Almost two years ago, I wrote a post with my thoughts on gender and also how it applied to me. It’s funny how you can write true things…but also write around other truths.
I identify as a woman.
I like being a woman.
Those are things I said last year. They were true…ish. Thing is…I was afraid. Afraid of stepping outside the gender binary. Terrified I wasn’t “queer enough”, regardless of how queer I felt. Scared out of my mind that I would get ridiculed again like I did the first time I found pronouns that felt like they fit me…over 15 years ago.
It’s even funnier how you can support everyone around you being their authentic selves, in everything you do, from your work to your personal relationships to your friendships to people you’ve never met but defend on social media. Proudly rockin’ my “I’ll go with you” button and telling people at the Y in the South that Trans women are…y’know…women. Making sure to be aware of people’s pronouns.
Think I could apply that acceptance and support to myself?
Why the fuck would I do that?
The past two years have shown me all kinds of new things. New people. New ways to be. Life isn’t a binary anything really. Because the gender binary is just a social fucking construct. And challenging that scares people. Hell, it scares me, even as I do it. Another part of what I wrote last year:
The Unknown or New is scary. It’s threatening. I get it. “What else could change?” is the question that bubbles, unspoken below the discomfort with adapting to new information. It scares me, too. I just try not to let it stop me from questioning, exploring, seeking out conversations and information, learning, growing.
One thing that’s changed for me, or at least out loud, in public now, are my pronouns. Over fifteen years ago, I first learned about “ze/zir” and the light of recognition and rightness glowed inside of me…and I quickly squelched it when a former partner promptly mocked the shit out of those words and anyone who would use them. I packed that part of me away.
I don’t have to use the words, right? Fuck, I’ll “manspread”. I’ll pack. I’ll wear jeans and t-shirts and combat boots because they feel good and comfortable and thank (insert diety here) that women, for some stupid fucking reason, are allowed to wear what’s traditionally considered “men’s” clothes but (insert diety here) forbid men try to casually wear “women’s” clothes.
So for years…I didn’t use the words. I wasn’t proud of it. I didn’t tell anyone that I wanted to use them. Even after I met someone else who used them. Even after I met more and more people who go by “they/them”. Even as I met people who go by “she & he”. For some reason, this one was really hard for me. I have no problem taking my clothes off to music in front of strangers, but fuck if I could tell my partners or friends or coworkers I was more “ze” than “she”.
Until TES Fest this July. Until I was on the registration line and presented with a badge that had a blank field for pronouns. Something in me shifted. And I wrote “ze/zir”. A friend took note in the hallway and it sparked a conversation. I told them that it’s taken me years to admit it out loud and they were very supportive. A partner overheard the convo and a month later in an email just started using “ze” to refer to me. When I saw it, I cried. The happy kind of tears. And thanked them. A few days later, I asked someone I hadn’t talked to in a little bit if they had any pronoun updates. They didn’t, but then asked if I did. I took a deep breath and said “yes” and told them. To which they replied with the title of this post – “Yes, Zir!” I laughed, because…it’s kinda fitting. The switch in me was happy, and the nonbinary me was thrilled.
At therapy recently, I began talking about pronouns and my therapist asked me what it meant for me, to me. During our session, she leapt up and drew an “M”on the left side of the dry erase board and an “F” on the right with a line connecting them. She handed me the marker and asked me to mark on the board where I felt I belonged.
I paused. My first thoughts were a mashup of, “but…I don’t belong on a line. It’s not just ‘M’ over here and ‘F’ over there…it’s not linear…” and then an idea struck me. Why stay on the line? Hell, why use letters at all? So I drew a star a about a foot above the line, slightly more towards the “F” but only mildly right of center, connected the star to the “M” and “F” with two swooping lines and then drew another line going from the star straight down and connected it to a sun.
My therapist blinked. Then smiled.
“What does that mean to you?” she asked.
I tried to explain that it wasn’t quite a binary and I didn’t feel like I fell anywhere on the line….I mean, I drew influences from what society says is “normal” for women and from men. But that I also drew from…other sources that aren’t so easily categorized, so I used the sun to symbolize their brightness and validity. She thought that was awesome. I’m grateful to have a great therapist.
It hasn’t been all awesome, though. Someone called my pronouns stupid. That hurt a whole helluva lot and brought up some old wounds. I cried the bad kind of tears when that happened. However, we talked it through and they understand more now and apologized. Thankfully, the few friends I’ve told have been supportive and apologized in advance if they fuck it up and asked me to just make sure I correct them.
Sometimes I don’t catch it when someone refers to me as “she” but I play it back later and kick myself for not catching it. Writing my bio for a kink event recently was strange. It was the first time I’d ever used those pronouns so openly. The sentences looked weird at first, but there was also this feeling of recognition and peace.
I re-evaluated things like whether I still like being called “girl” or “little girl” in a D/s context to which the answer is a resounding “yes” when I’m submissive and/or bottoming. When I’m in Top or Domme space, I can go in different directions, depending on the person. I like “Sir” but hate “Ma’am”, but don’t even get me started on “Daddy” and “Mommy”. That’s a whole ‘nother ball of writing, self discovery, and evolution.