Tag: gender

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So for funsies, I’m making a pronouns.page account and when I’m not looking up the unfamiliar terms, I’m wrapped up in the nuances of

  • agender
  • neutrois
  • nonbinary
  • gendervoid
  • genderqueer

And. So. On.

I love noodling over stuff like this. This is why I appreciate and enjoy microlabels. For the people that need them, they can convey exactly what they mean. And for ruminating introspective overthinkers such as myself, it is like a really good snack that I can’t put down.

I started out genderqueer… then neutrois… non-binary… now I’m feeling agender nowadays. Maybe gendervoid. Definitely staticgender–

Derek from The Good Place saying "there is television static where my gender should be."
I love making these.

–and oh my glob do not get me started on xenogenders we could be here all day! and neopronouns—

Ahem.

Some are happy with their Factory Settings, but I was always one of those folx who’ll mess with the settings menu and layout and colors until I get it just right. And change them again whenever.

It’s so cool how we can just customize our experience like this. If we want to.

All this creativity. We did that. We do that.

Fascinating.

…

…Maybe I’m genderfluid on a technicality.

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If it’s one thing I’ll always love about dressing up, it’s all the accessorizing. Combinations are limitless, and your flair can be as small or large as you want it. I have a full shelf dedicated to various jewelry sets (most of it loud costume-y pieces), buttons, and pins– not to mention all the bags and purses threatening to fall on my head every time I open the closet door, and my growing collection of headbands.

My bling (we used to say that– do we still say that?) veers toward nerdy (a Kingdom Hearts necklace), pretty, quirky (chainsaw earrings), retro, and classy-because-I-had-to-be. The pins and buttons were reserved for that extra oompth and/or random silly thing. What was missing were all the pronoun buttons I amassed over the years…

I was taking a Staycation and spent a few days checking out the local queer film fest. I was having a blast, shooting the shit with new people as we got a card game started.

Then I heard it: the wrong one.

"Yo," I interject, "I use they/them." I tried to add a little humor as I pointed to my pronoun button: "It’s right here next to my cleavage. I know you’ve seen it!" The game started, and we played a few rounds until seating for that night’s film became available. The night went on, and I went home.

I was there for the last day of the film festival, too. I’m by myself this time to catch a special viewing and discussion. I was proud of myself– I mingled, was only a little awkward, and carried out a few conversations without stuttering. "I use they/them pronouns," I heard myself say, after my name, and I reminded here and there. The button by itself proved to be too subtle.

Then came the discussion portion of the morning. The producer, who I struck the strongest conversations with, went up to the podium. And pointed me out due to how excited I was about learning more BIPOC queer history. To thank me for supporting her. They used

she.

I smiled, awkwardly, trying to match our earlier enthusiasm.

The they/them button on my shirt felt so heavy. My heart behind it was breaking.

I don’t recall much of what happened after that; all a blur or blotted out over time. But I remember going home and ripping the button off and crying.

I try to be understanding when– not if– this happened in other ‘mainstream’ spaces. But there, I was surrounded by queer people. This was the crowd that was supposed to get it. But, no matter where I was, I always worked under the assumption that a button could be easily missed.

So I still declared.

And I corrected.

And that still never seemed to be enough.

I didn’t see the point in wearing pronoun buttons if everyone was just going to ignore them.

So I put them all away.

The years without them… haven’t changed much.

I get what my partners call "apology tours" when I correct someone. (Protip: just utter a quick ‘sorry’ if you must, then move on.)

I have officially Heard Them All– the excuses. And to those I can only hiss: "Don’t care. Do better."

I don’t bother correcting close-enough acquaintances. If they didn’t get it by now, they’re not going to. And they won’t be invited into my house.

Some queer spaces have been getting better, incorporating pronouns along with names in introduction circles. The trans-inclusive (or even better: exclusively trans) spaces are a breath of fresh air.

After a few years of them being shoved into a tiny drawer, I unearthed my pronoun buttons (and one pin). A lot of them were from Pride events or meetups, and my favorite pin– a little one, gold-on-white– was a birthday gift. Each one I held in my hand, remembering.

I put one on for the LGBTQ picnic last month.

It felt nice.

I may wear it some more.

A variety of they/them pronoun pins.

 

I have my oasis. My partners and allies are always willing to go to bat for me. More people have been trying and I’m sure to thank them. But beyond that?

The buttons don’t work.

The just telling you doesn’t work.

Throwing out my CashApp and keeping tabs on each mistake isn’t working either, but at least I can buy a six pack now and then.

