Dancing Despite the Pain

Reflections on the Endocrine Society Conference, Part 2

Our presence at the Endocrine Society Conference June 1-2 in Boston was a powerful experience. Not only was it a demonstration of effective activism, but it was also a meeting of an especially evocative group of LGBT adults who accomplished much more together than we could have achieved separately. It had a magical gestalt effect, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. 

Jamie Reed – a gay woman, married to a transman, a mother, and a whistleblower from within the pediatric gender medicine establishment. 

Corinna Cohn – a male to female transsexual who transitioned at a young age. A gay man. Wickedly smart, funny and engaging.

Lauren Leggierri  – a lesbian with a childhood experience that would have met the diagnostic criteria for Gender Identity Disorder, who then desisted as an adolescent as she discovered her lesbianism. Just like the desistance/persistence studies report. 

And me, Aaron Kimberly, a Canadian lesbian with the same childhood experience as Lauren and countless other gay and lesbians have, who did later medicalize as an adult and lived as a trans man for nearly 20 years. I am also a parent of a lesbian, and a mental health clinician who worked for a brief time in gender medicine before blowing the whistle in 2021.

Individually, we each had something of profound importance to say to the endocrinologists we met, to warn them that medicalizing kids is the medicalization of homosexuality. 

Interacting with the conference participants, as they entered and exited the building, we brought together all of our clinical and personal arguments to the table, in ways that were professional, earnest, factual and compelling. Jamie and I have experience speaking with physicians, and the language they use. Lauren and Corinna’s personal experiences drove the evidence home, with heartbreaking charm, honesty, and warmth. 

There are many stories I could tell about those conversations, in the hundreds, which opened minds. And, stories about the close minded hecklers -  interactions which inevitably went like this:

Them: Shouldn’t trans people have a say? Me: I am trans 

Them: Shouldn’t this be left to the clinicians? Me: I’m a nurse who’s worked in gender medicine

Them: People are who they say they are.  Me: I’m a medicalized butch lesbian.

Instead, I’d like to tell you about the powerful chemistry of our team, and its impact on me. 

There’s so much pain in our community. 

The pain that drives many of us to medicalize. 

The pain of loving those of us who medicalize. 

The pain of not medicalizing and feeling betrayed by those of us who do. 

The pain of feeling pressured to medicalize. 

The pain of medical procedures and the impact on our health.

The pain of seeing so many gay and lesbian youth being rushed down the trans pipeline. 

The pain of not being listened to, and the scorn and alienation for speaking up. 

This is all, the pain of a single thing: homophobia. 

Yet, while holding this collective pain and the weight of our message, was belly laughter. Joy. Dancing. Creativity. A deep and genuine love and respect for one another. 

Lauren mentioned missing out on the weekend’s Pride celebrations in order to attend this conference. An electronic billboard at the conference center was a glittery, rainbow-coloured reminder of the Pride events we weren’t attending. I didn’t feel as though I was missing anything. What we accomplished together at this conference was the deepest expression of Pride imageable. I would much rather celebrate who we are, and everything we’ve been through, and what we have to offer, with these three homos of such exceptional wisdom, courage, integrity, resilience and humour – who showed up to protect our youth – than with the thousands who have sold out to corporate and political interests and who turn a blind eye to the real and pressing needs of our community, especially our youth.

Our coalition – whether 5 or 5000 – makes me exceptionally proud to be a lesbian. I am grateful, from the bottom of my heart, to know each member of this team – those who attended this event, and those on our team who couldn’t attend this time around. You my friends, are an LGBT worth fighting with and for. Had this been the Pride I’d always known, I doubt I would have medicalized. I want the kids to feel this love, and laugh like we do.  And to dance as badly as we do, and not care in the slightest, because their worth is not dependent on flawless performance or identity gymnastics.