It all starts with one step. One realization that everything you have been told about who you are as a person is wrong. That the reason you stare yourself down in the mirror isn’t for vain pleasure, but because it is the only way you can look yourself in the eye and figure out what is wrong with the person staring back. For something is wrong with that person. There is a deep sadness behind smiling grey eyes. The upturned smirk is sardonic at best; tired and listless and forced. The person in the mirror is a stranger; they don’t look like the person you see in your mind. The person who you struggle to be in a world unforgiving to those who don’t hold the sanctity of the status quo. A body that was built in nature but forced and remolded out of what it was always meant to be, and there you are, trying to break the mold placed upon you.
Continue reading A New Step
Compassion, patience, time, consideration, understanding. These concessions…no concession isn’t the right word, but at the same time it is, have been asked of me over the last few months as those around me “come to terms” with my revelation regarding my gender identity. I have been talked to, talked at, talked around, ridiculed, mocked, and then asked not to take it personally because it wasn’t meant in cruelty. I’ve been told that I’m loved, but who I am can’t be accepted because it’s too hard for the other person to work through, and I’ve been flat-out ignored. I’ve been smiled at when purposefully challenged and I didn’t have the energy to fight back. I’ve been snapped at for correcting my name and pronoun, and have had my tone misunderstood. I’ve heard the panic in voices that quickly correct what they said only to not listen when I offer comfort. Continue reading I Don’t Owe You Kindness; I Give It Anyway
In recent posts, I have admitted to being in therapy. On my poetry/creative works blog, http://www.faithtdavies.com, I’ve occasionally spoken of my personal life, but I haven’t really written about me, ironically. I’ve stuck to writing about safer aspects of my identity because I didn’t always feel comfortable talking about my mental health. Some of my poetry touches on themes of depression, self-harm, suicide, recovery, and other aspects of mental health, but nothing that delves into the depths of what I deal with on a regular basis. But my mental and physical health is as much a part of my identity as my gender and sex identities, and it’s a topic that deserves its regard. Continue reading My Story Is Not Unique To Anyone But Me
It is not a secret that I take immense pleasure when I am addressed/referred to as anything but female; it’s almost juvenile. I love being called sir, dude, etc because woman/female doesn’t fit. Although being male doesn’t fit either, having spent 30 years being labeled in the wrong term, any reference outside of said label is liberating. It’s exciting. It’s the opposite of everything I’ve been told I am. It’s outside of the identity I was told to have.
Still…as I begrudgingly admit, being referenced as male is incorrect, despite my somewhat childish glee from it.
Continue reading You’re a Pretty Man
I’ve been trying to write for the last few weeks with very little success, obviously, because nothing seems right. I have ideas I want to discuss but, as the words flow onto the screen, I lose rhythm. I lose the point. So I have about a dozen half-written posts with ideas that just lay there, dying. What do I want to talk about? The struggle I’m witnessing in my family and friends? The panic I see arising in people’s eyes as they accidentally use the wrong pronoun or name? The weight of being the only non-binary person in their lives and having to answer questions that even I barely understand at times? The struggle with dating, attraction, and sexuality that is tied to being non-binary but not mutually exclusive? Do I want to talk about my mental health issues, and how they don’t relate, yet still have impact upon my identity? Does this blog have to be about being androgynous or, like me, can it just be about living honestly and fully, and how those adventures weave in and out of being non-binary?
I don’t have the answer right now. But I do have a story. Continue reading Beauty in the Scars
Perspective is a fickle, interesting creature. It was just a few days ago when this line got thrown across my lap while sitting around a fine at a friend’s house. There I was, firmly comfortable in my squishy chair, playing with my backwards cap as I happily listened to the laughter of this rag-tag group of kids that I’ve grown fiercely protective of. I was, for the first time, comfortably clothed the way I wanted to be, and had spoken to a few more people about my gender identity. Not a huge coming out by any means, but a quick glance at me didn’t scream female and that made me happy. Comfy red, oversized flannel partially buttoned over a black tank top, dark blue jeans, black sneakers and a well-fitting Valken ball cap. I was feeling good all around, and dressed in a manner that you really couldn’t tell what my sex was. I was happy.
I’m not entirely sure how the conversation shifted to gender, or if someone was making a comment and my cousin was just responding, but in his easy-going manner that makes it difficult to both hate and love him at times, he responded to the person talking and waved his hand at me while saying “you don’t count you’re just confused.” Continue reading You Are Just Confused
As I type this on my phone I’m looking out over a room filled with my friends and family. I look at them and feel such a gentleness hit my body; the kind of gentleness that you feel when you look at the ones you love unconditionally.
Such an interesting concept, unconditional love. Misunderstood amongst all ages today, as we are struggling within the age of me, myself and I. Conversations filled with constantly one upping the previous story, trying to redirect attention onto oneself and then waiting for reactions that either reinforce actions or further shove a person down. I know I am guilty of this offense; many of us do not realize that we are doing it when we do it. It is not necessarily a bad trait amongst the upcoming generation. We have spent years watching the generations before us keep so much inside, so much private, and constantly snap from the stress of it all. But we don’t necessarily understand how to go about communicating what we feel, and what we need. Not everyone goes through this, but a lot of people who I’ve spoken with have expressed this sentiment.
Continue reading Fear