Positive reinforcement only works if the other party actually cares, and a lot of people still don’t. What started as a joke is going to be a serious undertaking as I begin bringing a spray bottle to the function, because I might as well have fun and use the excuse to be obnoxious.

Because if I don’t laugh about it, I’ll begin crying in frustration. And, really, I’m tired of crying.

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Bloganuary Prompt: What do you complain about the most?

The one thing I bitch about the most? Heteronormality.

Nah, scratch that; it’s how binary everything freakin’ is.

No, wait! How I’m expected to be androgynous because I’m non-binary.

No, wait, it’s how the [insert community here] has a racism problem it refuses to acknowledge.

Okay, let’s go with that one. It hurts my heart when I’m hit with racist microaggressions when I exist in queer-forward spaces, on top of the general history of Whiteness marginalizing anyone that isn’t white.

Wait, no, let’s take it a step further with [community] has a [bigot] problem it refuses to acknowledge, if not actively encourage. And it really hurts when it feels like these peers should get it, you know?

Because why the fuck is biphobia still a fucking problem in the overall queer community? I’ve friends who are currently shouted down and erased because they’re never seen as queer enough.

And all of my Black peers stay away from the Hoteps of the diaspora because they insist on hetero normativity, and toxic masculinity.

You know what? It’s bigoty. That’s what I complain about the most.

That’s it, that’s the post, because I’m tired of repeating myself ad nauseum. We’ll be here all day with the long list of examples I can illustrate.

A bitch is tired. I’ll probably expand on this at a later date, complete with personal anecdotes. But for now, just allow me to get to the point:

Solidarity ain’t shit when you’re still a fucking bigot.

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As of typing this entry out Roe v. Wade had been overturned. Many states have tightened their laws around reproductive health and anti-trans rhetoric has been going through the USA like wildfire. I would like to put a call to action here to SUPPORT YOUR NATIONAL AND LOCAL ORGANIZATIONS and if you’re able, GET INVOLVED.


Content Warning: there will be talk about body stuff, but especially about bodies that deal with menstruation. Mine, of course. More of the entry and, uh, details, is after the cut.


Continue reading →

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Another revisited post. If you know where I’m from you better shuuuush! But seriously.

Disclaimer

This is about my experience as a non-binary person and is not meant to be the end-all-be-all for the non-binary experience. There is no one-size-fits-all narrative since they are so personal. Your mortality rate will also skyrocket if you attempt any of the following: Cissexism, refusal to respect my pronouns, and imply that I am some sort of tumblrina or special snowflake. And I’ll gladly arrange for your funeral if you outright state it. Since people are killed for being trans and living their truth, it’s only fair to put you in the ground if you try that shit. 🙂


respect my trans homies or i will identify as a fucking problem

Probably AdrianLeewayne via Twitter, but it is all over the Internet and I was unable to find a definitive source


Now, with that out of the way…


Calling Card

Agender Pride

Under the non-binary umbrella, I’ve been feeling agender these days. Agender demifemme, to be precise. I’m not on the gender binary whatsoever, nor am I a mix of both binary genders. I do feel a connection to femme, however, with butchy undertones. I feel like I’ve come a long way from my first label of "genderqueer" and still use that sometimes.

It is a possibility that I am genderfluid. This is pending further investigation. 🙂


I also consider myself transgender. I’m the black (or white) stripe in the middle of the transgender flag!

Trans Pride flag, but with a black stripe in the middle

 

Pronoun Trouble




If the good sir Shakespeare thought well
enough to use a singular they,
hoping as he did, that his words would
carry to this modern day,
then how sayest you that ‘they’ upon thine ears land shrill?
If’t be good enough for him, then good enough f’r thou t’will.

Aby_Darling


Default

“They/Them” is acceptable. This is true. Even your precious Dictionary dot com says so! Language evolves, yo. Accept this or get out of my face.

Neopronouns, for Fun

    • ey/em, which I think of as they/them with less letters. I’m a lazy thing.

    • “Yo.” Yeah, seriously. It’s pretty dope. I tend to default to this when speaking, in place of “man” or “dude.”

    • Fun Fact: My VTuber persona uses px/px… like in pixel. I’m a nerdy thing.

Honorifics

    • “Per.,” (as in, “Person”), and it sounds like purr. Cute!

    • “Mx.” also works in a pinch.

    • “Captain” has also been used here and there. I enjoy the ring of it.


