After my uncomfortable shopping excursion to get a sport coat, I stopped at the Burger King down the road to pick up a nutritious balanced meal for lunch. One would think shopping at the ‘big and tall’ shop should have prompted me to find something healthier. :( I wait on line – get up to the counter – order my food. As I go to pay, the cashier (the girl couldn’t have been more than twenty) asks me “Did you just get your nails done?” I tell her that I had them done last week and she replies “Wow, they look really nice!” I smile somewhat awkwardly and thank her before moving down so she can take the next customer.
From the other end of the non-binary spectrum, if that makes any sense.
I love seeing people identifying as ‘non-binary’ – we need greater visibility around this.
Originally posted on Genderweird:
This past week I had a phone interview with a Washington Post reporter, off the record, about being non-binary in a binary world. It went exceedingly well, but that’s not the point of this post. What I’ve been mulling over for a while now is — wait for it — my identity. Go figure, right?
So in my never-ending quest to figure myself out, I’ve made quite a few steps as of late to try and suss out who or what I am. For as long as I can remember I’ve felt distinctly different, other, irgendwie anders. Having an identical twin only further complicated things around puberty; she journeyed off into this magical realm called Womanhood, leaving me alone to figure out why I didn’t feel myself to be a girl, but also couldn’t conceptualize myself as a boy.
Now I’m at a point where, if I decide to…
View original 246 more words
I went shopping at a men’s store today. It wasn’t really by choice: I have an event to attend and I’ll need to look ‘presentable and appropriate’. And while I have several suits, none of them fit as I have gained too much weight. :( I do have black pants that fit (women’s, but not that anyone would notice) so I figured all I needed was a reasonable sport jacket to wear with them. Easy-peasy it should be…
I walked in the store and I felt a wave of uneasiness hit me: looking around the store, it all seemed so wrong to me. I found my way back to the suits and such and started looking for a jacket. I realized that I had no idea what size I was, what the styles were… I was, in a word, lost. As I browsed, a sales girl came up and asked if I needed some help (perhaps I looked as though I needed it.) I told her I wanted a jacket to go with black pants and she showed me a few choices. She asked me what size I wore and I had to tell her I had no idea and that it had been years since I had shopped for anything. I was acutely aware of how awkward this all felt – how silly I must have sounded, not even knowing what size I wore.
If I had been shopping in the women’s shop around the corner, it would have been a different story. They know me there by name, I know how their sizes run, what works for me and what doesn’t. There is nothing awkward about being there because it’s pretty much how I have been shopping for years now. I felt a bit like your average guy in the lingerie department: dazed, uncomfortable – and wanting to leave as quickly as possible. Funny thing (or maybe not so funny) is that I’m totally comfortable browsing lingerie – but today, looking for a sport coat? I wanted to make my purchase and be out of there as quickly as possible.
I did get a nice jacket and as much as it kinda hate to say it, it looks good – and I’m not sure how I feel about that to be honest. On the one hand, I want to look good, to make my wife comfortable and to just have a nice time. But on the other hand, I don’t like being gendered as a man – and that I (still) look ‘good’ as one evokes a feeling I am having trouble articulating. I guess in part it makes me sad, and maybe a bit defeated…
And so it goes…
Fantastic and spot on!
Originally posted on Raising My Rainbow:
- When most people are born, their sex (male or female based on their genitalia) and their gender (male or female based on their brain) are usually in total alignment. Mine aren’t. Get over it. I was born this way.
- If you are confused and can’t quite tell if I’m a boy or a girl, just know that I am a person, please treat me that way.
- Sometimes I notice that my gender nonconformity makes you uncomfortable. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable; I’m trying to make myself comfortable.
- My gender nonconformity is a way of expressing myself. A way of being true to myself, true to the way my heart beats and my blood flows. I allow you to express your gender your way without being bothered; I hope that you will allow me to do the same.
- It’s silly when you think, say or feel that colors, clothes…
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So I got my nails done last week.
For the past five years or so I get a manicure every two to three weeks. It started with just clear polish, giving my nails a nice clean look. Eventually I moved up to getting clear Shellac (a UV cured gel type polish) which has the advantage of lasting about two weeks with no chipping. I then progressed to a clear sparkly finish which is a bit more fun but still doesn’t attract too much undue attention. Then, about a two years ago, I started getting a sheer pink color under the sparkly finish. It added a hint of color which was noticeable if you really looked at my nails but still relatively neutral. I wore that for about a year before choosing a less sheer pink base. So for about the last year now, my nails are noticeably sparkly pink. Not screaming across the room pink, but enough that they can no longer go unnoticed while sitting a table with other people.
…which has not been shown love in over a year. I have things to say, thoughts to share – I’ve just been lazy about it. Maybe lazy isn’t the right word: unmotivated is a better one.
I had lunch with a friend last week. She’s transitioning after many years of telling herself why she couldn’t do it. I told her that I am a bit envious. The truth is I’m very happy for her, as I am for any of us who are dealing with this. But as we chatted, the discussion turned to me and to what has kept me from ‘moving forward’ as it were.
I told her that in some ways, I wished that being trans was more of a problem for me. I don’t wake every morning hating what I am. I don’t spend my waking hours consumed by this. I don’t feel I need to ‘transition or die’. I many ways these are all very good things. I recognize this and on some level I am quite thankful for it. But it doesn’t change the fact that underlying it all is the continual dissatisfaction I have.
I need more than this.
‘Shit or get off the pot’ as the saying goes. I always have a reason to put off discussing what I need. The time is never ‘right’ – but honestly, is there ever a right time?
I need more and I have droned on about it for years and years.
And this is perhaps the reason for my lack of motivation to write. It’s an old story now – one I have told for so many years that even I don’t want to hear it any more.
