emotional labour

An introduction is a good place to start. My name is Finn, I’m trans masculine and the majority of the time I am a man. Recently I went into hospital with pancreatitis and experienced the worst pain of my life. In the subsequent days of recovery, I got to thinking. I was thinking about my experiences as a trans man in needing medical care, being a trans man in general, eventually trailing towards the overarching “what does it all mean” that I assume everyone comes to. I was thinking so much and I thought, “why not start writing it down?” Surely, I am not alone in these thoughts, and if I can open a conversation with other people about my experiences, that’s a good thing.

I’d like to talk about emotional labour as a trans person, especially when interacting online. I have made the unfortunate decision to have a presence on Twitter, which can be a hub for vitriol, especially towards the marginalised. Usually, I tailor my experience to one that suits me. I follow friends, musicians, actors, like we all do. I also follow a large amount of trans-related charities, activists and voices in the community, and the majority of what I see is trans-positive. I just have the bad habit of going into a trans-inclusive tweet and scrolling down to read the comments. This doesn’t tend to go anywhere, as I simply don’t want to expend the emotional labour that would be required to even acknowledge transphobes, but I wouldn’t be writing an essay about emotional labour if I hadn’t done something. On a trans-inclusive tweet about cervical healthcare, someone had simply commented “Women” in response to “everyone with a cervix”. I, rather foolishly, decided to engage and state the facts, that I am a man with a cervix.

What followed, I would rather not go into too much detail about. I have since blocked this person, but if you go to my twitter and do some digging I’m sure you can find the thread. While what happened is relevant, the most important thing to consider is how this experience made me feel. I said to a dear friend of mine “im fighting a losing battle and my only prize is anxiety”, and what he said in our ensuing conversation inspired this essay.

“You reference your passion as though it’s a negative. Your passion is what will ultimately make all the difference. You just have to be careful about how and in what direction you channel it.”

I started engaging with this person because I’m passionate about this subject, but it’s impossible for me to separate my emotions from my desire to educate, because I’m discussing my very existence. However, as the discussion continued, it became very clear that this person didn’t really care about my perspective as a trans man. I felt like I was constantly trying to navigate a losing battle, avoiding attempted “gotchas”, dodging confirmation bias where I was expected to “prove them wrong” or my argument was invalid. Meanwhile, they provided minimal sources for their own arguments, and spoke in a condescending tone towards me. When I offered to discuss the more sensitive points of the topic privately, they ultimately proved how little they actually cared for what I was saying by completely ignoring me. They wanted it to be a public discussion, so that other people could see them “win”.

It was at this point that I bounced from the conversation. It was very clearly going nowhere, and I was becoming more stressed and anxious as it continued. For my own emotional wellbeing, the best option was to leave. This didn’t mean the discussion was over though. Some fellow trans people and some wonderful allies stepped in, and once I was able to step back, I immediately began to feel better.

While I was attempting to have this conversation, I felt like my emotional labour wasn’t worth it, but I was wrong. Other people saw what I was writing, trans people and cis allies were liking my tweets and I can only hope that they felt emboldened, that they knew there are people who are willing to fight for them. While I may not have changed this one person’s mind (I doubt anyone could since they so obviously believed they were smarter and in the right), I spoke up for what I believe in. This isn’t something that many trans people feel comfortable doing, which is completely valid. It’s exhausting to argue for your very existence, especially against people who don’t actually care about what you have to say. It’s also not our job to educate people about transgenderism and inclusivity. It’s not like I took a teaching course when I came out as trans, and it’s unreasonable to expect an education from someone who is just trying to exist. Google is readily available and if these people cared about our perspectives, they’d look it up.

Emotional labour can mean a lot of different things to different people, but the only important thing to remember in these situations is how comfortable you are. In a lot of cases, it’s impossible to erase ignorance. Some people simply don’t want to change their minds, which is a close minded way to view the world. If at any point the emotional labour becomes too much to bear, talk to someone who will listen, someone who will help share the load. A lot of the time, expending this energy doesn’t feel worth it, though that doesn’t make it wasted. You never know who you might be helping by simply stepping up and saying something.

This is not a call to arms, believe me. I’m passionate about this topic, and I channel it in speaking up and speaking out. I’m channeling it in this essay, hoping to reach out to anyone who will listen. Passion can be channelled in plenty of different ways, and sometimes that means simply looking after yourself, saving your emotional energy for yourself. Nothing anyone says to me, you, any trans person, will erase our existence. We have always been here, and we will always remain.

Take heart, keep yourself safe, and lean on people you love when everything feels like too much. Thanks for reading.