“Are you a girl or a boy?” I call it “the question.” I’ve been asked “the question” ever since I was little, whether it be playing little league or trying to use the restroom at my high school. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with asking, and I’d rather people ask “the question,” than assume my identity. However, while on the exterior I usually respond with a snarky “neither,” or polite “girl,” internally, I live in constant fear of being asked “the question” because the truth is….
I don’t know the answer. And that makes me feel like I’m living as an imposter in my own body.
Gender is a messy, complex, and ever-shifting experience for me and has been ever since I was little. I’ve always been a bit of a tom-boy. That coupled with being raised as a girl with the name Owen, misgendering has always been a part of my daily routine. I remember an incident in 3rd grade in which a substitute teacher forced me into the boy’s bathroom because she thought that that was where I belonged. I may have been rocking the bowl cut and basketball shorts, but even as an 8 year-old, I was confused to why my name and appearance had any correlation to my gender identity or what bathroom I could use.
Growing up, I was SO proud of my name and I would shout it proudly to anyone that would listen, but after that day, it became something that was lost in the whispers of my shame. I tried to embrace my inner girl side as I grew out my hair and traded the basketball shorts for skirts. Not so much because I myself was ashamed of who I was, but because I was scared that if I didn’t following the expectations that society had set forth with me, I would somehow be lesser of a human being.
As years went by, I became more comfortable within my own skin and at the start of my freshman year of high school I cut all of my hair off and began to present more androgynously. Freshman year not only marked the start of a new beginning, but it also marked the start of a long, difficult journey to finding who I was, that in some ways I’m still trying to finish.
Though, I suffered through classes in which teachers never bothered to look past my exterior and bathrooms are still places I try to avoid like the plague, high school was the first place I was exposed to the LGBTQ+ community. Before, I had never met someone my age that was out as gay or lesbian, let alone somebody who was transgender or didn’t identity with the gender they were assigned at birth. Playing the straight ally, I joined my school Gay-Straight Alliance and began coming to terms with who I was and exploring my sexuality. When I finally came out (which I thought would be the last time) as a lesbian at the end of that year, I thought my journey to find myself was over, but in all actuality it had just begun.
High school may have been the first time I was exposed to the community, but within the queer community itself was the first place I felt free to explore my sexuality. However, it posed its own challenges to navigating my already fluctuating gender identity. Even within the community, I felt as if I had to constantly identify with myself with a specific group in order for my identity to be validated. As I become more educated on the different intersections and terms that are encompassed by the LGBTQ+ umbrella, I found myself rattling off different terms in my head trying to find one that fit what I was feeling. Genderqueer, non-binary, gender nonconforming – all terms whose definitions fit what I was feeling, but weren’t necessarily words that I felt described me.
Arguably beginning one of the most difficult periods of my life, I felt pressured by some to choose one label over another and scared that others would think I was trying to hop on a “bandwagon” or “seek-attention.” In reality, it was never even a choice.
I entered this period in which I didn’t feel as if I was “queer” enough to be a part of the community, but I also didn’t feel as if I was “cis” enough to be a part of the “straight” society. I didn’t necessarily feel like a girl, but I also didn’t feel like a boy. I didn’t feel like I fit on the cisgender spectrum, but I also didn’t feel like I fit under the transgender umbrella. So where did that leave me? I felt I was stuck in a state of limbo that had no end in sight. There were many of nights that I would lie awake at night asking God why I couldn’t just be “normal.” I was drowning in self-loathing simply because I was ashamed of who I was. I lived in constant fear that I was lying to not only myself, but also those who loved me. I was terrified that I was going to hurt those who were around me if they knew the complexity of my gender identity, when in reality it didn’t change anything about me.
All I ever wanted to be was Owen. No labels, no expectation, no gender…
There is no simple way to explain my gender to other people – or even to myself.
There are days where I feel confident and empowered by my complex perception of my own gender. I’m proud of my ability to “gender bend” and present myself in whatever way I am feeling on a given day, because let’s be honest, you should never underestimate the person who can look dapper at graduation in a suit and tie, but also three weeks earlier was killing it at prom in heels and a gown. But, there are also those days where I am still filled with self-loathing as I struggle to accept what being non-binary or “non-conforming” truly means to me. It is on these days that I often feel dysphoric about my body and spend hours wishing I could be somebody that I am not just so I can be “normal” for once. I constantly live with the internalized message that screams “You can’t be both; you have to pick one and stick with it,” but now, I refuse to let that expectation define who I am as a person.
We too often become consumed with the binaries of our communities that we force labels onto ourselves and onto others. And it took me a long time to realize that what I was feeling was valid and that it really did not matter whether or not I fit into the boxes that society lays out for me. This was something I had to figure out for me, not for anyone else.
So my answer to “the question:” does it really matter? I’m a person who hates labels, who would do anything for the people I love, and who loves running, dogs, and ice cream. Some days I just want to let my inner sparkle shine, and others I find comfort and empowerment in my masculine appearance. My gender? It’s irrelevant. Please, just call me Owen.
For those who love and support me that are reading this: I may never know the answer to “the question,” but I’m okay with that. I hope that you can be too.
