Transgender Tuesday: Closets

content note: brief description of thoughts about self-harm

I’ve been very depressed lately. I was woken up on Wednesday by the phone call informing me that my request for periodontal treatment had been denied. When I called to make my appeal, the person neutralized my language so “I’m in a lot of pain” became “I’m experiencing discomfort.” I felt powerless to advocate for myself because no matter what I said, she could submit whatever she wanted on my behalf and I wouldn’t even know. (I hadn’t yet received the letter with information on submitting a written appeal.)

I walked into Wakana’s office later that day, outwardly very calm and personable – but inwardly ready to explode! I told her I was scared of how calm I was and urged her to insert earplugs before allowing me to play on the drums and cymbal. We were all set up to make music when I told her I felt like cutting myself because I didn’t know how else to express the anger: I couldn’t kill people, I’d regret breaking things, but my skin would eventually heal. I said I wanted to get a tattoo in the spot I always think about cutting on; then I’d be less tempted to cut because I wouldn’t want to risk messing up the tattoo.

She said she thought I needed to make a statement… and that my feelings had little to do with my tooth. We talked for a while before I expressed my (ongoing) frustration with Mom: “I’m trying to have a healthy relationship with her, but she keeps hurting me! Even when I think things are going well between us, she always says or does something to hurt me. I can’t take it anymore!”

She told me, “Saying ‘can’t’ makes you a victim. Try saying ‘I won’t take it anymore.'” I tried it and felt a lot more powerful. Whether I allow my mother to continue abusing me is a choice; I can continue to take it – but I am unwilling to accept the consequences of that choice. I don’t want to take it anymore, so I won’t.

The consequences of that choice are terrifying. I was finally straightforward and honest with her on Sunday; I told her how I feel when she goes on and on talking about trivial matters, doesn’t listen to me, asks me to do random things for her she could do on her own, dumps all her emotional garbage on me, doesn’t respect my boundaries when I try to end a conversation. (Well, maybe I didn’t talk about all those things. I wanted to list my major complaints here.) She actually said, “So I’m a horrible person!” and hung up on me! Then she called me back. I told her she’s a wonderful person, and I want her to stop doing all this other crap so I can spend time with who she is beneath it all. She said I was wrong for telling her she could use the computer at the library (hers had just died), she didn’t raise me to be like that, if it were anybody else I’d be falling over myself to help them, etc. She said she thinks the problem is she’s doing too much for me and she’s going to cut me off and I have to pay rent and…

I realized why I let her do all this shit to me. If I don’t, I’m a horrible person and I might end up homeless, without a car, unable to afford therapy, etc. The next thing I knew, Fox had found a new computer for her online and I had agreed to accompany her when she went to the store to buy it. I spent the whole day with her yesterday, first getting the computer, then running a couple errands she hadn’t told me about before I was trapped in her car, then helping her set up the new computer. I was tired, cranky, and starving, but I remained pleasant and even got Fox to help after a long day at work. When it was time to go our separate ways, I said “I love you. Good night” and gave her a hug. She said “Good nigh… we need to…” I repeated “I love you, good night.” and left. Boundaries.

Today I woke up hating the world. I always wake up hating the world. I’m tired of waking up hating the world. I couldn’t get myself to go to the LGBTQIA+ groups on campus. I was too focused on my fight for something remotely resembling adequate healthcare. I’m too busy training to be my own lawyer to get dressed, drive places, talk to other human beings, eat, or do schoolwork.

I hate it. All of it. I want to see it burn.

The above has nothing to do with being transgender, except that I was misgendered in every single interaction that involved another person. (Except Fox and Banji.) At my piano midterm on Thursday I had 3 people using the wrong pronouns to talk what a pleasure I am to work with. (if only that had helped my grade!) Even in interactions that didn’t involve another person, I was asking an imaginary witness questions that required me to describe myself as the gender I was assigned at birth. It’s inescapable!

People don’t seem to see or hear me, they see and hear whatever fits with their expectations (or what’s convenient for them).

