huh, time to write about identity again! i'm not sure i'll ever spill enough ink about this one, but i'll sure try.
i was struck recently by how much more comfortable i can be in my skin. unfortunately, the operative word there is "can", but regardless that it is now possible at all is quite something. years of dysphoria, not quashed but instead quieted. it still lurks, but on the good days i can grin and bear it, see myself and see a person hidden in there, begging to express themselves.
i also have become a lot more comfortable in my presentation, and what that means. shopping for traditionally gendered things - which is many, many things of course - would make me uncomfortable. there were the things for my assigned gender that i rejected as proxy, and there were the things for the opposing birth gender that i would want but prevent myself from getting. they weren't for me. i was not welcome there. i and the people that used those things were in two separate groups.
i am better about this now. i can bear to shop for these things, push down the now soft but persistent discomfort that whispers: "these are not for you. you are not welcome here". i can bear to experiment with my presentation and then walk outside, meet with friends. only one small step at a time, but the goal is not to race - it is to approach the finish at all. it's... quite liberating. there is a great delight in seeing something i like, knowing that it wasn't made for people like me, and being able to do it anyway. to reject the shame as i reject the expectations placed on me that cause it.
there is something of a bittersweet delight to the reactions i get. some of them are entertaining: late last year, i had two different friends ask me about my gender in the same week. some of them are reassuring: a complement on some particularly queer aspect of my presentation from a half-stranger. some of them make me feel safe: a member of service staff that notices and treats me a little nicer. some of them amuse me slightly: a member of service staff has a look of genuine confusion as they reach to find the right gendered honorific.
some of them make me feel uncomfortable: an older cishet-presenting white man gives me an unusual look as i wait to order my drink at the bar. he double-takes, and it is clear that i am a strange creature, one that probably makes him uncomfortable. it is bittersweet: i take delight in being strange, but i am made uncomfortable by the glance i get. some of them make me feel unsafe: i am somewhere more conservative, and it's not just one or two strange looks i get here. it's many, and every time i walk up to the bar i feel the eyes dragging on me. they won't do anything here, i know that. but they don't like what i am. they would rather i don't exist, at least not like this. there have been times that i have felt genuinely unsafe: walking around italy, seeing graffiti calling for all lgbt people to be hanged. i see a gaggle of younger men nearby. do they believe that? would they try to do something if they caught me alone?
sometimes it's just a quick, illegible look that speaks to something i cannot interpret: perhaps it is just that i look interesting, a little oddity. i do not see many people that look like me when i am outside. this brings me joy: i am strange little creature full of the fire of self-expression. this brings be sadness: there are not many people "like" me. i wade through it all, every complement and kind look and uncomfortable glance, because this is an expression of what i am. i cannot deny myself this kindness any longer. to present myself as i please and still be accepted by the people around me is it's own incomparable delight.
this has it's flip-sides, of course. when i can put in the effort to express myself closer to how i please, i get all this. when i don't, the lows are even lower: deliberate presentation stripped away, my presentation is instead just that of my body. needless to say that this does not bring me any joy to see.
i continue to fight against my nature, it seems. with each passing week i come to know myself better; sometimes this is a an affair with plenty of tears, and others it's chatting to friends. i am, in short, a bit of an emotional disaster: some days are good, and others are much less so, but i refuse to push the topic of my gender back into the jar so that i can seal it back up. if you've read this far and know someone who might be questioning: please reach out to them. i cannot even describe how having another person that understands helps.
now listening: pinocchio-p - non-breath oblige