How I Know I'm Non-Binary and Transgender

I ended up bawling my eyes out while writing this because of the amazing relief and joy I am grateful to finally experience…but I also have immeasurable grief from losing family and friends along the way.

Please understand that I am choosing to share about this aspect of my life from a transmasc perspective. I am willingly and vulnerably disclosing very personal details. If you are uncomfortable with the discussion of gender dysphoria, transgender bodies, and general trans topics, then this post isn't for you. None of the information I share is acceptable to be used against me in any way.

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My relationship with my body has been interesting and changed so much since coming to terms with myself. I began expressing who I truly am to other people, and I’ve experienced people accepting, affirming, and honoring ME in my totality as I continue to expand and evolve. Finding friends and family who take me seriously has done wonders for my mental health.

Since coming out, I’ve been able to recognize all these embodied and psychological feelings that I was shut off from and didn’t understand for such a long time. I never would’ve thought that I would feel and exist the way I do now...except that I actually always KNEW.

Non-Binary from the Beginning

I cannot talk honestly about my life without discussing my gender, neurodivergence, and other intersecting identities that have unquestionably shaped my experiences. I've had thoughts since I was 4 or 5 where I was questioning my body, gender, and how I fit in.

I was hairier than most white AFAB people are from birth. I had a nice coat of dark hair on my arms by the time kindergarten rolled around. One of my earliest traumatic memories is of being mocked and called a monkey by some of my classmates who had already learned to target those visibly different than them. I started shaving with an electric razor at age 9 and waxing my facial hair at 12 because I was so insecure ever since.

I constantly experienced social dysphoria about the sharp divide between boys and girls and how I was forced into the role of “girl”. I more often than not wanted to be “one of the boys”, but I was rejected and ridiculed by them from the age of 5 on for trying to join and ostracized from the girls because I was weird and a "tomboy".

I learned young that being a tomboy was apparently bad, so I went to the opposite extreme for the majority of my childhood; I presented extremely feminine to be accepted and liked by my peers. It didn’t really work because I was instead just the weird, autistic kid trying to be a "normal girl". I always, ALWAYS felt like I was playing a role.

I was a bystander observing my character and story...or a supporting role in someone else's story. I was constantly dissociated from my body, thoughts, and feelings to cope with the terrifying feelings of otherness and associated rejection (and also extremely overwhelming sensory input).

I suppressed every desire, feeling, and thought of my own that wasn’t “right” and gave them to Jesus. I looked to religion and my parents to tell me how to be, think, feel, and act. I learned to conform and obey orders backed up by God Himself unless I wanted a sore bottom and, on occasion, finger indentations left on my arm or on the side of my neck. But the scars that I'm left with now are invisible and not from lashes of the tongue, paddles, or firm hands.

I would ask myself,

“How will people perceive me? How will they react? Am I likeable? Am I pretty enough? Does this make me look too boyish?”

and make adjustments accordingly.

Others would add their questions to the queue: "Is this modest enough? Is this covering your body enough? Would this grieve the heart of God if you did/wore this? Why can't you act/sit more ladylike?" and so on.

But with each correction—usually done unconsciously—I slowly lost more and more of myself as a carefully constructed, socially- and family-acceptable version of myself emerged: a smooth, detached mask to shield myself from rejection and abuse. Each time I fully dropped the mask for a second―usually when I was unable to self-regulate and/or felt comfortable―I was again singled out, misunderstood, ridiculed, and gaslighted.

For most of my life, I've blamed myself for being different, feeling more and more frustrated and self-loathing with each rejection, each uncomfortable look, each insult, each joke at my expense...and to be honest, I still have very dark days where I struggle with deep self-hatred as a result.

I cannot even begin to describe to you the extent of the crushing loneliness, confusion, and depression that has weighed upon me for my entire life as a result. I was constantly ruminating on what could possibly be wrong with me and wondering why I was so different than everyone else.

I found very little authentic connection with others and none with myself.

Dysphoria Disguised as Jealousy and Depression

Not only have I been non-binary since the beginning, but I have also always been transgender.

Reflecting back now, I spent my childhood and especially my teen years longing to not just be "one of the boys" but to be and look like a boy. I didn't want the toxic masculinity, gender role, or "tough love" treatment, though.

From a very young age, I frequently wished aloud that I had a penis because, as I justified it, "they seem more convenient to use". I had, and still have, major penis envy lol.

When I was going through estrogen-driven puberty, I was jealous of my brother and other boys' slight, straight frames. I wanted to have a “boyish” torso like that, not hips, curves, and breasts.