The Whole Truth of Coming Out of the Closet – In Comic Form explains the concept of closets quite well: “Closets are created by social and structural expectations about who we are supposed to be, and the consequences of defying that.” It shows how coming out is not a straightforward process, nor is it the same for everyone. There are some links after the comic that are great further reading.

It inspired me to draw this:

putting someone in the gender closet based on secondary sex characteristics - original artwork by Ziya

putting someone in the gender closet based on their appearance

The most important point – from my perspective at least – is that people don’t go into the closet. We don’t start out with everyone seeing and accepting us as we are, then decide (for whatever reason) that we’re going to hide some aspect(s) of our identity/identities. Other people build closets around us.

Sometimes even after we’ve come out to them.

Transgender Tuesday: Links and Spoons

Last week I shared some of the uncertainty I’ve been feeling about my transgender, non-binary gender identity. I’ve read a couple of articles since then that I think everyone should read. They’ve helped me feel more confident that I am what I say I am, regardless of how others treat me or what they might want me to do.

I’ve experienced some harmful effects of the 10 Myths About Non-Binary People It’s Time to Unlearn, especially the myth that we don’t exist. People have taken my gender less seriously or come up with their own explanations of it under the false belief (#2) that I’m “just” confused: for me it’s not so much confusion as that gender is complicated and I’m still working things out; even if I were confused that doesn’t justify disrespect.

Mom hits me with #3 “You are a new concept” and #7 “Your pronouns are ridiculous” all the effin time. She’d try and convince me that her generation is completely incapable of learning new things or adapting to new social realities. That seems highly unlikely to me, considering how much has changed in the past 60 years. The last time she told me using my pronouns is difficult, I told her I understand and just need her to try. Things seemed to be going well… until much later when she made a scathing remark about me spending money on therapy. (You know, the thing that’s slowly freeing me from generations of emotional neglect and abuse.) She’s since apologized but… It’s a process. I just keep telling myself it’s a process.

Sam Dylan Finch’s piece, 8 Things Non-Binary People Need to Know, was exactly what I needed to read; I could swear he wrote it in response to my post from last week! I wanted to quote and/or expand on specific parts that I can relate to strongly, really needed to hear, or find particularly meaningful… but if I did that I’d end up re-posting the whole thing!

I think it’s important that he included #4 “Don’t be afraid to ask for help.” Mental health is a very important issue for everyone and especially non-binary people. Talking to Wakana about my gender identity can be difficult (and frustrating) but I think, in time, it will help me benefit so much more from therapy.

Speaking of mental health, I’m learning to have much better respect for and adapt to my need to budget emotional energy, or spoons. I’ve been feeling very anxious about my piano midterm on Thursday (2 days! AAAAHHHH!!!). I have plans to meet with a classmate today and practice interventions, I have to pick Mom up from the airport this evening, and there are the 2 LGBTQ+ groups I’ve been meaning to join… Long before I went to bed last night, I was already feeling the all-too-familiar dread.

This morning I realized it’s going to be a very busy day and I probably shouldn’t try to do everything I had planned. I practiced some self management: I wrote down everything I have planned for today and prioritized. The meeting with my classmate and picking Mom up have to happen. I should try to catch my instructor during office hours and practice piano some more tonight.

The LGBTQ+ groups are technically optional. I was feeling very anxious about the one I haven’t been to at all yet because it’s brand new and it would be the first thing in my day. In the past I’ve found myself unable to get ready on time for such things, getting extremely stressed out, and not going after all. I just can’t afford to drop that many spoons. So, today, I decided to skip the stress and anxiety and wait to join that new group next week, when (hopefully) I’ll have less important and emotionally-charged things to worry about.

I really hate having to make that decision, especially since it interferes with my goals of being part of the LGBTQ+ community, getting support, and practicing being part of a group. But today it’s the best decision for me. I can use the anger it generates as energy to help myself get through this busy day.

