Whose body is it anyway?

Like most people, I have an issue with my body.  And like most people, telling me I should not feel that way is not going to change that.

So many people seem to miss the fact that body image isn't always about weight.

I am relatively thin.  Which somehow immediately takes all negative body image credibility from me. I am secretly banned from the self loathing water cooler conversations, since my issues shouldn't  be real issues.

When I dare to join the bash-your-body talks, I get raised eyebrows and a lot of "but you are so skinny" comments.

Sometimes I want to scream! "DON'T TELL ME HOW TO FEEL ABOUT MY BODY. WHOSE BODY IS IT ANYWAY?"

It is frustrating. But I get it.  We are so conditioned to think that fat is bad, skinny is good, and that those black and white lines define how we should see ourselves and each other. For me though, it's so much more. As with most areas of my life, I live in the grey.

My body issues are weight, shape and gender related. I could go on all day explaining how I got so delusional, what pharmacological and surgical steps I have resorted to to shut my head up, and the stresses extreme poor body image adds to a relationship. But I won't. It really doesn't matter, nor do most people care. They are too busy picking themselves apart and quietly telling me to shut up because, after all, I am so skinny.

The majority of the people I am in contact with all day have no idea that I suffer from gender identity issues, depersonalization and body dysmorphia.  No matter what mirror I look in, I will never see "me". No amount of drugs or surgery could ever make me look like I feel on the inside. And while I have grown to accept the majority of that, I still have a hard time thinking anyone else can.  I feel incomplete, wrong and judged because of it (yes, I know that is not true. It is a feeling, and I cannot help feelings).

Next month I turn 45.  My children are basically grown and my life is essentially slowing it's pace and rounding the corner to the next part of my journey.  When thinking of how to answer "what do you want for your birthday this year?" the only thought that came to mind, was "peace with myself, stillness in my head, the ability to believe your love is genuine, and the possibility of living the next years of my life free from self loathing".

Next week I have an appointment in NYC with an amazing woman who does phototherapy.  The sessions will consist of me and my partner in various stages of undress. The ultimate goal is to be able to see myself from a different perspective.  While typically this therapy is not done with two people, I wanted the intimate moments (one will be dressed while the other is not) to show us both how we see the other from our perspective as well.

This is going to be challenging for me, my partner and the photographer.  We are all wading in uncharted waters with this session. I am confident the photographer will find a way to show me someone in those photographs that is worthy. I am confident that my partner will see how much I adore her even when my defenses keep her at arms length. And I am 100% positive this is the best gift I will have ever received.

Make It Stop

I have been working on my presentation for an anti-bullying event being held next week in Texas.

For months I knew this was coming. And for months I had an idea of how I wanted to present my story in order to  inspire others to find their own "awareness".  For days I typed and deleted.  I was trying desperately to say "Hey!  Look at me.  I have a story to tell.  I WAS that kid." Blah blah blah.

And then it hit me.

This has absolutely NOTHING to do with me.  While my story may be inspirational, it alone will not save another child from dying. There will undoubtedly be people in that audience that connect and relate to where I have come from, where I presently live within my own head, and what my desires for the future are.  However, me feeling sorry for myself and asking others to take that pity train with me surely does no good.

When I realized that the angle of what I had to present was just as important as the content, the ideas flowed.

As soon as I took myself out of the equation and replaced me with our young people, it became so obvious.

Spreading awareness isn't about telling your story, or where you have been.  It's about showing people, first hand, what that story has taught you. It is about creating a place where tolerance is not something we try to teach, but a value we possess and pass on to others through our own actions.

We all have a story to tell.  And it is an incredible thing to do so.  But not this time. It is our young people's turn to be spotlighted, not the young person I used to be.

For more information on the event visit Make It Stop.

Do I look like a boy?

In 1973 I wanted a haircut.  Maybe it was 1974.  I was in kindergarten. My hair was long, always in pony tails and a part of me that didn't seem to fit right. I wanted short hair. Not quite like a boy but not quite like a girl.  I wanted something in between.  Something that felt like me.

My mother denied me my haircut for the longest time.  She spent countless hours with detangler sprays, combs and brushes.  She made sure every hair on my head was perfect.  If one piece of hair was out of place she would sigh, rip out the rubber band and start all over again.  It was an awful lot to go through for something I didn't even want.

