Cw: contains mention of suicide, body dysmorphia, abuse, adult language.

Note: These are my own thoughts and feelings and an expression of my lived experiences. I can not and am not speaking for trans folx, and also want to be clear that other nonbinary & trans people are entitled to their own thoughts and feelings about these issues, and they are 100% valid as well. That said, these being my lived experiences, if you want to argue with me, save your breath.

As a child, (I thought) I was what, back in the 80’s and 90’s, we called a “tomboy.” Do the kids still use that term? Regardless, that was me. A girl who was abnormally boy-ish, not necessarily in appearance, but in interests and in behavior. I was an afab (assigned female at birth) child in the American (United States, as we are not the whole of “America”) South who wanted to go hiking, play in the woods, get dirty, hang upside down from the monkey bars, and outrun, out shoot, and out spit all the boys instead of doing makeup and manicures, hanging out in the church nursery cooing over the newborns, and playing dolls. And being a “tomboy” was acceptable-ish in my very Christian conservative home, as long as it remained within certain closely-monitored parameters.

It was good that I wanted to hike, climb, pursue science (because my father liked these things. Otherwise I’m sure it would have been an issue as they were all deemed “unladylike”), but not taking an interest in the ladies church tea parties, my friends mary kay slumber parties, or being obsessed with someday getting married and having a passel of babies was a big problem! Not wanting to wear makeup was okay-ish (though my mother has yet to let go of “how much prettier I would be if I’d just wear some makeup”) and it was fiscally convenient that I had zero interest in keeping up with fashion trends, but the day I bought men’s cargo shorts because they came down to my knees (which you would have thought would have been a good thing, having been brought up in Purity Culture and all) and had way more & more useful pockets which meant I didn’t have to carry a purse, I was brutally chastised for “crossdressing” and “being a deviant” and a “tool of satan” and given a full lecture (and subsequent beating) regarding the sanctity of gender rolls and how God created Man and Woman, and any infringement on that is BLASPHEMY and spitting in Gods face, how it was a ticket straight to an eternity in hell, and so on. I have a million stories like this that still echo in my mind.

At the time of the shorts debacle, I was just 16 years old. I was 5’7”, 96 pounds, had long, lanky limbs, a-cups and no hips, long hair that my mother had been bleaching & perming, despite my objections, since I was 13 (because “that’s what boys like”), and was more than a bit self-conscious about my body. But I was also at a point where I was just starting to figure out who I was as a whole-ass person (who had no ass, lol). I had never heard the term non-binary. Hell, I’d never even heard of trans folx. Let me tell you, watching Rocky Horror Picture Show for the first time as an adult was an incredible moment! Anyhow, my life was super sheltered and controlled. There were very specific expectations of what a girl -> woman should look and act like, what she should enjoy, how she should behave, who she should be attracted to, and who she should become. And I just wasn’t checking those boxes. And I hated myself for it. I tried really hard in a lot of ways, ignored a lot of things inside of me, and just assumed I was broken in those ways as in so many others where I was failing to meet my families and societies expectations of me. I also hated myself every time I looked in a mirror or caught a glimpse of myself in a reflection in a window, as the person looking back at me just never felt like me. I never felt at home in my own skin, in my own body. I tried to fix it, to desteoy it, but there was no escape. I just felt broken.

And I carried that with me for a long, long time. Through a very young marriage that unsurprisingly failed. Through lots of therapy. Through painful spiritual revelations and growth. Through the beginnings and ends of various relationships of a wide variety of types. Through hating myself, trying to kill myself (a few/several times, tbh), and trying to learn to make peace with and even love myself - not again, but really for the first time. And there were a few moments of realization where I feel like I glimpsed myself, my real self, buried under the masks I’d put on and the layers of societal grime I’d picked up over time. One was the moment I realized, or at least first vocalized, that I wasn’t straight. I told my partner at the time “I… I think I might be bisexual. Holy shit, women are amazing!” And they (also brought up in a Christian home) responded, with an eyeroll, “you’re just trying to jump on a popular bandwagon. You’re not bi, you’re attention seeking.” I was crushed… devastated. And it was almost 10 years before I said another word about it. But, um… they may have been right. I might not be bi. Pansexual might actually be the more accurate term (tho I still usually use “bi”). Or “gay as fuck” if you prefer. As it turns out, I like… people. I’m not super concerned with anatomy. I want to connect and love and be with with kind, clever, beautiful humans. And I’m so glad I have come to love and accept that about myself, and that the people now in my life love and accept that about me, too. But sometimes I look back over the past 10+ years and wonder, with futility, what kind of person I might have been if I could have loved and accepted myself for me a little sooner? If I hadn’t spent a decade gaslighting myself about a very basic aspect of who I am. But as always, if things had been different, I wouldn’t be here now, would I?