Expression


There is little precedent for fat androgyny. Generally our androgynous icons are svelte and lacking in secondary sex characteristics. David Bowie, Tilda Swinton, Katherine Hepburn; these small-bodied, predominately white figures of androgyny have created an aesthetic with little room for deviation. This means that for those of us with bodies that do not conform to traditional standards of androgyny, we are often misread and misunderstood, even in queer spaces.

Allie Shyer


The scale from High Femme to Stone Butch, represented by fish Pokemon.
I tend to be in the middle.

 

Clothes have no inherent gender to me. If I like how it looks, I’ll wear it and break a few fashion laws in the process. My ideal is "neither," but I’ll settle for Confusing the Cishets. At any rate, I don’t have to bind my breasts and dress masculine and baggy in order to be neutral; deal with it. I also ain’t gotta be skinny af. Judasmyheart said, "FEMME AS FUCK IS MY ANDROGYNOUS," and I felt that.


Yet Another Binary


I take note when y’all just trade one binary for another. Instead of "man or woman" it’s "masculine or feminine" or "butch or femme." I’m stubborn and refuse to fully subscribe to those, as well; understand that "nah" or "whatever" is a valid expression. My personality isn’t inherently masculine or feminine and my traits are just… traits. While the butch/femme dichotomy doesn’t piss me off as much due to its queer roots…. tread lightly anyway.


Language


"Person" does just fine if you’ve just met me– when in doubt, stay neutral. However, my reaction to most of them is context-dependent. "Girl"/"girl friend" has specific Black culture/AAVE context, and I grew up in the South so most just roll off my back– a lot of it is terms of endearment, after all. I’m also amused at the occasional "sir– I mean– ma’am."


Connections


While pansexual is one of my oldest labels, bisexual fits me as well! It isn’t inherently transphobic and the current working definition is a bit more evolved from what people assume: attracted to more than one gender. In short: for the pedantic "Bi means Two!" crowd, I’m glib and say that I’m attracted to people with and without genders– that’s two things, isn’t it?


We should also consider adding "diamoric" to our dictionaries. Because if you’re into me, you ain’t straight. 😉


Diamoric is an intentionally flexible, loose term that describes a personal identity or a relationship (sexual, romantic, platonic etc.) that is neither “straight” nor “gay” due to the presence of one or more non-binary people.


Dysphoria and Misgendering


Body dysphoria does happen, but not nearly as often as the social dysphoria. It can either piss me off to death, or reduce me to an anxious wreck. You can say "Other" and "neutral" options are a requirement for me. Do you know what else is a requirement? Respecting my fucking pronouns!


I exist. I am here. Acknowledge this with your words and actions.


Other Thoughts


I hate it when the shit I do is gendered/coded male/masculine. I should not have to be "like a dude" to receive praise, especially if it’s a positive trait in men, but not in women.


“When I am assertive, I’m a bitch. When a man is assertive, he’s a boss. He bossed up. No negative connotation behind ‘bossed up.’ But lots of negative connotation behind being a bitch.”

Nicki Minaj


Patriarchy and toxic/fragile masculinity ruins every damn thing it touches. Masculinity needs to be deconstructed, reclaimed, and put back together. And not at the expense of femininity.


I decided that my masculinity would not be seeped in irrational entitlement; it would not be rooted in asserting power or control over women or femme folks. I wanted to create a kind of manhood that creates a safe space for women and femme identified people, so that everyone can be autonomous, carefree in their bodies, desire, and identity. This masculinity doesn’t assume any rank over anyone because they aren’t men or masculine.

Tiq Milan, “Forging A New Masculinity”


Black femininity is amazing. Black femme is amazing. I’ve been trying to put to words how growing up as a black woman has and still influences me, but currently failing. It certainly isn’t something I wish to put in a box and away because I’m enby. This is also the reasoning behind my demifemme label.


I was also keenly aware that my recent ancestors were never granted the right to be seen as feminine, so avoiding femininity made me feel guilty. I felt like I was throwing away something precious.

My Genderqueer Quest For The Perfect Detachable Penis




My femme identity is a purposeful reclamation of femininity from the white supremacist classist heteronormative cis-patriarchy …it an act of resistance. Femme is a chosen, rather than assigned femininity. Femme is taking all the toxic representations of femininity that have scarred us our whole lifetimes, cutting out the rotting parts of shame, and finding a way to celebrate what we liked in the first place. …Femme is fat-positive, poor and working-class-positive, brown-positive, sex-positive, queer-positive femininity.

