Trans Femme Rage
Let’s kick this off with a bit of irony, the kind of fucked up can you believe that moment that makes you smile. This week’s check in question at our staff meeting was “what are your rage songs”? If you’re my curious, my response was Avril Lavigne, Paramore, and Nightwish... I have no desire to share all the fucked up power-based situations that provided me the opportunity to feel rage this week, or today, but let it suffice to say there were plenty. I basically yelled about shitty systems and barriers all day. I’ve certainly been heard and no long need to scream about it here, and besides, I saved all my madly aromatic, organic, fair-trade tea for you. Does the way I’m writing make you smile? If yes, cool. Me too. Do you feel attacked, maybe by my use of the word patriarchy? Get yourself a safety plan. I serve my tea without “caution it’s hot” stickers.
Y’all wanna know what does not make me smile? What fills me with a mind fucking amount of rage, the kind that requires all of my healing work to redirect toward positive change? Fuck, maybe of you’ve experienced this ‘only happens in the movies” shit, and that’s gonna pull you in to the very end of this rage write, which fills me with gratitude and rage simultaneously… I’m sorry for you, also, wait for more the added irony of fucking Hallmark sponsoring some movie moments.
Today, I got invited to join two colleagues on a walk. This was after they had over heard me having the shittiest of situations handed to me all day and how I continually found ways to leverage my brilliance toward magically creating solutions to fucked up shit. It probably seemed like I was created in a lab, or came into existence as innately capable as fuck like Aja-Adanna (when in reality, I was just fucking showing up and trying hard). I’m thankful to them for inviting me though, because at one point in the walk, a lovely little human complimented my dress. I complimented their rain boots. When we were almost back to our offices, I said something basic and laced in naivety and oppression, “we all make the same amount of money anyways”. Immediately I knew something was up. They were either super uncomfortable talking about living paycheck to paycheck with massive medical and student debt but still living a fantastic fucking life (hey me too friends!) or they made more fucking money than me. It was the gosh damn latter (I don’t say gosh because as if I’m Christian and give fucks about cursing the dude who says I’m going to hell. I just didn’t want give him the pleasure of being named. There’s a reason Voldermort is known as Voldermort — DAMN, only like one of my closest of my people will get that poetic shit, the same person who won’t need to google Aja-Adanna).
All this is a pretty fucked up word for word version of the story that my colleague graciously shared with me. I should let you know that my comment about making the same as everyone, was the tail end of me sharing many stories of being passed over for jobs because of my gender. You know, for like really normal legal reasons, like wearing heels and dresses. “Bro, I often tell people this. How I got this job is like a fucking hallmark movie (I swear they actually said hallmark movie). I applied for like 300 jobs (also what they actually said, and even if they did, you’ll soon know why I don’t care) before getting this job, and didn’t hear back from any of them. Then, I applied here and heard back from 3 right away, and bro, they fought for me. One was even a salary level higher than what we are at. They really fucking wanted me, saw my tremendous value, and said, ‘just tell me what salary step you need, I want you, and I’ll pay”. But, I had to choose my heart work bro, and took this role despite it being lower paying level, you know, and our boss, they wanted me, telling me, ‘bro, you’re impressive as fuck, but I can’t go past step five.’ So, I was like, okay, I’ll do this for all of you. Step 5. I can make that work, ya know (no, I don’t fucking know). Bro, did I do this university a solid by gracing them with my presence and expertise or what.” I am only mildy embellishing their words. I feel like a few tossing a few bros here and there have helped illustrate their chill as fuck vibe about making more money than me, and my reaction to them. How did I actually respond? I smiled, looked up to them, and said, “you do sound impressive. You need to do more special projects.” I meant it, and I’ll let you guess what he said. As for the other person, let’s just move forward knowing that they make a fuck ton more than me. Actually, I wasn’t going to fucking look, but I just did, and only folks who can relate will understand what I’m feeling. I came in at step 1, grade 78, which I gratefully accepted at $49,487 because I presumed everyone came in at step one, and, I was a fucking unemployed trans femme non binary thriver (I’ll revisit this in more rage-graphs below). The hallmark star, who was hired after me, they make $51, 584… the other person, who gave me a sob story of coming in as the lower level of 77 cause of a old classification but then negotiated their superior worth enough to get the boss to offer them the highest step in their range, happened to get a master’s degree from the same place I got mine. Although I did get mine 6 years before them, I must not have studied as hard because this is what the university values their contributions at - $77,604. You ready for some more irony I didn’t realize til right fucking now. That difference, would allow me to entirely pay off my $16,000 in dental debt, the debt I chose to commit to, when I finally realized I could get my front teeth fixed last year, after having been missing them for half my life, or 15 years, while going through multiple job search processes and interviews where I was supposed to fucking negotiate my worth while wondering if employers thought I had a meth addiction. It seems so unbelievable that I presume I misheard him, but his enunciation was on point. Countless times I’ve heard this 70k protégé, storm into the office peeved about some real middle class growing pains, the kind of problems that would confuse the people who raised me, the folks who misuse substances to cope with the structural power-based dynamics they can’t understand, and yet we still love each other, because we all know without mutual understanding, that it’s the fucking cards we were dealt…. A fucking hallmark movie, y’all. You’ll all know who stars in most hallmark movies, fucking cis-white people.
