Erasing the Marker

Success in education is impossible without confidence. But how does one define confidence? Where and to what lengths must a person go to find it? My definition of confidence is deeply rooted in gender, or rather, being able to live as the gender I identify as—male. In December of 2008, at 18, I began my transition from female to male. Transitioning was exactly the length I had to go to find my confidence—something that was crucial for my transformation from a high school drop out to a college honors student. My academic success is most intricately tied to the fact that I started my first college course after beginning my transition. I was finally seen by others as how I see myself and, as a result, I was finally ready to grow as a student.

Through discovering and understanding what being transgender is, I was able to define and put to rest insecurities that had overwhelmed me for 17 years. For me, it was simple. It was just an issue of being born with physical parts that do not connect with the mental ones, and all I had to do was get the tools required to transition. But the understanding and process of transitioning varies from individual to individual. My experiences are not unique because of my transition, but because they are completely mine. This is a sort of disclaimer, and it is one I gave to a class of Marriage and Family Therapy students at the University of San Diego in 2010.

They were taking a course on substances and abuse, and I was their “special guest speaker.” I grew up around cocaine abuse, and their instructor wanted her students to have the opportunity to speak to a survivor. I just happen to also be transgender. She asked me to be in the classroom so the students could have an interactive lesson and gain the confidence required when working with and questioning future patients, not simply because of my transition.

The discussion had no focus other than the fact that I was the “real story,” the “real experience.” All the students knew before meeting me was that my father was a drug dealer, and I had begun my transition at 18. I had no notes and nothing specific to address. I simply said, “Ask me anything. Really.”

My opening statement bewildered them at first, but eventually they realized I was there to answer their questions, no matter how potentially humiliating. They asked. I answered.

“How did you know?”

“I just knew. I was a boy through and through from the beginning.”

“How do you define gender?”

“I define gender as what you personally identify as, not what sits between your legs.”

“How is your relationship with your father? Your mother?”

“My relationship with my father is colored by physical and emotional abuse, by cocaine, by deceit, and, most recently, by forgiveness. My mother is my best friend.”

“Were you raised religious?”

“I was raised Catholic.”

“I am more than my transition.”

The students responded respectfully and with curiosity throughout the hour, and I believe by the end of the discussion they understood my overall message: most people, educators included, often intentionally or unintentionally see being transgender as a marker, a defining aspect of the transgender person’s self. But I am Leyden, not Leyden the transgender student. I say this because I see myself as an individual, not just a “trans” individual. This is not said with animosity; it is said with directness, because this issue, the “marker,” is the one I find most troubling. For example, if one were to examine a body of literature written by a transgender author, the examination can be of just the work itself—the text then being label-less, individual. But students should always be examined as label-less, always given the opportunity to define themselves.

From my view as a student, when it comes to addressing anything in the classroom, the most important thing for you—the instructor—to remember is to know your students, know them as individuals and know their comfort level in the classroom. Where does challenge...