In yesterday’s post, I went off on a tangent because of course I did about how much I love tangents/side notes/footnotes/side roads. Then, because I’m me, I spent a healthy chunk of time on that instead of what I actually meant to write about.
Which, in this case, turned out to be about how much I was bashed about the head when I was in my twenties for not womanning the right way. And how it was the planting of a seed (ironic in the context of having children) for me questioning if I was a woman at all.
Side note: Here’s the thing about gender–for me. My biggest feeling about gender is that I am not a guy. I wanted to be once when I was a kid because boys clearly had more freedom and autonomy, but that’s not the same as thinking I am one. More to the point, I don’t want to be one because of the negativity associated with being male. In the general sense, I mean, not specifically. And I don’t want to have to deal with that bullshit, either. The patriarchy hurts women, yes, more than it hurts men, but it’s not great for the latter, either.
When it comes to thinking about my identity as a woman, I draw a giant blank. This is because I (still) don’t know what that means. I can think of how I’ve been treated because I was perceived as a woman, how women treat me (for better and for worse), and how that has affected me. But it doesn’t make me FEEL like a woman.
As for nonbinary, I probably would have chosen that (maybe) when I was a teen if I knew it was a possibility back then. K and I have talked about this–how we both would have went with nonbinary if it was a thing when we were teens/in our twenties. As old people now (in our early fifties), it’s not at the top of either of our important things to do.
Also, for me, there is no gender that feels right to me. I sat with ‘woman’ for a long time, and it did nothing for me. I can relate to women because we’ve had shared experiences, but when I focused on the word woman and tried to relate it to myself, I came up empty. I did not feel anything other than a vague, “Oh, yeah. I used to be called that.” I don’t hate it when others call me she, but it doesn’t really ring true with me, either.
I have explained it thusly: It’s like an ill-fitting raincoat. Yes, it’ll keep the rain out–mostly. But it’s uncomfrortable and restricting (if it’s too small), and I’ll breathe a sigh of relief once I take it off. In other words, it does the job–barely–but it isn’t the best for the job–by far.
When it’s raincoats–I don’t have to stick with the too-small coat. I can buy another one, an umbrella, or just run around in the rain (which is my personal favorite). When it comes to gender, though, they all feel weird to me in one way or the other. With that in mind….