The second group meets at a much better time for me and I feel more comfortable going to it. I’ve already had awkward one-on-one meetings with the facilitator; if there are other people there, it will probably be much better. Knowing that’s a possibility – I’m still free to make the choice that’s best for me when the time comes – feels good.

Let It Go

One thing I’m really bad at is letting things go when they make me angry. I become kind of obsessed with them; I keep ruminating on the situation, what should have happened, why I’m right and the other person is wrong, etc. Occasionally I allow it to ruin my whole day.

Sometimes it’s a situation where Wakana would express concern if I weren’t getting angry – a situation that needs to be resolved. The anger gives me the energy and motivation to take action on it. I need to be assertive in making sure my needs are met – firm enough that the other person knows “I mean business,” but not verbally abusing them or otherwise ignoring their rights and needs. Sometimes I have difficulty finding the balance.

A prime example is trying to get treatment for my Endangered Molar, which has an infection that is causing “extensive” bone loss. (In other words, something is eating part of my skull.) My dental insurance took forever to approve a consultation with a periodontist, and then neglected to inform me of their decision. I had to call them – to learn it had been approved a month earlier!

I went for the consultation on January 22nd; the authorization for treatment was submitted on January 26th. The weeks went by… nothing.

I called multiple times and was told a variety of things, from “we never received that” to “it’s been escalated to a supervisor.” Last week I was told that no authorization for treatment had been received, but I had been approved to see the periodontist for a consultation. It had been escalated and approved just the day before.

I was furious! I told the person I was talking to that I had already been to the periodontist for a consultation and they should have an authorization for treatment. She insisted that what had been received was a referral for a consultation; the authorization was a different thing, the periodontist had to submit a “narrative,” etc. We kept saying the same things to each other over and over, with more and more frustration in our voices. I caught myself starting to slip into some inappropriate language; I knew that if the conversation continued it would likely result in me saying some very mean things. I made every effort to end the call as soon as possible without “hanging up on” the person.

I was fuming for the rest of the day. I couldn’t focus on anything else. I couldn’t enjoy being intimate with my husband. I just wanted to break things – including the skulls of the people responsible! It didn’t help that I was in a lot of pain from having Root Canal Molar extracted. I was miserable.

I thought I had to wait for the periodontist to come back from vacation to submit the “narrative,” so I decided to wait until Tuesday to pursue the matter further. After rehearsing my questions a million times – as though preparing to represent the plaintiff in court – I called my insurance. I learned that the “narrative” is basically the diagnosis and treatment plan. The person I spoke to seemed very reluctant to provide useful information … almost as though it was against company guidelines… I noticed we were starting to repeat ourselves, so I ended the conversation before I could become so angry I’d be stuck dwelling on it for the rest of the day.

On Wednesday I called the periodontist’s office and spoke to a very helpful individual who not only clarified what happened, but forwarded me the email that had been submitted to my dental insurance. To be honest, I could see how they might have misinterpreted it: the file name for the attachment was “referral,” the form filled out was a “referral” form, and the periodontist’s office also offers general dentistry. I had to (wait for it!) read the content of the form to see that treatment was being requested. I was also able to verify that it met the criteria I’d been given for a “narrative:” two specific treatments were requested by name and reference number, and it was clearly indicated that I have “extensive bone loss” in the area. I’m not sure there is any additional information that would be relevant, except that I HAVE BEEN IN PAIN FOR SEVEN MONTHS MAKE IT STOP!!!!

This time, when I called my dental insurance, I immediately asked to speak to someone who had the authority to make a decision regarding my treatment. I was connected to a supervisor – who couldn’t authorize treatment, but could work with me more efficiently. I was able to be specific regarding the treatment requested, state that the x-rays and periodontal chart were included, and explain that it was on a “referral” form but was a request to cover treatment. The supervisor offered to call the referrals department, find out what they had received, and call me back.

On Thursday I received a call saying that they have the information I’ve been trying to convince them they’ve had for weeks!!! and it will be sent to the claims department on Friday. The supervisor suggested waiting until Wednesday to follow up regarding the actual decision.