After relentless persuasion I finally got my hair cut. I would like to say it went down like this:

Me: "Mom I reaaaaaallllly want my hair cut short. Please???????"
Mom: "OK honey."

However, it went more like this:

Me: "Mom, I reaaaaalllly want my hair cut short. Please??????"
Mom: "Fine. If you want to look like a friggin boy I will chop your hair off like a friggin boy!"

And while I do not remember the exact haircut taking place, or the ride there and back, I can only imagine with great force and anger I was grabbed by the hand, thrown in the car and taken to the shop where I am positive the girl was told to make me look like a boy, but a really ugly one.

The only memory I have is arriving back home with my hands over my head screaming and crying and my mother slamming the front door in my face.  I do know it was early morning and it seemed like the neighborhood was not yet awake.  I went next door and called up to the window of the teenaged girl that lived next door.  Her opinion, and company, was very important to me.

Me: "Do I look like a boy?"
Girl: "No, you look like a cuter version of you. It doesn't look like a boy or a girl.  I think it fits you."

It was the worst haircut ever. But at that moment I didn't care. That is what I needed to hear.

My GAY Cape

I was asked to mentor some high school kids working on writing business plans.  I cheerfully accepted. I love working with kids, in any capacity.  I always walk away knowing my experiences have taught them something.  It's a great feeling.

When I walk into the school to meet these kids, I know I will immediately scan the group with gaydar. Even if they don't know that particular thing about them, I will.  I will hope the students that I detect will be part of my team.  I want the LGBT kids, I just cannot ask for them.

Whenever I am in an situation where there are kids, I want to whip out my "GAY" cape and don a T-shirt that says, "I am here. I am grown. I survived, I can show you how. Just ask me"

I want to be the voice for them, the confidence they lack, the tough exterior they need to ward off society.  I want to be the future that looks bright, the sign of possibility and the determination that often slips from their grasps in frustration. I want to be their hope.

I am not extraordinary. As a matter of fact, I am pretty much ordinary.  These kids cant tell where I have come from, they cant see where I have been. They will most likely never realize I have been where they are now. They will go on about their days with their feelings unexpressed, their fears mounting and their options seemingly nonexistent.

I was that kid.  I wish someone would have worn that GAY cape for me.  I wish I had known someone, anyone, that made it through.  Someone that validated the confusion, the self loathing, the lack of understanding.  A person, that through words or actions, could have assured me what I was feeling was right, OK and potentially amazing.  My gay super hero would have been a phone number to call when I spent days crying in my room to my posters.  They would have been someone who could help me see that childhood is really such a short period of time even though it felt like an eternity passing through.

Recently I had a conversation with someone regarding the lack of resources for LGBT kids in my neighboring communities.  Fear was the main reason that came up again and again for keeping them away.  Parents fear for their gay children exposed in a public place. Students fear for their safety from hate filled classmates.  Administrators fear liability. Liability.  Who is liable for these kids' well being? For their sense of self? For their understanding of love? Who is liable when these kids commit suicide?

When I walk into that school I will scan the group. I will look for that familiar face staring back at me.  I will wish I had my cape on. I will try to tell them silently that high school is completely different from real life.  I will try to convey that the feelings they are experiencing are real and OK. I will try to say "just hang in there. These people will mean nothing compared to what you will mean to yourself someday".

Be True to Yourself

As you may or may not know, I am working on a new project.  After my epiphany (I have way too many, way too often), I realized what I wanted to do more than anything was to be a story teller. A teller of human interst stories.  I love to read about people, to learn about them, to figure out what makes them tick.  Had I been a better student and could actually have afforded school, I would have been an amazing phych something (insert some initials after my name here).

Everything about us is because of something else.  We simply would not exist if we haven't had experienced. Everyone comes from somewhere.  Sometimes its a great place, sometimes its horrific.  Be we all come from somewhere. All those somewheres create who we are right now. Even what you did mundanley ten mimnutes ago shaped who you are right now.  Every breath, everything we eat or drink, each time we use any of our senses. 

Most of our daily movements go unnoticed.  Its only those that create memory that have power, both good and bad, over us.  If we fail to remember, we fail to be effected.  Or so our brain would like to fool us into thinking. We have an uncanny ability to forget things. Especially when they are painful.  And those painful things we cannot forget, we tend to blame for hanging around making us miserable. 

