I never knew how to articulate how precarious my identity felt. As a child, I would draw myself as a boy, complete with a penis, but I was hyper-feminine in my gender presentation. Although I have now accepted that I am genderqueer, or that I do not fit neatly into the two genders we are permitted, I have not come out as such. If people like me are to exist comfortably, this dichotomizing of gender must end. What I am proposing is a paradigm shift that is long overdue.
When I was in kindergarten, I watched an Oprah special on David Reimer, best known for having been raised as a girl after his circumcision left him mutilated. The doctor overseeing his case talked his parents into him having sex reassignment surgery, so he was raised as a female instead. Reimer eventually committed suicide after years of depression relating to his gender confusion.
From this day on, the photo of the little boy with long brown hair and a white dress was burned into my mind. I thought I was in the same situation; someone had damaged my penis and decided I would be better off thinking I was born a female. On some level, I understood these events had not taken place — they were merely analogous to my situation.
Unlike Reimer, though, I could not go to my parents about this profound unease, as it was not the result of their actions. They were neither responsible for my condition, nor could they help me. I thought it must be caused by some sickness growing inside me, and to tell anyone would result in abandonment.
I continued presenting as hyper-feminine until sixth grade, when my family bought a house far away. I became depressed, isolated, and dressed like a tomboy. Once we moved, I began presenting as hyper-feminine again, terrified my new classmates would realize what a “freak” I was. I had severe panic attacks every day, and was certain I was mentally ill.
This same year, I learned it was unusual to be attracted to other girls, and felt deeply ashamed of my “marriage” to another girl in elementary school. She would fly out to visit me, send me care packages, and we would talk on the phone for hours each day. I began keeping a journal and drawing myself as a girl with a penis, something I would continue doing until grade 10.
Years later, and after a few false starts, I eventually started dating women exclusively. I was not able to come out to my family yet, so I presented as hyper-feminine and my parents remained oblivious to my secrets. Someone close to us had come out as trans two months after I realized I could not keep dating men, and my parents were struggling to address him with the correct pronouns and accept that his identity was not a sickness.
I was, of course, deeply invested in their reactions, and they had no idea who I was as they confided in me. My father in particular frequently contrasted his masculinity and attraction to women with me.
Four months later, I told them I was a lesbian and gradually began to dress more androgynously. I found that not only did I stop receiving unwanted attention from men, I felt stronger, confident, and sexy. But I have not told them any of the things I have written about here, because I continue to live in fear of being discovered by a society that does not accept my gender as real and has policed my identity since I was born.
This has to change, and can change, if we cease to approach gender dichotomously, and allow people to discover their identities for themselves.