For now I’m calling that a success – because if I don’t I’ll go even more crazy.

… But sometimes it’s a situation that I don’t have any control over and it’s not really worth following up on. Most of the examples I can think of have to do with disagreeing with someone on the Internet.

I think I got myself blocked from someone’s Facebook post … or maybe the whole post got deleted? Someone else had made a comment (tangentially related to the original post) about “transgender men” being allowed in women’s locker rooms at Planet Fitness; I interpreted it to be derisive. I felt compelled to clarify that the person in the women’s locker room was a trans woman and that Planet Fitness had defended her right to use the locker room that corresponds with her gender, free from harassment. Perhaps some of the (additional) points I made could have been worded a bit better. Perhaps some of my anger came through. It’s kind of hard to say; I can maybe see how part of it could be misinterpreted…

(Or I could be making a big deal out of nothing.)

At first I was able to see the post and all the comments leading up to mine, but there was an “error loading” at the bottom of the page. Then the notifications I had received regarding the post disappeared. The post no longer appears in my feed or where it was originally posted. It’s as though it never existed… which might be for the better, but it’s annoying the hell out of me!

I could private message the original poster, apologize for anything that was offensive, and ask what happened… but I’m not sure it’s worth it. We’re acquaintances who haven’t been in the same physical space for years; I’ve never even met the other people who had commented.

I think the best thing to do is let it go and move on with my life. Focus on something else. Do something else. I wish I could switch off the thought patterns that keep fixating on this relatively insignificant experience – or delete them. The post doesn’t exist anymore, so why should my memory of it?

But if I had an easy time letting things go and switching my focus to something else, I wouldn’t have written this blog post. Anyone have any ideas? What works for you?

Transgender Tuesday

gender

Lately I’ve been questioning my gender identity, especially since I wrote about it the other day. The temptation to refer to myself as the gender I was assigned at birth, to allow others to use the labels and pronouns they attribute to me, and to give up on expressing my queer gender identity has been very strong. It doesn’t help that I’m invited to a gender-exclusive social gathering on Fox’s side of the family; just the fact that I’m considering attending raises the question of whether I have the right to call myself transgender.

There’s a voice in my head telling me I should “come out” already – to disclose which gender I was assigned at birth – but this blog is the one place where I’m relatively free from the social effects of gender. I feel like people relate to me as just another person, who doesn’t need to be labeled and treated a certain way based on secondary sex characteristics – which is exactly what I think everyday life should be like. If I don’t want to allow that in the one place where I have some control over such things, why should I do it anywhere?

Mostly it’s because I want to be accepted, to belong. I’m tired of feeling like an outsider. I expect that people are more likely to accept me if I conform to their gender expectations; identifying with the gender they insist on perceiving me as would make that so much easier!

genbenjan

But then I look back at some things I posted over 2 years ago, and realize that the ways I think about my gender haven’t changed:

For years I have felt my sense of my own gender change throughout a given day, depending on my current situation. … I think these “feelings” about my gender are a reflection of cultural understandings of masculinity and femininity that I have internalized. … In social situations I might adopt the gender role and expression most appropriate to fit in, though I find that difficult and uncomfortable when taken to either extreme. Alternatively, I might take on the gender role needed to balance what everyone else is doing: …

I am uncomfortable being referred to as the gender I was assigned at birth and that people still assign to me based on physical appearance, especially when that influences my behavior and/or how they treat me. It can have a negative effect on our ability to experience a genuine human connection as equals. I am also annoyed with having to disclose my “sex” in order to do register for services online or send emails to representatives in government. Why should I have to disclose information about my anatomy in order to express my opinions or use services on a website? (or do pretty much anything else?)

