It was not easy coming to grips with how important pronouns were for me. There was a time when they were different to the ones I use today, she/her to they/them, and the impact of that change has been immense in my life.
Changing my pronouns coincided with learning about gender identity at university. Years ago, I identified as a female and as a woman. Today, I proudly identify with the trans community under the label of non-binary.
That journey kicked off at McGill University, Canada, which I attended at the young, optimistic, radical age of 18. I had come out as gay in high school, and cut my hair short before moving to Montreal. My mum had come with me to help me set up for my first year in halls. We walked everywhere together: from the city centre to the riverfront, which had a brilliant ferris wheel looking out over the iconic Saint-Laurent.
On my first day in Montreal, we went to the dormitory. It was a ghost town, not a single student in sight because everyone was away on a beach trip, which I had missed due to travel delays. A friendly warm face peeked around the entrance door, with a beaming smile. She was one of my floor supervisors. Her eyes locked on the suitcases at my side and with a hint of confusion asked, “Are you moving in? You’re a bit late!” After dragging our bags inside, she showed me to my room.
There, I saw a sign with my legal name printed on it. A nervous flair shot through my stomach and my palms started to sweat — I was keenly aware that the name was very feminine, and I had quite masculine apparel.
She looked at the sign and then back at me and exclaimed anxiously, “Oh sorry! They must have got the name wrong…” I interrupted her reassuringly, “No no that’s me! Don’t worry!” Though I was annoyed, slightly embarrassed, and then anxious. My mother chirped in behind me: “Yes yes that’s hers,” which did not help at all.
‘It was not easy coming to grips with how important pronouns were for me’
On our second day in Montreal, we went to eat breakfast in the old town. I was feeling excited about the day ahead. It was a new city, fresh chilly Canadian air, and a buzz of cars and chatter in the streets. We decided to sit down in a lovely little breakfast cafe which was vibrant with energy from every customer reading the early morning news.
At our table, the young waiter serving us peered down at my menu and asked, “What would you like to order sir?”
Although I felt a bit shy that they had asked me before my mother, my thoughts were immediately interrupted by her overly polite voice: “No, no she’s not a sir, but um.. you see…” The waiter started apologising profusely. I turned towards them and reassured them not to worry about it. I then turned to my mother and grudgingly said, “Leave the topic alone, it doesn’t matter to me.”
These encounters happened regularly as people continued to address me as either masculine or feminine, a decision I could not comprehend how they were making. My mother soon left to fly back home, classes started, and I was trying to get to know different people. I started to prefer the library over nightlife as I became too self-conscious over my body, appearance, and how the female pitched tone of my voice threw people off upon encounter — I just couldn’t bring myself to explain over and over again.
On top of that, we as queer people are constantly aware of the fear of homophobia and transphobia, society’s dehumanisation disregard for our identities.
It is hard for anyone to break out of the boxed world in which we live: “You are born male, female, or intersex, you must identify as this gender, present as so and behave as so.”
No wonder subconscious questions arise for us when we’re automatically put in a position to answer questions like, “Who do you like? Who do you want to be seen as, or with? How do you want to present yourself in public? Isn’t that the men’s clothing section?”
For me, at the start of university, encounters with other students who were not educated on the subject at all, just made it very difficult to answer these questions.
At one point, I thought about identifying as a boy to make everyday life easier for myself, of course I did look like one in a way. But something was just not right about doing that. I did not act like a boy, or aspire to be anything close to what a man “ought to be”. Yet, I also felt odd about being perceived as a woman – I had been trying to push femininity away for most of my life.
It is hard for anyone to break out of the boxed world in which we live: “You are born male, female, or intersex, you must identify as this gender, present as so and behave as so.”
The solution came midway through November. The university was holding its annual 1.01 Cisgender workshop in every student residency.
I saw the red notice sign in the entrance hall Cisgender 1.01 and I did not know what to expect. I had heard about some LGBTQ+ terminology before, but I had never really connected with some of the classic gender notions like “transgender”. I’d heard about it all, of course, but no one had ever sat me down and given me a clear explanation of it.
I entered the common room with my friends and sat on the couch. I tried to find the right balance between leaning forward and looking settled, as I was very intrigued by the topic.
The workshop commenced and the facilitators asked everyone in the room to present themselves by name and pronouns. I said she/her.
The facilitators covered many topics, from presenting the importance of pronouns to asking people about whether or not they had ever found it uncomfortable walking into a public bathroom. It was a revelation.
The solution came midway through November. The university was holding its annual 1.01 Cisgender workshop in every student residency.
For a moment, I felt like I had met two people who really understood me, even though I could barely comprehend what I was going through every day.
By the end, I slowly, shyly, made my way around to them and thanked them for the talk. In the entrance hall, I went up to some of my friends and said, “I think I’m genderfluid”.
The rest of that year was full of discovery. I realised that the she/her pronouns that I had been using since birth were holding me back. Not only did they confuse people when they heard the awkwardness in my voice as I introduced myself, they also impeded the comfort I could feel in my own body.
I decided to start practicing using they/them pronouns. It was clumsy, messy, and a whole new experience of learning I had embarked on. But they felt great. When people got them wrong, it did not bother me too much because I knew I was confident in them. I had to stay confident in them. They helped me understand that I did not need everyone to make me feel whole and valued, I could do that myself with the support of friends.
I realised that the she/her pronouns that I had been using since birth were holding me back.
A couple of months later, I changed my name. Not legally – that was a hassle – but just to try it out since the femininity of my former name made me uncomfortable. A few people picked it up straight away, and I felt increasingly more confident. Both the name and the pronouns helped me feel more at home in my identity. It brought peace of mind when I understood that I did not have to be categorically female or male.
I enjoyed my new identity – a middle ground while I was still figuring out who I was at the age of 20. I was genuinely smiling a lot more. My relationship with my mother improved a lot too, I could finally talk about things with her.
It is not always easy and straightforward. It never was and never will be. People still misgender me; it is a painful, uncomfortable experience. Anxiety builds up in your body, your back stiffens, the hairs on the back of your neck tingle, and your palms cannot stop sweating. For many, saying “he, she, they” can take approximately three seconds of their time. For the person receiving a misgendered address, those words can linger in their mind from half an hour to a whole day. It is a very complex feeling to navigate which only resilience helps.
We all have our own revelations with which we grow to become someone we really like. Others have a few more experiences to tie together. Yet how much better would we all feel if we made space to listen, understand, and value each other?
Learning is, truly, the only way we really help better our world, a space to which everyone belongs.
