Growing Up Gender Fluid in Small Town America
Girls, boys, bodies
Note: I’m reworking material on addiction…merging into a chapter on gender and sexuality. Find Part 1 here.
Life never stays still. When it does, fully and finally — when we reach our ultimate conclusion — we call this death.
Meanwhile, we move. Meanwhile, we weave self and story. But neither self nor story is static. Neither self nor story comes as a matter of course — complete, determined, ended.
Instead, we choose certain threads and some are handed to us and some are tied too tight around our throats and we spin internal cohesion. Here, me and mine make sense. Here, I can delineate and advocate. Here, we find a closet of boxes and dutifully maintained coherence.
Gender and sexuality included. Gender and sexuality at our core.
I say this as a person who identifies as queer. I say this as a person who’s been “out” for two decades.
Still, I’ve yet to try a gender or sexual identity that fits perfectly. Perfect-for-now has seen various iterations: bisexual, pansexual, lesbian, soft butch, baby dyke, gay, androgynous, queer.
Take your pick. None encapsulates my essence or experience.