On being gender queer:

The biggest thing I’m struggling with is determining the extent to which I want to assert my gender queer identity. … To some extent I do identify with the gender I was assigned at birth because it corresponds to my biology. I love my body and don’t want to change it – most of the time. (If I could do so reversibly I totally would!) In some ways I can relate more strongly to others who share my biology than to those who do not, even if our gender identity and expression are not always the same. … I don’t want to be put in a box. … I don’t want to be socially and otherwise separated from people I can sometimes relate to better just because we have different biological “equipment.” … I’m trying to decide the extent to which I want to change my attire and/or hairstyle to be more androgynous (or, make them adaptable to the gender I want to express on a given day). … It’s so hard and I feel so alone. I need to find community.

All of the GenderQueer Confessions I linked to are still relevant.

What it all basically comes down to is: “My body is just a body. It doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

So far I’ve found this blog to be incredibly helpful for working through my mental health issues. I’m hopeful that it can be just as helpful for dealing with gender issues …

“Transgender Tuesdays” has a nice ring to it. The LGBTQ+ groups I’ve been meaning to join (since the beginning of the semester) meet on Tuesdays. So why not make a feature? I’ll share what I learn about being transgender, any resources I find, and my thoughts/experiences. I’ll also include others’ perspectives when I can; I’d love to have guest bloggers!

Healer, Heal Thyself

I came up with a music therapy intervention that not only meets the criteria for at least one part of my piano improvisation midterm, but is also useful for me in my everyday life! I was playing an ostinato (repeated musical pattern) in Mixolydian and kept thinking: “this wants to be a movement intervention, but it’s so tranquil.” I kept imagining myself slowly raising my arms above my head and inhaling, then lowering them and exhaling – like one might do as part of a warm-up for yoga.

Everything I’ve been learning about improvisation, psychotherapy, music therapy, and improvisation points to the same essential guideline: Work with what the client is giving you. My mind was giving me a movement, so I decided to go with it. I played the ostinato in my left hand, used my right arm to do the movement, and sang instructions with the melody that felt most natural. I added turning to one side, back to the center, to the other side, and then back to the center again.

Then I changed up my playing and added my right hand. Initially the music (including my vocal melody) had been very flowy and tranquil, “holding.” I changed it to be more like playing a drum, with shorter sharper notes and pauses between chords, “driving.” It also became slightly faster.

I sang instructions to step side to side and clap, similar to what one might expect in step aerobics. There is an option to increase the tempo (speed), depending on the client’s response and how much time there is for repetition (I need to keep it short for the midterm). I suppose other directions, such as forward and back, and possibly even turning one’s body as one steps, can be added.

After a short time, I returned to the original “holding” music (including vocal melody). I sang instructions to turn to one side and then the other first, then ended with the instructions to raise and lower arms. This gives the exercise a nice symmetry and is intended to help the client remain calm and focused. The whole thing takes about 2 minutes.

Music therapy students are encouraged to be specific regarding which clients would benefit from an intervention, what needs it addresses, and how it meets those needs. It didn’t take me long at all to realize that a simple movement activity like this would be very helpful for me: an able-bodied individual with anxiety and depression, who can follow verbal directions and typically lacks the energy and motivation to exercise.

Everyone (including scientific research) says that physical activity is a highly effective “treatment” for depression, possibly the most effective. I’ve experienced its benefits firsthand, when my symptoms have been mild enough to allow me to do it. The problem is, an intervention doesn’t work if it’s inaccessible to the client (for example, I’d need to modify my instructions – or even come up with a whole new activity – for someone who uses a wheelchair). So, even if exercise could cure depression it doesn’t, because the symptoms of depression prevent exercise.

Which is where my intervention comes in. I could totally see Wakana doing something like this, particularly on a day when my energy and motivation are so low I ask to meet via Skype. I can hear her voice saying, “Stand up, we’re going to do something about this;” I can feel myself groaning as I drag myself out of my chair and scowl at her – annoyed, but secretly hoping that whatever she “makes” me do will provide some relief.

