We currently live in culture trying so desperately to figure out how to be human and humane that there is a disturbing backward trend that results in people clinging so desperately to ignorance and fear that there is an acceptance of inhumane treatment and actions, to the point it is celebrated and stoutly, and violently, justified to act in such a manner. Somehow, somewhere in this painful growth spurt in humanity, any thought, existence, idea that makes an individual uncomfortable is automatically wrong and that person is justified to act in any manner they see fit to address it and that action should be automatically accepted because said person is just acting authentically, and well we should accept all people for who they are…
I call bullshit.
Continue reading Raising Faith
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
Faith is not my legal name; although it will be when I can finally afford to. I never liked my name, and long before I started on my gender identity journey, I was on an overall who am I journey. During that time I was writing about my past, the traumas that I faced, and was told to choose a name to protect my identity. I was taking a class that focused on writing about love and loss, and my professor was going to include my essays in his textbook. I spoke about self-harm, child abuse, suicide attempts, and overall depression. To keep all of his students safe, my professor asked for pseudonyms. Faith was born then. Faith, an ideology that was broken within me. Faith, a concept that I was trying to regain in my life. Faith, one of my favorite characters on TV in a show the resonated around the world. The name became my own.
Broken, drowning, lost and feeling so disconnected from the world around me, Faith rose up within me as I navigated my world through essays, reflections and prose. Taryn Davies came later, through gentle musings and a need to feel complete. My given name is still used, out of legality, out of disrespect and out of confusion. But that girl is gone. She is gone with the gender roles and deep secrets that always held her back.
Continue reading What Do You Want To Be Called?