Another moment was only a few years ago, when I started learning more about what being non-binary meant. I had thought, for a while, that maybe I was trans. Because being a *sparkle effect* woman just didn’t feel right. Not entirely wrong, but not right, either. I felt like I died a little inside every time someone called me “young lady” (I mean, for many reasons) or “Miss Farrah” or even when folx “ma’am”ed me. So I talked to a lot of trans folx, did a lot of research (because, you know me *adjusts glasses*), and talked to my therapist a bunch. And the more I learned about this brand-new-to-me concept of being non-binary, the more my soul sang. The more something inside me blossomed. Something came to life and said “this is what I’ve been looking for.”

One of my favourite quotes about being nonbinary is from Maia Kobabe, and it reads,
“Some people are born in the mountains, while others are born by the sea. Some people are happy to live in the place they were born, while others must make a journey to reach the climate in which they can flourish and grow. Between the ocean and the mountains is a wild forest. That is where I want to make my home.”

And that hits for me. That’s.… me. With a touch of gender fluidity in there, as I shift where between those mountains and the sea I reside; I’m a bit of a wanderer. And finding an identity, a place that felt like home was… incredible! As it turns out, I’m not spitting in the face of any deities because of what I wear or who I am attracted to or sleep with, or because of what pronouns I use (gods forbid). I have no respect for any god or it’s followers who would shun someone for loving anyone or being who they were meant to be, anyhow. That’s not a good god. Those aren’t kind people.

But all that said, finding who I am has been a long, painful, difficult journey, as so many meaningful journeys are, but also utterly beautiful. At 33 years old I finally feel like me kinda for the first time in my life, and I look forward to becoming more and more myself as time goes on. But there’s a flip side to this that is… not amazing.

In so many ways, as a not-trans person who didn’t go through the classic transition process, I have a lot of privilege. I’m an afab nonbinary person who is still pretty femme-presenting. My hair is short and brightly coloured now with a rad undercut, and I have a rainbow flag tattooed on my forearm, but otherwise I can pass as a cis, possibly even het woman. And that is a safety net that a lot of trans folx don’t have to fall back on. I do not take abuse from strangers on the street for looking like I am “trying to be a different gender” or for what loo I use or whatever other transphobic trash. Folx in line at the post office still “excuse me, miss” me. Cis/het guys still hit on me with “hey girl…” I don’t often face transphobic abuse unless I find myself in an argument where my opponent needs a cheap shot - though the “it” and “that thing” sort of statements have been on the rise as I’ve started feeling (& looking) more myself, which is sad, but is what it is. I have a lot of privilige as a ”passing” nonbinary person. But…

I’m not trying to pass. I don’t mind being more femme-leaning, or even properly femme-presenting now and again, but I’m not a woman. I’m not a woman who is using “they” pronouns. I’m not a nonbinary woman. I’m nonbinary. Period. I’m not trans exactly, but I’m also certainly not cis. And because I don’t look super not-cis, that’s easily forgotten. And I understand that, but sometimes it feels like being kinda invisible, in a way. Like I finally, after so much time and effort and more than a few spoonfuls of abuse, was able to take off my Girl Cosplay, but I did too good of a job of it and now people only see me as my character and not as the person underneath. Or maybe just are too tired to try to adapt. It hurts a bit when you ask to have your pronouns used and people kinda try to remember them (or worse, push back), but mostly are perfectly happy to default to feminine-coded pronouns, monikers, etc. Because it’s easy. Because you look like a “she/her/lady/wife/misses/girl/what have you.” And I know it’s easy to fall back onto that when you’re not thinking. But I promise you, your nonbinary (and/or trans) friend notices when you don’t feel they are important enough to get it right.

