Grandma's Sweater

*Picks up this blog and dusts it off*

We all have that sweater. An article of clothing knitted, crocheted, or sewn by a well-meaning relative. They put so much time and effort into it and presented it as a special gift, but no matter how hard we try it doesn't fit right. The arms are too long. It's too small in the middle. The last button doesn't line up and keeps falling open at awkward moments. We try to hide it in the back of a closet or the bottom of a drawer, but we know that we have to put it on in front of relatives. We squeeze into it. We keep tugging at the corners. The yarn is way too itchy. We cannot wait to escape it again at the end of the evening.

This is what the hearing the wrong name and the wrong pronouns is like. We're forced into them because they are labels given to us by doctors and by our parents. When we have the freedom to, we use language and names that are much more comfortable. We use terms that make us feel alive and whole, that fit us well and reflect who we are. Then we go home for the holidays and face a barrage of itchy, way-too-tight, just-plain-wrong language that makes us feel ridiculous and empty like Grandma's sweater.

Except we are not just expected to wear this guise on holidays. Every bus ride, every cashier, every server is a potential closet stuffed with awkward and ill-fitting clothing.

The day before last, my family went out for Thai food at The King and I restaurant. The food was delicious, but my son got a taste of what it is like to be misgendered. Throughout our meal, our server addressed him as "Young Lady". At 13 years old, he is going on 5'8" tall with hair just long enough to put into a small ponytail.

I asked him about how it felt for him: "The first few times, I could just shrug it off. After awhile it got very annoying."

This is what it is like when people call me "she". A time or two, is easy to smooth over. I notice the roadbump and move on. The more it occurs, especially from the same source, the more difficult it is not to stumble over it.

This would be so much easier if I didn't care about my gender identity. The feminine pronoun keeps rearing its ugly head despite shirt and tie, despite 1/8" long hair, despite posture, scent, behavior and speech that fall for the most part within masculine lines. When that pronoun comes out it feels as if the speaker isn't really looking at me, just at a small fraction of anatomy about a foot or so below the eyes. This reduces the moment to an acknowledgement of anatomy I should not possess.
This doesn't just happen to folks on the trans* spectrum. Everyone faces roles or expectations that constrict them in day-to-day life. In the comments, please share with us your own experiences with misgendering or with assumptions that rub you the wrong way.