I started this piece under the title “What it Means to be Me” and immediately felt the weight of…
By: Arden Falls
Tags: Pansexuality, Nonbinary, Meaning, LGBTQ, Coming Out

I started this piece under the title “What it Means to be Me” and immediately felt the weight of that declarative statement. Until about five years ago I accepted my identity without question, not thinking that it could be worth an investigation.

Depression and anxiety have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, masquerading as intrusive mental images I blamed on an overactive imagination. The most sinister of these moments saw me imagining what it would be like to jump into traffic, with the laissez-faire of someone contemplating their weekend plans. What began as passing impulses in my childhood lay dormant for many years, popping up at infrequent-enough intervals that it took me years to realize they were symptoms of a larger issue.

After introducing therapy and antidepressants into my routine, I reached a place where I could evaluate not just how I was living, but who I was. I became less sure of what I was passionate about and what gave me joy, to the point it became harder to feel content. I was nearing a breaking point, so I decided to break myself down before I went over the edge. My beliefs, my interests, the way I communicated with others, the amount of kindness I offered to myself, everything needed to change, and as I did, even my hesitant steps felt liberating.

As I reflected inward, I noticed a disconnect between how I felt and how I looked. I remember distinctly catching a glimpse of myself in my bathroom mirror and stopping in my tracks. I noticed new lines and angles in my face that felt especially alien that day. The feeling was not a result of aging, but that my skin had stayed the same, aging the same way it always had, while my soul had shifted underfoot. I saw this stranger in photos too. I would remember the moment those memories were captured, how I felt, how often I struggled to maintain my smile, but that inner struggle was never reflected in the final image.

My first steps towards reducing the dichotomy between my inner and outer selves were surprisingly simple, though by no means easy. I tentatively asked my partner to help me find clothes that were a little more form-fitting and traditionally effeminate and for some reason getting those words out of my mouth was harder than pulling teeth. But once I did, she responded with such grace and support that each consecutive step forward came just a little easier.

For a while, this change towards presenting more traditionally female was an impulse I chased without stopping too long to wonder why. It didn’t take me long, however, to begin connecting some dots. I have never felt comfortable with my masculinity. Between conversations with my partner, my own research, and just existing online, I began to understand what comfort in one’s skin looks like, and that realization put my own discomfort in even greater relief. I had been relatively aware of a variety of gender identities for a while now, and I began to offer myself the same acceptance that I offered others in order to explore what my identity meant to me. What does it mean that I do not feel like a man? What does it mean that I also don’t feel like a woman?

Those questions may seem fairly cut and dry, but to feel this foundational level of confusion and questioning is a shattering experience. Furthermore, rejecting typically masculine forms of presentation does not necessarily mean that one is not male. I didn’t want to reject my assigned gender just because of my desire to dress a little differently or to flippantly make a decision that so other gender-non-conforming individuals have made in earnest. But as I began to explore identifying as non-binary, I realized how true it felt because it was rooted in my own initial uncertainty. That feeling of truth gave rise to my newfound boldness and happiness in who I know myself to be.

I am neither male nor female. I instead choose to define myself by existing as I am from day to day, presenting more male or female as I feel. I see the gender spectrum as less a definition and more a palette from which to paint myself in the most vibrant colors. Many of my presentation choices have been more traditionally effeminate, and while I don’t see those changing or stopping, I never want to limit myself. This decision, this coming out, is not final. The term gender-non-binary feels the most comfortable to me now, and I am fine with that changing. This decision represents not only how I am now, but how I have always always been, even if I didn’t realize it. I am only changing in that I am becoming more myself.

A few necessary adjustments to my identity were made immediately apparent as a result of my new definition. The more I grew comfortable with being non-binary, the more I realized that being referred to as a man, with male pronouns, gave me immense discomfort. My sister described it best as an “itchiness,” something you can ignore for only so long. I prefer they/them pronouns, as they seem to most accurately represent my fluidity. Another question that has bugged me is the definition of sexual orientation. I was tempted to simply ignore the question for as long as possible, but my track record with that technique is troubling at best, so instead, I decided to confront it head-on. If I am neither gender, how can I be heterosexual? What is the opposite of non-binary? By the time I asked myself this question, I realized that I didn’t feel particularly beholden to staying straight. It was almost as if I had already made this decision, and that was such a relief.

This decision to be honest with myself was not made in a vacuum. My partner, Jessie, and I celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary this year and she has been hugely supportive throughout this entire process, encouraging me to take the time needed to better know myself. As a result, we are closer and surer in our relationship than ever before and it is genuinely exciting to know that we are both always working to be better people and better partners in adventure, as we always have been.

I am not making this public statement out of any desire to showboat or rub my identity in anyone’s face. Rather, I believe that everyone should be honest and sure about who they are, and if making this central part of myself known can make me feel more comfortable in my skin and make any small step towards normalizing the wide variety of gender identities and sexual orientations that exist in the world, why would I keep it private? While I believe my identity has always been at the very least not cis-gendered and I have just been searching for a way to express that feeling, the terms and definitions associated with my identity are new for many people. What I don’t want is for this to be seen as a distancing statement. I don’t want the solidification of my identity to be seen as a rejection of anyone else’s beliefs. So, if you have questions, I would love to talk to you.

I have been so unsure of myself for so long; unsure that I was attractive, unsure that I was living my life the right way, unsure that I was worthy of love or even life. Melodramatic? Certainly, but those feelings were real. I know now that there are words for what I have felt for so long, and I can be proud of myself and who I am. I am non-binary. I am pansexual. I am myself, finally.