You see, we grow up in a country where we’re taught that there are only two genders. We are told that femininity is for “girls” and masculinity is for “boys,” but there is no space for people like me: We who fall outside of these binaries, we who grow up not having the language to describe ourselves, we who are often erased from our cultures and histories and told that we are not supposed to exist.
And I wish I could tell you that it’s gotten totally better, but the truth is even in progressive spaces gender-policing is everywhere.
I’m told I don’t matter when I go home to my family and tell them that I am not their son, and they tell me I picked this “thing” up at school.
I’m told I don’t matter when I say that I use gender-neutral pronouns (they/them) but when people see my 5 o’clock shadow they immediately use male pronouns.
I’m told I don’t matter when your building doesn’t have a gender-neutral restroom.
Even in many LGBT spaces, we gender non-conforming people are told that we’re not “trans” enough, that we’re not “visible,” enough, that we should just choose one gender or the other, that our genders are only valid if others say so. Sometimes it feels just as frustrating and as violent as it did growing up — to not have control of my body, to have it always shaped by others’ assumptions.
