I proclaimed my identity as a transgender woman in October 2020. Not surprisingly, that involved a considerable amount of anxiety even though I was a tenured professor who is white, nondisabled, and financially secure. Since then, I’ve lived as my authentic self at a small liberal-arts college that I find to be an overall supportive environment. Things became more complicated in the summer of 2021, when my professional identity changed after I was appointed as an associate provost in our office of academic affairs.
My day-to-day and year-to-year experience in administration has led to both opportunities and challenges that are likely shared by many of my queer and gender-diverse peers at other institutions.
In the 2022 book LGBTQ: Leadership in Higher Education, Raymond E. Crossman notes that, in 2002, only a single U.S. college had an openly gay or lesbian president. Today there are hundreds, both former and current. However, at the moment in American higher education, there appear to be no openly transgender or nonbinary college presidents. This is a reflection of our time and culture.
As a midlevel administrator at a residential college who is transgender, I understand why the glass ceiling remains for those of us who are gender diverse. I share my experiences here in the hope of fostering greater respect, understanding, and support for every gender-diverse person who chooses to pursue or step into an administrative role.
First, the opportunities. When it comes to diversity, equity, and inclusion efforts, my being transgender has opened some doors. As an administrator with an underrepresented identity, I get asked to participate on various committees or projects, and fortunately, some of those invitations are vital initiatives that I’ve had the chance to lead or help lead.
For example, I participated on a four-person team to revise our college’s Strategic Diversity Plan. During that effort, I realized that the disconnected nature of our campus data systems was leading to structural inequities and creating an environment for students, both prospective and current, that wasn’t as inclusive as it could be. Consequently, several colleagues and I asked the president to create the Task Force on Gender Inclusiveness for Data Management, which I then co-chaired. The purpose: to align our data systems so student demographic data flows from one system to the next and is managed in a manner that respects and upholds the identities of our students. The work of this task force had a direct impact on the lived experiences of our gender-diverse students.
Engaging in DEI-focused work as a transgender administrator has led to several positive professional outcomes. I appreciate the opportunity to serve as an advocate within a particular context or committee, as well as to work with colleagues to offer professional-development workshops on anti-racist teaching or gender inclusion. I feel comfortable in that role, working on behalf of professors, staff members, and students from a wide variety of often intersecting identities and backgrounds, including those who are gender diverse, racial and/or ethnic minorities, people with disabilities, and those who come from low-income backgrounds.
Of course, I recognize there are limits to my understanding of the lived experiences of people whose identities differ from my own. But I have an opportunity to enact my DEI values throughout my work in an explicit and transparent way. My identity enables me to both be — and be seen — as a legitimate and steadfast advocate for people from underrepresented backgrounds. When it comes to the ways in which minoritized populations experience bias and discrimination, I “get it,” at least to some extent. There is a line to walk here, as I only really understand what it means to be a member of the LGBTQIA+ community, but my colleagues with other underrepresented identities (such as race or ability) recognize that we have a shared sense of purpose in our work.
Now for the many challenges. While I enjoy the ever-changing nature of campus administration, it makes me much more vulnerable to being misgendered than I was as a faculty member. As a professor, my day-to-day interactions with people were more predictable and manageable. I was surrounded by departmental colleagues. I taught the same students every week. And I was always serving on a committee or two.
As a midlevel administrator, I collaborate with other faculty and staff members, I interact with off-campus partners, and I manage assessment and accreditation visits. The sheer number of interactions means that the risk of being misgendered is high, which has the potential to inhibit my ability to engage fully in my work. Many people who are gender diverse make intentional decisions about the spaces in which we will, or won’t, spend time. So when we are misgendered in the workplace, we end up devoting time figuring out how to handle that person (or people), rather than focusing on the work.
Simultaneously, there is tension between being seen as a transgender administrator versus as an administrator who happens to be transgender. Throughout much of my day, I am and think of myself as the latter. My gender identity doesn’t — and shouldn’t — matter when I’m managing projects, handling curricular proposals, or assisting a faculty member with a specific problem.
Sometimes, however, I find myself in conversations or situations in which the relevance of my gender identity and perspectives rise to the surface. And suddenly I am not just an administrator, I’m a transgender administrator.
For example, recently we were reviewing student-survey data, collected and analyzed by a consultant, when I suggested that it might be illuminating to disaggregate the answers to some questions, based on gender identity and race/ethnicity. Clearly anyone could have made the same suggestion, but my colleagues respect the fact that I am working on these issues on a daily basis. I have a certain sensitivity to the ways in which the experiences of those from underrepresented backgrounds might be, and often are, different from the majority population.
In short, in the middle of such a conversation or meeting, my transgender identity enters the equation. That identity means that I must navigate a gendered professional landscape that is complex, unpredictable, and, to some extent, uncharted.
Finally, being transgender requires a certain amount of emotional energy that makes my professional life challenging if not, at times, impossible. People who are white, cisgender, heterosexual, and nondisabled can exist in many contexts without giving much thought to any of those characteristics.
For those of us who are transgender or gender diverse, we think about and navigate our identities all the time. We constantly monitor how we are being perceived, heard, and experienced by others. More important, we invest emotional energy in trying to present ourselves in a manner that is best aligned with our identities. For me, that involves considerable focus and effort. As a result, I often have less emotional energy to navigate my professional responsibilities, my personal life, and my parental obligations.
Don’t get me wrong. I am often very effective at my job, in my relationships, and as a parent, but I also realize that, when things get stressful or challenging, I am already at a certain level of emotional exhaustion, simply due to my identity. Like others from underrepresented backgrounds, simply existing requires focus and energy. This means that what is required of me to be effective at my administrative position can be radically different than that of many of my peers, especially those with whom I’m competing for open administrative positions.
Ultimately I hope that greater gender-diverse representation in the leadership ranks will lead to more inclusive institutions. At some colleges, administrators who are gender diverse are simply fighting to exist in spaces where their fully authentic selves must be carefully curtailed to fit a campus culture or climate that is intent on keeping them in the closet. The presence and advocacy of gender-diverse administrators, senior staff members, and presidents have the potential to normalize the experiences of those who are transgender, gender nonbinary, gender nonconforming, and those who are gender diverse in other ways throughout our institutions.
An important first step is for gender-diverse administrators to not only be visible and serve as role models, but to assist institutions in developing policies and practices that are more equitable and inclusive. And while there is a certain amount of risk and vulnerability for a person who is gender diverse stepping into an administrative role, doing so is ultimately of service to our students. Such visibility is central to creating a campus culture in which students feel a sense of belonging and can thrive, both socially and academically.