I bust my ass to serve students, way more than others. It’s not a competition. I do not try to bust my ass harder than coworkers, I just try my damnest to support people in their journey through oppressive institutions. Don’t even take my word for it, listen to my boss, the person who chose to pay me less than the human I share a wall with. “You need to answer the phone less… it’s not your responsibility to solely answer the phone, thank you, but stahp,” or, a more specific version of this, “one really important person personally walked here to thank you for the open forums feedback you provided about candidates in the stupidly high-level position that’s open, which is in an entirely different division of the university than the one we work in, but you were gone doing other extracurricular work that nobody pays you for. I hope you know how valuable you are.” The actual email I received later from the person I missed the in-person connection with: “THANK YOU! Your comments/perspectives were part of the write-up we did because they were specific, meaningful, and insightful.” That write up, went to the person even further up from the stupidly high-level position being interviewed for, which certainly makes way more money than me. Or, this other brief nugget, “You’re incredible”. That was 2 days ago in our one-on-one meeting.
A few weeks ago, I woke up before dawn, which is early as fuck in Alaska during the summer, to sprinkle giant ass sandwich board posters around our campus to do what I would describe as the absolute least for queer and trans people on campus — tell us that its okay for us to exist. I’ve already gotten invited to serve on a search committee for an absolutely crucial position that focuses on supporting Black, Indigenous and Students of Color, AND queer and trans students. I recruited the person to apply who eventually got the job, and I even eagerly accepted being the search committee chair mid process when our original chair had to deal with a personal thing. All the while, being a fucking star among the actual work team. I lead redesign and innovation conversations all the time and do the “thank you for doing that” work, all the time, because it’s necessary and nobody else is screaming, “I’ll do it”. I do the fucking most, because what the hell am I there for otherwise. Even just today, I gleefully helped clean up a shit show that this budget cutting, humanity fucking, institution created for students, and couldn’t help but think about something one of my better paid colleagues said to me awhile ago, “students are gonna wanna have you as their advisor”, and I thought yeah, many fucking do, because I’m working my ass off for us. And when I say us, I mean humanity.
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What else do I have to say about the two beautiful humans I shared a walk with today (they really are beautiful — I’m not angry at any human I’ve mentioned and I’m genuinely happy for them). I suppose I’ll share what I’ve observed. “When we were all working from home, I only worked like 5 hours some day, because, you know #whitemaleprivilege”, and this one that I’m particularly fired up about with my new knowledge of our I guess equitable pay levels, “Instead of me going to this in person orientation to best serve the students that I signed up to serve, I know one person who just loves to go to them, like they get all giddy and shit. Maybe they should go in my place. It’s what’s best for the kids.” Who do you think they were talking about? To anybody paying attention, it’s easy to see why I went to so many of the orientation sessions, but I understand how a limited awareness of patriarchy could cause people to misinterpret my chipper attitude about going to disproportionately more in-person orientation sessions as an invitation to do his job for him. However, as you already surely know, I was merely taking initiative after him and others didn’t fucking sign up.
