Do you ever feel like something is wrong with you, without being able to place it? You’re going around missing something not even realising it? You may be able to go your whole life without this feeling nagging at your brain, filling your mind, haunting your thoughts.
Sometimes, I truly wish this feeling never awoke within me.
How it all began.
For me, it happened the summer before first year of university. It was a mere comment from someone in a random group chat who said I looked ‘androgynous’ in a photo. It made me smile, but I didn’t give it much thought. But they kept insisting. “You seem like someone who is neither feminine nor masculine”, they said about another picture.
Having a few transgender friends, I took it as a compliment. Then, the next week I was walking my dog and got into a strangely pensive mood, resulting in suddenly remembering those two separate situations. Because, the thing is – I agreed with them. I did look androgynous in those photos. Arguably, I looked androgynous in others as well, or whenever I looked in the mirror. I’ve always been comfortable with my gender identity, or so I thought.
Those two comments awakened something and triggered a whole gender identity crisis I was in no way, shape or form prepared for.
I wanted to get rid of those thoughts. Whenever the gender question popped into my mind, I’d immediately think: “I’m a girl,” followed by: “Am I? What does it even mean to be a girl?”
It was like a door I never knew existed was suddenly open.
I started considering things I’d never considered before. I began thinking how I always liked more baggy clothes; how I preferred wearing leather jackets that made my shoulders look broader; how I often picked shoes or accessories from the unisex shelf; how I liked wearing makeup one day and hated it another one; how I disliked skirts and dresses; how I was called a tomboy in primary school; how my grandma would say I should have been more feminine.
It all started building a picture in my head, like puzzle pieces coming together. All of a sudden, the picture was there, but it was blurry. “If I’m not a girl,” I thought, “then what the hell am I?”
I realised I felt like an imposter in a female body. I didn’t feel like a woman, but then again, I didn’t feel like a man either. I felt more masculine in the same way I felt more feminine sometimes, depending on the day. I could never decide, it was always changing.
Prom was a disaster.
I remember how I had gone shopping with my mum to get a prom dress. I really liked the dress, and I didn’t hate wearing it in the dressing room. I tried it on a couple more times and, while sometimes I felt uncomfortable in it, other times I quite liked it.
On the day prom came, I was hyper focusing on the dress and heavy makeup I was wearing. I didn’t mind the stilettos, but I hated the tight fit of the dress, revealing all of my body curves. I wanted to cover it all. I couldn’t stop thinking: “I should’ve worn a suit,” even though no other girl was wearing one.
I liked how bushy the makeup artist made my eyebrows look, but I hated the pink, glossy lipstick. It made my mouth look soft in a very feminine way. It was incredibly uncomfortable.
I don’t like my birth name, I don’t think I ever really liked it, always preferring to be called some variation of it. When my father started calling me a gender-neutral nickname, I immediately wanted everyone to address me with it. My 16-year-old self didn’t question it. To my 19-year-old self sitting alone at a table when all my high school classmates were having fun around me, it was another puzzle piece.
At some point, I didn’t want to keep running away anymore.
Months after my gender awakening began, I told someone who was comfortable with their identity that I was struggling with mine. We were talking about being non-binary and what that meant for different people. “Sometimes, I wish I had a d***,” I confessed.
They looked at me with a conflicted face. “I don’t think you’re a girl, Jules,” they replied. I didn’t think so either.
One time during the pandemic, I was coming back home and one of my neighbours said “What’s up, man?” after seeing me. I greeted him and, after recognising me, he immediately apologised for confusing me with a guy. I told him not to worry about it, because I didn’t. In fact, I couldn’t stop smiling long after entering my flat. I realised I wanted to be seen as male that day, and experiencing it brought a strange sense of euphoria I’d never felt before.
I’m done overthinking it.
Sometimes I wake up, do my makeup, brush my hair, look into the mirror and see a girl. I use she/her pronouns and it doesn’t feel weird to hear people address me as female. At other times, I wake up and I hate my body. I want to make my chest as flat as possible, I wear hoodies and cargo pants to hide my physique. I hide all my hair inside a hat and wear a face mask. I slouch more than I normally do. I take longer steps, too self-aware of my hips going from side to side as I walk. I wish to be a he.
Having done a ridiculous amount of research on it – and also having experienced a ridiculous amount of mental breakdowns after repressing it for so long – I am now ready to call myself a non-cisgender person. I’m comfortable enough to put a label on it. Although I realise labelling isn’t necessary, it gives me stability and support to know I’m not alone in this.
I’m genderfluid and happy to say it.
I’m not out of the closet with this, having only come out to a limited number of people in my closest circle. I’m pretty sure that’ll change after this article is published, but I don’t care. I’m still sitting in that closet, but the door is now wide open. Let people think whatever they want; if they have an issue that’s their problem, not mine.
Remember, baby gay, you never have any responsibility of coming out to anyone. If people assume you’re straight and you don’t feel like correcting them, that’s completely fine. You don’t need a grand reveal to announce to the world you’re not a cishet. If you want one, go for it, but remember – your coming out is for you, not other people.
If I learnt anything from my gender identity crisis, it’s that it is a full-on crisis. And it lasts, and lasts, and lasts like it’s never going to end. Sometimes it gets easier, and sometimes it gets harder, like a journey, because that’s what it is. Sometimes you need to climb up first to be able to go downhill.
But that’s okay because you can take your time, and no one is rushing you. It took me 20 years to realise being a woman isn’t mandatory, so take your time. Be honest with yourself, because being comfortable in your own body might mean going out of your comfort zone first.
So, get out there, and explore your gender identity, even if you end up deciding you’re cis in the end, nothing wrong with that either. Embrace who you are, love, no matter what’s in your pants.
Featured Image Credit: Jules Adamska (made with Canva)
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I write nerdy stuff.