So, I have this blog…
I think it’s time I start writing again.
… that’s what is said about a picture. More telling than any narrative, a picture has the ability to lay bare the truth of it’s subject. Sometimes, that truth is more than we want to know or accept.
I was kind of excited for our holiday party this evening. Enough so that I went and had my make-up done. Nothing outlandish, but just something a bit fun for the evening. So, I skipped out of work a bit early and headed off to be ‘made up’.
I’ve not written in a while. It’s not for a lack of topics (I have a lot I want to write about) but more a matter of time and motivation. I have been insanely busy at work – and not in a good way. I don’t mind busy – I can even thrive on it for short spurts – but the busy is there is rooted in stupidity and confusion and I have no tolerance for that. It’s become a place at which I really do not want to be. That’s a problem as ‘work’ has become a bit of a haven for me these past years. It’s where I ‘get to be me’ more or less.
Hurricane Sandy has come and gone, leaving a mess in her wake. Some were pummeled, others hardly effected. At my home, this is the state of things at the moment:
In 2007, I posted The Impossible Human, where I discussed a bit how transpeople continually are forced to assert the reality of their existence – to assert that they themselves actually are people.
I was in a meeting yesterday with five other colleagues – four of whom I know well, one who I have seen in the office but never had the occasion with which to speak. We were discussing what needed to be finished in order to do a small demo showing the end to end integration of our respective systems.
The guy who I do not really know was talking about how everything needs to be passed downstream to my process, “… because she needs to generate … uh … he needs to generate the extract files …”
:: Donna smiles a bit ::
It is the first time there that that has happened to me and for a moment I felt very awkward, wondering what (if anything) the other people in the room thought. No one reacted in any way and we continued our discussion without incident.
I couldn’t help but walk out of the meeting smiling just a bit to myself.
Reblogged from Facebook
Reblogged from Genderfork
A fantastic article by Natalie Reed (who blogs at http://www.freethoughtblogs.com/nataliereed.)
I was Googling my blog name when I came across this:
Like I said, I’m a bit slow at times. But still…
How absolutely f’ing cool is that! :D
That is the sound of – inevitability…
For some thirty-five years I have lived conscious of the fact that I am not that which I have been told I am. With the never-ending ‘noise in my head’, I have lived in opposition to what I can only describe as an ‘instinctual knowledge’ of what I should be – of what I am.
To have to fight the instincts — that is the definition of decadence: as long as life is ascending, happiness equals instinct.
A while back, I was out with two girlfriends from work for drinks. We chatted about this and that when the topic of conversation turned to me (yes, they know ‘my story’.) One of them asked me if I was happy. I paused and thought for a few seconds before telling her that I was in a better place than I had been in the past – but happy?
Leaving work the other evening, I ran into a woman with whom I ride the train in the mornings. We have chatted casually a few times – not so much to really be ‘friends’ per se – but enough to be friendly. She was waiting for the E train when I saw her and I stopped and said hello. We started chatting a bit and so began the journey home.
I’m not an especially outgoing individual – quite the opposite really – but once I get past the initial awkwardness of meeting someone I’m usually fine. We chatted the whole subway trip to Penn Station and once there, parted for a few minutes to get supplies for the trip home. We met up again, and boarded the train for home. As I said, I’m kinda shy and I always find it a bit surprising when people want to just talk with me – perhaps I shouldn’t, but it’s just how I feel.
We continued our smalltalk about the train and the people we see there and stuff like that. She tells be she loved getting to know about people and I smile a bit because, well, I’m not really the ‘average’ person on the street, but it’s fine – she’s done nothing to offend me so I continue our conversation. She proceeds to tell me her life more or less (which to be honest has been a hell of a lot more exciting than my own) and I think to myself that this is not the first time for this. I tend to get people telling me stuff and wonder what it is about me that makes them that comfortable with sharing. Don’t get me wrong, I like listening and sometimes offering whatever insights I might have – I just wonder how it happens sometimes.
And so the train ride goes. It was fun seeing as I usually sit alone and noodle around on my Mac. We get about five minutes from our stop when she sits back and says, “So, now I have a question for you…” I smile, knowing what’s coming – I have been waiting for it for an hour or so. A method to the madness so to speak, she jokes afterwards a kind of “I’ll show you mine now you show me yours.” I give her the super condensed story of me and a bit of background as to be identifying as genderqueer. It’s nothing ‘complete’ but I did want to share as well and told her we can discuss more next time we have the chance. We exchange our farewells for the evening and head off to our cars and home.
I don’t mind that people are curious and I have never been shy about discussing being trans. My one rule is that people treat me with respect – which she did. And her willingness to share with me put us on a bit of an equal footing which was nice. I have had many chats wherein it seemed to be all about me. It was nice to not be the sole topic of conversation.
So… Not an especially deep post, but I went home that night smiling a bit – and I thought I’d share. :)
This really resonates for me – summing up so much of how I have felt for so long.
Originally posted on The Heartland Road:
The cliffs march on and on, like a wall above me. I start to wonder what’s up there, above the bright rim of the sky. Perhaps it’s just the lure of the unknown – the wall is stout and tall and unbroken, except for the waterfalls, which thunder through gorges like chimneys, narrow and dark and slick with spray.
I have tinnitus. You know, that ‘ringing’ sound some people have in their ears. I have had it as long as I can remember, although I am sure that there was some time in my life where I didn’t. For the most part, it’s not a problem as the normal ambient sounds of every day life tend to mask it to where I don’t even notice it. I go about my day to day activities without even thinking about it. As ‘conditions’ go, it’s seems to be quite manageable.
A member of an online forum I frequent made the following observation…
It isn’t so much a question of essential natures being rigidly dichotomous (they aren’t), as of there being a convenient typology we want to use, and perhaps most of us need.