As a queer neurodivergent teen, I had always found it difficult to accept myself the way I was. From recognising my queer side, to accepting it and then identifying with it, it all has been a long, tedious, painstaking process. One that I am still going through, and will evidently still be, in the foreseeable future.

It starts with just being so uncomfortable in your own skin. Being distinctly different from the crowds, having preferences and tastes so obviously at odds with the norm, which don’t sit well with a young, developing mind. As a consequence, I isolated myself, dissociated from my true self, pushed it down deep and learnt to live with a mask instead.

Gender is so intrinsic, yet I have found it to be largely based on other people’s perceptions of me. Maybe because everything else about me has also been shaped by their opinions. We all learn to reciprocate emotions and internalise the opinions of those more experienced in the world, from an extremely young age. That is until we are forced to unlearn it, form our own identities, and grow into our own person. I have unfortunately always felt that I’ve been failing to do so: to grow up and have a mind of my own.

Also read: My Gender is in Between the Lines of the Non-Binary Spectrum

As a person assigned female at birth, we have always been told what we are supposed to be — put in a mould and expected to stay in it. If you stray from that supposed ideal of what a ‘woman’ is, you’re berated, put down, or at least reminded of it every waking moment. I had never felt woman enough, which partially, I attribute to all the romantic attention I never got from anyone when I was younger.

And when I did finally feel comfortable in my womanhood, it was when there was someone to appreciate it. I have always needed another set of eyes to see myself through, to really see myself. And that is also how I realised that it wasn’t enough, and that there is more to me than what I have been told, than what I have known myself to be.

I lived a couple years identifying as non-binary. I was happy letting go of my hair, contemplating getting top surgery, wearing sports bras, straightening up my curves, and finally feeling, not just okay, but grateful for the size of my small breasts. It felt like I had finally let myself be myself. Until I met someone I fell in love with, head over heels.

I have almost always been with straight cis-men. I don’t know if it’s the inherent fear in me of dating women, or if this was just the easiest option available, but that’s how it has been. Now, men who are into women will always see me as a woman. Even though I have multiple sides to myself, even when they do see the most authentic version of me, they still seem to prominently see a woman in me.

When society has treated you a certain way, and then someone comes along who really sees you the way you are, it is a different feeling altogether. And when this person likes to see you wearing sundresses, you like seeing yourself in sundresses too!

Also read: Gender Fluidity and Conditioning Through Clothing in Tamizh Society

I suddenly found myself wanting to show more skin, looking for the hourglass shape when I looked at myself in the mirror. And it felt good, to look at myself unfiltered, unmade, and still loving the innate parts of me that this other person loves.

I don’t understand if it was the fear of losing him that was making me adapt to his preferences, and in the process moulding my own preferences about my own body and identity, or if he just made me see a side of myself that I had maybe shunned and kept aside, and fall in love with my whole self again. Either way, it changed the way I presented to the world.

This proved to be an extremely dangerous learning experience, because the relationship fell apart and I was left with all these conflicting feelings about myself. Was I just in love, ready to do whatever it takes to keep him in my life? Or was I actually in the process of discovering myself, learning to love all there is to me?

The one thing I know is that now whenever I go out with a straight man, I tend to present a certain way. I put on a skirt, I put on makeup, I flaunt my figure, and I feel comfortable doing that. Is it a choice? I really want it to be a choice, but I’m scared that it is just another mask that I put on to fit in, to be accepted, to be loved by someone who presumably only loves a certain specific kind of thing… but I don’t want to end up back where I started.

I am learning, or rather teaching myself to just let myself be my whole, authentic genderfluid self. If I do want to wear a sundress, it is not just a remnant of a man in my past, but also a part of my identity that was shaped during that time in my life. So I do wear them, and I bask in that feeling, without feeling any shame or guilt.

Ultimately, labels are just words. Language has evolved to convey and communicate, but it can never be enough to really understand someone else entirely. You can say things all you want, trying to make people understand you, but no one can ever know your vast internal world. I am getting comfortable with the idea that no words can define me completely, and that’s fine. I was me then, and I am me now, and I’ll still be myself in the future, no matter what that looks like.