As I left the brewery, I thought about my face, as I walked in the rain toward my car, both shivering and sizzling. My beautiful face, not currently projecting the resilient joyful smile people so often respond so well to. I was instead, scowling. My next immediate fucked up thought, more painful than anything you’ve already read. I had a friend once, 4 years ago, who commented on a photo of me scowling, which I had posted on Facebook. They invalidated my pain, and did so, because they were also in a fucked up amount of pain, which I only know, because later that year, they fucking died by suicide. They were also FUCKING trans femme. I have a photo of them on my wall. They’re smiling… At this point, I’m rage bawling as I drive home. My friend was also white like me. Only one of us was privileged enough to stumble along long enough to reconnect to the universal truth, that we are worthy of living. That’s 50%. You know what the percentage is for trans femme people of color? It’s so dreadfully low that the #SayHerName movement often doesn’t even realize how many names their cis-majority movement makers forgot to add to the list. I literally can’t even imagine how I would have made it long enough, to get to a point where I’m getting enraged about pay equity, if I wasn’t white.
I entered my work day focused as fuck, with a 5-point plan for my life after work (brewery, jams, reflection, writing, healing). I have many social media post ideas bounce around my head daily and rarely have time to process, write, and share the gold at the end of the rainbow. Often when I do make it happen, somebody comments that I should write a book. Tonight, literally the only way I knew how to process my anger (after opening up to friends and partner) was writing.
There’s a punching bag suctioned cupped to central check-in desk, which I had already seen these white men punch twice today, after imposing such a toxic ass masculine coping mechanism into our safe space. While venting about an earlier fucked up situation, a colleague asked if I wanted to punch the bag. Nah... I don’t punch things anymore. I channel my rage into words and positive change. Also, you can’t punch oppression. I wanted to hug a friend. So I left and fucking did that. When I hear the phone ring, sometimes I wait a few rings, to see if the movie star next door or others will answer it. At ring 5, I always answer it. My boss the other day, said something like this, in that same meeting when they called me incredible, when we were talking about how I don’t mind answering the phones, “sometimes people say some fucked up shit and asked questions that are convoluted as hell over the phone,” to which I replied, “yeah, you’re welcome”.
I’ve been at the university for less than 7 months, and those are just the fucking cliff notes (did you know that it’s actually “Cliffs notes”, like, that shits plural, and, sure its multiple notes, but why should Cliff get the credit for discovering the power of summation (sounds like some white guy shit — it fucking is!… Clifton Keith Hillegass). Allow me to rephrase. That’s just a few of the ways I went above and beyond like I’m an evolved non-binary version of Buzz Fucking Lightyear, while others swam along in their better compensated supported low-stress fishbowls. If it’s not clear already, I do the most, every fucking day, while having to grapple with which bathroom I’m going to take a shit in, a byproduct of the very patriarchy that neither of those better paid colleagues can even fathom.
So who’s ready for the reframe, because I’m seething? Y’all know it’s coming, it’s expected and required. Also, it’s just who I am, the growth cultivated in me, and my responsibility to us. I’m not mad at any humans; I am however, mad as hell about systems of power created and perpetuated by humans. When I was changing between work and heading to the brewery, my inner rage wanted to resonate with my clothing choices. I tossed a few options around as I pulled them from my drawer feeling unsatisfied. Then, I remembered the shirt I had just gotten from the only QTBIPOC owned café in Los Angeles (Y’all. Bloom and Plume is the only QTBIPOC owned café in the one of the gayest cities. I researched it thoroughly when I was there recently. Another got created in 2019, but then covid took their cafe location. The creator wanted a place where they could go and just exist, so they fucking created it. If you aren’t shocked and or angry at power by this, you fucking should be. Go by some merch.). Also, refer back to my featured photo for the vibe I went with.
So why didn’t I negotiate my worth? Oh, thank you for asking such an original question. Yes, I’m salty. That question does nothing but shame people, especially when it’s regurgitated to folks who just found out that their less competent colleagues make more than them (that didn’t happen to me today, because I choose my friends wisely). That question also coincidentally double dips with those of another list: “most unhelpful, unsolicited advice given to trans femme non-binary people”.
So, why didn’t you negotiate bruh? You gotta advocate for yourself… You know idea how fucking stoked I am to advocate for myself now. I’m over these fucked up power dynamics and shit, but, for our collective benefit, I’ll humor the question. Plus, it’s the other reason I got enraged as fuck today (you just read about the first reason).
