Homecoming + Gender

The first time that I felt a shift within myself to use different pronouns was at a training workshop in 2018. Asking for my pronouns was nothing new to me. For the past two years I had been active in different social justice gatherings and it was part and parcel to ask for and make sure that you use the proper pronouns of the other attendees. To further ensure that there were no mishaps, our pronouns were often printed directly under our names on our name tags, often with the same bold font size as our names just so that no-one could say that you couldn’t see it.

But this time was different.

This time we were asked what our pronouns were and if we needed any assistance in affirming them. Suddenly, a new variable.

Support.

I had never been asked directly before whether I would need any support along my enveloping queer identity. Of course to be fair I nestled much of my queerness under layers and layers of performative shame. I was fortunate in that I had a family who never got in my way. They never called me names or redirected me in the department store if I wanted to shop in the boys clothing section cause I liked the fit of the shirts better. They allowed me to explore anything that I had an interest in whether it was considered a “boy” activity or a “girl” activity. And it was my mother who asked me if I was a lesbian my sophomore year in high school. Driving home from dance class the words just rolled out of her with no pause for breath, no fear or timidity in her voice, just a clear and direct question with loving eyes. When I quietly uttered a no as I sunk deeper into my seat she told me that no matter what she loves me and wanted nothing more than for me to know that. But the voices of my three-member family were easily drowned out by dominant cultures booming vibrato.

At school I was a target for boys when I started going through puberty and developing a bit earlier than my other classmates. I was growing breasts and facial hair at the same time. My breasts were seen as something to celebrate but I quickly got the sense that they did not belong to me. Occasional groping or “accidental” brushes with my breast became more common and no matter what I wore to signal how much I wanted people to stop sexualizing me, the invasion of my personal space continued. My facial hair however was the focus of ridicule. I clearly remember a boy in my sixth grade class pointing directly to a small patch of hair that had begun to grow on the left side of my chin while laughing and telling the class “Kendal is a man, she has a beard.”

Each time I stepped out of my house the onslaught of narratives that reinforced a sense of fear, doubt and confusion with myself grew and calcified each day. While I could conceptually understand why people responded to me as a girl/young woman, I couldn’t understand why that meant that people had to treat me a certain way or expected me to be, think, do or say certain things. Anytime I presented something other than what was expected of me I was met with confusion that often lead to anger. Then that anger was thrust onto me, crashing onto my body with the speed and ferocity of a hundred charging bulls while the shards of shrapnel from the collisions lodged themselves deep within my skin. Permeating my cells, altering the very fabric of my being, nestling themselves in the marrow of my bones where it would fester and spread like a cancer.

I made the decision to not just conform but to do my best to completely disappear. To be seen meant danger. So I worked hard at blending into my surroundings, camouflaging myself in each and every environment that I entered, keeping my voice low, tucking my shoulders till my clavicle closed in on itself like the covers of a sealed book. Don’t make eye contact, move from the center of attention. This would soon prove to be a futile practice. Silence can make other people feel uncomfortable. When anyone would see me sitting quietly amongst a rowdy crowd they would b-line straight to me and flood me with questions like “what’s wrong with you? why do you look so depressed? are you having fun?” To avoid the constant questioning I decided to change course and become more vocal. This tactic didn’t last long.

When disappearing, silence and being loud did not work I changed my strategy and decided to go with the binary current. I wore clothes that accentuated my breasts and hugged the soft curves of my body. I wore makeup more often than I wanted to and usually put more on than was necessary. I softened the tone of my voice, smiled more, made myself more appealing for the male gaze. I turned myself into what I thought society saw me as. Oddly enough this was the time that I became unintentionally invisible. I later realized that my invisibility was the result of acting out and displaying all the attributes and characteristics that was expected of me. Since I appeared to be a woman and started to dress in the ways that society deemed was feminine, I could go throughout life unnoticed and unchecked. All is right in the world because so-and-so sees me on the street and feels safe and confirmed in their ideas of gender so I am free to just exist. But the minute I challenged any cis-gendered man or woman and their views of masculinity and femininity I became the mark for their fears to be heaved on to.

Up until age ten I was sure myself, knew who I was and my place in the natural world. Nothing could shake me from the embodied knowing that I had of myself. As my body started to change during puberty that embodied knowing started to be confined, suppressed and eventually erased by the voices of dominant culture. At thirty I could hear the rumblings of that knowing that yearned to see the light of day, and at forty I began to re-member myself. Rejoin those parts of me that had ben severed and flung to the far reaches of the Universe so that I may not find them and bring them home to me.

Deconstructing dominant culture narratives has been a challenge - one that seems to have no end in sight. And yet I stand with arms fully extended and legs firmly planted saying here I am.

I am gender nonconforming.

I do not identify with any gender and also feel the binaries of male and female living inside of me at the same time. My pronouns are they/them/their, but I actually prefer xi/xim/xir. Back in 2018 I needed some assistance in affirming these truths for myself. Now I am not only affirmed but I am divinely anointed.