All of these things we experience, whether we remeber them or not, create our story.

Since beginning this project, I have had the honor of reading and writing some very powerful stories.  It was a leap of faith for people to share such intimate details with someone they dont even know.  With nothing other than a promise to tell their story and a hope that it lifts some emotional burden, my mailbox filled with a chance for the opportunity. It was quite humbling.

One parrticular person that found their way to my mailbox was someone I knew over 25 years ago.  We were not friends, but we shared the same small high school.  The last time I saw her was probably 1986, so this is how I pictured her in my head.  And as I read her words I saw that young girl. I could so easily place her in the story.  I felt bad. Bad for what she was going through, but worse because I was going through so much then too.  I felt bad that we didnt know each other.  That we werent able to share with our peers.  That we probably would have been friends if only we had been honest with ourselves.  We shared some very similar experiences that shaped who we have become.  And yet not once would I have ever thought that she was feeling what I was feeling.

I suppose my point of this ramble is that we need to teach people that you can find friends and support in the most unlikely of places.  That we really have no idea what is happening inside someone else and they have no idea what's going on inside you.  It's not the clothes or the circle you associate with that makes you who you are. It is OK to step outside that box and open yourself up. You just need to be true to who you are and tell your story.

Hey Kid - A letter to myself

A friend posted a short, yet brilliant, note to her child self today that made me think.  We all could benefit from writing to our young selves.

It seems the things that bother me most now, or have since childhood, might not have had as much power over me if I just had a chance to tell myself then what I know now. Obviously I got the wrong messages from those in my life.  What if I had received the right ones? Would I be at all different today? 

I think back to the young child being verbally and emotionally assaulted at the hands of her own mother.  During those years her mother's words were all she ever heard. I would have liked to say, "Hey kid.  Someday you will have your own children. Your kids will be awesome.  Everything she says to you today will make you a strong and determined mom.  You will know better than most, just how painful words and actions can be. And you will try your hardest to make sure no one ever makes your children feel like you do right now.  Her words are empty.  Your heart will be full. "

I think back to the kid that never quite fit in.  That was everyone's sidekick and no one's hero.  I would like to tell that kid "Hey kid.  You are not less than them.  When you are wishing you were someone else, someone was wishing they were you.  Believe it when people say they like you. Trust me, waiting until you are in your 40's to like yourself has severe disadvantages."

I think back to the kid that only wanted to love someone, even if everyone thought it was the wrong someone.  I would like to tell her "Hey kid.  Love who your heart tells you to. It doesn't matter what they look like, what their gender is, who they are related to, or where they come from.  Missing opportunities to love and feel good out of fear is just letting them win. "

I think back to the girl that was sure she was both a boy and a girl at the same time.  I would say to her "Hey kid.  You are whatever you feel in your heart you are.  And it doesn't matter if you stand or sit to pee. Most people will not understand you, but the important ones will. Don't ever be something you are not for them. "

And I think of the kid that sat planning her suicide, because no one took the time to tell her these things.  "Hey kid.  I love you. You might not know that for a long, long time.  So I am telling you now.  If you leave here, you will change the world forever.  There will people that never got the chance to feel the love they would have shared with you.  There will be incredible children that never got the opportunity to be here.  And most importantly, you will miss an awesome journey that ultimately takes you to a place where you finally "get" yourself.  And even though you think now, and will many times later in life, that no one would notice if you were gone.  They will. I need you to stay. "

I will never know how different life would have been if only I could have had this time with myself then.  I am not so sure I want to know.  What I do know is that it is never too late to help your young self heal.

Boxer Briefs and a Bra

I haven't spent nearly as much time writing my thoughts as I have been thinking them.  With so much happening these past couple of months I must admit I run out of time in the day before I run out of things I need to accomplish.  Sometimes taking the time to write feels selfish when there are so many more important things to be doing.  Today, however, it is rainy and dark and nothing else seems like a better idea then sharing my thoughts.

As many of you know I recently had breast reduction surgery.  The purpose of the surgery was to alleviate some of the disgust I had for my body as well as get rid of a lot of what kept me from feeling like me.  I refer to it as chest surgery rather than breast reduction surgery because I feel more connected to me having a chest than I do breasts.  Actually I think I have a chest with breasts, or something like that.  The chest/breast confusion just mirrors the rest of the confusion I face within my gender.

