chronicle

Perusing reddit today, I noticed someone posted about wanting to start a men’s group and asking for fun ideas. Many of the comments were followed by an enthusiastic “yes!” or other signifiers of feeling seen. Nothing in the post spoke to my identity or special interests.

I don’t point this out to knock anyone’s interests. On the contrary, seeing people feeling inspired to get together and create community is one of my special interests, so I shared in the joy, even though I recognized that this particular group would not be a group where I would feel seen.

And I recognize that even though I present as a man, if I were to advertise and start a men’s group, both the people who showed up and myself would likely end up feeling awkward. I would likely have to do a lot of masking to appear as if I was feeling in my element, which pretty much defeats the purpose of a support group based on gender presentation.

On a whim, I did a search for [women’s group] in the same subreddit. There were several different threads, and, unsurprisingly to me, the activities and issues being described felt much more akin to my nature. I didn’t get that feeling of “yes!,” though, or if I started to it was tempered by the understanding that regardless of how I feel on the inside, or the activities I enjoy, or the topics I like to talk about, I likely would not be regarded as a part of the community were I to attend unannounced. I get it, but again, I’m left feeling unseen.

In my life, one of the most-asked questions I’ve received about my identity is “are you gay?” Remember, gender and sexual preference are not the same. I think what people might be picking up on is that while I present as a man, I don’t feel that I inhabit a male identity that resembles the men I see around me. Does that make me a trans person. I don’t know, honestly.

Because gender is a social construct, the rules of gender presentation are created (mostly without awareness) by the community. For example, there might be a group for trans adults who would hear my description of myself and feel that I am like them – we see one another and feel seen – we are relationally similar. Another group of trans people might have a different sense of what it means to be trans – they might recognize me more were I to feel a strong need to present on the outside in ways that align with my feminine insides. They might tell me, “you’re not trans: you’re bigender.” I might take their word for it.

Because gender is a social construct, my autistic mind generally either doesn’t see the structure that people around me see (because I just see information, and coherence comes later), or, seeing it, immediately tries to deconstruct it and question it’s validity. When people ask me things like “are you gay?,” I take it kind of like people asking “how are you?” From years of trial-and-error, I’ve recognized that in most cases, people don’t really want to know the answer. They want to feel safe. They want to get just enough information so that they know how to be and not offend anyone. They want to be able to place me, within the list of categories they have devised for people to fit into.

More and more, I’m comfortable being unplaced. I recognize that it’s a valid and valuable state of being. (Maybe that makes me nonbinary. You’d have to decide: I’ll totally come to your nonbinary social group, if you recognize me as such and invite me). I suspect that if more people were comfortable being unplaced, being who they are, then there would not be as much controversy around what to me is a thoroughly uncontroversial reality. Some people take their social constructs very seriously, and conformity is a life-or-death affair. When I notice someone like this, from my unplaced state (these are often the people who ask if I’m gay, as if they would be totally unphased if I walked up to them and asked them if they are straight), I find myself relying on my white, male, large-bearded-man privilege (regardless of feeling like a terrified little girl inside), and, when the question comes, I often will ask them, “what makes you ask?,” or, “what does gay mean?” This is a much more efficient way of shutting down an awkward conversation than just not engaging. Were I smaller, and more feminine, and non-white, I might not feel as safe to be that direct.

And that’s been the case for most of my life: my big giant man disguise helps keep the frail, frightened girl inside safe, protected from the harsh realities that girls face in our society. It’s kind of a remarkable arrangement, actually. Sometimes I do feel like it would be amazing to have a body manifest that appears the way my insides feel. And on the flip side, I think it would be amazing to feel what it was like on the inside for a person who thinks it’s the greatest thing in the world to show the fish they just caught on their dating profile – my body is well-suited for that mindset.

But mostly, I just think it’s a good idea to let people be who they see themselves to be – on the inside, on the outside, relationally, emotionally, all the ways. And to allow ourselves to be a little unplaced, ourselves.

Who am I? That’s up to us. Let’s try to make it a pleasant arrangement.