Language At Last

A poem for International Non-Binary People’s Day, on the relief of finding words

Hullo my lovely readers

A content note for brief mention of medical interventions for Cerebral Palsy, and for discussion of structural transphobia/transmisia and non-binary erasure, as well as gender identity struggles, including gender dysphoria, and how those intersect with disabled identity (but the latter is in poetic form, so hopefully gently framed).

With thanks for your support and good wishes regarding my proposed Botox injections on Friday, I’m thrilled to share that I did indeed have the procedure, which is gradually taking effect. More on that when I’ve “landed” a little better – and because I can sense I’ll still be in Recovery Mode for much of this week.

However, today (14^th July) is International Non-Binary People’s Day, the date being equidistant between International Women’s Day on 8^th March and International Men’s Day on 19^th November. It’s also the first one I’ve marked since writing this newer version of Wordy and Wheely. So, in the spirit of the “Wordy” aspect of this newsletter, I thought I’d share, paired with a drawing of our Pride flag, a poem I’ve written in my head whilst resting over the past few days (including during uncharacteristic naps, which I usually find impossible).

It’s about coming into the language of being non-binary trans.

(A note before the poem that not everyone who identifies under the non-binary umbrella also identifies as trans. I do, because my sense of my gender [in my case, non-binary and agender, the latter meaning I experience myself as being “without gender” or “gender neutral”] is different from that which I was assigned at birth. Also, social transition is valid. Perhaps one day I’ll find the courage to write about the complexities – both practical and emotional – around medical transition for me, but it feels too raw to do so this week, when a disability-related procedure is still so fresh.

That is part of the point of the poem, though… about how my physicality shaped my process, and processing, around this part of myself. I’m also not out to many of the medical professionals in my life, which is a whole other layer, and one that’s become even more fraught than it already was, since the Supreme Court ruling…).

Language At Last

For so long, despite
revelling in revelations
allowing me to articulate
(to name the nuances)
of other intricacies of 

my identity

I displaced the distance I felt from

my body

onto disablement, instead of dysphoria

I attributed it to 
lack of agency 

and autonomy

and my fraught feelings 
about femininity
had to stem from
the fact that, being wheely,
for others, I wasn’t really 

a woman.

I think my wheels also spared 
me having to say 
I didn’t really want to be one.
Bar a few exceptions, 
the loos I use are as 

liminal 

as I’ve always longed to be.

(A privilege I don’t take lightly;
not least because, legally,
under the “Equality” Act,
enby folks don’t actually exist.)

So I persisted, perplexed
by a palpable pain
I could not 

pinpoint.

But then I got my PhD,
with its “doctor’s” 
delicious neutrality,
and it felt like 
finally
coming home to myself.

So I came out to myself
relieved by a reasonable rejoinder
to being lumped with collective nouns 
like “ladies”. Language at last, 
to decree, through my degree,

‘No, that’s not me.

This is – I’m non-binary.’

[Image description: An image drawn by Jessi on the virtual blank canvas of WeaveSilk.com. In the centre of the frame, on a black background, five horizontal streaks of light represent the non-binary pride flag colours: yellow, white, purple and black. / End image description]

Thanks so much for reading, and love and solidarity until next time,

Jx