Conflict Clarified
This is the explication of that personal conflict I've been having. I'm hoping to come to terms with it now so we can all move on.
This is my journey through gender and sexuality.
It's been hard, of course. "Outlier" is not an easy thing to be labeled, regardless of age or upbringing. But, it gets better. Slowly, as we continue to try.
Here we go.
-------
Growing up, I felt "wrong". I wanted to wear dresses every day with ribbons in my hair and wanted to climb trees, scrape up my knees, punch my friends then laughed about it together. I wanted to play with dolls and trucks. I was told these things didn't go together. That I should "be more lady-like". When I refused, they decided I was a "tomboy".
I knew what that meant. So I started acting the part because I couldn't figure out what else I was. So I wore the baggiest jeans I could find with these huge flannel shirts, and I swore off ribbons and make-up and dresses because they were all stupid. And just to be sure they believed me, to be sure they'd accept me, I told everyone I could that I hated even the sight of the color pink.
In sixth grade, I flipped out. I was convinced I was going to hell because I couldn't stop staring at my sixth grade lady teacher. I would stare at her picture in the yearbook from the year before, telling myself over and over again that I wasn't gay, that I just thought she was really cool and awesome. And then, I discovered the word "pretty" and I was pretty sure I was saved by it. Because I could say another girl was "pretty" without being thought to have a crush on her. Because only girls were pretty. And so, I would tell myself over and over again how "cool" and "pretty" she was. That was all.
By high school, I had convinced myself that I was fine. And I made sure of it by having crush after crush on boy after boy. I made sure there was always some boy I was concentrating on so I didn't have to think about it. The slightest suggestion of "oh, what, do you have a crush on him?" and I would be all over it. Notes and taking secretive pictures and oggling - the whole deal.
And yet, I had missed skirts and dresses - so I started wearing them and showing off my stomach and wearing short shorts like all the other girls did. Because I had to get the boy's attention so that no-one would realise that I kept wondering if I secretly hated my body because I really should have been born a boy and that was what the problem really was all along. Because underneath all the girly stuff, I was still such a "tomboy" because I just wanted to rough around with my friends like all the boys did. Like the boys were supposed to do.
Because I was violent and bitter and messed up inside. And totally alone and incapable of opening up. None of the boys actually liked me and none of the girls wanted me to rough them up and I was trapped and just trying to keep it all in somehow. I was depressed and suicidal and so afraid to speak up. So instead, I started praying every night that in the morning, I just wouldn't wake up. That I'd be granted the blessing of dying so I didn't have to face the next day. Because praying was how you got things done as long as God liked you enough.
I was convinced *he* did (because clearly God was a guy because why wouldn't he be?), when I finally got a boyfriend. Then, I could let all of my aggression toward my confused sexual feelings out on him. I'd lash out if he so much as glanced at another girl. How dare he! And I let my hatred of my own sexual body out in the form of his porn addiction, so I didn't have to open up my own pandora's box. So I didn't have to admit that behind all of this, I had questions.
So my jealousy became incomprehensibly hot and my morality sky-rocketed. I couldn't so much as think about another person. I probably shouldn't even be around anyone else, save my boyfriend.
It was all just a catch-all safety net and my boyfriend was my scapegoat. So long as we had each other, I didn't have any problems. I would get married young, have kids, raise them, and travel the world. I was just fine. The fact that those sexy scenes with naked breasts and sweaty hips in movies turned me on too didn't count. And the fact that a girl with her shirt half off made my heart race and my skin feel warm didn't mean anything. It was her fault with her sinful body - not mine.
When we broke, I was glad to be away from all of his sexual problems. Thank god. I was free to have a normal, heterosexual, problem-free relationship and life.
Then, I went to England and met my spouse and friends who were more sexually open than I'd ever been. slowly, thanks to them, I was able to admit - at least to myself and those few people - that, yes I did have a crush on my sixth grade teacher. And yes, I had been lying to myself for years. And yes I do get turned on by the naked female body and the naked male body, equally. And yes, I do like pink and ribbons and button-down shirts and ties.
Moving to PDX led to meeting many more people living outside of the rigid lines I was given when I was young. And the development of Asher and Brandon was my way of assimilating it all so I could get to where I am now.
Post-gender and sexually inclusive. Ascribing to the concept that people are just attracted to people - regardless of gender or sexuality. That you don't have to pick one or the other. That you aren't forced to label yourself. That you can just be open and free and allow whatever flows to flow. That this will, in fact, lead to the best possible relationships and emotions and understanding.
So all of my so-called conflicted feelings aren't conflicts at all. I can both feel like a "boy" and a "girl", at the same time. Because neither term actually applies. They are just contrived headings to huge lists of attributes that any person can have in any combination. And attraction to any grouping of those attributes is just as fair and free, regardless of terms or sexual organs.