The decision I made to have the surgery was never in question, the decision as to how much to remove was, and still is.  A lot of people dont understand the blurred gender I live within.  For most people gender is one or the other, even if they feel they are the 'wrong' one.  I never fit the matronly female body I carried, but I certainly would not fit a male body either.  So taking too much off would put me in just as much of an uncomfortable position as keeping what I had.  My quest was to make the breasts small enough to wear male clothes yet large enough to wear female clothes.  Most days I wear a little of both.  Although I wish the outcome was a little smaller than they ended up (or are at this point in the recovery), I am happy with my choice.

Since I write a lot on gender identity, it is no wonder I have a large transgender following.  I am a huge advocate for the transgender community and understand a lot of what they feel.  However, I am not transgender.  During the past couple of months as I have shared my boob journey, I have found myself feeling like I need to explain why I only took some off and not them all. I have felt the same misunderstanding about being genderqueer from the trans community as I have the gender conforming community. For once in a very long time I am experiencing the tiny place where those whittled out of the larger communities reside.

I am not a butch lesbian, I am genderqueer. I am not a transman that hasn't transitioned, I am genderqueer.  I am not a man or a woman, I am both and neither.  I wear boxer briefs and a bra.

The "B" in LGBT

In the month or so that I have been absent from here, a lot has been swirling in my head. I have started multiple posts but haven't actually finished a complete thought in any of them.  Since my surgery I have been focusing on healing and have found that even thinking is exhausting.  As the days pass by I feel a little better and/or different. I am back to doing some writing and even conducted an interview last night.  The conversation I held with this man has hopefully sparked enough thought to get my first back-in-action post out.

I was contacted by a promoter to take a look at a web series based on the "controversial subject of the blurring of gender known as “bisexuality”. And while I uncomfortably read that statement linking gender and sexuality, I decided to watch the series, look into the man behind the movie and have an open mind when reviewing it. The series was about a woman who identified as a lesbian but found herself interested in pursuing a relationship with a man.  The story takes you through the trials and tribulations of both main characters when dealing with their peers etc.  The series itself was engaging enough, but the man behind it was who got me thinking.

During our interview, the writer spoke about his life as a bisexual man.  I was quite candid about my feelings on the bisexual label and how they have morphed throughout my own maturity and self identity.  And while I am not bisexual, nor do I know many people that honestly identity as bisexual (outside of the fashion trend), I found it interesting that he faces the same challenges as many of us in the LGBT community, or most specifically the smaller subcultures of the community. He considers himself queer, as do I.  Queer itself is a broad label.  For me, queer allows me to be something other.  Other than what? It doesn't matter. Just other.  It made sense then that he identified similarly.

Up until last night I would have said that I have very little in common with someone who is bisexual.  It always seemed like they had their cake and ate it too; when the world came crashing down they could opt to jump on the "normal" bandwagon.  However I learned last night that the bisexual community does indeed belong to the bigger LGBT community and that they fit into society more sometimes only because that is what society has determined, not what they have.  The bisexual community is very much like the smaller gender queer and transgender communities in the fact that they seem to always be battling the very community they are fighting the same fight as. It makes me sad when I step back and look at the intolerance, when in fact we are all victims of the same intolerance on the grander scale.

I admit I have never reached out to the bisexual community.  But I also admit I never gave anyone in that community the opportunity to show me just how much we are the same.  We all want to know we belong, to be a part of something bigger, something stronger, something that will fight for who we are.  He too is an "other". And even if I don't understand it, I am tolerant and accepting of it and believe the "B" in LGBT does belong.

Chest Surgery / Breast Reduction

Call it what you will. For my surgeon it is a radical breast reduction. For me, a genderqueer, it is chest surgery. Join me in my photo/media journey through the process.

Chest Surgery Diary (click here)

I plan to update the media diary during the entire mental and physical recovery.

I hope you will join me.

~Echo

Love Thyself.....some day

As I was power walking today I let my Ipod play classical music. Typically I allow my music to set my thoughts and tone, but today I wanted as little influence as possible. I wanted to try to see things from a different perspective; to allow my thoughts to come naturally with the moment. I tried to appreciate the nature I was experiencing where I typically just drive. I took note of a blue jay and even a couple of people riding the trail on horses. And while I smiled at the simplicity of it all, I found myself preoccupied with my typical thoughts. The thoughts that tell me, no matter how far I walk, no matter what I change, it just isn't good enough.

