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He was a black guy, of Jamaican descent, and he often explained that coming from a single-mother household put more pressure on him to be a certain kind of man.
Though we had a ton of chemistry, he couldn’t understand the ways in which he constantly invalidated my identity.
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He had just moved to Atlanta from Chicago and had this whole stereotypical macho thing about him.
It’s not very personal, but it lessens the possibility of a more life-threatening situation. A few people — both men and women — have had a sense I was trans before I even told them.It wasn’t that he necessarily made me feel threatened, but I knew the statistics. No matter how beautiful, intelligent, or successful, we are the ones who have to settle for being nothing more than receptacles for men’s desires and insecurities. “I’m a transgender woman.” I emphasized the woman part.That didn’t stop the intense expression of confusion that spread across his face.“So you’re a man? “Do you know how lucky you are that I’m not, like, crazy?One of my biggest fears is becoming another murder statistic: someone for the media to posthumously misgender, leading the public to believe that I somehow deserved to have my life taken away.