For a long time now, I have been skeptical of the benefits of visibility or at the very least I have been leery about the personal costs of being visible as a trans person. When I talk about this hestiance, (non-trans) people tend to assume it is because of lingering feelings of gender dysphoria or failure, that in being visible I am exposing my flaws. While I would be lying if I said I was totally happy with my gender presentation, this doesn’t really get to the heart of the matter.

What really pains me about being visible as a trans person is seeing the version of me that non-trans people create in their mind, the narratives and cultural ideas that cling to their mental picture of me. In some cases, I have watched this happen in real time as a person I have known for a while finds out I am trans, usually because of a joke or anecdote I tell or because they ask about my work. I have watched as a fog of pity, or curiousity, or repulsion descends upon them. Suddenly, I am no longer the me they knew but instead a chimeric amalgamation of the person in front of them and their preconceptions about trans people.

So, while visibility may be in some contexts politically useful or expedient, I will remain leery. Hesitant to show myself not because of shame or fear but because sometimes it’s unbearable to watch you watch me.