In Honor of Pretty Girls

How Did No One Know?

"Queer," as a label, feels the most comfortable to me. Particularly because it was used against me as a slur, part of my queer identity is a reclamation of that. Instead of ducking my head down and trying not to escalate further, I embrace the term. The proper definition – strange, or odd – describes me perfectly. Stuck in a world in a binary-gendered world, where my identity sometimes isn't even recognized by those in my community, I exist outside of it. I've always felt like I was on a slightly different level of reality as everyone else. I wasn't introduced to the idea of women-loving-women (wlw), and didn't know it was a thing. I read Frog and Toad and began to insist that, when I grew up, I wanted to live in a cottage next to my best friend (a girl, of course).

When I told my mom I wanted to kiss Princess Jasmine, she said to me: "You mean you want to be friends with her, right?"

We went back-and-forth, but I was seven and just assumed she was right, and that an attraction to women was part of a friendship. Sometimes, it makes me wonder if the cultural heteronormativity which forced me into a different version of myself did the same to my mom. But, no one else had the same views; as I got older and my friends and I would talk about our crushes (celebrity and in school), I was the only one to say a female-bodied person. I learned I had to suppress that part of myself, to avoid all the wide-eyed stares and the tense, hushed whispers.

A friend in middle school, who I am no longer friends with for similar reasons, once leaned in close – after I said I'd marry Emma Watson – and asked in an urgent whisper: "Are you like... fully gay now?"

I told her that no, at that time I hadn't chosen to upgrade my membership to 'full gay,' – and then, lectured her on how there is no such thing as 'full' or 'half' or 'part-time' gay. I could see it went in one ear – not the ear, of course, that she couldn't get a second piercing for because everyone would think she was gay – and out the other. At that time, I identified as bisexual; and that was okay, but I was stuck in this idea that I had to be with a man. Once I realized, it made me a much happier person. I finally stopped feeling like I was broken. My brother, who has strongly suggested I was since I was younger, sent me Am I A Lesbian? – and, reading it is what finally made it click. It thoroughly explains compulsory heterosexuality, which is the idea that our society enforces heterosexual culture onto us.

Not only is it just assumed everyone is straight, but most of our media portrays straight couples. And, I finally realized that I wasn't broken – I had just been fitting a square peg in a round hole my entire life.

I never wanted to wear the clothes my mom wore for me, and I just didn't understand why even my parents would sometimes tell me certain things were for boys, and certain things were for girls. I wanted to wear pants because it was easier when my best friend and I would explore the woods everyday, and around when I hit double digits I realized I just didn't fit in with the rest of the girls, and I definitely didn't fit in with the boys. It was a more powerfully confusing feeling that would wash over me. I was this anomaly, who hated my name for some reason and felt uncomfortable when people would emphasize my femininity. When my sibling came out, it opened up the world to me and took me out of the binary culture. I began to research different gender identities and the way people felt and how they knew, and I finally accepted the fact that I was not a woman. I just don't feel like I have a gender, despite how I present myself; I'm not a man or a woman; I'm just Andy – and saying that makes me incredibly happy and hearing just my new name helps reaffirm my identity everytime.

There will always be people who refuse to affirm my gender identity. As a non-binary lesbian, people tell me that I'm juxtaposing my own identity and taking away from both identities. I can't change their minds and they can't, but I can explain my experience and my identity. I am a non-man who is attracted to non-men. I'll also probably never see the generation which never gets misgendered. I worked at a Westchester park this summer as a camp counselor, and my boss left the time sheets on the table in our back-room in the museum, with my dead-name. When I asked her to change it, it was only after I said that yes, I did want her to check with the payroll office to see if she could change the way it appears. She also purposefully misgendered me and referred to me as 'Miss Andy,' without calling any of the other cisgender women the same. I know it's because I stood up for myself, that she took the side of parents whose children I raised a small issue with – one, because on multiple days she spent half of our half day in an extreme emotional state and I asked the grandpa if she got enough sleep or had enough breakfast. Despite having a co-counselor, the next day both the mother and my boss pulled me aside and chewed me out. I was the only one regularly pulled aside and told how disappointed she was in me, and manipulated a situation that eventually ended in four of the counselors calling her boss, because she tried to blame me and luckily I had very kind, accepting co-counselors who knew she was pulling the strings. Even at the end, she gave me a wretched performance review labeled with my deadname, and extensive comments on the back which would never get me hired again (also all in my dead name). I slipped back into a bit of a more anxious emotional state for a few weeks before work, but towards the end the anxiety made way to anger. I realized that I'm often going to be the only one to wholly stand up for myself as Andy, and that I love the identity I've created so much that I can't stay silent.