Intro to Storytelling Showcase featuring Dan Stewart

This episode features Dan Stewart, a student in Campfire’s Intro to Storytelling class. You can learn more about Dan Stewart on the Campfire website, https://cmpfr.com/events/intro-to-storytelling-showcase-spring-2019/.  

These episodes of The Campfire Storytelling Podcast showcase students who went through our Intro to Storytelling class. These students take a six-week class to prepare to tell a story about life and how they live it. Students told stories around “unsaid things.”
 
This episode was originally performed in April 2019, produced by Jeff Allen, and recorded live at The Stage at KDHX.

Transcript

Steven Harowitz:   0:12
Hello, Internet. I'm Steven Harowitz, Executive Director of Campfire, and you are listening to Campfire at Home. It's our way of bringing the live experience to you, whether that be listening and reflecting by yourself or experiencing it with friends. Each Campfire invites listeners into life and how we live it. Before we get too deep into Campfire at Home. I want to share a few opportunities for you to get involved beyond our live show. We offer classes and workshops on public speaking, story construction and group facilitation to answer the big questions in your life or at work. If you or your organization are interested, you can visit cmpfr.com. That's c m p f r dot com. Each Campfire Season poses a life question that's explored by our Campfire Fellows together with our audiences. For our Intro to Storytelling showcase students, they take this question and turn into a theme. This Season their theme was things left unsaid. Let's go to the Stage at KDHX to listen to these stories.

Molly Pearson:   1:09
Please help me welcome Dan to the Campfire. 

Dan Stewart:   1:20
In the fall of 2014, when I was 24, I made the most self compassionate decision I've ever made. You see, for years I kept a secret about who I am, and even before I had the language for it. Um, I knew as a little kid to continue to keep it a secret. And what that secret was is that I wanted to be a man. Now, this isn't some pro-patriarchy, stiffen your upper lip, show no emotion sort of nonsense. Like I literally wanted to be a man. There's an F for female on my birth certificate, a fact that has grated against my sense of self over the years. I grew up in a Catholic Mexican family in Texas in which gender was incredibly important. So much so that by the time I was six months old, I had a gold bracelet with my name on it, which, by the way, pretty sure set my bougie-ness from there on out. Just to be clear. In addition to that bracelet, I also had my ears pierced so that no one would mistake the baby girl for a baby boy. Womanhood was important to my mother, and I love my mom. She and I were each other's support, even growing up in a nuclear family. For some reason, it was just the two of us often, and so I wanted to make her happy, so I fell in line with expectations. I wore those socks with the lace around the ankles, bows that made me look like I was trying to fly away. Second grade was not a good look, um, and hair so long that I would sit on it about 5 to 10 times a day. But at least I had my pretend games. One game in particular, trademark still pending, was a game that I called baggy boys. It's okay, you're can laugh. It's ridiculous. So I want you imagine young Dan wearing an over-sized Adidas t-shirt. My Umbro soccer shorts sag down just a little bit, hence the baggy, and I would practice any sort of nineties hit name on myself. There's Max. Sean. Zach. I was really into Disney Channel at this particular time, but I knew no matter how many times I pretended, that I would not be seen as the little boy that I thought I was and I knew I was. When I was 14, I finally learned what the word transgender was and immediately knew that it described someone like me and almost as immediately knew that it was something that I should never tell anyone. I could lose, my family, my friends, be seen as a freak show, ruin my life. So I stayed quiet. And as a 14 year old kid, who knows that a big part of who they are had to stay inside, I had decided that I would give it a go as long as I could, and I would kill myself by 25. I thought by then I'd have, you know, a  degree or two, friends, whatever have you. I gave it a good go, um, give the best I could. And while it seems grim to a 14 year old who knew that their life was not their own, 25 seemed like a legitimate number, like it was good enough. When I was 18, I had an opportunity to leave Texas. And  I took it, um, and moved from Texas to St. Louis, drove those 799 miles away. Though who's counting? And I ended up here to go to St. Louis University, and it's kind of funny now. Um, I actually chose SLU because it was a Catholic school, because I thought I would give it one more go to be straight and to be a woman. Obviously, that did not work out. Um, but it's okay. We're good. It's fine. I've moved on, but while I was there and while I've lived here in the city, when it turned from months to years, I started to hear a little bit more of my voice, a little bit more of what my life could look like. And for the first time being surrounded by people that were like me, that weren't like me, this nice, safe bubble of queer and trans folks that were rooting for me along the way. And so I started to finally actually look at this gender thing ten years later. I started going by a new name using male pronouns, dressing more masculine-ly, getting a badass haircut. Um, it was a good look, still is, and life was actually happening. But there was one thing, and I knew what that meant was telling my mom, telling my family. At this point in time, I mean, I talked to my mom every day, multiple times a day. Um mama's boy, if you will. Uh, and so I called her and told her that, you know, I'm looking at this gender thing. Um, you know, I'm starting to see someone about it. I don't know what it means. I don't know what it's gonna look like. And out of fear came the threats, um that you'll never be my son. You'll always be my daughter. Say goodbye to your family, and you're dead to me. And while as heartbreaking as that was, I knew that I owed it to myself to do something. I knew that I owed it to that little boy that was trying so desperately to be seen. And I owed it to that 14 year old kid who thought dying was the only way to find peace. So despite that messaging, I continue to grow stronger in who I was and what I needed. And my life blossomed. I met my partner, got married, and from her side silence. I started hormones. Silence. Graduated from my masters program. Silence. Changed my name. Silence. Changed my gender marker from female to male. Silence. But in that silence, for the first time publicly to friends, family, everyone knew. I was able to say out loud that this is who I am and this is the life that I deserve to have, because for so long I had stayed quiet trying to find and fill some happiness and other people around me while I was drowning in my own sadness of never seeing a life that I could have. As an update, um, as recently, about a month ago, my mom had a health scare. And so I talked to her on the phone, um, one of the few times in probably the last five years. And on the phone, she said, "I'm sorry," as a complete sentence, and that had been something that I'd never heard before. And then even as recently as last Friday, um, I called my mom for her birthday, and as I was about to get into the office and had to jump off, she stopped me and said, "Before you go, um, we have a lot of ground to cover. I don't want to die not knowing my son and being part of his life." Which, of course, I'm a fucking badass, like right? Like, thanks, Mom. Took a while. Transitioning for me was one of the hardest but life saving decisions that I've ever made, and it hasn't been easy. Still isn't sometimes, but that's not because it isn't a choice that I should have made. Um, it's what I had to do to save my life. And as I move forward and grow and share who I am and grow into who I am, I've really come to take away a few things. And the one that I learned from this journey is that no matter how hard I try to hide my truth and my authentic self, that eventually it'll come out, things will break open or fall apart. But in that falling apart, there's a beautiful opportunity to rebuild, to rebuild myself, to rebuild my life, to rebuild a sense of hope and to rebuild a future that I did not think I had for so many years. And even on the bad days, it's worth it, and I remind myself of these words, in the good or the bad. That I am here, I am trans, I am thriving, and that is beautiful. Thank you.

Steven Harowitz:   20:45
If you want, you can see the answers to this Season's question as written by audience members from each Campfire by visiting our Facebook page at facebook.com/campfirestl. That's c a m p f i r e s t l. A big thank you to the Campfire team, our photographers and videographers, and a special thanks to KDHX Community Media for being our partners on this journey. If you want to learn more about Campfire and the work we do, you can visit cmpfr.com. That's c m p f r dot com. And if you like what you heard, please leave a review on iTunes or wherever you find your podcasts, because it really helps. Until next time.