Call me crazy, but unless I am happy with myself, how can I believe anyone else would be happy with me? All my life I had heard, in order for someone to love you, you have to love yourself. Well I don't. And I cant seem to find a way to. Which must mean no one else can either. Subconsciously this haunts me in everything I do and say. I have found ways over the years to put those thoughts to the back of my head, yet they yell so loudly I cant ignore them, ever.

Recently I have started to walk every day. Each step I take I hope will bring me closer to liking myself and ultimately bringing me one step closer to believing I am loved. I try, as I always do, to rationalize the stupidity that is my head, and understand that the old proverb "love yourself so others can love you" really isn't what we are talking about here, but it doesn't seem to matter. The fact is, I just cant understand how someone could love what I loathe so many things about. Every compliment falls short if its intentions. Each "I love you" I question for sincerity.

I am planning some major physical changes in the very near future. Surgical changes. I would be a liar if I said it was anything other than 1% physical need and 99% mental. Some people might not believe a physical risk for an emotional outcome is worth it. I say they are very wrong. The anticipation of this procedure has me redefining who I am already. The thought alone has created an anticipated growth in confidence and self love. I am already feeling the desire to do and experience things I would never have allowed myself to before.

Feeling good inside will enable me to be a better person to others. I no longer want to spend every minute of the day preoccupied with what makes me feel bad. I want to spend time on the things that make me feel good. Until then I will keep walking. Hoping it too takes me closer to where I need to be. Closer to the day where "love thee as you would love thyself" happens. To the day the words "I love you" no longer need to be questioned, just believed.

Gender Dysphoric Body Dysmorphic

Summer time undoubtedly brings on anxiety for many people. The thought of having to suddenly reveal the body you have comfortably hidden under winter clothes can be devastating for some. Those of us with Body Dysmorphic Disorder will find ourselves begging for just one more week of sweatshirt weather. The more clothes and accessories you can wear, the easier it is to cover up the presumed inconsistencies and flaws.

Everyone has a part of them they aren't happy with. Body dysmorphic disorder goes beyond the typical criticizing we all do in front of the mirror. BDD dominates the life of the sufferer. BDD is a preoccupation with perceived defects of the body. For me, the preoccupations control my daily life. They come first, everything else revolves around them. Coupled with fluctuations in gender perception, my day can be quite confusing and always uncomfortable.

I, unlike most BDD suffers, avoid mirrors. I do not know who I see in the mirror. I do not understand why anyone would want to know what I see in the mirror. When I picture myself in my head it is not what I see in my reflection, both in looks and body shape and size. I like who I am inside yet extremely dislike what the majority of the world sees.

My heart breaks for those that live in a completely wrong body. My gender may not fit all of the time, but it does fit some of the time. I cannot imagine the pain and misery of never relating to the body you travel in. And while not all people with gender identity issues have BDD, I would have to think that it runs rampant in that community.

According to the professionals, BDD sufferers can spend upwards of 8 hours of their day comparing the unattractiveness of their body with the body parts of others. I spend a considerable amount of my day doing this. Each day I hope to find someone that looks like me. Someone that I can say "Hey they have the same defects and they are comfortable with themselves." Unfortunately that day has never come. Each day I look at every single person I pass or see. And each day I see that no one looks as bad as I do. No one has the defects I do. Each day I know every one of them is saying "I am glad I don't look like that" about me.

I am a highly intelligent person. I have spent numerous years in a therapeutic environment for many "disorders". I can rationalize the nonsense of BDD very easily, yet I cannot escape it. Just as I cannot make myself fit my gender completely, I cannot make myself be OK with the things I obsess about regarding my body.

I am gender dysphoric and body dysmorphic and I am hoping summer never gets here.

"How come they dont have a gay boy's section?"

