Chapter 14: Being trans is not a hobby

About the constant pressure to perform.

You wake up and you are trans. Not because it was your choice. Not because today, you have extra energy. But because you were like this yesterday and the day before, and you’ll still be like this tomorrow. Regardless of what you want.

The problem is: the world treats being trans like a role, not a reality. As if it were a project. A phase. A show on Netflix. At some point we must reach the final season. The grand finale. Mission accomplished, now you can go back to normal. But the happy end never comes, and there are no credits. Just the next day.

Some cis people think being trans is an elaborate cosplay. You decided to be someone else and now you need a matching haircut, some new clothing, new pronouns, a few surgeries, and you’ll be fine, right?

What they don’t understand: you’re not playing a role. You want to stop playing the one you got assigned. But either way, you still have to perform. Every day.

You are the only trans person in the room? Now you’re the ambassador. Questions like “Can we still say woman?” “How do I explain that to my kids?” “Do you think this is a trend?” are launched at you, even though you never signed up for this gig. You are trans, therefore you are education.

You are context. You are exciting. Your body is discussion material; your biography is a case study. You are the living answer to their ignorance. And at the same time, you are expected to be “the right kind of trans.” Authentic but not overwhelming. Visible but not inconvenient. Easy to understand but not simplistic.

You are expected to live your “true self,” but in a way that doesn’t make anyone uncomfortable. Your identity becomes a role, and you’re never granted an intermission.

Even in the community, this never stops. There are expectations, codes, unspoken rules. Which words you are allowed to use. The aesthetics you may present. How visible you are. Whether you are “trans enough,” or maybe “too assimilated,” too “binary,” too “heteronormative.”

Or too different, too loud, too difficult. You should belong but not offend. Or maybe you should offend, but if so, in the right way. You find yourself wedged between two worlds, both with their own checklists. And nobody ever asks you how you feel about any of it.

Tip from Hell: Print yourself a name tag reading “Hello, I’m trans, and I am here to answer all the questions you are too lazy to Google.” Then stand in the middle of the room, put on a friendly smile, and wait until someone approaches you with their opinion phrased as a question.

Being trans is not a lifestyle. It’s not a project. It’s not a statement. It’s not cool, not rebellious, not eccentric. It’s simply who you are. And sometimes you are just tired. Quiet. Annoyed from having to talk all the time. Exhausted from being visible all the time. Intimidated by all the eyes on you.

And yet, you have to continue. You have to fill out forms. You have to have these conversations. You have to explain yourself, stand your ground, make yourself visible, because the system will forget you otherwise. Or even erase you.

There are days when you wish this were all a hobby. Something you could simply stop. Something that belonged only to you. A precious little thing, deep inside you, without audience, without proof, without justification.

But it is lived reality. It is every cell of your body, every word you say, every hesitation, every moment of bravery. And one day, somewhere between assimilation and rebellion, between careful wording and staying quiet, you realize: you simply function.

Not because the system has helped you. But because you learned to carry yourself, despite the burden, the stares, the noise. And then, very quietly, a voice in your head whispers: You are allowed to simply be. Not perfect. Not political. Not productive. Just be. Despite all this. Because of it.