Hello and welcome back to Sunday Sundries, where I talk about whatever’s on my mind.
Yes I’ve had a break, I’ve been in a struggling loop so I took some time away. But today seems like an appropriate day to come back so, here I am!
Transgender Day of Visibility is a yearly day where we trans folk get to celebrate being ourselves. We exist, despite all the efforts to eradicate us. We’re here. We’ve always been here. And we’re allowed to feel joy about it.
If you’re a trans person who can’t come out right now, for any reason; or you’re questioning your gender; or can’t celebrate yourself; that’s ok, we =’re here to do that for you until you can. You’re still valid as who you are, nobody can take that away, but do be safe.
So who am I? I’m trans. I’m non-binary. I’m agender. I’m beardgender (yes I made that one up a while ago. Why? Because I could!).
My pronouns are it/its. At least, they should be. It’s hard enough getting people to use they/them. People insist on calling me he/him, no matter how many times I tell them otherwise. These people, I have learned to simply give up on. They’re never going to do it. They don’t care enough to make the adjustment and not misgender me constantly. So I don’t care enough to keep them close. Refusing to use my pronouns is actually a great way of telling me who you are – and who you are is someone I can’t trust.
Those who do, using it/its is an adjustment, it’s a pronoun that’s becoming more common but still most cis folk and a lot of queer folk haven’t encountered it before. For anyone making the effort, I’m happy to lead with explanations and help. Some folk can adjust faster and easier than others, but as long as you’re trying, I’ll keep helping.
Anyway, mini rant aside. I wrote this a whike back, about my gender. Today seems like a good day to share it.
I think of my brain. Each moment. Each memory. Each thought. Each understanding. Each uniquely crystallised. Not one cell the same as yours. Or yours. Or yours.
The illness in there. The imbalances. The drugs to try and correct. Inside is a world of light and riot, and dark and cold, and it is mine alone.
I think of my body. The insides. They do the things they should. Mostly. They do them in a way that no other body does. My heart beats its own rhythm. A patter that no other can match. My acids roil and growl and my body claims nutrients, discards waste. No other body does it the same way as mine. Or yours. Or yours. Or yours.
The outside of my body. It is neat. The chest, made flat on purpose. The stomach, curving into a small globe. Beneath that, more neatness, this time that cleft I was born with.
But how does it work? Not like yours. Or yours. Or yours. The pains I live with, day and night. They are mine alone. The lack of mobility. The stiffness. The strains. The balance I try and often fail to meet. Still, mine alone. Yours will never be the same, nor will mine ever be as yours.
My disabilites, yes, but also my abilities. What I can do. How I can do it. How well – or not. These things are mine alone.
If each atom is singular, unique, as it travels into, through, and out of me. If my entire being is it’s very own. Then how, why, would it be the same as yours? Or yours? Or yours?
My gender is none. It sits apart. It is…not. I am, simply, I.
Remember: you are a whole universe. Your trans journey is stars scattered along it, part of everything but *not* everything. You are a person, unique and entire. Celebrate you.
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