I was walking through the clothing section of a major retailer last night with my 13 year old daughter. We were looking for socks that were long enough to go up over her knees. She likes to wear them for protection when sliding in softball. We started at the ladies section, then traveled to the boy's section. After realizing boys don't typically wear knee socks,and heading to the girls section, my kid said to me "how come they don't have a gay boy's section?" To which I replied, "why would they?" I suggested that if a boy wanted to wear something girly he could always go to the girls section and vice versa. She seemed unimpressed with my thought process and I was glad. While I agreed with her a million percent that additional choices in this world are needed, I am a firm believer in our children making their own assessments about the world, not just taking on their parent's.

"I think they need to have another section for those people that don't like just girls or boy's clothes, but something more in between".

I smiled proudly to myself, nodded my head and said "I would shop there for sure."

Pray the Gay Away?

Last night's airing of Pray the Gay Away? on the Oprah Winfrey Network left me with so many things to ponder. Being gay myself, and quite comfortable with that part of me, I found myself easily angered at what seemed to be complete ignorance on some people's parts. However, when I put my anger aside, I was able to see that these people were not truly ignorant, they were in fact victims of the utmost damaging brainwashing I have ever seen.

I personally don't care how I 'became' a lesbian. If it was genetic, environment, trauma or a combination, it matters not to me. I am what I am and who I am and I how I got here really doesn't effect what I think about myself. However, anyone watching that program, gay or not, would be able to pick the gay-turned-straight guy out of a crowd of a thousand as a gay man. His appearance, his speech, his fluidity were very apparent. For someone who has been 'changed' to a straight man, I find it hard to understand why his mannerisms didn't change to straight ones as well. If his gayness was a behavior that could be changed, why was the sexual aspect the only thing about him that changed and nothing else? Why? Because he is still gay.

Anyone can change a behavior. I can go sleep with a million men if I wanted to. Does that make me a straight woman? No, it makes me a lesbian that just slept with a million men. Our sexuality isn't just about who we sleep with. It explains who we are as people. It effects who we relate to and connect with. Sexuality doesn't just equal sexual acts. Our actual sex lives, for the most part, are a very small part of what we do, yet for gay people it becomes all of how they are perceived. Confusing sexuality with sexual acts is why someone that doesn't understand same gender intimacy projects their disgust onto the gay person as a whole. It makes sense that these same people would then assume by changing the sexual act someone partakes in ultimately changes their being.

I am not a religious person. I made the decision not to be. However I believe anyone should have the opportunity to believe what they want and need to. It saddened me to see the children in this documentary growing up believing in their God yet thinking the God they expect to save them is the same God that is condemning them. The confusion that God would put someone "broken and wrong" on this earth, and that person is you, is a very difficult concept for a child, or anyone for that matter, to swallow. Growing up gay is very difficult to begin with. Growing up gay in a religious environment that doesn't accept you as a person is devastating.

I understand the reason programs that promote gay to straight conversion therapy exist. I understand for some life would be made "right" if only they could find a way to change. What I don't understand is why who you love and who you are intimate with dictate how you rank as a human being. And I don't understand how falsifying a behavior and lying to yourself makes you a better person than someone who is true to who they are and others.

On The Inside

Looking into the mirror this morning, I realized it was a day when I don't look on the outside how I feel on the inside. I got thinking about the gazillion times I have heard people say, "Its who you are on the inside that matters". While I agree with that statement, I felt a little resentful that the phrase doesn't pertain to me. Who I am on the inside is the basis for everything people judge me for. Who I am on the outside is pretty typical and unnoticeable. The inside is where my identity, my sexual orientation and my past lies. The very things that have the ability to make me ugly and unworthy to a great majority of ignorant closed minded people. And while I recognize the fact that they mean nothing to me, it is those same hypocritical people that make the "its who you are on the inside that matters" statement when they or their loved ones are being cruelly judged.

When I have to face the stranger in the mirror I don't see who I am, I pick apart everything that is not what it is supposed to be. I look to my maturity and knowledge for comfort. I tell myself I know who I am and I am comfortable with that. I try to convince myself that others don't matter, but in reality, they do. Today I wondered, as the years slip by, will there ever come a time when I step in front of that mirror and see myself, not someone else using my insides as a way for their outsides to get around.

"It's who you are on the inside that matters". If that is so, then why do so few people bother to look there?

