Navigating a heteronormative world: Cisgender women,transgender partnerships,sexual identity,and language

Introduction

Alongside rapidly expanding cultural knowledge about transgender embodiment and experience, and gradual growth of scholarly research on Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer (LGBTQ) families and relationships, there is a small but growing body of sociological research explicitly focusing on transgender partnerships. This article contributes to that field by examining the relationship between language and sexual identity for cisgender women who are partners of trans men. ¹ Sexual identity is often understood as an individual’s description of their sexual, romantic, and emotional attractions or lack thereof. Individuals relate to their sexuality in two distinct ways: through their personal identity (how they understand their own identity) and through their social identity (how they express their identity to others) (McGann, 2014). This research demonstrates the relationship between these sexual identities and use of language, among women in partnerships with trans men.

Identities are communicated in many ways; language is only one prominent way people express identity (Baker, 2008). Especially for individuals with atypical sexual identities, whether or not they adopt a sexual minority status, language can feel either limiting or liberating (Tabatabai and Linders, 2011; Thompson and Morgan, 2008). Sexuality is socially constructed (Weeks, 1986). While language may not produce our desires, it does produce “the categories through which we organize our sexual desires, identities, and practices” (Cameron and Kulick, 2003: 19). Language around sexuality develops in a particular social and cultural context and therefore is likely to change over time.

Research on language and sexuality has a rich history. Scholars have explored the ways that language shapes sexual identities, beginning with early efforts to identify “gayspeak,” language specifically used by lesbian, gay, and bisexual community members (Cameron and Kulick, 2003). For example, Liang (1999) studied day-to-day conversational interactions within lesbian and gay communities and showed that individuals deliberately referred to their partners using particular terms to either signal toward or away from their sexual minority identities. In more contemporary research, scholars have found a variety of linguistic strategies similar to Liang’s. For example, scholars have documented how African American Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender (LGBT) community members shift their language depending on the context and refer to their community as family (Moore, 2010), how online chat participants refer to camp culture to signal community belonging with other online chat participants (King, 2011), or how asexual individuals reframe conversations about their sexuality to highlight self-description rather than pathology (Gupta, 2017).

These linguistic strategies are not surprising, as Moore and Stambolis-Ruhstorfer (2013: 499) note: “Same-sex couples use intentionality- or strategies to legitimize and support their relationships - and redefinition- or language, culture, and symbols – to make meaning and affirm their social networks.” Studying the use of language in transgender partnerships, Aramburu Alegría and Ballard-Reisch (2013) found that some “natal females” ² adopt terms like “heteroflexible” or “situational lesbian” after their partners have come out as trans women. Similarly, scholars have showed how cis women partners of individuals on the “female-to-male (FTM) spectrum” deliberately avoid using terms that speak to their attraction to trans individuals, out of their desire not to be viewed as fetishizing transness (Tompkins, 2014).

This article explores the relationship between language and sexual identity for cis women partners of trans men and argues that when speaking of their own sexual identities, cis women partners of trans men (a) are flexible with their language, (b) use specific terms to signify cultural belonging or difference, and (c) use language as a suggestive action to others to question heteronormative assumptions. The strategies they use depend on the social context, their own identities, and the level of “outness” of either their partner or themselves. Many women respondents pushed against the limits of binary sexual labels like straight, lesbian, or bisexual, instead drawing on the expansiveness of “sexual borderlands” language like queer or pansexual (Callis, 2014). These less-specific terms allow individuals to embrace language and labels that more adequately describe their own complex sexual identities, or that of their peers.