I’ve often wished for a deeper voice and felt what I now recognize as gender dysphoria whenever I heard my voice played back on a recording, sounding higher than I feel like it is in my head.

I have found myself frustrated for years with how soft my face and jaw are and wishing for different facial fat distribution...and facial hair. I shaved my facial hair―which I've had since I was 12―when I was 14 and got a stern lesson from my parents about how girls and women are supposed to wax, pluck, and trim hair with scissors and that razors for facial hair were reserved for boys and men. Of course, women and girls are expected to shave or wax all other body hair. Makes absolutely no sense to me.

I used to joke about wanting to have a flat chest so I could go around topless or about how I preferred having pecs over breasts.

Other people humored and dismissed these "jokes" from me until I got to a certain age; then they went quiet and laughed uneasily before quickly changing the subject. Just Zoë being weird and uncomfortably blunt again.

My mom reassured me that my anxiety about my changing body was normal, so I believed her and tried to quiet my fears and confusion. But what she and no one else knew was that I was in agony over the estrogen-driven changes my body was going through. They just thought I was suffering from depression and from my scoliosis rapidly progressing during my teen years; I was, but that was only scratching the surface.

I started working out and restricting my diet obsessively to achieve the look I wanted, which I now know I can only get by going through testosterone-driven puberty to correct nature's course. I developed severe body dysmorphia and various forms of disordered eating, and I'm still dealing with the consequences and recovering.

For several years, slaving away at the gym and restricting my diet paid off. I was, by all means, a stereotypically feminine and attractive cis woman: white, (dyed) blond hair, thin, fit, and tall.

I seemed to finally fit in and be desired by people of all genders and walks of life. Everyone wanted to be my friend and/or fuck me (usually just the latter). But that was when I was most depressed, most anxious, and most suicidal.

Only I knew how fraudulent and unfulfilling my life truly was, and I was absolutely wrecked by the weight of that reality. The only options I saw in front of me were conformity or escaping myself―because I must've been the problem―through death.

Now I Know

I realized in September 2020 that I'm not just "different than other women". I've existed in the divide between "girl" and "boy" from birth not because I am defective and need to be changed but because I am fundamentally different: I am non-binary.

That label resonates with me and many others, meaning something different to each person who uses it. To me, being non-binary means that not only am I neither a man nor a woman, but I don't fit inside any of the socially constructed boxes or binaries―yes/no, wrong/right, either/or―that I've been forced into at all.

I identify as non-binary first and transgender (specifically, transmasculine) second. Both are personal, social, and political identities for me; trans is also a medical label. Transmasculine specifically describes people who are on the masculine gender identity spectrum and/or who express themselves in ways socially perceived as masculine. The latter definition applies much more to me than the former because I don't identify with femininity, masculinity, or androgyny in the same sense that most people do.

I’m working on picking apart my past and present to uncover more of the truth. It feels like the floodgates have opened. The deeper I dig down into myself, the more buried emotions and revelations keep pouring forth, which are welcome after a lifetime of living in the dark, confusing confines of the closet.

Some cis people say I and other non-binary, trans people are brave for transitioning and living openly as ourselves. I tell them choosing to socially and hormonally transition was an act of desperation. It was literally a life or death decision for me after finally recognizing and validating my dysphoria for the first time.

I chose life.

As it turns out, living and being friends with other queer, trans, autistic people is what I’ve always needed because I actually feel seen and accepted exactly as I am. I feel like I finally have found kindred spirits.

Online groups have supplemented my need for community and saved my life countless times since I was a closeted teen (in nearly every way), desperate for connection. But now I have that community in real life, and it’s so amazing and surreal.

I don’t have to modify myself to fit or defend my behavior, needs, and desires. I never thought someone like me could find that in this world. I didn't think I would find connection on my own, unapologetic terms in this lifetime.

And I no longer want to escape.

"For me, poetry is not merely a genre of literature; it’s a mode of living. A reverence for experimentation. A rigorous commitment to beauty. A recognition that we can and do have the power to create new grammar. Build new worlds.

I spent the first half of my life living other people’s fantasy of who I was supposed to be. I almost died from it. I swore that I wouldn’t do that again. I fled the realm of 'ought' and 'should,' and found home here in 'is.'

'Is' is where I’m from, is where I’ve been searching all along. I have nothing to prove. I have no boxes to check. 'I am.' The most beautiful love poem there ever was. So hairy, so queer, so true."

~ Alok Vaid-Menon (they/them)

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