It starts out holding, comforting, with very simple movements that don’t take a lot of energy and can feel good as soon as I start doing them. It’s meeting me where I am: in need of emotional support. The amount of movement, energy, and coordination required increases gradually. When used as a live intervention, the therapist can adjust the level of challenge to meet what the client is capable of at that time. It can be recorded and used by the client (e.g. me) as a daily movement activity that is a million times easier than going to the gym, taking a walk, or even playing Wii Fit. Hopefully it will provide enough energy to encourage additional exercise.

Physical movement aside, I believe listening to the musical intervals (the specific sound created by playing two particular notes simultaneously or consecutively) in my intervention can be intrinsically healing. The Anthroposophical Concept of Intervals describes them in terms of 1) inner or outer focus, 2) movement or stillness, and 3) balance or tension. I find that my musical self-expression, especially when my symptoms are at their worst, tends to involve mostly intervals that are associated with inner focus and tension. There is definitely a place for these elements – in life and in music – but sometimes we need a break from them!

When I was creating this intervention I intentionally chose intervals that are associated with 1) both inner and outer balance as well as 2) active movement outward. Whether I move my physical body or not, use of these intervals reassures me that I am safe and I can direct my energy outward. In other words, these intervals directly contradict the distortion at the core of my mental illness. They free me to be the healthy Self I always am.

All that, in two minutes! I love music therapy.

On Being Wrong

I’ve been feeling more depressed than usual since my tooth was extracted on Monday. I’m more socially withdrawn, sad a lot of the time, with low energy and motivation, and more muscle aches that aren’t immediately attributable to the physical effects of the extraction. The constant dull pain is grating on me, making me irritable and impatient. I had to drag myself to class on Wednesday, had trouble concentrating, and role-played the “very loud client who remains disengaged from the group” fairly well. I’ve spent a lot of time improvising on piano in preparation for my midterm; everything I play sounds sad, melancholy, dark, surreal, and/or angry – even scales! It makes coming up with an intervention other than “Let’s sing about the crappy situation you just described” very difficult.

(In my defense, singing about crappy situations can be extremely therapeutic. Not only does it allow expression of repressed or taboo emotions, it helps one look at the situation and oneself differently, assert oneself, and heal. It is safest to do with the assistance of a certified music therapist.)

The primary reason why my symptoms have worsened can be found in this line from my post on Monday:

The extraction “felt wrong on some fundamental level”

I think anyone would feel depressed if they were constantly being reminded of something they considered fundamentally wrong!

Part of me remains convinced that “I had a perfectly healthy tooth pulled for no good reason” – even though that wasn’t the case at all. Multiple examinations revealed the tooth to be dead. The x-rays showed that there was a problem in that area. The dental professionals who examined me noted swelling in my gums and attributed it to that tooth. I saw the infection on its roots with my own eyes!  The tooth needed a root canal; I saw an endodontist who attempted the procedure but only succeeded in causing me more pain. Instead of risking a repeat experience, I chose a treatment that would be faster, easier, and possibly even more effective. At the moment I’m not happy with the results because I’m in even more pain. (I keep reminding myself that Mom regretted her knee replacement surgery when she was first recovering from it, but has since experienced improved quality of life and recommends the procedure to others.) Time will tell whether this has helped at all, or only caused more problems…

The point is, the belief that “I had a healthy tooth pulled for no reason” is irrational and factually incorrect. The tooth was not healthy, and I had justifiable reasons for getting it pulled. Extraction may not have been the recommended treatment or even the best treatment, but it was MY decision to make. Others may disagree with my decision, I may even regret my decision, but none of that makes it wrong.

I know this rationally but can’t shake the feeling that not only have I done something wrong, I am wrong. I was supposed to keep going back for endodontic treatment and thank the endodontist for hurting me, regardless of whether she was able to solve the problem that brought me to her in the first place. (Because that’s what she suggested, what Mom seemed to want, and what I agreed to at the time.) That I even thought to do anything other than conform to the protocol “you are a patient; you comply with whatever treatment your healthcare provider recommends” is proof that there is something wrong with me!

