saying.

As my self-respect grew, I re-examined my priorities. I wanted to live the life that I felt I deserved, in peace. But I also wanted people to understand the lengths to which I had gone to be seen for who I was. I was not ashamed of being trans, and I did not want to have to live in fear of my secret being discovered someday.

I knew there would be a price that to make some kind of difference to those who faced struggles similar to mine, Id have to lay bare the intimate details of my life. But I knew, also, that doing so would bring me freedom. My dark secret could hold no power over me if it wasnt a secret at all.

So, I made my decision. I came out first individually, to friends and family, and then to the world. I made no attempts to hide who or what I was. It was not easy, but embracing my truth has allowed me to strengthen so many of my bonds and relationships. Of course, a few have suffered. Some friends, even ones who are mentioned in this book, have grown distant from me. Some of them still associate with me, though our dynamic has shifted irrevocably; others refuse to talk to me at all. But my connection with those who have stood by me is stronger than ever.

I chose to combat prejudice and hatred with empathy and understanding. I am many things: a woman, a friend, a doctor, a confidant. I am transgender. Sometimes I am afraid and overwhelmed. I am a human being, and these are my experiences. I hope you enjoy sharing them my pain and my happiness.

I entrust my secrets to you. All I ask for in return is your compassion.