A ladybug found itself trapped inside my room last night. Who decided to name the beetle “lady”? I hope it got out.
Perhaps I owe you an explanation for these letters. In future notes, I know I’ll explain more, offering a bit about who I am and what mud I’m leaping across or stomping in. Here’s a quick tidbit though:
I’m genderqueer, nonbinary, genderfluid, agender, or some other identity soup of not buying the gender binary of man and woman. I’m cool with it. Been doing my thing all my life just trying to be true to what feels right. I think I’m doing okay even if sometimes I’m left floating outside of everything as if I’m hungry and my head is light—too empty of gender roles and identities others use to remain grounded. But it’s starting to get to me.
I would like to see a therapist. A gender therapist, ideally. But in an effort to work through my lifelong fear of driving (heck yeah! optimism! can summon optimism! / I debated even telling you because my shame runs deep), I need to meet with someone who specializes in anxiety. I want to mold my driving-based fears into hopes and strengths. Rather than embark upon a likely arduous quest for a trans-affirming therapist who specializes in anxiety, I will focus on driving stuff in therapy.
Regarding gender and sexuality, I will write to you. I don’t need anyone to tell me I am not broken (I’m already down with me, Leslie). I just want to learn how to cope with feeling this alone in my not-woman-or-man-ness. I just want to learn how to better understand and navigate life as a genderqueer person. I know I’m not alone. Committing that knowledge to my heart and learning how to thaw remains on my to do list.
Things to learn:
How to [be] love[d]
How to be content,
Fighting against all that which is inhumane.