When I talked to Wakana about this on Wednesday, she asked if there was anyone in my life who taught me that I was wrong in some way. Thinking about it now, there are a lot of people whose behavior may have given rise to that belief: family members, peers, teachers and other school officials, mainstream media… but we ended up talking about our favorite topic: my mother.

I mentioned one way in which Mom has communicated to me that I am wrong: by telling me I’m like the “opposite” gender from the one I was assigned at birth, as an insult. She’s been doing it since I became a teenager. Wakana urged me to write about how that might have influenced the development of my queer gender identity. Part of me wants to comply and learn that I’m actually cisgender, which would make my life a million times easier. (I suspect it’s the same part that insists I gave up a “perfectly healthy” tooth.) Part of me thinks my desire to be cisgender purely so I can access the associated privilege is evidence that I am, indeed, transgender. Otherwise I would just identify as the gender I was assigned at birth, decide how I want to deal with some of my behaviors not conforming to my mother’s expectations, and move on with my life. Right?

I explored the topic somewhat and came to the conclusion that my mother’s expectations for the gender I was assigned at birth are limiting; I’m pretty sure her expectations for the “opposite” gender are just as limiting. I could not conform to them even if I were cisgender; if I’d somehow managed to do so she probably would have expressed disapproval anyway (of that or something else).

The problem isn’t my gender identity (which I’d really like people to accept), it’s that my mother doesn’t see me as a complete human being who is separate from her and has the right to make independent decisions. She sees everything I do through the lens of her expectations and me not meeting them. It often seems as though she goes out of her way to express disapproval, over whatever else she might be feeling. This problem originated long before my early teenage years, possibly when I was born!

Actually, I think she’s learning to see me as a separate person and respect my right to make independent decisions; our relationship has improved quite a bit since I’ve been in therapy. She hasn’t given me a hard time for deciding to have my tooth pulled; all the criticism of that decision has come from my own mind. The real problem is that I’ve internalized her (and others’) disapproval and feel on some fundamental level that it’s wrong for me to make my own decisions. I’ve internalized the belief that I must conform and go along with what other people seem to want from me.

Regarding my gender: I’m pretty sure I’ve always perceived the division of people into “men” and “women” as arbitrary. I know what the expectations for the two widely-recognized genders are – and I know that a lot of people are trying to weaken or even eradicate those expectations, so men and women can just be themselves (these people are called feminists). I know that a lot of men and women defy those expectations, to the point where one can’t use behaviors, interests, aptitudes, beliefs, or even biology to define “men” and “women” as two mutually-exclusive categories. As far as I can tell, the only universal difference is that all men identify as “men,” and all women identify as “women.” This isn’t to say that gender is a choice – if that were the case, I think we’d all be men and reap the numerous benefits. Gender is an inherent sense of self that may change over time but can’t be intentionally altered.

So, doing things that Mom associates with the “opposite” of the gender I was assigned at birth is not the basis of my queer gender identity. I could say “I am a [the gender I was assigned];” that would make things at lot easier for me, and everyone around me. No one would question it. I doubt anyone would even ask me to change my behavior to meet their expectations. I could be myself and use that label and let people refer to me using pronouns they already know…

But I’d be lying. I don’t identify as a “man” or a “woman,” I identify as a “person outside of the gender binary.” I am not a man, nor a woman; I am a person outside of the gender binary. I could allow you to categorize me as, well, whatever you’d like! for your comfort and convenience… but I can’t inherently identify with whatever you choose. It’s just not in my nature – any more than it’s in my mom’s nature to identify as a man or in Fox’s nature to identify as a woman. All I’m asking is for people to respect that.

Unfortunately, people are going to perceive and treat me the way they want, no matter what I do. They may express opinions about the decisions I make. This applies to so much more than gender and dental treatments; it’s just a universal fact of life. There comes a point where I just need to decide that I am what I am, that I make whatever imperfect decisions I make, and that other people’s perceptions of me are their business, not mine. Whatever they send my way need not impact how I perceive or treat myself.