Transgender partnerships

Contemporary research on transgender partnerships has mostly centered on relationships where one partner comes out as transgender during the relationship. Scholars have examined many aspects of these relationships, including sexual activity and intimacy (Brown, 2010; Joslin-Roher and Ward, 2009; Pfeffer, 2016; Sanger, 2010), shifting gendered practices and expressions of gender identity (Aramburu Alegría and Ballard-Reish, 2013; Chester, 2017; Pfeffer, 2010, 2016; Vincent and Erikainen, 2018; Ward, 2010), bodies and intimacy, body work, and body image (Bishop, 2016; Brown, 2010; Pfeffer, 2008, 2016), negotiating the division of household labor (Kelly and Hauck, 2015; Pfeffer, 2010, 2016), and how partners navigate institutions including the medical system and marriage (Beckett-Wrighton, 2020; Heston, 2013; Pfeffer, 2012, 2016; Wilkinson and Gomez, 2004).

In 2016, it was reported that 27% of transgender relationships had ended “either solely or partly” because one of the partners identified as transgender (James et al., 2016: 67). In partnerships that survive, Hines (2006) found that gender transition is a commitment that couples must navigate in a relationship, just as they negotiate general responsibilities of work and family. It is important to note that not all negotiations are effective and can, at times, reproduce relational inequalities. For example, in order to demonstrate their commitment to their partner’s gender transition, some cisgender women “give gender,” meaning that they perform in ways to affirm their partner’s gender and sexual identities (Ward, 2010). Many partners do significant emotional labor, often placing their personal needs on hold to attend to the needs of their FTM transgender partners (Joslin-Roher and Wheeler, 2009; Pfeffer, 2010).

Many scholars have found that one main area of discord in transgender relationships is related to sexual identity, especially the challenges to the cis partner’s identity when their partner transitions (Aramburu Alegría, 2010; Aramburu Alegría, 2013; Barnow, 2015; Bishop, 2012; Brown, 2009; Chase, 2011; Jennens, 2018; Joslin-Roher and Wheeler, 2009; Norwood, 2012; Platt and Bolland, 2017; Pfeffer, 2014, 2016). In the largest study of partnerships between cis women and trans men which includes 50 participants, Pfeffer (2014, 2016) found that some of the cisgender women felt that others were making incorrect assumptions about their identities and the sexual communities in which they belong. These cis women sometimes felt invisible and disliked being misrecognized. Consistent with Pfeffer’s (2014, 2016) findings, Joslin-Roher and Wheeler (2009) found that when their partners came out as transgender, the cisgender women were concerned about how to navigate their own sexual identity. Some of the women felt that mainstream language was inadequate to fully describe their identities. At times, the participants felt conflicted about how their own identities related to their partners’ identities. The women took care in how they personally identified to ensure that their partner’s sexual and gendered affiliations were respected (Joslin-Roher and Wheeler, 2009: 40).

Sanger (2010) found that trans and cis partners in trans partnerships faced a wide array of experiences while navigating a heteronormative society. Some felt confined to certain sexual identities, and others found themselves pushed toward “reworking their own perceptions of sexuality, and also sometimes those of others” (Sanger, 2010: 78). While some participants were not comfortable with being perceived as straight, they recognized the benefits of being misrecognized (Sanger, 2010). Brown (2009) found that for half of the 20 cisgender women participants in their research, the way they spoke about their own sexual identity shifted after their partner came out as transgender. Some of these women participated in a process they called “strategic disclosure” to help navigate the uneasiness that can come with changing identities; depending on the context, the cisgender partner strategically used words to either disclose or hide their partner’s or their own sexual identity.

Similarly, Aramburu Alegría (2010) found that among sixteen “natal female” partners of “MTF transgender women,” some had to navigate issues of sexual social identity, including concerns around how others interpreted their relationship. As with most others in this field, Aramburu Alegria’s research looked at partnerships where the partner came out during the relationship with the participant. They found that couples engaged in specific activities to help support each other, and they noted that while these partners still understood their sexual orientation as heterosexual, they understood identity to be more flexible and relational.

