#like they have fully embraced my cousin coming out as a trans woman and my grandma actually *approves* of her boyfriend

[aidenwaites]

Cannot stress enough that my grandparents are not the same people they were when they had custody of us but jesus fucking christ what an era that was

[trashgoblingenderboy]

On being type-A and Non-binary/Trans:

/////otherwise known as; I've been reading stone butch blues and struggling with my gender/////

I've always had a fascination with boxes, baskets, and containers. Categorizing and naming things brought me joy. It's probably why I spent so long in denial about being non-binary and transgender. My gender identity was something I tried to confine to a box. There was my desire to feel pretty, neatly placed in the gender box alongside memories of wearing my boy cousin's clothes to church as a child. Then, there were those longing glances I cast toward women, the yearning to cup Joan Jett's face or gently stroke Elvira's cheek; those were tucked into the sexuality box.

However, as I grew up and entered the world of dating and compulsory heterosexuality, these boxes began to blur and merge into confusing combinations. How could I reconcile my desire to kiss a girl with the late-night sessions of binding my chest in my bedroom? I despised boys and men; I was afraid of them. I didn't want to be associated with them. I yearned to love a woman in a way only a woman could. But how could I do that when I spent lonely moments dressing in boys' clothes, the summer I wore nothing but basketball shorts and tanks or kept a knife in my hiking boots? How could I love a woman in that way if I wasn't entirely sure I felt like a woman myself? What box should I put my fear of keeping my breasts or my sapphic desire in? How does one reconcile being a lesbian while not fully identifying as a woman?

The confusion about my gender has always been a constant. As a child, I was a tomboy in actions alone. I loathed boys' clothes; I yearned for dresses and skirts that swirled when I spun. Yet, I also wanted to venture into the woods, exploring for bugs, squirrels, and frogs. I craved my mother's ruffling of my hair, just as she did with my brother. I wanted to be taken seriously like they did with my brother. In the first grade, I cut my hair secretly, just a chunk at the bottom, hidden from view. But when I was alone, I'd gently stroke that short, distinct strand of hair, so different from my waist-long blonde locks.

I was raised in a matriarchy, taught to take pride in being a girl, a woman. I was told that I was blessed by God to carry the burdens of men, the babies I would undoubtedly have, and the weight of a society that both loved and hated me. But when I looked in the mirror and thought "Woman," I recoiled and avoided my reflection. It feels like I'm at an impasse I can't navigate. I yearn to neatly categorize my body, my mind, and my identity, but there doesn't seem to be an identity capacious enough yet exclusive enough to encompass someone like me—a person who identifies as both a boy and a girl, a mix of butch and femme, who desires long hair and also, at times, a different physical form. How can I find solace in a community that doesn't seem to fully embrace me, a community I fear being cast out of just because the new testosterone in my body has given my upper lip a soft layer of fuzz. I'm trying to learn that my identity is not a box to be neatly categorized but a beautiful mosaic of experiences and emotions.

I yearn to be like a panel of stained glass, each vibrant shard a unique facet of who I am, coming together to create a breathtaking mosaic that captures the beauty of my individuality. In the world of stained glass, no two pieces are the same, yet they harmoniously coexist, each contributing its distinct color and texture to the larger masterpiece. Like those pieces of glass, I too am a collection of diverse experiences, emotions, and identities, each one adding depth and richness to my existence. Just as a stained glass panel finds its place within the grand design of a cathedral, I aspire to find my place within the tapestry of humanity. I yearn to be not just accepted but celebrated for the intricate interplay of my gender, my desires, and my history. My quest for acceptance is not about fitting into preconceived notions or conforming to societal expectations but about embracing the complex beauty of my true self.

In a world that sometimes feels monochromatic in its expectations, I want to be the vibrant, kaleidoscopic display of authenticity. I long to radiate my own unique colors, to shimmer with the authenticity of being 'me.' And just like a panel of stained glass, I hope to be a place where I am not only pieced together but wholly at home—a place where I can bask in the warm, welcoming glow of understanding, love, and acceptance, where I can illuminate the world with my own unique light.