Dionum

So my editor says to me, "I have trouble thinking of ways to depict your stuff with graphics." To which I replied "I have trouble thinking of ways to depict myself all the time!" Which is the whole purpose for writing about genderqueer issues in the first place. It's so difficult to explain being something other than what people know. When in conversation with someone unfamiliar with the term genderqueer, attempting to explain your gender or lack there of is akin to explaining life forms on other planets. Trying to get people to think outside that box is a challenge. It was challenge enough for me to understand it. For example,say you are speaking of temperature. You might refer to hold, cold, or something in between, maybe warm. Most of us can relate to that and comprehend it. Now try to explain something other than hot, cold or a combination. It doesn't exist in our vocabulary. You can make up a word, say, dionum, but that doesn't explain anything. Its is just a word. There are days when I can explain myself as hot, cold, or warm, but most days I am dionum. A word for something that just 'is', something different than what we know. I consider myself my own gender. I identify as both female and male and have the physical 'goodies' of a woman, but I use those terms because those are the ones I know, the ones we all know. But they don't really fit. I am OK with being a dionum, but I am not OK with being a dionum and being called a confused hot or cold, or maybe I am just a warm and don't know it. I embrace my genderqueerness. It fits me, it fits my wife, thats all that truly matters. But I will continue to try to explain to people that a marvelous world exits outside of what we concretely know, we just need to be open enough to recognize dionum when we see it.

Gay Soldier

You said I didn't matter

That I was just a gay

You made me fight for rights

That you had every day

You chanted hate on corners

Held signs up of disgust

You've protested my marriage

And other things unjust

You've said I can't compare

To what a man should be

I shouldn't be allowed to fight

To keep our country free

I hid my sexuality

To serve my fellow man

I slept by you and shared your food

And lied the best I can

You never knew my partner

Until that faithful day

When you looked at my photograph

And found out I was gay

Your haste to leave the trenches

So you would not be near

Your impulsive reaction

Certainly cost you dear

The shots rang out in unison

Your body on the ground

An instant change in thinking

A moment quite profound

Staring up into my eyes

I wait for what you'll say

Will you save my life today?

I can't, I'm just a gay

And for that very moment

I felt justified

But reached out to my brother

And held him as he died.

~EB 2010

Both ends of the spectrum

I went to see Trans Siberian Orchestra last night. I had wanted to see them live for a very long time. Not just because I thought it would be a good show, but because I wanted to 'feel' it. The music they play is such a representation of who I am; two ends of the spectrum coming together to form something there are no words to describe.

I knew I would have a difficult time with the fact that it was their winter show and they would be playing Christmas songs. Christmas songs have a tenancy to depress me. They bring me back to a time in my life that I don't particularly wish to relive. I knew hearing these songs would make me feel sad and hollow and very small. On the other hand I knew they would be incorporating very intense guitar chords in heavy metal ballad form. Raw energy with the ability to touch me at my core. This type of music speaks to my powerful, confident, primal side. The marriage of the two was what I wanted to experience, what I wanted to relate to.

I was not disappointed in my quest. In two and a half hours I felt more emotion than I allow myself to most days in their entirety. I took the sad, let it mingle with the intense and found a really awesome middle ground; something I don't find in many places in my life. I tried to express this to my wife, but believe it or not, unless I write, I cannot speak. Too many years of who I am and what I have to say being misinterpreted or dismissed has made me very apprehensive to let words out face to face.

When I look inside myself I see a constant battle. A battle between genders and dynamics. I am constantly switching my roles, my feelings, my demeanor. I am always making decisions on where I fit at that moment. I am never 'just me'. I don't expect anyone to truly understand what I felt last night. I wish I could give you all a way to feel it. It wasn't about the music, as awesome as it was. It was about finding comfort in all my energy all at the same time. It was about not having to just feel one way and then the other. It was about feeling everything all at once.

The Other Box

I was talking to my 13 year old the other day about gender. She was questioning pronoun etiquette. She wanted to know if it was OK to ask someone that was obviously crossing gender lines what they preferred to be called. I told her that most people would rather be asked than called something that made their skin crawl.

The conversation then became focused on gender labels, male and female. While I don't openly discuss my gender fluidity with her, I guess I haven't hid it either. We were discussing a gender in between male and female, or one that included both. She piped in with "like you". I was taken back a bit at her observation, but responded with, "yes, like me". At that moment, from a parent's stand point, I wondered if that was an embarrassment for her. If I was giving her one more obstacle to get over. One more thing she needed to 'explain' to her friends.