In the past few years, researchers have drawn conflicting conclusions in studies of language, sexuality, and identity in transgender partnerships—some find that individuals have struggled and changed their identity and language, while others find much smoother transitions. For instance, Barnow’s (2015) research examined relationships between cisgender women and genderqueer individuals and found that some of the participants reported changing how they spoke about their sexual identity when partnered with a genderqueer person, but an equal number said there was no change. And in contrast to a considerable body of evidence that claims otherwise, Beckett-Wrighton (2020) found that participants did not experience questions or conflicts concerning their sexual identities after their partner came out as transgender. Interestingly, Bishop (2012) interviewed 11 cis women partners of trans men and found that the cisgender women whose sexual identities were non-monosexual “did not struggle with the implications of their partner’s transition for their sexual identity” (Bishop, 2012: 50). Most of those who were monosexual, by contrast, defined their sexual identity in ways to affirm their partner’s gender identity.

This project indicates that the variable of timing may explain some of the differing findings—both the timing of the partners’ relationship relative to the person who transitioned and the timing of the research itself. This article suggests that considering the timing of the partnership—whether the romantic relationship precedes the partner’s transition or not—has to be analyzed in conjunction with the partner’s own sexual identity (whether the partner already identified as non-monosexual, or if they identified as monosexual but were not convinced it was a good fit). The interaction between these two variables is a crucial factor in the way that language and sexual identity are negotiated. As cultural understandings of transness rapidly evolve, the timing of partnerships influences both partners’ experience of their personal and social sexual identities.

Previous studies of cis women partners of trans men tend to focus primarily on how the cis woman’s identity hinges on the relationships with the transgender partner. This article, by contrast, considers how language about identity has been used by the participants not only currently but also in the past. Despite the fact that most of these relationships started as a transgender–cisgender partnership, the participants’ practices and language use were similar to previous research, where one partner transitioned after the relationship began. Most of the cis women in this study have not just recently started grappling with language or ways of identifying within their current relationships. Instead, most have complex histories of navigating the language they use to describe their sexual identity, and those histories shape their approach to language and sexuality today. Participants with histories of interrogating sexual identity, language and labels, tend to demonstrate creative relationships with language around sexual identity, finding opportunities to destabilize sexuality discourses.

Methodology

Semi-structured in-depth interviews were conducted with 19 participants living in the northeast of the United States. At the time of the interviews, all participants identified as cis women; all of them were partnered with trans men. The participants’ ages range from 20 to 55 with the average age of 34; 18 of the participants are white, and one participant is black. All women in the study have some level of college education, with six having completed some graduate-level work.

At the time of the study, eight of the participants identified as queer, four identified as pansexual, one as straight, one as bisexual, one as a butch dyke/lesbian, one as a dyke, and three used unique labels like “lesbian who dates trans men.” Contrary to previous studies, most of the transgender partners identified as trans men when the current relationship began. More than half of the participants are in relationships that started as transgender–cisgender relationships. For two participants whose relationships did not start as a transgender–cisgender partnership, neither individual was surprised when their partner came out as transgender, and in one case, the participant’s partner identified as gender-fluid before identifying as a transgender man.

For this study, the sampling strategy targeted one region in the United States and used snowball sampling (Coleman, 1958) for data collection. These methods were the most appropriate for a small and relatively hidden population that requires respondents to refer other participants. The targeted region was the northeast of the United States with one of the highest concentrations of transgender individuals (Harris, 2015) and presumably more partners of transgender individuals. Snowball sampling and semi-structured interviews were key to gaining trust and access to this concealed population. Three initial points of contact were made in three cities in the northeast of the United States through informal queer networks. These points of contact shared information about the study with their social networks, and participants were in contact if they were willing to be interviewed. All the interviews were audio recorded and transcribed. Pseudonyms have been used for all participants.

The interview questions were influenced by the work of Weston’s (2002) call to consider the relationship between gender and time, asking questions about the participants’ gender and sexuality throughout their lives. Many of the participants described their past and current relationships and their history of sexual and gender identities in detail. A theoretical approach to thematic analysis (Braun and Clarke, 2006) was used for coding and analysis. The coding started broadly, generating codes informed by previous research and the main research questions. Once initial coding was completed, a more focused approach was employed, grouping the initial codes into prevalent themes that emerged from the interviews and in post-interview notes and memos.