This is my journey through gender and sexuality.
It's been hard, of course. "Outlier" is not an easy thing to be labeled, regardless of age or upbringing. But, it gets better. Slowly, as we continue to try.
Here we go.
-------
Growing up, I felt "wrong". I wanted to wear dresses every day with ribbons in my hair and wanted to climb trees, scrape up my knees, punch my friends then laughed about it together. I wanted to play with dolls and trucks. I was told these things didn't go together. That I should "be more lady-like". When I refused, they decided I was a "tomboy".
I knew what that meant. So I started acting the part because I couldn't figure out what else I was. So I wore the baggiest jeans I could find with these huge flannel shirts, and I swore off ribbons and make-up and dresses because they were all stupid. And just to be sure they believed me, to be sure they'd accept me, I told everyone I could that I hated even the sight of the color pink.
In sixth grade, I flipped out. I was convinced I was going to hell because I couldn't stop staring at my sixth grade lady teacher. I would stare at her picture in the yearbook from the year before, telling myself over and over again that I wasn't gay, that I just thought she was really cool and awesome. And then, I discovered the word "pretty" and I was pretty sure I was saved by it. Because I could say another girl was "pretty" without being thought to have a crush on her. Because only girls were pretty. And so, I would tell myself over and over again how "cool" and "pretty" she was. That was all.
By high school, I had convinced myself that I was fine. And I made sure of it by having crush after crush on boy after boy. I made sure there was always some boy I was concentrating on so I didn't have to think about it. The slightest suggestion of "oh, what, do you have a crush on him?" and I would be all over it. Notes and taking secretive pictures and oggling - the whole deal.
And yet, I had missed skirts and dresses - so I started wearing them and showing off my stomach and wearing short shorts like all the other girls did. Because I had to get the boy's attention so that no-one would realise that I kept wondering if I secretly hated my body because I really should have been born a boy and that was what the problem really was all along. Because underneath all the girly stuff, I was still such a "tomboy" because I just wanted to rough around with my friends like all the boys did. Like the boys were supposed to do.
Because I was violent and bitter and messed up inside. And totally alone and incapable of opening up. None of the boys actually liked me and none of the girls wanted me to rough them up and I was trapped and just trying to keep it all in somehow. I was depressed and suicidal and so afraid to speak up. So instead, I started praying every night that in the morning, I just wouldn't wake up. That I'd be granted the blessing of dying so I didn't have to face the next day. Because praying was how you got things done as long as God liked you enough.
I was convinced *he* did (because clearly God was a guy because why wouldn't he be?), when I finally got a boyfriend. Then, I could let all of my aggression toward my confused sexual feelings out on him. I'd lash out if he so much as glanced at another girl. How dare he! And I let my hatred of my own sexual body out in the form of his porn addiction, so I didn't have to open up my own pandora's box. So I didn't have to admit that behind all of this, I had questions.
So my jealousy became incomprehensibly hot and my morality sky-rocketed. I couldn't so much as think about another person. I probably shouldn't even be around anyone else, save my boyfriend.
It was all just a catch-all safety net and my boyfriend was my scapegoat. So long as we had each other, I didn't have any problems. I would get married young, have kids, raise them, and travel the world. I was just fine. The fact that those sexy scenes with naked breasts and sweaty hips in movies turned me on too didn't count. And the fact that a girl with her shirt half off made my heart race and my skin feel warm didn't mean anything. It was her fault with her sinful body - not mine.
When we broke, I was glad to be away from all of his sexual problems. Thank god. I was free to have a normal, heterosexual, problem-free relationship and life.
Then, I went to England and met my spouse and friends who were more sexually open than I'd ever been. slowly, thanks to them, I was able to admit - at least to myself and those few people - that, yes I did have a crush on my sixth grade teacher. And yes, I had been lying to myself for years. And yes I do get turned on by the naked female body and the naked male body, equally. And yes, I do like pink and ribbons and button-down shirts and ties.
Moving to PDX led to meeting many more people living outside of the rigid lines I was given when I was young. And the development of Asher and Brandon was my way of assimilating it all so I could get to where I am now.
Post-gender and sexually inclusive. Ascribing to the concept that people are just attracted to people - regardless of gender or sexuality. That you don't have to pick one or the other. That you aren't forced to label yourself. That you can just be open and free and allow whatever flows to flow. That this will, in fact, lead to the best possible relationships and emotions and understanding.
So all of my so-called conflicted feelings aren't conflicts at all. I can both feel like a "boy" and a "girl", at the same time. Because neither term actually applies. They are just contrived headings to huge lists of attributes that any person can have in any combination. And attraction to any grouping of those attributes is just as fair and free, regardless of terms or sexual organs.
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