I was scrolling through Instagram one day when, suddenly, I stopped short. Staring at my phone screen, I was transfixed.
I’d just seen the term ‘non-binary’ for the first time in my life, on a simple educational post explaining the definition – and it was like someone had flicked on a brilliant lightbulb in my brain.
It all made so much sense to me, as my thoughts tumbled over each other thick and fast. ‘I don’t have to choose a he/she pronoun if I don’t want to,’ I realised. ‘I don’t have to choose one gender expression.’
At the time, I was 21. I’d spent years of my life trying to be a girl; then more years trying to be a boy.
Now, thanks to that Instagram post, I know I’m non-binary – and ever since then, I’ve felt like I’ve come home.
Growing up, I was raised in a very hyper-femme way. I was put into competitive dance when I was three. This meant dancing every week, in ‘girly’ costumes, from a young age.
But at the same time, I loved to wrestle with my dad – and I relished the rare occasions when I was given a boy’s role in dance.
I didn’t know the term ‘non-binary’ existed, but there’s a photo where I’m wearing a princess dress – which I loved –with a pair of Timberland boots. I’ve always thought that picture perfectly epitomises my lifelong questioning of gender.
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Mostly, though, I always felt like I was wearing a constant costume of femininity; and it just didn’t feel right. I quit dancing when I was around 14 – even though I enjoyed it, as I didn’t like how I had to constantly present myself. My dad used to box, so I started doing that instead, and it felt euphoric.
As I got older, though, I pushed and pressured myself into girlhood. I used to look at the girls at school, and think: ‘Well, I’m not a boy, so surely I should be doing what they’re doing?’.
I got involved in all the trends; I copied all my friends’ looks. I used fake tan and wore acrylic nails. I love fake eyelashes now, but back then, I felt like I had to wear them all the time. Aged 15, I even wanted a boob job.
In other words, I put on a costume because I didn’t know what else to do.
But then, in my late teens, I watched an episode of Hollyoaks that featured a trans character, Jason Costello: someone who had cut off his hair and made clear to his family that this was who he is now.
‘Oh my God,’ I thought. ‘We can do that?!’.
Throughout my late teens, I explored masculinity. I shaved all my hair and threw out my entire wardrobe, buying all new clothes. I started binding my chest and using ‘he’ pronouns. I even looked into starting testosterone.
I just assumed: since I’d never been comfortable as a girl, I’d be more comfortable as a boy.
And in some ways, I was. I felt happier with my chest being smaller. People used my correct pronouns, and I felt more in control.
But the downside was that, while I still really enjoyed elements of femininity, I didn’t feel able to let myself explore that. I didn’t want anything that suggested ‘girly’ anywhere near me – I was terrified that, if I liked that sort of stuff, I wasn’t really a boy after all.
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It meant I ended up depriving myself of things I really enjoyed – and, whether I was trying to be feminine in my early teens or masculine in late teens, putting myself in these binaries took a toll. It was all incredibly confusing, and it impacted my relationships, too. Whenever I had a romantic partner, I felt I had to stick with the gender identity they knew me as. I forced myself to stay in various binary gender expressions to keep the people I loved around me.
Discovering the term ‘non-binary’ towards the end of the first Covid lockdown was utterly transformational. Instantly, I knew it was right. Everything from my past just clicked, and my parents agreed. ‘You used to wrestle with your dad in a Disney princess dress,’ they said, gently. ‘This is you.’
For a while, I tried to force myself into androgyny. This was how I understood non-binary – and also my way of making sure people respected my identity. If I looked androgynous, I thought, people would treat me that way.
Gradually, though, I stopped putting so much pressure on myself to fit the mould of the label I was using. I learned that I can enjoy some ‘girly’ things, and some ‘masc’ things, and that this doesn’t have to change who I am.
Now, I’m 27 and have been non-binary for around six years. My pronouns are they/them. I think back to the days when I’d worry about how people were seeing me – ‘Am I sitting like a girl? Am I sitting like a boy?’ – and I feel like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders.
There have been highs and lows; I experience dysphoria sometimes, and I get misgendered more now – particularly when I look more feminine – than when I was masc-presenting or androgynous.
But I know who I am. I’m not trying to box myself into anything. I buy clothes because I want them; not because I think, ‘Is this masc? Will this make me look too femme?’. I can wear make-up and a dress, for example, and I don’t feel like a girl. I still feel non-binary.
I do mourn the fact that I didn’t have the language for my identity when I was younger. If I had, I would have known I was non-binary from the very first time I was old enough to read the word on a page – and that could have saved me so much stress and confusion growing up.
However, I’m comforted by the fact that I can now be the non-binary representation I never had. Through my work as a sex educator, I visit schools and speak with young people; often, students will tell me I’m the first non-binary adult they’ve met, and it means the world that I can help today’s young people find their language around gender.
I spent a long time trying to fit myself into a box. That’s what humans do – we categorise and label ourselves. But now, I personally feel and express non-binary as both no gender, and all gender. I wear what I want, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks – because I know my identity.
And I’ve never felt more free.
As told to Izzie Price
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