Trans people don’t negotiate salaries; we negotiate living. When I was 15, I became a stocker at the one grocery store in our town. There was no nudge toward negotiation. I don’t even know if it was in our vocabulary. I worked my ass off 40-hours a week while doing well enough in school to actually graduate. I’ll never forget what my boss told me and my best friend coworker when I left for college. “You two are the best damn stockers to ever work here”. We both got promoted to cashiering and stocking and many other things that upped our prestige; our pay went up when the federal minimum wage went up. That was my first experience of working hard, and being rewarded with not more pay, but more responsibility, and what’s most fucked up about it is that we were happy about it.
Then I moved to Alaska, where I attained a job with the Alaska Center for the Environment, as a door-to-door canvasser, walking around explaining to people how we are fucking up our Earth. I made $9 an hour, which felt like the fucking jackpot, except I moved 3,000 miles for school and had no trust fund. In college, I got quickly go multiple on-campus jobs. I didn’t want my ass to get bored, you know. One of my part-time roles was more like a 40 hour work week with benefits such as overtime and elevated cortisol. That job did compensate me with room and board, which I was grateful as fuck for. But, you can’t ask for more rooms or more boards. I was only able to attend college because of federal loans and that job. Senior year, I realized I wanted to go to grad school, but little me didn’t know shit, because my family never finished high school. I got another job that summer, to afford the flight to job interviews, then eventually where I got hired. What did I do for work there? You guessed it. I got hooked up with room and board again, but this time they also threw in $16,000 . I was striking gold every time I looked for employment so why would it even occur to me to ask for more. In reality, this compensation was barely enough to pay for my tuition, so as somebody from the cuntry (I use that spelling for phonetics. I do see the word it creates. And, fuck patriarchy) and therefore had to fight to feeling a sense of belonging within all the fancy places, so I used federal loans to buy thrift stores clothes and go to happy hours with friends. My pay was a stipend. Non-negotiable.
Days before walking across the stage in stilettos to accept my graduate degree, I got a job offer. Where I’m from, the people I grew up around, none of them have salaries. So, when I did eventually get that first and only salary offer, I said, yes fuck thank you I love you, before they even finished asking if I as interested. My lived experiences didn’t teach me to negotiate, despite cis mentors encouraging me to. I learned to take what I am given and be happy about it. To get that job, I flew to Baltimore for a national placement exchange, where I had went to interview after interview for two full days, with different colleges around the country. After returning, I heard nothing, all while I celebrated friend after friend who got the calls.
This was another pivotal time in my journey, when I gained access to valuable knowledge that was powerful enough to shift my view of self-love (just like getting paid differently; that’s the bow for the end of this rage). After I left the placement exchange, my now ex-partner, was visiting my alma-mater in Alaska, when a past supervisor of mine, gave them some feedback about my performance in the interviews, and by performance I mean the fucking shoes I chose to wear. People who were in Baltimore interviewing me, were in fact talking me up amongst one another, during the proceeding cocktail hour. Asking each other questions such as, “Bro, that dude in heels, what’s up with that?” How do I know this. One of those super fucking professional people gossiped with my former mentor all the way in Alaska, because they happened to know each other, and then that past mentor of mine chose to protect my ex-partner by asking how they were handling my new found desire to wear femininity, and fortunately, because of the good human that my ex is, they fucking told me. I raged then to, but nobody I reached out to could understand, so my depression began. I haven’t talked to that mentor since then. I got cut out of their life. Like, deleted, blocked, and forgotten. It took me years to let go of that abandonment.
More irony. In that new role I was so stoked for. Shit changed. Friends left. And, I found myself working for a human who was an expert at gaslighting. My depression found on a home on a slippery slope, marking my stark decline toward suicide, though that wouldn’t get really real for another 6 years. I endured for two years, the second year being my intentional choice to stay and keep fighting the good fight, until one day that I vividly remember. I was in his office, crying, one of the only powerful people I’ve ever cried in front of, and that fuck responded this way, “I noticed your affect changed”, after he had just finish minimizing and saying fucked up shit. I just said I’m done, and surrendered. I was leaving… now you all know who Voldermort is. I interviewed for many roles, at many schools, and here’s something else I’ll never forget. I got pulled into a mentor’s office as the year was ending and I was about to become unemployed and homeless. “Do you want to hear some feedback I heard about your interviews?” Yes! I hadn’t heard a fucking peep from any schools again and I needed a job. I didn’t care how hard the feedback was to hear. I sat down and I swear the only things they said were, “what were you wearing… (insert the suppressed tears of a trans femme rage pause) and your long hair”. Needless to say, I never heard from that employer, and they continued living their best life gloating about their love for queer people in our beloved queer capitol of these united states.