Shanay Venicia, “Rethinking ideas around femininity: A queer femme of color’s perspective”


Links and Homework


Because I have no idea how to wrap this up.









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Two weeks ago, I had to leave an online space.


It was an oasis-in-a-desert type of online space. If you’re in a marginalized group, you know exactly the space I am talking about: the kind where it’s a safe haven, a group to contrast the harshness of the rest of the platform. No microaggressions (hopefully), calling in (as opposed to calling out) where it’s warranted (and the concerns actually heard), but most importantly: you get to be yourself.


In this instance, I was able to be Black without worrying about the white gaze; I could be unfiltered without creative code words to talk about my experiences.


Then the cishets ruined my chill. As usual.



As tempted as I am to relay in excruciating detail, I’ll hold my tongue on the specifics. Because honestly, I’ve done this song and dance too many times to not collapse it into one narrative. But one thing stood out to me about all this, is that this space tried.


They specifically noted in their guidelines that anti-queer sentiment was not tolerated. And yet, a post by a trans woman turned ugly real fast when a cisgender heterosexual man commented the usual transphobic notion that trans women might try to trick him into sleeping with them.


And the only people calling him out (and in my case, cussing him out) were other transgender people. The mods stepped in late into the game after the heavy lifting was already done. And after we used the dedicated venting space to, well, vent about this incident, the mods suggested we become mods ourselves.


Months later and that suggestion still bothers me. Because, holy shit, instead of taking out the fucking trash you gotta make your minority in a minority do your dirty work? You couldn’t do your own due diligence, as a mod and self-proclaimed ally, to clean up the mess your peers have made?



Listen.


I’m all for education. I’m all for people getting called out or in. I’m all for spaces that allow growth from being told bluntly or sweetly that you’re wrong, and this is why, and you should stop doing that.


But it’d be nice to let the rest of us know about it, first.


Because if I knew my membership dues were tolerating willful ignorance and sealioning under the guise of Educating Them, I would not have bothered joining.


Because if I knew this space was just going to be a sea of unchecked bigotry that I would have to wade through constantly because the moderators don’t care about the safety and well-being of all of their members, I would have scrolled past.


Because (and this has to be in threes), if you’re so committed to not throwing anyone out of the group, even if they have repeatedly spouted harmful rhetoric, even if they have repeatedly made the space unsafe for some members, then I would have told you to fuck off.



I am a fierce defender of the spaces I call mine.


While I do agree with spaces that are a little forgiving for people that don’t know better (or simply didn’t know), my tolerance tends to be lower than most for two reasons. Both have me occasionally clash with how some spaces are ran:


  • I’ve dealt with too much damn trolling to tolerate that bullshit I’m more aware of common bad faith arguments and derailment techniques… and therefore have no patience for them, and
  • I’m a subscriber to Good is Not Nice. My interpretation is this: I won’t sugar coat my language, and I will certainly cuss your ass out if I get mad enough.


And for my spaces, I run them differently: there is room to grow but the safety of my members is paramount. And if a member is constantly making others unsafe or otherwise jeopardizes their well-being, well. They’ll just have to learn elsewhere.


It crystalizes into my first rule: No one’s safety is worth anyone else’s lessons.


And if a space appears to not adhere to this, I just leave. I fight too many battles as it is. Some, alone, and I don’t want to add another where the tide may be against me.



The last comment I replied to was somesuch bullshit about trans women. At this point he was a broken record of willful ignorance. I’ve lost track of my comments, and how many people have tried talking to him. And there were more like him that wouldn’t be thrown off the island, so to speak.


So I said, simply, “shut up.”


And I left the group.

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Throwback Thursday: Fri, 03 Oct 2014 15:00:55 on the VerboseTerse instance, yadda yadda yadda. Notable that this was for the write31days challenge for that year; I decided to write about my non-binary gender experience. This is from the third day, about my doubts before coming out.


So far, this is the hardest entry I have to write.


I am going to be 30 years old relatively soon. And only two years ago I’ve come to terms with not being a binary gender. Late to the party– better late than never– but I still feel some type of way about it.


Fuck High School


My initial, knee-jerk response to “What the hell took you so long?!” is to cite the lack of information and representation I was able to get my hands on. I keep saying that… but I have a print out of this page still and it is largely unchanged. So I can only use that excuse for so long.


5% was bigoted asshattery.


My high school was a tiny dangerously-close-to-fern thing in the middle of central Not Progressive Ha Ha. We ran out the only decent Spanish teacher because he was a city slicker. Out of the grand total of two gay young men we managed to run off one of them within a month. And of course, kids being kids with slurs in their mouth.


