June is Pride Month, which seems as good a time as any to admit something:
I recently changed my pronouns to they/them.
Not with a dramatic social media announcement. Not with a carefully crafted coming-out post. Not with a rainbow-themed press conference.
I just… changed them.
Facebook. Instagram. Slack at work. Anywhere there was a setting for pronouns, I quietly updated it and moved on with my day.
A few people will notice. Most won’t. That’s fine.
The funny thing is that this isn’t some sudden revelation. It’s more like finally finding a word that fits something I’ve been carrying around for a very long time.
To be clear, I was born female. I don’t dispute that. I’m not trying to become a man, and I have no desire to look masculine. In fact, I generally don’t enjoy looking masculine at all. I can feel feminine when I want to. I like makeup. I like dresses. I like sparkly barrettes stuck into what is currently an overgrown, somewhat feral pink-and-purple pixie cut.
But underneath all of that, what I mostly feel is… neither.
Or maybe both.
Or maybe just me.
I’ve spent most of my life adapting to whatever situation was in front of me. I’ve never felt particularly locked into one role or another. In relationships, I’ve never been comfortable with the idea that one person is supposed to be this thing and the other person is supposed to be that thing. I’ve always existed somewhere in the middle, shifting as needed.
Whatever the situation calls for.
Maybe that’s why they/them feels right.
Looking back, my relationship history probably played a role in shaping how I see myself.
I’ve loved both men and women over the years. Today I’m deeply in love with a man, and I’ve been with him for seven years. Before him, I was married for seventeen years. Before that, I survived a relationship that was emotionally abusive and occasionally physically abusive. The kind of relationship that leaves marks long after the bruises are gone.
When you’ve spent years being told who you are, who you’re allowed to be, what you’re worth, and what role you’re supposed to play, it can take a very long time to separate yourself from those expectations.
Sometimes a lifetime.
After my marriage ended, I found myself rebuilding from the ground up. My ex-husband—the father of my children—made choices that ultimately put drugs ahead of his family. The fallout from that changed all of us.
And yet somehow, after all of that, life gave me something I never expected.
A genuinely kind partner.
The man I share my life with now would never hurt me. He encourages my dreams. He reminds me to take care of myself. He stepped into my children’s lives and became more of a father than their biological father ever managed to be.
He’s not perfect. If you’ve ever tried telling him something important, you’ll understand that his response is often a thoughtful silence that makes you wonder whether he’s listening at all.
So when I told him I’d changed my pronouns, his reaction was… not much.
Which, honestly, was exactly what I expected.
Had he been confused, worried, concerned, or opposed, he would have said something.
Instead, he basically treated it the same way he treats most things I tell him: calmly, quietly, and without unnecessary drama.
It’s one of the reasons I love him.
A few months ago, I shaved my head.
Not because I was making a statement.
Not because I was reinventing myself.
The truth was much less profound.
The near foot-long dreadlocks and tangles had become a menace and needed to go.
Afterward, though, something interesting happened.
With my hair gone, I found myself wanting to wear dresses. Makeup. Jewelry. Things that felt traditionally feminine.
Not because I suddenly felt more female.
More because I felt free to balance things however I wanted.
One day I might feel feminine.
Another day I might not.
Neither state feels more authentic than the other.
They’re all me.
And maybe that’s what finally led me here.
At fifty-three years old, I am still learning who I am.
I think that’s normal, even if society likes to pretend we should have everything figured out by the time we leave high school.
The truth is that life changes us.
Love changes us.
Trauma changes us.
Freedom changes us.
Sometimes we discover things about ourselves at eighteen.
Sometimes we discover them at fifty-three.
The timing doesn’t make them less real.
So yes, I changed my pronouns.
Quietly.
Without fanfare.
Without expecting anyone else to make a big deal out of it.
I didn’t do it because I wanted attention.
I did it because after decades of trying to understand myself, I finally found language that feels a little closer to the truth.
And isn’t that the whole point?
Not to become someone else.
Not to reject who we’ve been.
But to keep growing into who we are.
✦ enjoyed this entry?