Grief in the trans community

I recently witnessed a conversation online between counsellors. The issue being debated was about whether you can work with a trans person’s grief, despite lack of knowledge of the community. 

The replies varied, with many trans or ally counsellors explaining why cultural fluency is important. The answers below, (while not verbatim, to protect confidentiality), summarise the attitudes I often hear towards questions like this: 

“Why would their gender matter?” 

“I treat everyone the same.” 

“I don’t see why their identity would impact their grief.” 

"I don't see them as trans, I just see them for the human they are."

“They’re human aren’t they? They’ll experience grief like anyone else.” 

"I forget they're trans sometimes."

“I worked with a trans person once and it didn’t come into the room.” 

“Clients don’t want you to make it all about their identity.” 

When I deliver trainings, I talk about the multitude of complex, interwoven, culturally significant concepts that counsellors must keep in their minds at all times when working with any community. I imagine this as a bank of knowledge and cultural understanding, floating round above my shoulders, ready for me to draw on and make links with the client’s material. This is true of any client and situation, but the fact is that grief, and other subjects, have their own important nuances and significance to different communities. 

The visual representation of the 'bank' of ideas I draw on when working with trans community grief

The following are just some of the ways grief presents uniquely to the trans community: 

Being the subject of grief 

Statements such as “I’ve lost my son/daughter” or “I’m grieving the child/sibling I thought I had” are very common to hear from family members of trans people after they come out. While transition can be an exciting time for the individual, it’s often viewed as a loss by those around us. Becoming the subject of someone else’s grief at a time you are building your identity can result in an intrinsic link with grief that feels out of our control. 

Loss of family, friends and community 

Transition also marks a time of loss with many trans people facing estrangement from family, friends, colleagues, partners and communities. Grief can also stem from loss of places and routine, such as changing gyms, shops, pubs, commutes, hobbies etc due to a desire for anonymity. Prior to transition, many live with the fear of this happening. When combined with other factors such as age, religion or race, it can be really difficult to rebuild a community. Our support systems are like delicate ecosystems that have grown for years: new growth community isn’t as stable. 

Historical loss 

Many who claim that being trans is a “young people’s thing” fail to take into account the huge losses experienced by queer and trans communities. There are not many older trans people because we lose so many. Events such as the HIV crisis cut short many lives. Trans people and other minorities are more affected by issues such as covid and cost of living. I wonder, when we look back in a few decades time on the composition of the UK trans community, if we will be able to see the impact of the current political climate on the community and its ability to bear elders. Marginalisation kills over a long period, so grief is ever-present in subtle ways. 

Suicide, murder and loss exposure 

While the internet has made the community feel much larger, it’s still a small one and connection brings the ability for news to spread. Any person who follows many trans related creators, professionals or organisations, will have noticed an influx of deaths being announced recently. This has always been the case. We, as such a small community, have our own memorial day to commemorate those lost to suicide and murder. Anecdotally, this past winter has felt particularly bad. 

Suicide is intrinsically linked and interwoven through trans experience, as is violence. Often, when we die, it’s violent. We as a community are not afforded quiet deaths. Following death, memories of trans people are often desecrated through the media birth-naming, misgendering and publishing pre-transition photos. This produces a unique kind of anxiety and loss. Grief isn’t just the loss of someone. How they are spoken about post-death can compound grief, making it more complex. 

Connection to community loss 

When Drag Performer The Vivienne died earlier this year, many on social media commented that they didn’t know why they were so upset, as they didn’t personally know her. Similar feelings have echoed with the loss of other queer and trans people this year. When you belong to such a small community, it’s easy to see yourself in those who have been lost. It’s also easy to see yourself in their position, particularly if the death was linked to trans identity or experience, such as murder or suicide. Loss of someone in a community like this is a threat of what could be next for you. 

Threat 

Following on from the above point, If you dare, go to the comment section of any post about a trans person. The vitriol, death threats, supremacist references, mocking and threat is clear to see. Living under this threat brings a new dimension to the experience of anticipatory grief and loss. 

Queer/trans temporality 

This is a subject I talk about a lot with clients, teach about and write about. It’s the idea that queer and trans people often have to live on an altered timeline in comparison to other people. Waiting is part of our existence; on waiting lists, to come out, to get healthcare, to live our lives. There is a huge amount of grief associated with the feeling of time/life lost. 

Consider the complexities of grief in someone who waited decades to come out, only doing so after their partner died. Or someone who spent their young adulthood hiding away until they were able to make enough changes to feel safe going out in society. This is what I mean when I say grief is interwoven with trans experience. 

Societal and organisational abandonment 

Trans people are currently experiencing a cultural version of whiplash, as we see how civil rights progression is not linear. Eleven years ago, trans actress and activist Laverne Cox appeared on the cover of Time Magazine under the headline ‘Transgender Tipping Point: America’s next civil rights frontier’. The article predicted a rise in trans acceptance and outlined the fight to get there. The 20-teens were a decade of increasing acceptance and visibility, but we then quickly became the focus of hatred like we’ve never seen before. As a community we mourn the rollback of rights, the tidal change in societal/political acceptance and the amplification of those who have always opposed us. UK based trans people are particularly bewildered by the u-turns of the Labour government, who had previously been seen as allies. This grief is even more complex for trans people with other marginalised identities that are experiencing a similar deluge of hatred, for example immigrants, people of colour and disabled people. 

“Why does trans identity matter?” 

This is a question I hear often when I talk about cultural fluency (or cultural attunement, to borrow a term from Myira Khan, whose work has been integral to my own understanding of the importance of fluency). Counsellors often think I’m saying that no cis counsellor can ever work with a trans client due to lack of shared experience: that’s not what I’m saying. When presented with a trans client experiencing grief, my mind opens up an infinite, complicated flowchart of possible links, like a frantic TV detective with a corkboard and red string. These links are also felt, rather than just understood. 

The question of “Why does it matter?” highlights to me that the counsellor is seeing someone without the complexities of trans experience. They probably lack the variety of cultural touch-points which allow identity to be fully seen and explored. While the well-meaning counsellor may think they’re being person centred by “just being with” the client, the client is likely seeing a gulf of cultural understanding opening up in the middle of the relationship. 

Lack of ability to follow the connections in a culturally attuned way means that therapy can lack depth. It can result in clients becoming teachers, or deciding not to spend emotional energy raising issues their counsellor might not understand. And it’s really clear to us when counsellors don’t understand, no matter how they try to hide it. 

When any client presents with an issue such as grief, their prior experiences are woven through their thoughts and emotions. I think of this like long pieces of string attached to various parts of their being. When one experience or memory is pulled, we see how it’s interconnected with other parts of this tangled yarn puzzle. This is true of anyone and any issue, but when we don’t have the understanding to recognise which strings are also connected through identity, we miss a huge piece of the puzzle. Even when the grief is seemingly unrelated to trans identity, the 'strings' attached to community grief will still be pulled.

The truth is, it matters greatly that a counsellor is able to fluently ‘go there’ with clients' varying experiences. The longer I work within community and see the impact when counsellors get it wrong, the more I am an advocate for cultural fluency being a necessity in counselling. 

If you’d like to learn more about working as an ally to the trans community, please check out the training page of my website. The workshop “5 things to do before calling yourself a trans ally” covers the idea of cultural fluency in therapy in more depth. The “Trans lived experience” workshop gives participants the opportunity to put themselves in the shoes of potential trans clients navigating the world and looking for a counsellor. You can sign up as an individual here. Or you can book for your organisation here.

If you’re a client wishing to discuss grief, or any other experience, with a focus on how it relates to your trans identity, you can contact me here to book an introductory call.