And it smacks especially hard when that lack of being seen, lack of awareness, lack of care comes from people closest to you. The ache of the invisibility is a little different when it’s from someone who is loudly supportive of trans rights, advocates for lgbtq+ folx, even puts them on a pedestal of sorts… because vocalized or not you realize that you’re just not, I don’t know… queer enough? Androgynous enough? Trans enough? To matter. You can be misgendered, you can be ignored in the conversation, talked over, silenced, because you’re not [x] enough to deserve space in their advocacy, kindness, or even acknowledgement of People Who Matter, even when you’re standing right there. Even when they say they love you. But believe you me, when it’s time to be seen with an LGBTQ+ non-cis friend, partner, colleague, they won’t hesitate to make you their arm candy or bragging point. And that doesn’t feel particularly great, either. Having your identity, your gender, the things most intimate to you being played like a card when it’s convenient for someone else’s virtue signaling. Because you’re not a real person, you’re something lost in the in-between of man and woman, cis and trans.

And it feels bad as a white femme-presenting person to complain about not having space in trans spaces, which is not what I’m doing. Or it’s not what I’m meaning to do, at least. Kinda the opposite. I don’t want to take away a single moment of conversation from the very important topic of protecting trans rights, supporting trans folx, and treating them all like the beautiful humans they are. There is just a small part of me who feels a little left behind, I suppose. Left behind and hurt by people who matter(ed) to me. And by the conversation in general, I guess. I think it is possible to be both happy for and supportive of others and still identify that there is room in the greater conversation for growth.

So, how do we talk about nonbinary folx who aren’t super androgynous? We aren’t cis, but we don’t (all) fall under the trans umbrella and shouldn’t take away from that conversation. So, who are we? How do we carve out some space in this world that, hopefully, is trying to make progress and do better? I don’t really know. I do know that I cannot and will not speak for trans people. But as far as nonbinary folx who (currently, at least) don’t identify as trans, here’s a few thoughts, I guess -

• Ask their pronouns. If they use they & another pronoun, make sure you’re using “they” at least as much as their other pronoun(s). It’s in there for a reason. It matters to them.

• If you misgender them, correct yourself and keep moving.

• If you misgender them and they correct you, thank them, make the correction, make a mental note, and keep moving.

• Pay special attention to how your friends and family members address your non-binary loved one. Correct them if they misgender, every single time. And if you’re not noticing it as it happens, pay closer attention. Make it a point.

• Ask them how things regarding these issues make them feel. I’m not the expert on everyone’s feelings, just my own (and hardly an expert at that!).

• BELIEVE your enbie. If they say they experience something, feel a way, or what have you, just believe them. Don’t talk over them, don’t cis-splain why their feelings are invalid, why they just don’t understand the context, or tell them that they should “relax” about it.

• Don’t fetishize your non-binary human. Yeah, we’re pretty rad, I know. But we aren’t a fashion statement or a kink, and it’s not cool to use us to virtue signal or to make a statement. That does indeed make you a bad ally. We’re whole people.

• Ask what sort of nicknames/pet names they like. My bestie used to use “hey lady!” all the time, and once I came out as nonbinary, she shifted to “hello beautiful human” and other variants. I love it, and feel so seen and loved and respected. Sure, not everyone can be as amazing as Colleen, but you should try ;) My former girlfriend, when we were together, used to refer to me as her “enbae,” which melted my heart entirely.

• Examine your language, in general. How many ingrained gendered terms do you use on the reg? Lots of folx won’t mind, some will, and either way it’s directly patriarchal how masculine terms are normalized for all humans but feminine ones are not (“guys,” “dudes,” etc), so it’s worth examining even if you don’t (know that you) have nonbinary/trans folx in your life. It’s nice to be aware of our words and their weight. Plus, much like rooting out ableist language, not only does it make your language kinder and more inclusive, but it also makes your speaking and writing more diverse and less repetitive! That’s a win all the way around, in my book!

