Ten

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"My little girl is becoming a woman today," mom sang as she slipped into my room.

My eye began to twitch as my heart sank. Being called a woman was always obnoxious. I had tried on multiple occasions to come out to her about my gender identity, but she never seemed to understand. Each time I told her I never felt like a woman or a man in my body, she claimed that that was how she felt when she was a child and that it would soon pass, and I would soon embrace my womanhood.

There was nothing about womanhood that I wanted to embrace. And no, I didn't mean periods and puberty, because all of that was a natural part of growing up with the female sex. I merely wanted to be nothing more than a person. I didn't want for my gender to identify me, as it does with so many other people. They pride themselves on being men and women, and I could never do that. Embracing the nothingness is what made things better, what made me feel valid as a human being.

Any time I tried to talk to my mom about it, she would tell me not to live my life in a box. My gender identity should not be boxed, and in my pursuit to find who I am, I shouldn't box myself in in my pursuit to not box myself. And I guess it made sense. I don't want to box myself in and build my identity on someone I'm not while I'm attempting to figure it all out.

Yet the moment I finally did, she told I shouldn't box myself in yet because I'm still figuring myself out. But why are cisgender people never told that? Why do transgender people have to be the ones told not to box ourselves in? We finally figured out who we are, and some of us are still figuring it out, but so are cisgender people. Yet they're never the ones told not to put themselves in the box or box themselves up by not trying to be in a box.

Why do we have to be the ones in boxes?

Sometimes I wondered if it would have been easier for my mom if I were transgender in the binary sense. Being a male all the time, wanting to be called Spencer because I was a boy. Wanting to use male pronouns. Wanting to be called a son. Wanting to be addressed as a male individual. Maybe then she would have understood and embraced it.

Instead, I was blessed with the fate of being neither male nor female. I wanted to be called Spencer because it was far more androgynous than my dead name. I wanted to be called my mom's kid or child and be addressed with the gender-neutral pronouns they and them. I wanted to be Spencer, the human being. But some days I wished I could have been Spencer, the boy, only because it was easier.

Yet at the same time, I don't wish to be a boy. I love who I am. I love being myself. My gender does not have to be my identification factor. Being an author who is I am. Writing is what I am good at. My sexuality and gender does not mean shit. All that matters is that I am able to tell a good story and write it out well enough to keep my readers hooked. That's all that matters to me. It's all I want.

Yet I'll always be my mother's daughter, and that's where the compromises come in. I don't let anyone call me a daughter or a woman or girl but her. Until I can move out of the house, I will forever be her daughter. I was what she had, and a part of me has finally accepted that. It may suck so, so much, but I suffer through it because she's my mom. I love my mom. If I'm going to be forced to leave, I'd much rather do it on my own terms. That way I'll look back and know I made the right choice.

"Oh, and why's that?" I questioned, lolling my head back to smirk at her.

"You're going on your first date!" she squealed.

"Your point?"

"You're growing up," she cooed.

I snickered, "About time."

She huffed, blowing her bangs out of her face as she rolled her eyes. "Darling-"

"Look, I understand that I'm annoying you-"

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