The sampling methods, while essential to recruiting participants, resulted in a lack of diversity in race and levels of education. As a white, cisgender, queer, graduate-educated woman, my initial contacts and social networks were similar. The language in the initial call to participants was specific, as it asked for “cisgender women currently partnered with FTM transgender men,” which may have limited responses from those who describe their partnerships differently. For example, an individual may identify as transgender and masculine or gender non-conforming, but may not identify with the language of “FTM.” The initial call also limited the participants to those who were currently in relationships, which eliminated those who might have dated a trans man in the past, but were not partnered at the time of the study.

Findings and discussion

All the participants in this study spoke about their sexual identities in context of their whole lives, beyond the terms of their current partnership. These cis women partners of trans men described rich histories of navigating identity, language, and sexuality, over time. Some of the respondents’ experiences are consistent with previous findings. For example, some are uncomfortable having their sexual identity misrecognized (Joslin-Roher and Wheeler, 2009; Pfeffer, 2014; Sanger, 2010) and most feel that current language is not complex enough to describe their own sexual identities (Joslin-Roher and Wheeler, 2009; Pfeffer, 2014, 2016). One key finding of this research is that when the respondents provide a more whole history of their experiences with sexual identity, relationships, and language, we discover how language has historically failed to describe their sexuality; their struggle with language around sexual identity is not a phenomenon that began just as they started to partner with trans men.

Cisgender women in partnerships with trans men are strategic in the language they use when speaking of their own sexual identities. Three types of strategies emerged from this research. The participants (a) are flexible with their language, (b) use particular words to signify cultural belonging or difference, and (c) intentionally use language to encourage others to question their own heteronormative assumptions. These strategies are used in a variety of settings and contexts. In particular, I have identified three contextual factors that participants described in interviews: place, moments of misrecognition, and access to new language. While these contextual factors are distinct, they also overlap. For example, when participants are at work (place), the potential for misrecognition might also be present and will shape their language strategy. Just as the women weave together stories of the past and present when speaking with me, their strategies around use of language are inextricably connected with each other and are utilized in moments where more than one of these contextual factors are present.

Place

Social context is important for all of these women. Stacey (32, queer) and Amber (21, pansexual) spoke about the importance of attending liberal arts colleges and being able to test different terms to match their evolving sexual identity. Amber said:

…I went to college and everybody was like ‘Hi, yes, I’m gender non-conforming’ and I was like ‘whoa - I didn’t know about this!’ It was kind of a big shock…and, as I met more and more people that were gender non-conforming I…started to realize that I wasn’t just a lesbian. I was like: ‘there are all these cute people and they are all super attractive. I don’t think this word works very well anymore.’ Lesbian just wasn’t right anymore.

Amber illustrated the point that for some participants, navigating sexual identity is a complex process that can be shaped by the place they occupy. When she was in college, Amber was exposed to new gender identities and language for those identities that she had not heard before. She realized that she wanted to respect the gender identities of those she is attracted to and felt that using lesbian was not expansive enough. Both Amber and Stacey were flexible with their language. They felt comfortable to change the labels they used for themselves, and they wanted to make sure they were signaling that they were part of specific communities.

Social context matters. Pfeffer (2010, 2014, 2016) and Ward (2010) found that cisgender women participated in different types of “gender labor” to affirm their partner’s identity. This research finds that participants use specific language to affirm both their own and their partner’s identities. The language they use may depend on the places they occupy.

When considering work, Taylor (36, dyke) discussed how she uses the term queer despite it not being her preferred term: “If I need to use an identity, I’ll use queer…I’ll say, ‘as a queer woman’. But it’s definitely not how I think of myself.” Dani (36, butch dyke/lesbian) is just as flexible with her language: “I will say: ‘I’m a second-generation dyke,’ but…if someone says, ‘are you queer?’ of course I will say ‘yeah! I’m queer.’ …Queer is an umbrella term that I fall under.” Ellie’s (41, queer, lesbian, and not out) relationship to the use of “queer” is similar to Taylor and Dani’s; she is flexible in her use of it, but unlike Dani, queer is not an undesirable term. Queer is one choice among a few options that fit Ellie’s identity, depending on the context. Ellie spoke to not being “out” as a member of the queer community at her job. At work, Ellie only refers to her partner as her husband, and she does not reference the LGBT community.

