Gender is often times viewed as one of two categories: boy or girl, but making this discovery of different genders and of myself was a milestone in my life. Life is easy when you go through it the way the world-or at least the people around you-expect you to. I was never able to do that. My sisters both had the “girly” thing down pat; they both enjoyed wearing dresses and skirts and looking nice and playing with makeup. I liked the occasional fancy outfit on special occasions, but otherwise I was as far from girly as I could get. I chose pants and shorts and played in the mud and watched my brothers play video games and learned how to play football. I knew that any girl could do these things, but I always felt detached from “other girls”. I never really thought much of it, but that feeling was there.
I was raised in a conservative family. I was never really exposed to different ideas of gender or encouraged to question myself in this way. I was completely unaware that gender was an abstract concept that is not cemented into people based on their sex. I was born female and labeled a girl, so I thought that was that. As I matured I found myself becoming more and more detached from the idea of being a girl, but never really looked into the issue.
Growing up I had always had a really masculine presence. Not just from my attire, but from my build as well. I had broad shoulders and narrow hips, with muscle built up from constant exercise. Sometime during middle school, I decided I wanted to expand my wardrobe a bit and not always wear jeans every single day. So I got some skirts, and I wore them to school. The instant reaction was, “Whoa, I’ve never seen you in a skirt!” The comment was harmless, and often followed by a “it looks nice!”, but it made me feel alienated for some reason. I tried to avoid wearing anything feminine to school so that I would not hear those comments again. Generally it wasn’t that bad, but the few times I did want to wear a skirt I felt too insecure to. It was tough, feeling like I couldn’t be myself, even in a positive environment. I felt pressured to keep up my “tomboy” presentation. I was caged in my own skin, because I could not stand to hear people say, “Oh Jessica, you look so pretty in that dress!”
I tried to not let it get to me. I wore my regular jeans and t-shirt to school, no one made any comments about “looking like a girl”, and I went on with my life. I figured that if staying in my first box was what it took to feel comfortable, then that is what I would do. I thought that since I did not dress as the typical “girly girl” did, then I was already breaking societal norms, and the small rebellious part of me was content. For those two years, I thought my attire was the only thing I was uncomfortable about, and I let it sit at that.
Then that fateful day came, the one when I began to stumble upon different genders. I had known vaguely in the back of my mind that transgender people were a thing, so this was not too much of a new idea to me, but the idea of being nonbinary was. If I was to describe it, I would use colors as an analogy. People do not see gender in black and white, but rather blue and red. Sometimes the blue and red mix to make purple, and sometimes the blue becomes red and red becomes blue. Yellow, however, is neither blue nor red, and is a color all its own. Sometimes the yellow mixes with the red to make different shades of orange, and sometimes it merges with the blue to make different greens, but yellow is still it’s own color that is very obviously not red or blue. Nonbinary is like yellow: neither boy nor girl but its own gender.
I was surprised to find that there were many people that existed outside the boxes of boy and girl, and when I was fourteen I knew I was one of them. It made sense to me. I never truly felt like a girl; I never identified strongly as a girl even when I thought I was one. However, I also knew that I was definitely not a boy. I wasn’t a mix of the two, but some other gender entirely that existed outside of the binary. It was a truly freeing feeling to realize this about myself, and I finally felt like I really fit into my own skin.
Somehow, this revelation made me free to present as I wanted. I began wearing skirts and dresses when I felt like it (though the times I did were few and far between), and felt like I could do so without fear of judgement. The old remark of “I’ve never seen you wear a skirt!” was still bothersome, but I felt comfortable enough to no longer let it get to me.
My gender came with many freedoms, but also restrictions. My name felt like a shoe that was a bit too narrow so that it fit everywhere except for the fact that it pinched my toes and squeezed my feet. I needed new shoes, shoes that were wider and allowed feet of different widths to feel right in them. Those shoes came in the form of the name “Jordan”. It was simple, and neutral, and felt like the best pair of shoes I have ever had the pleasure of wearing. I loved this name, and loved that my friends made an effort to call me by it. They also made an effort to call me by “they” pronouns instead of “she”. Asking my friends to do this was relatively easy. The hard part was keeping it secret from my family. I was terrified that if my mom found out before I was able to move out then she would not let me dress the way I wanted or hang out with my friends, or even just give me a lecture about how I didn’t know what I was talking about and that it was just a phase.
I lived in constant fear of my parents finding out my gender. The stress weighed on me to a point where I would stay up late at night freaking out that they would found out, even though it was not plausible. Eventually the stress brought me to a point where I no longer cared if I was outed to my parents, but instead shouldered the weight of constant social dysphoria from my family always calling me by the wrong name and pronoun. I could not stand it, but I could not say anything. I felt like I was in my own personal Hell where the devil tortured me with misrepresentation and disregard for who I was.
I guess I was less secretive about my gender than I thought, as one day my mom came into my room, insisting that I tell her this secret of mine that was causing me so much obvious distress. For a split second, my entire world came crashing down as my mind tried to form a way to respond so that I would not have to tell her. Then I realized that the only way I was getting out of this conversation was to have it. In tears, I told my mom everything: my gender, my name and pronouns, even my sexuality. It all came out and I was terrified of her reaction.
I underestimate my mom too much sometimes. She told me that she understood what I was saying and had me explain my gender a bit more. Her only real reaction was to explain to me the Catholic morality of premarital sex (of which I am well aware) and to try and convince me that there were only two genders. Afterwards, I asked if she would call me by the name I wanted. I knew her response before I asked, but it still stung when she said, “Jessica is your name, so that’s what I’m going to call you.”
I knew I would not receive an ideal response from my mom, but the fact that I am now out to her makes my life much easier. I am now free to call my friends by the names they want and they can call me the one I want. My family may not be the most supportive, but I am free to present myself the way I want to, and being myself in the world is the only thing I wanted when I came out.
