LGBTQIA+
Erased in Plain Sight — Navigating the Norm
A nonbinary encounter with gender reveal celebrations
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“Girls, the gender reveal party was such a success.” Therese claps her hands with glee. “What is it?” Five other women, more or less in unison. “Oh, it’s a girl. Ashley.” “My son’s just had a boy. He’s three months.” “The first six months are the worst. Does your son help? Is your daughter-in-law getting any sleep?” “Hahaha!” Laughter from everyone. “Oh, guess what? Two nieces in our family are pregnant. Same due date. They’re combining gender reveal parties!” “We had our grandson over last weekend. He’s such a joy. So sweet, no terrible-twos yet.”
I can’t wait to get off this Zoom. As soon as the host mentions that it’s time to wrap up, I wave goodbye and exit. Steven’s stopping at my desk just then. “What’s wrong? You look pale.”
I feel weak like I’ve just lost a bunch of blood. My arms hold my midriff. “It was horrible. They’re all nice, but I felt like I don’t exist. They know I’m nonbinary but all they talked about was girls and boys.” The nausea in my stomach kicks up a notch. “Why am I feeling physically ill, like I’m gonna puke? Nobody hurt my feelings. Nobody harmed me.”
Steven pulls up a chair. “Yes, but you had no representation. That’s harmful. When everyone else in a space is cisnormative it has a way of erasing the person who’s not.”
I’m not sure that I want an intellectual explanation just now. But it’s true, the longer it went on, the more excluded I felt.
Steven reaches for my hand. “If you’d sat there for an hour without anyone speaking to you, wouldn’t you feel terrible?”
That makes sense. I’m doubled over now. Starting to rock. My breath is coming weirdly fast and shallow. I don’t get it? Why am I so frigging upset? These writers are well-meaning, harmless. “I don’t know why I feel so horrible. I feel like I’m dying.”
Steven rolls his chair in front of mine. Leans over and puts his arms around my shoulders. Rocks with me. “It’s OK how you feel. Your heart is always so open. You weren’t protective of yourself. You didn’t have your guard up.”
Yeah. That feels right. I’m always so naive, thinking people will be great and make an effort to be inclusive.
Steven hugs me tighter, then offers, “Don’t go back to that group.”
“Are you sure? They didn’t really do anything wrong.”
“Then maybe you should help them understand about being nonbinary so they can be mindful of you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, shake my head. This feels wrong. “I hate policing people. They were just fine before I came along. I hate being that minority who stirs up trouble. Embarrasses people and upsets the apple cart with demands.”
“Then don’t join them anymore.”
“But I also hate excluding so many people from my life, like anybody who’s not trans, queer, or an ally…I feel so sick. Maybe you’re right. I should not go back.” Steven squeezes me again.
I look up, suck in a deep breath. “I’m not going to let this derail my day.”
Steven searches my eyes, nods. “It’s OK if you want to talk more about it later.”
In the afternoon, sitting in my home office, I wonder if I could just let this go and move on. Or should I reach out?
I’m dogged by the thought, If you never do anything, nothing ever changes.
I decide to email the host, describing my experience. When I hear back the very next day, she’s so nice. Apologetic. Explains that none of them has had much experience with this “sort of thing,” meaning by that nonbinary people. She even agrees to give me a refund for the coaching session I pre-paid. If I want it.
I really don’t know what to do. I feel kind of out of two minds. I don’t want to run away. But what’s going to happen if I try to educate these southern writers? What’s my best-case scenario? Worst-case?
I do some research on how to handle cisnormative spaces. Get some ideas. But the suggestions are mostly for working with family or the workplace.
I’m still thinking.
Dear Friend, I hope this story is a snapshot that builds a bridge of understanding of what nonbinary people can go through. Thanks so much for taking the time to read. It’s you who make my Medium journey special.
Henry India was born in W. Germany and lives in Seattle, Washington with their soulmate, hummingbirds, squirrels, rabbits, chickadees, sparrows, robins, jays, plum, cherry, and apple trees, a very old pear tree, and magnificent laurels. Also, ants, snails, a few rats, and a raccoon family. They are a nonbinary writer and soul coach.