For some, the workplace provided an opportunity to test the limits of language. Molly (32, queer) explained:

…if I want people to know I'm queer…I have to tell them I'm queer and so it…means…putting it in the conversation... I never refer to Solomon as my husband -- that's way too heteronormative for us. However, he refers to me as his wife. But as far as I'm concerned he's absolutely my partner and sometimes I will admit, it’s kind of fun to confuse straight people. I’ll be like “oh my partner….Solomon” and they're like “oh…”…I’ve had to play this little game… like if you want to know, you should ask me...I just think it helps …break down stereotypes. Some straight people use the term “partner,” some people have partners who are trans. There are other reasons why somebody can use the word partner…so there have been plenty of people I've confused …

Molly was not the only respondent who talked about language being a game that they play. They are creative with their use of language to “confuse” people and to challenge stereotypes and biases. It is important for Molly to test other people’s assumptions with the language she uses because it allows her to assert her own identity without outing her partner.

While linguistic strategies are helpful, opportunities to vocally express one’s identity are not always available. Another place that participants discussed as a site for linguistic options was LGBTQ events or parties. During her interview, Remi (28, pansexual) discussed the first queer community group she attended:

there were these kids in high school who were…talking about all of these fucking terms and I was like “what do you mean?...What do you mean there was more than gay, straight, bisexual, and a couple of other things?” There’s like fucking endless terms… and I was like “this is so overwhelming.”…the first group I was in, I was like “guys, I really need your help because I literally don't know how I'm supposed to identify. Like please tell me … they all looked at me like I was crazy they were like “we can't fucking identify you for you. You have to identify as something. We can't tell you what you are.” I was just like “please there's too many I just want to know what I am…”

Remi was looking for linguistic tools to establish her belonging to the queer community, ironically while in a space for LGBTQ members. Even though the community members did not provide her with an “identity,” they did provide examples of more language than she previously could access. Many of the participants who spoke of LGBTQ spaces also mentioned their fear of misrecognition.

In LGBTQ spaces, Ann (36, queer) mentioned that:

I almost can 99% of the time identify myself as queer and…being in a queer relationship and use language like “partner” and…I think that's code enough for other queers to get that. But also at times, I find myself wanting to be like “my partner is trans.”

Ann found herself trying to signal to others, particularly in LGBTQ spaces, how queer she was because it was important for her to feel like she herself belonged and to feel validated in these particular places. Language is a powerful tool for cis women in relationships with trans men, especially during this specific moment in time where language is developing rapidly. These women develop linguistic strategies to improvise for the lack of language that describes their identities that do not fit neatly into labels. Participants must be flexible with their language to illustrate their associations with both queer and straight communities, depending on the place.

Moments of misrecognition

While most of the participants discussed their fear of being misrecognized, only a few had concrete examples when misrecognition had occurred. Whether or not they had been misrecognized, it is an event that occupies their minds. For these participants, misrecognition means that their queerness is invisible. Moments of misrecognition or potential for misrecognition are often closely associated with specific places—individuals are not concerned with being recognized in public places but rather in their own communities. Some respondents have identified with the LGBTQ community since their teens, and they are troubled by the idea that they might not be recognized as belonging in a community that is part of their core identity. While some women were concerned about being misrecognized as in a straight–cis partnership, Ellie was also concerned about being perceived as the straight female friend of a gay man—another unwelcome stereotype—or his lesbian friend. She joked:

…there are a lot of times when my husband and I joke when we’re going out, sometimes he thinks he gets read as a gay man and I’m like “I hope I get read as a lesbian.” We joke like people will -- this has never happened -- but people say “does that gay guy know his wife is a lesbian?”