You do the math.


85% was just pure denial.


Some of it can be attributed to my poor grasp of gender, even with the info laid out to me. The gist was I was still working off the binary system with the faintest understanding of transgender (and that’s being kind). Furthermore, I was still under the illusion that bi/pansexuality was merely a phase and I was going to grow out of it eventually. Nevermind that to this day I associate a Sugarcult song with my First Serious Crush on A Girl. And my favorite movie wa, and still is, But I’m A Cheerleader.


clea duvall holding a train of paper girls
FORESHADOWING THAT WAS 1/2 OR 2/3’D RIGHT


10% was fear.


Like any teen, I wanted to fit in. Just a smidge. Just enough. I also didn’t want (what I felt was at the time) the eventual heartbreak and isolation if I pursued these thoughts. So I forced contentment of something I was much more familiar with- unrequited love and alienation on my terms (and the first term was “that weird kid that walked in the rain and kicked trees”- conveniently not too alienating, just weird as fuck).


This fear was also borne of not letting down my parents. They were cool with me through my Wiccan phase and was alright with me taking my best friend to the prom, but the possibility that I was probably trans squicked my father, at least.


Moral of this story is being a teen sucked and trust no one that says otherwise.



No Longer a Teenage Dirtbag


But enough about that. Fast forward to a) finally dealing with my pansexuality and came out in college b) just ended a relationship that was another failed statistic in the mono/poly configuration, 1.5 years post college (I was the poly). So, in one of my brooding moments, I got to sitting around thinking about my gender.


Like, really think about it. In a space where I wouldn’t get shit for not shaving my sideburns and not be called somethin’ gendered every 10 minutes, even in jest. And in a place where I’m certainly more knowledgeable about Stuff. And Things. And learnin’ all the time.


I had so many doubts. Two of my entries from a particular meltdown were titled “I may not be trans enough.” And I was just a worrywart.


  • Was this just borne of frustration of being feminine-read/patriarchy?

  • Do I need hormones? / Am I still validated without needing surgery?

  • Was this because of my parents?

  • Am I trans? If I am cis, do I still get to be genderqueer?

  • Can I be genderqueer? Am I trendergrender or something?

  • Am I ready?

  • Am I sure?


The majority of these questions was when there were so many different variations of the definition of cis floating around. Not to mention the truscum gatekeepers got me fucked up- I assure you, I’ll talk about them later.


And I was finally, finally shedding the last of the fear and truly Stopped Giving Much Less of a Fuck.


So.


Yea.


I’m pretty fucking sure.


After a solid year of second guessing, and a life of little cascaded moments.

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While I was VerboseTerse, I participated in write31days one year and got incredibly introspective and detailed about my gender. Or lack of. I revisit my thoughts once in awhile, especially on those long nights when I just can’t get to sleep.

One of the webcomics I routinely follow is Dumbing of Age, and lately, Malaya had me thinking about my journey. When she’s not being a base breaker a jerkass witty person wearing bitchin’ outfits, watching her navigate college with ever-growing questions about her own gender has been… eerily familiar.

Malaya discussing how she's "probably" a woman due to how her body is.
This was my rationale for years.

I also want to note that as of this writing, Malaya’s story arc hasn’t come to its conclusion. Only Willis knows how this’ll play out, but for the audience we’re wondering, too. Is she cisgender? Transgender, after all; maybe non-binary? Does she come off as a jerkass calling out "fake" people to hide her insecurities about not knowing where exactly she falls on the gender spectrum? Where the hell did she get that top?

"The Box Marked F must be for me, because it’s my size, isn’t it? Aren’t I supposed to fit? Who am I to argue?" I’ve wondered that a lot, myself.

And the strip that ran on Oct. 16th had me thinking: did I always know?

Malaya asking, "Did you always know you're a girl?"

A common (or maybe, popularized?) trans narrative is "I’ve Always Known." Someone knew, since they were little, that they were transgender. There were always signs and little to no questioning and angst.

I’ve had doubts, sure. And doubts about my doubts. So my "I’ve Always Known" story isn’t clearly defined, like a chicken-or-the-egg scenario.

There was a ton of unpacking and thinking and backsides because if I was transgender, I would have had a clear sign by now, right? Right?

But at the same time, I had little epiphanies of my own. They just didn’t click until later. I looked back and was not surprised.

And there are so many ways to be your gender identity. Despite what society tells you, there’s no wrong way to be a man, woman, both, neither, or something your carved out for yourself!