During another interview, the employer host asked me what pronouns I use, and then immediately follow up with, “is it okay that I ask you that”. I said, “yeah, I think so, as long as you ask everybody else.” They absolutely for sure didn’t ask any other candidates. I never heard from them again, either. I didn’t get a job in time and technically became homeless. Luckily, that same friend who knows about rad femme scientists, let me live with them for awhile, which allowed me to go to another interview. Before I left, my loving partner asked me, “Do you think you should play it safe this time?” At this point, I can’t really see daylight at the top of the slippery slope, but I’m resilient as fuck, so no, I didn’t play it safe, and when, I got the offer, I’ll let you decide if you think I negotiated for more money.
Then, a year later, I left that job that I loved, leaving a team where I was very loved, because it was my turn to sacrifice my career. I’m not upset about it, and to make it happen, we both chose to move back to Alaska without jobs, where their career was surely waiting for them. There were only a couple of schools I could look for jobs at, but I didn’t care. In tear filled words of my amazing supervisor, “You’re moving for the right reasons, and I’m gonna miss you so much”. My former partner quickly got scooped up and they are now living their dream. Actually so am I. I’m really not mad about moving back or how my life progressed. I’m grateful. That doesn’t mean I hold no rage.
I returned to one of my college jobs, getting up at 6am to clean the weight room at a local gym. When I interviewed, my soon to be supervisor, said, “but you have master’s degree?” Yeah, so, does mean I got the job? I continued working there in the mornings even after I finally got a salary job, at a non-profit who focuses mostly on empowering women, but I think I remember something about them planning to update their mission to be empower cis-women, or maybe I’m making that up in my head. I think I’m too angry right now to remember clearly. During the job offer phone call with my new boss, after I was offered the position, I was also delivered sweet little innocent ultimatum. “I recall you mentioned wearing heels. Do you still do that? I mean, it’s sucks patriarchy teets, but we got white male conservative donors to keep appeased, so…” Negotiating for more money must have slipped my mind, while I was negotiating shoes. I was like, sure, no problem, my transness doesn’t mesh with my marriage, so no worries, while internally, silently, I slid way the fuck down that slippery ass slope and cuddled up with depression. A year and a half, and 3 CEOs/supervisors later, my entire program was eliminated, including my position during a budget cut. Then, covid happened.
I starting working full-time at that gym again, while continued interviewing for roles. 6–8 covid months later, I got hired at another non-profit, one I really wanted to work for. I got the call at 10pm, as I was run commuting home from working at the gym. I was stoked and ready to say yes, not planning to negotiate, but they made that decision for me when, instead of the salary in the position description, due to “budget constraints”, I was asked to be a part-time employee for a probation period of $18 an hour. I made more full-time at the gym, but I said yes. Our rent was $1200 a month though, so we moved to a cheaper place, and I kept worked two jobs again. The rest of my time at that organization is basically the plot to the Devil Wear’s Prada. A million girls would kill for that job (me originally), and I’m not one of them (me after a year and a half, of doing really good hard work, but needed to leave to re-center my own values and worth). It got toxic and hard, when my life did too (suicidal ideation and divorce and stuff… the very bottom of my slippery slope), and I still love every human I worked with. Before I left, after they asked my boss, a person I loved and did hard work in solidarity with, to resign, I actually, finally, felt my worth, and negotiated. I made a formal proposal, since I was now the only employee doing all the work, and was already doing way more than in my job description. I requested a modest bump, right in the middle of what I was currently making and what my former boss friend was making. I waited an entire month before I even heard back from them. At this point, I already knew the answer. It was a no, bro. They never could seem to see me as non-binary or use they/them to refer to me, despite having a mission that slightly suggests they should try at least a little, but it’s all good, at least now I’ll always have a story about that one time I actually tried to negotiate for more money. I left, still love them all as humans, but, bye. I realized, that as a trans femme non-binary human, if I didn’t make changes, I was going to let depression kill me.