Ellie also understood that her flexibility with language was a strategy to ensure her and her husband’s safety. When she was in spaces that were not LGBTQ+-friendly, she was fine with misrecognition. Indeed, she temporarily disavowed language she typically used to describe her queer identity and shifted away from terms like lesbian or queer; she chose not to be “out” to ensure the safety of her family. For example, at work, she referred to her partner as her husband, to signal nothing out of the ordinary—although she knew she was being read differently from how she identified—so in that particular space, misrecognition was a strategy for self-protection. Conversely, when Ellie was with friends who recognized her true identities, she felt more comfortable using the term “lesbian.” Language flexibility helped Ellie manage the social processes of being recognized or misrecognized in different spaces.

Besides adopting flexible language to describe themselves, another key linguistic strategy is to purposefully use terms that signal queerness. Taylor discussed how she preferred to use terms like “partner” over terms like “boyfriend” that signal a heteronormative partnership: “…I definitely am constantly outing myself and constantly outing him, but I use the word partner, I only use the word partner for the most part.” This strategy is twofold: first, she wanted to preserve her dyke identity, and second, she wanted to avoid being misrecognized as part of a straight couple. Taylor and others balanced their partners’ needs with their own self-identification and identity.

While many of the participants did not want to be misrecognized as straight, several of the participants ultimately said they did not care. For example, Estelle (26, “lesbian who dates trans men”) mentioned that she does not like heteronormative assumptions but ultimately, does not care that much what others think. “The last thing I want to do is be a straight couple. But…if people think that we’re a straight couple, I think it’s kind of sexy. It’s like… I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s exciting...I know we’re not and that’s all that fucking matters.” For Tanya (55, queer “former lesbian”), it is not as clear-cut because she and her partner have different opinions about how they want to be viewed. He only wants to be viewed as a straight couple, as a direct reflection of his gender identity. Tanya, on the other hand, felt that when she is read as straight, her queer identity and activism are erased:

Josh…wants us to be viewed as a straight couple. And I said to him, “I would never identify as a straight woman...” I was in the days of Act Up! and the protests…I remember when I was with my ex…and he passed really well…I remember us being viewed as a regular straight couple on the street, and in the beginning, I hated it!...I wanted my lesbian identity! And then, as time went by, I was like “okay… it’s who I’m with, it’s who I love, and why does it have to be such a big thing to me?”

Both Tanya and Estelle understood misrecognition as part of a social process. Estelle was excited by the thought of being misrecognized; she was getting away with something. Tanya was not excited, but in many contexts she chose not to fight it. One difference between Tanya and the other participants is that while Tanya understood why others might misrecognize her, she was heavily pressured by her partner to identify in a way that affirms his gender and sexual identity, which was not how other participants felt. Despite their different identities and relationships, the women had much in common. Through their strategic use of language to signal community belonging or difference, by using newer terms like queer or pansexual, or by being flexible with the language they use, the participants can counter the potential for misrecognition.

Access to new language

Being introduced to new language can be a crucial turning point in a woman’s understanding and expression of their own identity. Many of the participants talked about the first time they heard new terms that fit their identity better than previous language and the powerful impact of that new language. At the time of this study, most of the cis women identified as either “queer” or “pansexual,” but some used other terms as well. Queer and pansexual are distinct from “lesbian,” “gay,” or “straight” because the former terms are considered more expansive. Queer and pansexual accommodate diverse identities and attractions, unlike traditional terms that refer to monosexual identities. The decision to identify as queer or another non-monosexual term may be informed by a desire to distance oneself from more “stable” identities (Adams et al., 2014: 461) or to undermine the gender and sexuality dichotomy (Ault, 1996: 315).

