I very specifically titled this blog “Straight Genderqueer Woman” because when I try to find people who might be like me, Google only comes up with this stuff. But I KNOW I can’t be alone. I am a unique, precious, ass-kicking flower. But it can’t be because I’m the only straight, genderqueer, woman in the world. (Born female sexed. Does this make me cis-gendered genderqueer? So confusing!) So I’m floating this out there to let other straight women out there who are challenging gender roles know they’re not alone.
I’m actually uncomfortable sometimes describing myself as “genderqueer.” I don’t want to co-opt a descriptor that’s not accurate and offend somebody. I really feel like it’s society’s expectations of how I should look and behave as a woman to be what is queer. That’s really the challenge I wrestle with the most in my head.
I struggle with the dichotomy between how I want to look and act, and how I think I have to look and act to attract men. So often this makes me think I’m doing something wrong, or am a broken woman or not a good enough woman.
But on the genderqueer side, I do remember feeling for a long time earlier in my life that I wasn’t a man or a woman. I didn’t even know that was a THING people could feel. It didn’t disturb me. It was just who I was.
I don’t feel that as greatly now, but I will tell you that when I look at women who are dressed very femininely, in short skirts and high heels, I don’t feel like I have anything in common with them gender-wise. (I also find myself thinking they’re stupid for dressing that way and I get angry at them. But it’s OK. I’m sure that’s something my therapist and I will get into….)
So whatever labels you paste on me, (’cause lawd knows I struggle to use the politically correct, culturally sensitive ones) just know that I’m me. I’m Deanna. And I’m trying to feel like that’s OK.
And know, that no matter what the internet says, if you are a woman who wants to look androgynous or like “a guy” and you’re into men, you’re OK too. And you’re not alone.
And guys, if you’re into this kind of thing, you’re single, you have a job, you’re kind, and you shower regularly, hit me up!
Also, my “Gender Roles Are Dead” sweatshirt is available from FLAVNT!
I wonder if hair is sort of like the rings of cut trees. Does it hold the memories of its days? Can it retain the residue of warm, cozy diner breakfasts and awkward sleepovers, of disappointments and poor choices, of hurt feelings and unrequited desires?
Every time I grow my hair long it’s to try to prove to a man I’m feminine enough to be desirable. Love me! Love me! Love me! My desire for him overwhelms and obsesses me, but his desire for me is fleeting at best. Why do I even think that my hair will make a difference. I’m always me either way.
Every time I cut my hair off it’s because I’m done trying, because I’m just tired of fighting the fight, with my hair and for a man. Those other memories need to just go away.
This is for me.
Literally every night for the last two weeks I’ve dreamed that I and another woman or two have broken down the sex barrier in baseball and made a professional team. Every dream is different. The settings are different. The teams are different. The people are different. Each dream also usually includes a man I know from real life, who isn’t a baseball player in the waking world, but in the dream is also on the team with me.
Last night’s dream had me trying out for the Cincinnati Reds as a catcher. This is the first time in the dreams that I wasn’t sure I was going to make it through final cuts and actually make the team. Andy, who I worked with for a week last year on a youth retreat to Hinton Rural Life Center, was clearly going to be the starting catcher.
I usually have a softball dream or two this time of the year, a dream that I’m late for a game and stuff keeps happening to keep me from getting there. Stuff like needing to put in my contacts, but they’re the size of breast implants. Or I’m lost. Or a flood happens.
Softball season is imprinted in my brain after all this time, even though I haven’t played in six years. But I don’t remember having any baseball dreams before. And I’ve never had a dream that has recurred every night for weeks.
I wonder what this is all about. My brain is full of mysteries!