Tangent — It was a way harder decision than the only other time I quit a job (remember Voldermort… they took after their creator #TERFforLife). I randomly saw they follow my partner and I’s new Instagram account, and I promptly blocked them. They don’t get to swoop into my joy. Fuck them. I wish them well. But nah, boundaries bro…. So I chose to be unemployed again, but spoiler alert, I got a job, this job, the one where I couldn’t bring myself to negotiate money, for some reason, so I guess it’s seen as my fault I made less than others, like as if the only way for me my worth to be actually seen and rewarded is if I compare myself to others and say why I’m better… that doesn’t align with my vibe.
After getting myself into the dental debt, transitioning to a single person income after getting a divorce, and almost dying by suicide, I was finally offered a job at the university. Do you fucking think I even pondered negotiating?!?! If you think nah, obviously and thank you for being a good human, but also, I did think about it. I always think about it. I’ve never not thought about it. I work super hard and I don’t regret my 2 degrees from expensive privates schools. I applied to a lot of schools. I got into 1 each time. I had been told several times when I had asked about salary ranges, folks tend to come in at this entry level, so I assumed that this university was the same. But then insert the context of my life, and all I said was, thank you so very much. And, I love it where I work!!! It’s only led to beautiful connections, meaningful service to humanity and so many affirmations. I crave a sense of belonging, much more than I crave money. I guess money is some people’s first goal, what they need, and willing to negotiate for… it must be nice. Of course some trans folks negotiate for higher pay, and are empowered as fuck. I’m not speaking for a group of people. I’m so fucking proud of the trans people who do speak power to their worth and negotiate salaries. For me though, as a trans femme non-binary person, I haven’t.
So, you ready for the reframes? Two days ago when my boss said I am incredible, was the same day I told them I am going to apply to this position that’s opening, that’s really rewarding, I’m very qualified, and excited, and it’s a bump in salary. And, if I don’t get it, I’m explained I was going to apply to the next because I feel folks are ready to see me with a larger scope of impact. I know I am. They agreed. I sensed something, a discomfort, a pain, something. I saw in their eyes or at least felt it in their excitement for me. Now, I know, it was our unshared knowledge how I currently make like the least, and in ways, do the most. I love every person I work with. I really do. It’s so great to work with people who help me feel happy about myself, and I’m a quite impressive human, I can hold space for all that gratitude AND be enraged as fuck at systems and power and socialization.
Every part of me, is already practicing my immediate response to this new role if I’m offer the position. YES! But, what have I learned from this. I will negotiate the salary, because I refuse to negotiate my existence any longer, and for me, not negotiating salaries turns out to be basically that same conversation. Besides, I’ve always known I’m super fucking valuable. It’s my time, I’ve learned how to affirm myself, have so many affirming friends who see me, and a partner who is my dream. I’m ready as fuck for this. That’s a trans femme rage reframe.
I am so, so ready to interview for this role, and present how much I’m worth. I won’t be holding back. I mean fuck, the supervisor of who would be my supervisor in this new role said to me “we need you working on our team”. I would say I can’t believe I’m paid less, but that’s the enraging part. I get it. America’s culture and norms affirm this disproportionate pay. The same power system that rewarded my colleagues with hallmark movie experience on their resumes, decided that my trans femme non-hallmark quality ass was only fit for a supporting role. I’m angry at the conditions that got created, that cause me to question my worthiness of belonging.
So, what is trans femme rage? It’s beautiful fucking self-love. It’s a cataclysmic, power shifting depth of radical self love that I’ve seen trans icons embody, but I not quite tapped. Today, the lid of suppression was ripped the fuck off, and, it feels euphoric.
So, how do you punch systemic power? Solidarity. Get you some friends who know how smash some fucked up power dynamics with hugs and knowledge. Did you all know that any state or federal government salary can be seen online? Obviously I didn’t know. If you work in Alaska, here it is. Now we all know! Look them salaries up for all the white men you share walls with, that way you don’t have to wait for them to gloat.
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Don’t wait be waiting for your starring role in a hallmark movie, when you were made for Marvel.