In this study, women spoke of being exposed to new language for the first time. Learning the new terms allowed them to adopt a queer identity that was consonant with their attractions, partner identity, and related social forces and experiences. For example, Ann (32, queer) discussed her experiences from a decade prior, which informed her current queer identity:

So I'm attracted to masculinity…that’s what I like in all of these people, but clearly I don't like that they are cis men, and I was like, “So I’m not really bisexual because I don’t want to sleep with cis men” and I keep hearing about queer and I guess queer to me means like getting to pick and choose what you want and need in dating…I feel like that was a very specific moment when I was like “ohhhhh ok I get it now...now I know what my sexuality is.”

Consistent with previous research, the few participants in this study whose partners began transitioning while they were together were more likely to feel pressure to navigate their own sexual identity within the context of their partner’s specific experience, paying special attention to their partner’s gender identity. Not everyone felt this pressure, however. Some of the respondents veered away from their previous sexual identity labels for other reasons. For example, Erin (38, queer) discussed her history of identifying as lesbian, gay, and now queer:

I felt connected to it [“lesbian”] politically in a literal way…but it never really felt like my jam and I don’t know if that was just the leftover shame I was receiving…Gay was easier for me, and felt more fitting…but also the first word I used so there was familiarity. But queer is actually the more useful term because it doesn’t have to hinge on who you are having sex with at that moment…so I think it’s more spacious that way.

Despite having felt connected to “lesbian” in a political way, and “gay” in a personal way, “queer” is the best fit because it does not signal the gender of current sexual partners, but instead signals more expansive gender possibilities for one’s partners.

Many of the participants preferred terms like queer because they provide a far-reaching reference of attraction. Aligning with this type of term establishes a detachment from binary sexual identities. Andrea (35, pansexual) described her own sexual identity similarly: “…for a long time I identified as bi, and then I was like maybe I’m not bi, maybe I’m just gay, and then I was like ‘nope’… there’s definitely been a little bit of…fluctuation…especially now…realizing I’m attracted to people who aren’t necessarily a guy or a girl.” As Andrea’s attractions have shifted, she has aligned with a sexual identity that allows for potential non-binary gender identities of those to whom she is sexually and romantically attracted. This is not only about Andrea’s attractions shifting, however. As new language is uncovered, and becomes acceptable in various communities, the participants renegotiate the terms that best fit their identities. Ann, Erin, and Andrea approach language flexibly, learning new terms and evaluating their fit, being strategic about the words they use to describe their identity, understanding what their language says about potential future partners.

Leah (34, queer) also discussed this flexibility with language although it was not an easy transition for her at first. She identified as “bi” in her late teens: “I guess I considered myself bi for a while. I never loved that word. Then I would just say I was open.” When considering the identity of “queer,” she noted, “I remember thinking that was just too radical for me, too activist. I just look too hetero -- I can’t claim that word.” But after moving to a different city, she “just saw it for what it was, which is this lovely all-encompassing umbrella term. For me it’s like, ‘I defy your labels.’” Leah has been flexible with her language which has allowed her to connect with different terms at different times in her life.

Previous relationships have also shaped the ways in which these women consider language and sexual identity. In a previous relationship with a trans man, Taylor explained:

It was really important to my ex-husband that “husband” and “wife” were the words that we used… we [current relationship] haven’t actually talked about what words we would use. But that will probably be a conversation we will have, because I don’t think I wanna use the word “husband”… I just prefer partner.

Out of respect for her past partner’s identity, Taylor used language of “husband” and “wife,” despite the uncomfortable feeling that her queerness was invisible. Now Taylor has seized an opportunity in her current relationship to prioritize her personal identity within the relationship and to reflect her primary community.

While for many people the newer language of queerness creates welcome possibilities, not all participants found that these newer terms match with their attractions or community. Some participants reject the term “queer” because they prefer to use language in strategic ways to help others question heteronormative assumptions. Heteronormative assumptions presume everyone is straight, in heterosexual relationships, and/or that there are clearly defined queer and straight aesthetics. Some of the participants said that they consciously set out to test heteronormative assumptions—long before they were in relationships with trans men. Helen (50, queer) spoke about language:

…the way I’ve used identity…depends who I am talking to, you know? A lot of straight people don't necessarily understand the term “queer” and even when I was only dating cis women, I didn't identify as a lesbian but I would say that as a way to kind of make a statement to people…so people could see that…lesbians don't look like they think they do. Because I never really looked like your typical...stereotypical lesbian.

