Genderfuck: Origin Story

I never gave much credence to how my gender identity formed much of my life and opened room for trauma and self-hate when I was younger. I always thought my trauma came from the physical, sexual and emotional abuse I endured as a child, and how that lead to my own alcoholism and abusive relationships as an adult. That’s all surely a part of it, too. But now that my identity and health are under attack nationwide, I’m realizing this is a familiar battle for me. It’s been going on since I was a little kid.

When I was a wee one, I always knew something was different about me. I didn’t have anywhere close to the language or emotional support systems needed to uncover what was going on, but here are some memories and observations from my childhood which are illuminating to me today.

As a child, I believed with my deepest heart and with total conviction that because I was born a little girl, I would grow up to be a big man. This was something I was very sure about, because in my little mind, it explained the differences between boys and girls and was what was fair. Fair. Interesting thoughts for a pre-schooler. I remember being so excited to grow up and do “man things”.

I went to a ‘non-denominational’ church school till third grade, which is what I think Pentacostal folks use to sound less holy-roller-y. Either way, serious gender norms were institutionalized there, including a requirement that girls wore dresses. I wore pants all the time, I hated dresses, and chose to endure the judgement and bullying that came along with my pants rather than just fit in and wear a dress. Think about that for a moment. How deep the feeling must go for a child to weather verbal castigation from every angle rather than wear a dress. For four years.

In fact, one could barely keep clothes on me at all! I was running around in ratty underwear till I was just before puberty. This is just to say the nudist thing runs deep in my heart!

I remember in grade school, the boys and girls being given different assignments and expectations: color the boat or the butterfly, hammer the nail or stir the batter, be the rooster or the sunflower. All these intimations of what was right for boys and what was right for girls. And me, in my pants, taking off my shirt at recess like the boys did, crying in a dress at Easter, refusing to brush my long hair, having no words for the feelings of unfairness. Unfair. I wanted the sailboat and the butterfly. Why couldn’t I color both?

As I got older, and high school hit, I was essentially what the kids today would call asexual. (Shout out for the breadth of new language that exists to describe feelings today! I’m very thankful for this extended lexicon!) I didn’t think about sex in any way, shape or form until my best friend had sex for the first time. Then I called my boyfriend and said YES. Once I had sex, the hormones kicked in and I was ready to fuck all over the place and with everyone. And everyone was who I slept with!

I was always a strong headed child, and the teen was no different. I often think about how I never “came out”, I just started being a bi-sexual and everyone could deal with it. In fact, it never occurred to me that people might have a problem with me being sexually attracted to both men and women. Duh. This speaks to how far removed I was from our cultural norms in my youth. But soon and for the rest of high school, the slurs were loud and often.

I knew I was way different, but I didn’t understand how. I called myself an alien. I called myself an alien a lot. Looking back, I was searching for a way to describe my gender identity, before I even knew it was an option to opt out of the man/woman binary. In my body’s feeling space, I was always both and neither, something else, some unidentified fucking object. Alien seemed to be the best word. Now I see it as more self-hate.

Of course I was called a carpet muncher, a dyke, whatever other fresh and casual cruelty kids learn by watching their parents. The one that hurt the most though, was being called a “fucking freak”. I still get called this all the time, and I try to wear it as a badge of pride, and sometimes I do. But there’s no escaping the fact that I am a fucking freak and everyone can tell right away.

Why did the kids call me a fucking freak? Looking back, I think it was because they could all tell I was third gender in our guts. Our ancestral memory recalls this type of being and reacts on a spiritual level. We didn’t have words for it then, though.

I knew there was something way off about me, but it took me years and years to recognize and name it, and I’m still experiencing the trauma inflicted, both purposefully and accidentally.

In my twenties (I’m 47 today), I called myself gender-fluid and bi-sexual. I called myself a fucking freak, but with a fist not a pride flag. I called myself an alien still, with a deep sadness of not belonging. I continued being with both men and women sexually, and explored my indoctrinated misogyny. This was a big deal and didn’t fully dissolve for much longer.

Then a weird thing happened in 2009. The internet started a rumor that Lady Gaga had a penis. It was sick and hateful, but something clicked inside of me that felt very good. I liked it if Lady Gaga had a penis. I didn’t think it was real, I knew it was trolls; but suddenly, I was very attracted to this new idea of two genders in one body. I couldn’t get my mind off of it.

I started remembering those feelings of growing up to be a man, of enjoying being a little girl and looking forward to being a man. What complicated feelings! I started confessing to myself how often I masturbated thinking of myself as a man. How often I switched up the gender roles in my imagination. How I melded the two into one in my body naturally. How in my freest moments, I was beyond gender. I started talking to other queer folks about my feelings and what they meant.

I still called myself an alien, but now that word meant what I would now call “third gender”. I started hating myself less and started exploring more about what gender is, scientifically, culturally, emotionally.

I found myself in love with a cross-dressing man, Mateo (‘They’ now, and having declared clothes don’t have a gender). I found myself feeling more and more comfortable with androgynous people, anyone who played with gender norms. I started prioritizing my inner discovery over pop cultural norms. I started liking myself more, feeling more comfortable in my own skin.

I feel this was a hard time for folks who knew me a long time. I often heard, ‘I liked the old you, the you before you met Mateo.” People blamed my change on my love, when in reality, they were the first person to love the whole me. They love the fucking freak, alien, genderqueer me. They supported me and we grew together.

About 2015 I first heard the term “non-binary”. Game. Changed. Here were finally words that made sense with what was happening inside my body since the time I first understood I had a body. I never wanted to be a woman or a man, I always wanted to be both and neither. I prefer the term “third gender” these days, but I use non-binary because culturally it’s more understood. I don’t fit into either gender norm, I am something else all together. I am non-binary.

I often say: I’m non-binary personally, politically and philosophically. Because the idea of investigating binaries and understanding them as spectrums is a powerful tool in my thinking life. My gender is not a hard classification of man or woman, my politics are outside of a simple two-party system, and my philosophy aims to understand the symbiosis, tension, commonalities, divergences, the union and synthesis of what at first appear to be opposites.

Since coming out as gender non-conforming, my inner peace has developed, my compassion has soared and my agency and authenticity has been thriving. This comes along with several other distinct and important changes in my life: developing a strong relationship with my mental health, quitting drinking, learning boundaries and how to communicate more genuinely, giving wings and nourishment to my spiritual life, focusing on a mind-body-spirit connection, having a yoga-prayer practice, getting a meaningful job, being of service, helping others.

All of the growth is deeply intertwined with coming to know and being able to speak up for the person I am. I am a trans non-binary human. Thank you for trusting me to tell you who I am. Thank you for believing me. Thank you for listening.