I fought social conditioning and compulsory gender roles to settle fully outside The Box Marked F.

And yes, trust me, I’m sure. The particular "flavor" of my transness may change (I’ve gone from genderqueer to neutrois and now I use agender and non-binary interchangeably)… But I will always be outside the box.

That’s the short of it.

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The thread began with the usual curiosity from a monogamous person: “can you truly find happiness with multiple people?” But it was a passing comment on a forum jarred me out of my browsing:


“Polyamory is such a fad.” Even without voice, I could feel the tone and implications I’m all too familiar with, now.


I know some people just aren’t geared for non-monogamy, and that is okay. But still, I could not let that go unchallenged. For in my experience, a “fad” is a snide comment for anything that gains popularity due to more people exploring and becoming aware of new possibilities.


My sexuality was “just a fad.”


My gender identity is “just a fad.”


And the newest fad, evidently, is polyamory. They say some things come in threes.


And their comments continued, to paraphrase: It’s nothing to take seriously, because it’s so easy. You’re just playing until you find that one person to be your everything. Until then, you can just go to the next person like they’re nothing. You’re not really happy. You can’t be.


And I definitely did not let that slide.


This is hard fucking work.


You have to constantly check in with yourself as you deprogram from monogamous habits and deal with blindspots, insecurities, and time management. You have to confront your bullshit. You have to unpack the how’s and why’s of what you’re feeling. That is hard enough on its own, but you also have to field the outside static of potential abuse. Discomfort may be growth, but to borrow from Eve Rickert: never ignore your pain.


That is, if you want to go about it as healthy and ethically as possible.


And none of this happens overnight. Especially if you had no role models to follow and had to make the same mistakes others have before you. Then make a few of your own as you adapt to your particular life.


I had to be horribly honest with myself. Even scarier, I had to be honest with others.


So, yeah, I’m a little touchy when someone disregards the hard work upon myself as a mere “fad.”


If anyone tells you that any form of non-monogamy is “a cakewalk,” they’re either in denial or trying to sell you something or they’re looking for a third.


Sure, I could pour myself into one single person but that wouldn’t be fulfilling to me and ultimately unfair for them to be My Everything for Possibly Forever. And that’s valid.


You may feel differently and that’s valid too.


But neither one of us is a “fad.”

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Throwback Thursday: Originally posted to the VerboseTerse instance at Mon, 29 Oct 2018 03:45:51. This may also look familiar if you follow me on a certain social media site with a black background.


“Singular they,” I say. “Those are my pronouns.”[1]


Very recently I’ve come against some resistance with my pronouns… but not quite in the way you’d think. There was no malice, and confusion took its place.


For context, I’m American. And on top of that, I’m mono-lingual and the only language I’m fluent in is English. It took the other party voluntarily disclosing that English was their second language for me to have a “light bulb moment.”


And when I was confronted, again, with “but they is plural!” at a local gaming event soon after, I was able to recognize that same confusion.


“Hang on. Is English your native language?”


It was not.


Instead of refuting the many tired arguments as to why someone wouldn’t want to use Singular They[2], I was forced to consider a different tactic.



One major take-away from these interactions was more of a reminder of how classrooms can be horribly rigid in what they teach. Especially when it comes to English. When I was in the school system it never seemed to allow for nuances of different dialects and cultures, linguistic drift, and (yeah imma go here right quick) creativity. It appears that that hasn’t changed.


So ESL students go in the classroom, and come out with these preconceived notions of how English should work, only for the language itself to generally throw curveballs at you anyway.


Trust me. If it wasn’t going to be my Singular They/Them pronouns, it would have been something else. The Habitual Be. The Appalachian drawl. The ongoing war of Soda Vs. Pop. And English just being a fucking weird language on its own.


And no language is static unless it is dead.


My advice? Practice. Keep an ear out for cues. Immerse yourself in different, real environments. Do some readin’, here for example. Ask respectful questions.


Don’t beat yourself up when (yes, when) you screw up. We all do, even us native speakers, because there’s also the deprogramming of binary gender constructs to consider.[3]


Practice. It gets easier in time, honest.


And uh, sorry you had to learn this the hard way.



[1] I also use a set of neo-pronouns (zie/hir), but they are not the focus of this piece.


[2] “It’s not grammatically correct!” is a fairly common one, as well as the claim that “no one ever uses it.” But, you know, sometimes someone just uses that as an excuse to be an unaccommodating buttmunch.


[3] And this’ll be a whole can of worms for another time.