We spent some time discussing what that 'other' box should say. She cited many example sentences that would make 'other' sound ridiculous or not as fair as male or female. "Other went to the store". She tried abbreviating it to 'oth'. And even in her joking manner, it was obvious even she knew that clearly there was no way to make the 'other' feel as comfortable as the male or female.

We talked for a bit about how different things would be if there truly was an additional gender. And how so many more people would fall into that category if given the opportunity. That people living with the hell of feeling they need to fit into one or the other box, sometimes don't ever find their true selves, no matter what they change on their bodies.

It wasn't a new conversation for me, but it was a eye opening conversation. I was proud that without direct conversation I had raised a kid to recognize people suffering with gender issues, and those that have found comfort in changing what they were born with. I was grateful that through no words, my kid knew that these were sensitive issues that she wanted to know about so as not to offend someone.

And most of all, I was happy that she knew me.

Today I feel like a woman

I responded to someone's blog today with the beginning sentence "as someone who struggles with gender....". I felt comfortable saying that. But do I struggle with my gender really? I think struggle is far too negative in this case.

I am as gender fluid as they come. I weave in and out of every variant there is, sometimes daily. I don't dislike any of it. I feel privileged to have the ability to feel, react, and do things from both sides of the street. Most days I am standing in the middle on the yellow line, waiting to see what comes rolling down the road and what side I will escape to. I like the flexibility. I like the protection it offers me.

What I truly struggle with, is my body. It doesn't have the ability to change with me. It fits so rarely, that most days I am plagued with the mismatch. When I stand on the yellow line, I want my body standing with me. I want to be genderless in shape and form as well as mind. I want to morph. But I cant. I could never permanently transition to something else, because no matter what I do to myself, I still wont always fit. I will always be missing one side or the other. Therein lies the true struggle.

But today. Today I feel like a woman. Today I fit what I own. I may not be happy with my body, but it fits. For as long as it lasts today, I will not have to stop my hips from slightly swaying as I walk. I wont have to constantly pull my shirt out to hang loosely on my chest. I can walk into the ladies room and not feel in violation of the women that belong in there.

I love being fluid. But I sure enjoy the break fitting the body I was born with affords me some days.

Internal Homophobia

I read the phrase internal homophobia yesterday. I found it pretty amazing that it was the first time I had even thought about such a topic, and more specifically how it does and doesn't relate to me. The definition is fairly blurred with so many people having their own experiences and opinions to base it on. But the concept in itself was very easy for me to understand.

I knew from a very early age that I was attracted to women. It took different forms throughout my growing up process due to situations and environment. I didn't truly understand the attraction and the need to be in a woman's company, since as a child it made no sense. I didn't dislike boys, and I don't now, they just didn't and still don't have anything to offer me emotionally.

As I grew to know that my feelings were genuine, no matter the reason, and that I was sexually attracted to women, I found myself very interested in the 'others' of the world. I had a keen gaydar and an even keener ability to pick out the straight ones that were approachable. I was drawn to the freaks of the world and loved the free spirit ways about them. I was drawn because I was unable to find that within myself.

I never thought that I was homophobic as I loved to surround myself with the most off the wall characters. I never hated that I liked women, so I had no fear of myself. What I was uncomfortable with was people being uncomfortable with me. I am still am. I want to blend in with the masses. I want to do what I do without wearing a sign. Not because I am ashamed of myself, but because I don't want to be different. I don't like being picked out of the crowd, judged and made opinions of, as they are usually wrong. I disliked those that were blatantly gay and 'stereotypical'. I always said it was because I didn't feel you needed to advertise, that it was fake. Now I realize that my feelings were dislike for my own self coupled with envy because I was not strong enough to be and do what I was and what I felt.

In a like crowd I am very outgoing, fun, loud, a leader. In a diverse crowd I am quiet, reserved and unsure. My comfort level determines everything, and unfortunately I am not usually comfortable. Am I internally homophobic? If I don't embrace my diversity within a group does that make me phobic of my own sexuality and gender confusion?

If fear is the premise that homophobia is based on, am I homophobic of my very self? If I choose not to take the risks of outing myself in every situation, or allowing my fluid gender to show, does that make me as bad as those that judge me when I do?

I love my complexities, my genders, my sexuality. I avoid those that cant love them completely. Is avoidance a product of phobic?