"You do have the right to be WHO YOU ARE and choose how to IDENTIFY"
I could control if I wanted to. Once I moved to the city, that all changed. My mind opened and was flooded with light – there was this whole queer community that I had no idea existed. When someone first introduced themselves to me with their name and the pronouns ‘they/them’, it felt so safe to me. Woah, that’s the answer to everything right now, I thought.
I met an amazing array of trans people who taught me that yes, you do have power and the right to be who you are and choose how to identify – starting with your pronouns. Among this group of friends, nothing was off-limits – we could experiment without being judged. Someone might ask to be referred to as ‘he/him’ to see how it felt before making
“I was discovering that there was no single RIGHT WAY to be trans”
a more official decision. We’d try things out on each other; and people would play around with names, with he/she/they and some of the less-usual pronouns – ze, xe, ve to mention a few. It was a revelation that people were ‘allowed’ to do this; that I had more power over the way I showed up in the world than I’d ever thought possible.
Some people were taking hormones, some had surgeries so they could better identify with their body, some did both and some did neither. I was discovering that there was no single right way to be trans. I was just wide-eyed and openminded, listening and learning about a new way of being.
I remember one night at a queer party in a club on Sydney’s Oxford Street – it was late and I was probably not very sober – but I looked around at the people all blurring lines of gender and sexuality with over-the-top outfits, and wildly unapologetic energy and attitude, and I saw the pure joy on their faces. It was infectious. It was an atmosphere of acceptance and validation. As well as being so excited to be part of this world, I was mad at myself for not finding it sooner.
In that moment I felt like I had found a new purpose. From then on, I promised myself that I would do everything I could to normalise and uplift being trans so that future generations might have an easier childhood than mine was. With that decision came a change in everything.
Over the following weeks, I changed my pronouns to ‘they/them’, as well as my name to Olly (after the lead singer of a band that I loved who embodied the kind of aesthetic I strongly coveted). I booked myself in for a chest reduction and bought a one-way ticket from Australia to North America, where I knew there was a larger queer population. Finally… I felt like I could breathe.
There are countless different surgeries that some trans people choose to have to feel more comfortable in their bodies; for me, I feel so disconnected from any gender that no body will ever feel perfect. I chose not to have full ‘top surgery’ [a mastectomy], as that body wouldn’t have served me either. Instead, I wanted the option to bind [a method of compressing the chest to give a flatter appearance] and the size of my chest previously meant that I wasn’t able to do so effectively. So I had a reduction to give me that control over my appearance.
I bind not because I’m ashamed of my body but because the autonomy of doing so makes me feel safe. I’m not ‘fluid’, where I shift between genders and pronouns. I am agender [devoid of gender altogether] and what I do with my body, whether I’m naked or in a full snowsuit, doesn’t change that.
I’ve accepted that I’m a non-binary person living in a binary world (that I have every intention of disrupting!).
When I’m perceived as a woman, I feel very ill at ease. As
I am AFAB [assigned female at birth], but have no connection to any gender, I present as more masculine to the outside world to redress the balance. The truth is, this backwards society we live in wants me to have to choose between male and female. Sadly, the less ‘confusing’ I look, the safer I am in public spaces.
Tattoos have been a huge aid to my body dysphoria and are a vital way for me to assert control over the way I look. I got my first tattoo at age 18 – my siblings’ birthdates etched across my ribs. Since then, I’ve amassed more, across my arms, stomach and legs. Tattoos became my protection because they distracted from the reality of my body.
Over time, physical distance has been healing for my relationship with my family – they found it hard to understand what I was going through. Now I feel I can meet them on my own terms. I understand that asking someone to entirely dismantle everything they thought they knew about gender is complicated. You can’t help how you grew up or what you’ve been told. This is a journey for everyone. That’s why if someone trips up and misgenders me, then corrects themselves, I’m not going to get mad.
That doesn’t help anyone. I want to see the best in people, as long as they are trying.
There’s still such a lot of resistance and confusion around non-binary people; in some ways, trans men and trans women can be easier for people to understand, because they can continue to use those boxes of ‘male’ and ‘female’ to ‘make sense’ of a person. When someone is neither, both or all of the above in terms of their gender – like I am – people can be defensive and reluctant to accept that such a grey area exists.
I wish I’d known that it was OK to exist in this ‘in-between’ place when I was growing up. I wish someone had told me that I could be whoever I wanted to be, do whatever I wanted to do and that I was so valid and important. Trans and non-binary kids need to hear that they are beautiful and worthy of love and a fulfilling life.