Humans love mirrors. We love to see ourselves reflected from every angle. Some of us may not be a big fan of physical mirrors or photos, but we still seek to understand our complex self. We want to know that we’re unique, but not a freak. We want to make sure there’s nothing embarrassingly wrong with us, to know that others have insecurities and strange habits as well. We seek the mythic archetypes, awareness that others have also walked this path, overcame challenges, and transformed from the journey. We seek the hope that comes from witnessing possibilities, and seeing ourselves in other’s stories.

I am a Taurus, though according to Vedic astrology, I’m an Aries. My childhood saw the very beginning of the internet, and I took quizzes to find out what fruit my personality resembled, and if I’d end up living on a beach, in a city, or as a mountain hermit. I’ve been through phases where I identified as goth, skater, stoner, or health nut. As I got older, I explored healing through sub-personalities and archetypes, identifying strongly with the wounded healer’s path. I’ve worked as- and therefore called myself- a carpenter’s apprentice, a handyman, a barn manager and horse trainer, a music teacher, a musician and an artist. Really, none of these things defined all of me even when I thought they did, but they all felt like a home in the moment and helped me learn more about life and myself.

When I first decided to start being more open about my history of discomfort with my gender in a serious way, I read everything I could, written by and for transgender people. Every sentence I either resonated with, screaming internally, “me too! Proof that I am transgender and maybe I should try transitioning like this person did!” Or I thought, “hmmm, that’s not really me, I’m clearly not trans.” I listened to interviews of detransitioners, and felt that same back and forth. I would cry in my car, grieving that I could not talk about this earlier in life, wondering what it would have been like if I grew up in an environment that was more accepting of exploring gender.

This process was intense, but also helpful. I would try a belief on like a shirt, and run it through my mind and heart. I would believe it 100% and see how it would make me feel. Then I would do the opposite. I would submit it to intense questioning. I would imagine the progression of my life if I clung to that belief, how it would influence my decisions. I cried a lot in my car and laughed hard with friends as I’d share what I was learning. I felt euphoric, heartbroken, frustrated, relieved, shifting, moment to moment. I learned a lot.

Clearly every person is different, yet, when considering potential permanent changes, or changes that could greatly effect relationships, I kept comparing. This person did A,B,C, and felt better. Another person did A,B,C, then regretted it. Who am I? Where is my crystal ball that will show me all future outcomes? I only had other’s stories to show me these possible futures, and my own internal compass as to what felt in alignment of my truth as I moved forward.

There’s a joke in the trans meme world- there are 250 genders and every time a transphobe cries about it, a new one is made. This is silly and sweet at the same time. People are trying to find words to express their experiences of life. I personally am not sure if feeling “fae” is a gender, but if I had the choice as a kid, I’m pretty sure I would have LOVED identifying with that. If I meet a child who identifies as “faegender,” I will respect their neo-pronouns the best I can, because we need some more magic in today’s cynical youth.

All the strange paths I’ve taken in my life may not have been understood by many around me, but they’ve all led to valuable self-discovery that has shaped me into a better person today.

I use the umbrella term “non-binary.” This term does not define me, and cannot possibly encapsulate all my complexity as a person, but it was a relief when I first heard it. Immediately I felt something relax within me that said, “yes, that is me.” Certain parts of myself that caused me a great deal of discomfort suddenly had a label that made sense.

I no longer come out to every person I encounter, (that was exhausting) but knowing that there are words for the complex feelings and experiences I have had throughout my life makes the internal struggle for meaning quiet down some. I know who I am. It doesn’t matter as much as I thought it would if everyone accepts it. I know that since there’s a term for these feelings, I am not the freak I thought I was. I can accept myself and love myself deeper in that knowing.

I’ve been telling people “I’m a boy who looks like a girl,” since I was a young kid. I want people to stop thinking it’s a joke. I want to be understood. Now there’s a word that others can understand. I’m non-binary. It can mean a lot of things- maybe more than 250 things- but it implies that I experience this body and our social constructs differently than the general consensus. It is not the end all defining factor of my personality, but an important one nonetheless.

My pronouns are “they/them.” When people are able to use this smoothly, I feel more relaxed, happier, and like an invisible knot in me has been untied. I begrudgingly accept “she.” Not because it feels good, just because it is an inevitable reality that people will call me “she” and I have no energy to spare to be angry all of the time. I am grateful to all those young people out there trying out new language, and their fight to normalize different experiences of our bodies. I’ve fought some for pronoun respect and it is exhausting. Being an adult who tempers their idealism with realism, I know that many people (especially, I fear, paying clients) may not be willing to take the leap to “they/them,” or that if they do but are new to it, it might be months of embarrassing conversations.

There was period of time where I identified so strongly with trans labels that I started feeling like I had to prove it to the world. I started seeking other’s definitions of “non-binary” and “trans masc” and started to cut out certain things that I enjoyed because I thought it would make people take me more seriously. I was looking for external validation that others could see what I had been feeling for so long. That is where the label stopped being helpful, when it became the same box that I was trying to escape. The people who didn’t want to accept that I was telling the truth about my experience of reality, weren’t going to accept it no matter what I did, so I wasn’t ready to rush into making permanent medical changes just to prove to them what I knew was real for me.

These are really difficult very painful lessons.

I told one young trans man who was starting on his journey, “keep going in your transition slowly as long as it feels good. If the changes stop feeling in alignment, stop. You don’t owe anyone anything except for absolute integrity to your own soul’s path.” This seems really obvious but it’s not. There’s a lot of pressure, both internal and external as we seek to define our identity and how to make meaning in our life.

One thing I love about human is our ability to be complex. Labels can be useful, they are like a photo that shows one angle, one moment. I want to interact with and be the complex human though, not the label. Let us have 300 or more genders. My hope is that these labels can help us understand ourselves and each other without creating new limits. We define who we are, not with wishful thinking, or conforming, but with deeply listening to what feels right for us and moving forward on that.

Here’s a great song to close on, by trans artist she/her/hers