Can I please be a shapeshifter now?

Fuck. I was supposed to do things today, I like don’t even remember what they were – except that one was to get a short ‘androgynous’ haircut. I did other stuff, which I guess is good. But not the things that would’ve made packing for a 3-day family thing tonight much much easier. Or, you know, having it done already.

I cut an overdue phone conversation with Banji short to go pick Fox up. When we got home Mom was waiting for us. We had some good conversation; she’s helpful. But I was thirsty and starting to freak out that our fancy clothes were wrinkling in the wash. So I excused myself (not an easy task with Mom) and took care of it. I could tell I was on the edge, needed space from her.

I come out of the laundry room to Mom holding a blouse. It’s a thing with her. She has her ideas of what I should wear and tries to be helpful and I feel like she’s forcing her own style onto me. It’s worse now being openly genderfluid because feminine clothing tends to trigger my dysphoria.

90% of the time I go ‘gender neutral’: jeans cut for a person with big hips and thighs, a ‘unisex’ t-shirt or hoodie (or tank top), walking shoes that are marketed to men. Harder to do that with formal wear. So I’ve got my general “what to wear” anxiety on top of “fuck people are going to misgender me” anxiety on top of “I don’t even know if I’m going to feel more masculine or feminine” anxiety on top of “what will Fox’s family think if I go masculine?” anxiety. (I have a binder and a men’s dress shirt and I want to say I’m not afraid to wear them but honestly I kinda am.)

And apparently we’re sharing a room with his sister now, I thought it was gonna be just us (his parents are paying for it). So my hope that this would be a sort of extended ‘date night’ enjoying ‘us time’ away from our normal routine is … well, maybe not shattered, but more complicated. We can’t necessarily just retreat to our room if we need space (or want to do stuff that requires privacy) we have to coordinate with his sister. Who … how do I put this diplomatically? … well, she’s my husband’s sister.

My brain broke and it’s taking all my effort not to be an asshole.

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