Why I’m Not an Activist

Being an activist is a public job. You sign your name on the dotted line, you retweet, you’re photographed marching down the street. People see you standing up for your rights and the rights of others. People… notice.

I don’t want people to notice me. Being myself is, in many ways, being invisible. Moving away from the pressure of being a female bodied, female presenting person and just stepping outside of all that for a while.

The first time I intentionally dressed in ‘boy’ clothes, binding my breasts and hiding my hair, I was struck by the fact that no-one looked at me. I was used to people clocking me as I walked by, even though by societal standards I have never been much of a pretty girl.

But as myself I just faded into the background. I would sit in crowds and feel still inside. Calm. Not broadcasting my gender identity, but fading into the bus seat or the architecture. Maybe it’s symptomatic of the continued way our society rewards masculine tropes and signifiers and punishes female ones – and I can see how some bio-men describe it as lonely – but I’ve never not been looked at in that way while presenting as female.

I think it’s kind of great.

I could go to meetings and demonstrations, join forums and make YouTube videos. There’s a whole trans umbrella of a community that I could join, but I don’t really want to. Being true to myself is enough of a fight for me, for now.

I want to remain invisible for a little bit longer. That’s why I’m not an activist.