Gender and Sexuality Alliance

Gender

I never really thought that I was different from other kids when I was in elementary school. That is, gender wise. I played rough, forgot about boundaries, and I did things that I regret to this day, just like most kids

I was aware that I wasn't like other girls. I didn't want to wear makeup or dresses: they felt gross and wrong on me. I would've rather played with robots and superhero costumes and wrestle until the cows came home. But I definitely didn't consider myself a boy. Sometimes in the stores, even when I had long hair, employees would ask my mom to "keep your son under control," or "does he want anything?" These pronouns didn't poke and pry or make me internally wince like she/her ones, but they still didn't feel quite right.

I knew that I didn't belong in the world of binary genders, but up until middle school, I didn't really know what I was, or how to put these feelings into words.

Today, I know that that feeling was dysphoria; The struggle of hiding my breasts because I woke up feeling like they didn't belong to me; Waking up every day as if I was in the wrong body; Trying to make myself look androgynous so that people would think twice before calling me a girl, or begin to make any assumptions of me based on my assigned sex.

In the beginning of 7th grade, I got really interested in the LGBTQ+ community. I don't know what drew me to it, though. Looking back, I don't even remember the first time I found out that there were more than 2 genders. The most vivid memory I have of one of my first self-discoveries is watching Ash Hardell on YouTube, and watching them talk about what pansexuality was, and how it was different from being straight or gay or bi (in some cases, not trying to bi-shame). But more on sexuality later....

I continued to watch Ash Hardell's videos, acquiring more and more information about a community that I would one day call home. I learned about the variety of genders and orientations, and the nearly infinite levels of romantic and/or sexual attraction anyone could feel. I felt at home, and since I was a kid who loved to learn and soaked up knowledge, I became a teacher for those who didn't really know what a non-binary gender was, or what being pan meant. And whether people want to learn about it or not, I let them know what I knew.

Every now and again, someone would ask "Are you a boy?" or "Are you trans?" and I would act astonished and shake my head. But I wasn't annoyed or angry with them, I just didn't know how to react. I didn't want to say yes, but I also didn't want to say no. I never wanted to admit to being a girl. It sounded wrong on my tongue, like a dead-word. I was still searching for a way to be myself, without annoying others with my confusing gender-crisis.

Around June, 2017, I met someone at theatre camp. They didn't have a gender, and they used gender-neutral pronouns. To this day, they are one of the coolest, most interesting people I have ever met in my life. I won't use their name, so let's just call them Ocean. Ocean had buttons and pins on their bag (just like me) and they wore whatever the hell they wanted. Ocean was free and kind and loving, always funny and accepting of others. They weren't scared to correct people if they used the wrong pronouns, and they weren't ashamed of their relationship with people of any and all genders. I admired them.

Ocean introduced me to a life that I loved. A life where I didn't have to be bothered by she/her or he/him pronouns, and where I could be the person that I was made to be.

At this point, I had started to use a binder, but I was still unsure of the pronouns I wanted to use, or what gender I was. But through a lengthy and painful journey of self-discovery, I determined that I simply didn't have a gender. I gathered my courage and changed my Instagram bio to say *They//Them*. It was a small task, but it was monumental in my gender-adventure. It was a rush. I was terrified of how people would react, and what everyone would say. What my family and friends would think of me now that I had come out as agender.

Side note: Being agender means that you do not have a gender. I am neither boy nor girl nor in between. I am something completely separate and wonderful.

I vividly remember walking down the school halls a couple days after changing my bio and having an acquaintance of mine stop me outside of his classroom.

He smiled, tilting his head. "They, them." He didn't say anything more than that. I may have read his signals entirely wrong, but to this day, he has been one of the very few reasons that I don't give in when people question my lack of gender. What he said wasn't demeaning. It didn't question anything. It just let me know that he accepted me, and that he didn't want to change me.

But before I changed my bio and came out to my friends, I came out to my mom.

It was dark outside, and we were just pulling off the freeway on the ride back home. I wasn't scared, surprisingly. I just kind of blurted it out.

"Hey mom, I think I'm non-binary."

She was silent for a bit, but then said in a somewhat-condescending tone, "What does that mean?"

I explained to her all that I knew, but at the time I didn't know a lot. So I missed the golden opportunity to explain what being agender was. She was quiet for a little while longer, staring out at the road, the radio turned off and the streetlights dimmer than usual. I just sort of sat there, wringing my hands, anxious of what she was going to say next.

I don't remember exactly what she said, but it was along the lines of "This is just a trend, and you are gonna have to prove to me that it is not."

I remember instantly shutting up, and feeling tears rush to my eyes. How was I supposed to prove it? There wasn't a book for me to highlight and show my mom (until I found Ash Hardell's book, The ABC's of LGBT, but back then I would've been to afraid to tell/show her). There were no notes that I could present for every time that I felt out of place inside of my own skin. I was defeated and deflated, my heart sinking to my stomach, making me feel sick.

We didn't talk the rest of the car ride.

...

And that was the first time I came out.