If you could write about a person wanting desperately to have close connections with people, to have a friend that could allow themselves to be truly vulnerable with…but is unable to
I had requested writing prompts, as I am apt to because I want to engage people in conversations that can build into meaningful dialogue. Also, it is sometimes really difficult to come up with something to write about, just to be honest. Normally, I would post these kinds of prompts on my creative writing blog, but this prompt feels more appropriate here. Not because the prompter asked me to write about a person going through a disconnection with themselves, but with others, and how that can relate to life and lifestyle…but because without realizing it, the prompter asked me to write about myself (even though I know what the original intent of the prompt means.) Continue reading Can You See Me?
I am misgendered every single day. I am misgendered when someone calls me she/woman/girl/female. I am misgendered when I’m called him/guy/boy/man/male. I struggle myself, after years of hiding this enormous aspect of my reality. But with each passing day I’m learning more and more about who I am, and with each new understanding comes growing pains…and the pain inflicted on me by those who love me the most. Continue reading Learning From Being Misgendered
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
Yesterday I attended a mental health support group called Rational Thinking. The purpose of the group is to address issues with irrational thinking, and provide skills that will assist with reframing negative thought processes into positive ones. I pride myself in being able to identify my irrational thoughts and I work hard not to let them overrun my mind. For many that is no easy task so, again, I take pride in my skills.
The wonderful person leading the group had decided to try to address irrational thinking in a new creative way. She asked us to take an index card, write down an irrational thought, and place it in (anonymously) in a box. She would read them aloud once everyone was finished. I took two index cards. I understand the power of putting words to paper, so the chance of placing negative thoughts on paper and then giving them away wasn’t something I was going to pass up. I put my first irrational thought down, and then turned to the second card. What to write? I had been grappling, for weeks, with relationship insecurities, so I decided to write about that. However, I never expected the words that appeared in front of me to be what they were. Continue reading Irrational Thoughts