• If your nonbinary friend dresses in a way that aligns with their assigned-at-birth sex and you compliment that look “normally,” but when they dress in a way that leans towards a different gender aesthetic you “yas queen, so brave!” it, consider why. AFAB/AMAB isn’t our “normal look” and other isn’t a costume. It’s all us, equally. I mean, I know I look fucking fabulous in a suit & tie, but I’m not dressing up as a dude when I wear it and dressing “normally” when I wear a dress. They’re both equally me, and it feels strange to have half of me considered “deviant and brave” and the other half considered “normal and cis.” I know no one means it in that way, but that’s how it lands, and I think where it comes from, subconsciously. And by the way, while I do personally kinda love how angry my existence makes Republicans (it’s also exhausting), asking me to dress “masculine” so we can “piss off the homophobes” isn’t the compliment or the allyship you might think it is.

• Don’t misgender people you dislike, inc conservative folx. Trmp will never know that you call him her/they/it, but your nonbinary/trans friends will and they will take notice. They will see how you use their identity as an insult. Or that you use dehumanizing language regarding gender identity and pronouns (sp re “it”), and have probably had that same language used against them at some point. It doesn’t make you look woke, it make you seem unsafe. It’s the same as when you use disabilities as an insult. Your disabled friends notice that you think we are less-than or somehow bad. It doesn’t feel good.

• You can identify however you want, and I appreciate folx (esp cis men) not trying to claim marginalized titles & space where they shouldn’t. But If you’re dating a nonbinary person, you are not really… straight. Or, as my friend Joey once said “either you’re not straight or you don’t see my gender as valid. There’s no other option.” So telling your enbie partner over and over how you’re “a cis het man” isn’t the woke, self aware statement you might think it is. You’re telling your partner “I don’t see you or respect your gender. You’re really just female to me.” And that fucking hurts.

• Just because you consider yourself an “ally” doesn’t mean you get to center yourself in the conversation. If you are cis, shut up and listen to non-binary and trans folx. Let us speak, don’t talk for or over us. Pass the mic, as they say.
  And just because you are an “ally” doesn’t mean you can use us to promote yourself, to virtue signal, or to advance your career. That’s shitty and we see right through you.

• And of course, most basically of all, call out transphobia, homophobia, and shitty, damaging behavior whenever and wherever you see it, without hesitation. Especially if it’s coming from someone close to you.

I spent a long time talking/crying to my therapist this week about this very subject, as these intense feels were kind of all brought to the surface again recently. And I realized that I sort of gaslight myself a little. When people consistently don’t use my correct pronouns or misgender me or what have you, I tend to automatically think “ah, this must not be a big deal, I’m clearly blowing this out of proportion, I’m clearly the problem, I should relax.” But you know what? No. Being treated like a whole person and referred to correctly is fucking baseline stuff. And I’m allowed to have feelings about my experiences. I try to be chill, because I know most of the people in my life are kind and wonderful and just kinda forget. But I’m also tired of being forgotten, even and especially by kind people who love me. It gets old. It makes me feel broken inside, like that kid taking a whoopin’ for not presenting “correctly,” or the young adult finding themselves and being told they’re just attention seeking and to be quiet.

I certainly fail sometimes. I fuck up and get folx pronouns wrong. But my oh my, I try really hard to get it right, to remember, and to correct myself when I slip up. Because often they are people who matter to me, so of course referring to them kindly and respectfully and accurately matters deeply as well! But also because even if they’re not my friends or loved ones, they are still whole humans who deserve basic human decency. Like I said, this is baseline stuff. You just absolutely cannot disregard a whole segment of humans and still be considered a good/kind human or an ally. And yes, it takes practice. But as my therapist says, “practice makes progress!” Work those muscles, baby! You can do it! WE can do it! We can make the world a kinder place.