Do we get tired of sharing our stories?

I was on a panel a couple of nights ago at a Unitarian Universalist church, and as the moderator was introducing us, he thanked us for coming to share our stories and mentioned that we probably get tired of doing it.

As I sat there listening to the others, I thought about whether or not, after 12 years, I was tired of telling my story. And I wondered if some of the other panelists might be as well.

Of course, a presenter can always say no, something I haven't been able to do since I was in the back seat of my boyfriend's car in high school. But when I think about being "tired of telling my story," I find that it's not really the presenter or speaker situation that makes me tired of it--it's more often the one-on-one, and I think that's because it's usually not something I agreed to or prepared for in advance.

When I agree to speak, I know what I'm there for. But if I go to dinner, a professional gathering, or a social event, and someone starts asking me questions, that's when I sometimes start to think, "Oh, no, not again" (just like I thought in my high-school boyfriend's car).

It takes energy to tell our stories. It takes thought and focus and concentration. It can be very draining, even if we don't realize it until after we're done and we suddenly feel tired--emotionally and physically spent--and we might not even know why.

When we're up in front of an audience, we've planned for it. But when we're eating a sandwich or having a margarita or just relaxing along with everybody else, and suddenly we're caught off guard and expected to come forth with personal details about our life--that's when it can get tiring. It's almost like being off the clock and then being called to work. And that's when it's the most difficult to say no.

I can turn down a speaking gig if I want to. But it's hard to tell a person at a party that I don't want to answer his questions just now about my body or my childhood or when I first "knew."

And the problem is that one-on-one education is probably the most effective. That's when a person really gets a sense of me as another person--a "real" person. And that's when they also tend to generalize me (or any trans person) to a larger population.

If I say, "I don't really feel like answering all those questions right now," they come away thinking, "Man, trans people are snotty."

So I go along (just like in my boyfriend's car) and hope that I've provided some value that will make a difference. But that's sometimes when I start to feel tired, and I want to say, "I'm speaking next week. Come see me." Or "Read my book. Read anybody's book."

Or "Not now. I have a headache." Wish I would have thought of that one in high school.

(I'm doing an all-campus presentation this week at the University of New Hampshire in Durham (Wednesday night, October 7, at 7 p.m.), and then a presentation with Max Valerio and Cameron Partridge at St. Luke's and St. Margaret's Episcopal Church in Allston, Mass. (Thursday night, October 8, at 7 p.m.). If you live out east, come check it out. I promise I won't have a headache.)