Mae aros yn rhywbeth y mae pobl draws+ yn ei wynebu’n gyson — cynilo ar gyfer llawdriniaethau preifat, llywio amgylcheddau anniogel, neu eistedd ar restrau aros gofal iechyd diddiwedd. Mae’n her sy’n cyffwrdd â bron pob rhan o’r trawsnewid, ac, yn rhyfeddol, fe’m hatgoffaodd o’r Brenin Arthur.
The average time Trans+ people wait before accessing an initial appointment at a Gender Identity Clinic (GIC) is 25 years, a QueerAF investigation recently revealed. This statistic represents a segregated, under-resourced trans healthcare system that has come under heavy criticism from many Trans+ groups. The World Health Organisation has recommended an end to pathways that ‘screen’ or diagnose Trans+ people in order to get help. But their continued existence gatekeeps support behind vast waitlists, posing a serious threat to the health and mental well-being of trans people on them.
I struggled for many years with the sense that I was still waiting for the ‘right time’ to transition. Growing up in a relatively conservative school, the dawning realisation that I was probably a trans woman terrified me. I was equally scared of queer existence in that atmosphere as I was of being wrong about my possible queerness. And so, I waited, without even knowing what exactly I was waiting for. All I seemed to know for certain was that it would only come at some unspecified ‘right time’, one day. For a long while, I hoped that time would be university. But once I was there, I didn’t make nearly as much progress as I thought I would.
It wasn’t until I moved back to North Wales, where my Dad’s family have lived since time immemorial, that I began to find my clarity in the story of ‘Y Mab Darogan’, the foretold son. Often identified as King Arthur, the Foretold Son is fated to one day return to Wales and liberate us from English rule, but only at the ‘right time’. Initially, I found some comfort in the fact that my personal struggle with timing ran so poetically parallel to the national struggle of my homeland, an issue that had touched the lives of at least two dozen generations of my family. But thinking about how each and every last one of those relatives had died before the ‘right time’ had come, what became clear was that waiting wasn’t the solution. King Arthur never came back for any of them.
The realisation that I had spent all this time waiting for something that was never going to come was depressing, but it gave me permission to take things into my own hands. Without wasting another second, I finally took the next step with my transition and changed my name to Gwen. It was the name that I had my heart set on for years, but also, serendipitously, short for Gwenhwyfar – King Arthur’s wife.
To be clear, I have only done so informally: with the current global political situation, I wouldn’t feel safe travelling on a passport that calls me Gwen. And I recognise that having people in my life who happily call me by this name is a privilege not all Trans+ people enjoy. It is the unfortunate nature of being Trans+ that we all sometimes face choices between being true to ourselves and staying out of harm’s way. And sometimes, we don’t really have a choice.
However, what I did learn from this experience is that we shouldn’t wait for a moment longer than necessary. When we begin waiting for the ‘right time’, it becomes too easy to wait forever. It becomes too easy to start waiting for things to change around us, rather than asking what we ourselves can do to contribute to that change.
Institutions like the NHS often create delays and obstacles in our lives, and we should advocate to anyone who will listen, especially policymakers, to change that. But the legend of King Arthur shows us that if you are always waiting for a hero to save you, you will never learn to save yourself.
So while we fight to reform these systems, don’t be a ‘King Arthur’. Instead of waiting for the ‘right time’, let’s use the agency and self-determination we do have. Let’s use the forms of transition that are right for us. And let’s take direct action to make the change we want to see.
This article is part of a QueerAF and Inclusive Journalism Cymru partnership dedicated to uplifting Welsh LGBTQIA+ emerging and marginalised journalists.
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