Dear family member,
Last Christmas when you were all talking about how you dress to make your boobs look bigger and I said that I didn’t understand that, that I dress to make them look smaller
Remember how you looked me in the eye and joked about me wrapping bandages around my chest? Remember how we both laughed?
You probably don’t. To you it was just a joke.
I wonder what you’d say if you knew that three months after you made that joke I bought a binder
That I love how comfortable it makes me feel in my own skin.
When I told you recently that since I’ve had my hair cut short I feel like myself, that I never liked my long hair anyway
That I now see my face on the screen or in the mirror instead of looking at a stranger
That I no longer cringe at photos of me even if they’re awful
You’re allowed to look surprised or confused, you don’t have to understand
But don’t look at me in disgust
And don’t tell me that not seeing myself in the mirror for the first 20 years of my life is something that I’m making up because “everyone gets that”
Or refuse to listen when I try to explain how this is different, how sometimes I still don’t recognise my reflection but it feels so much more right than it did before.
You watched me change from a little girl to a young woman
Will you watch me change into a boy?
Or will you tell me I’m doing it for attention, when you know that I hate having all eyes on me?
I’m not a boy, by the way
Just something similar
My gender is so much more than just pink or blue
So much more than boy or girl
My gender is turquoise and purple, lime green and obsidian
Is made of colours and concepts you wouldn’t even try to understand no matter how hard I tried to explain them to you.
Your mind is closed, and with it your heart
And that’s why I’m scared to show you mine.