Helen engaged in all three of the language strategies that have been outlined in this article. Despite never truly aligning with “lesbian,” she was flexible with her use of the term, depending on her audience, because it allowed her to challenge other people’s assumptions. As newer language became available, Helen identified as queer, but she recognized that not everyone understands the term, so she still used “lesbian” as a defiant act.

When reflecting on their sexual identities, many of the participants spoke about how their self-descriptions had changed over time. They spoke of aligning with identity labels in the past, perhaps referring to themselves as lesbian or bisexual, even though they recognized that those descriptors did not match fully with their actual attractions. Similar to participants in Tabatabai’s (2015) research, participants in this study used language and labels that were not accurate portrayals of their identity because it was the best option for them at the time. Tabatabai noted that “…the women find themselves moving in and out of labels and carving out authenticity through the strategic use of labels as opposed to accepting them without condition” (2015: 35). Similarly, as new language emerged that felt like a better fit, the women in this project engaged with the new terms in flexible and strategic ways.

Conclusion

Recent scholarship about transgender relationships has not provided insights into partnerships that start as transgender relationships; most scholarship has focused on individuals who transition while part of a couple. In contrast, this article has considered the experiences of trans partnerships where the transgender partner has been out since the beginning of the relationship or where the transgender partner’s coming out was not surprising or unexpected. Interestingly, these women use some of the same strategies as women in the previous research. At the same time, these women have histories of navigating language and identity, independent of their partner and their relationship. When speaking of their own sexual identities, cis women partners of trans men employ strategies that allow them to use language in ways that reflect their attractions, their identities, and their desires.

As they gained access to new language, the participants have changed the terms they use to describe their identity, both before and during their relationship with their transgender partner. For some, the newest term is a perfect fit, and for others, it is not. The women choose to be flexible with the language depending on the context—whether they are with friends, with family, at work, or in the LGBT+ community—and depending on whether they are concerned about being misrecognized in that community. The women describe using particular words that signify belonging or difference to those around them in a particular space. Some participants found opportunities to play with language in intentional ways, in order to challenge people around them to question their heteronormative assumptions.

This project demonstrates that there are unique circumstances in a partnership where one partner comes out as transgender during the relationship, as compared to a relationship that starts as a cisgender-transgender partnership. And, while trans partnerships are a distinct phenomenon, the argument outlined here has important implications beyond cis women’s partnerships with trans men. Central to this argument is the understanding that trans relationships alone did not trigger a change in the language cisgender partners chose to identify their sexual identity. Rather, these participants have a long history with navigating language that does not fully reflect their sexual identity, regardless of their partner’s gender identity. As the women eloquently explain, language is insufficient to their experience. Available terms typically do not reflect their individual desires and identities. Most of the participants felt that the language available to describe their desires and attractions was always lacking, well before they were in their current partnerships. This argument provides a more nuanced understanding of sexual identity and language that is centered around the partnership—regardless of their current partner’s gender identity.

Most of the participants in this study described a personal history of navigating sexual identity, labels, and culture. They have a history of pushing against the limits of language to describe their sexual attractions. As Diamond’s (2008) research demonstrated, in order to gain a full understanding of the social forces at work in defining sexual identities, it is important to collect data that reflect individuals’ experience over time, not just their present experiences. Sexual identity is complex—it does not always align within neat boundaries (Woolley, 2016). As language continues to develop, these participants’ ideas about the language they use to describe their sexual identities are likely to change as well. The average age of the participants was 35 years; for most of them, more expansive terms were not available when they were growing up. If they refused to be flexible with language in the past, they might have feared being judged or misrecognized or worse. Being flexible with their language, signaling community belonging or difference, and using language to induce others to question heteronormative assumptions may be a strategy for some, but for others—at other times—it was a necessity.