Listening to concepts around feminity, the maternity, the cultivation of birth — I never felt myself becoming like that. That when we under go puberty, I didn’t feel or see myself becoming a sort of container or proprogator of humanity.
If anything it felt like the opposite.
My voice deepened, I got hairier, and I had terrible mood swings of anger to depression. I was considered ‘stoic’ to onlookers as well as unemotional or monotoned. I was considered ‘oddly strong’ for a girl. And it followed me into adulthood.
When my hair started to fall out and my facial hair became more abundant, I felt freaked out. I was becoming stronger in ways I didn’t want to. I craved a shit ton of protein, rare meat was preferred. I felt bizzare and self loathing.
But my exterior? Many won’t believe me or my experience being non-binary.
They ‘don’t see it’ as if calling me masculine is an insult. Ha! I find it complimentary, I feel seen at last.
Beauty isn’t restricted to feminity, that’s very narrow.
And I know if I told them how I have to be on hormone pills so my ‘changes’ don’t progress more and I physically wouldn’t recognize myself by that point.
Or how I’m diagnosed with hyper androgynism.
I come from a pretty conservative family. So they believe only in two genders and all that classic Americana of southern thought.
It was hilarious when I told my mother I was nonbinary. She placidly and courteously rejected the notion, thinking it was simply because of all the sexism I was raised around. Maybe it had a factor but not the cause.
Both her and my dad would tell me I had a very ‘androgynous’ look. Even at a young age. When I look at photos of my younger self, the long hair I was forced to have (because I was told I’d be ‘ugly’ or ‘boyish’ if I didn’t) as well as the clothes I was wearing —
— it made sense to me why I had profound body dysmorphia.
I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror throughout junior high and up till later college. The way clothes fit me was not flattering and dated. My mom would comment a lot about my figure, as would my dad.
They wanted me to be as generic as a Victoria secret model. The irony. Sheer irony.
I’m named after my great uncle, my dad got his blessing. The walls of my room were baby blue and full of bunnies, Peter rabbit, and the like.
I wish they’d just tell me the truth.
It’s so deeply ironic when I found my testosterone and DHEA Sulfate dangerously high.
It is such irony I want to laugh at the sun and weep while doing so.
What a cruel joke nature has made.
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