A Message to My Mother

A Message to My Mother

Before we start, let’s go over some vocab words (I took the definitions straight from google). They’ll also be highlighted in the body of this post.

Dysphoria: a state of unease or generalized dissatisfaction with life.

Agender: denoting or relating to a person who does not identify themselves as having a particular gender.

All right. Let’s carry on.

Hello! I know I told you not to read this blog. I know you were a little suspicious simply of that. I know of your views on gender and the like.

But today my little brother said “I guess I’m just myself” and you replied with “We should always be ourselves, and if anyone doesn’t like that, well, that’s their problem,” and I spent the entirety of the rest of that car ride questioning how much you believed your own words, and whether it would be enough to get you to accept me.

I will start by linking you to this. (Click these words, please.)

This post may also bring you some clarity, though I’ll tell you now that I am not the person in that post, and therefore I don’t feel exactly like the person in that post.

I would highly suggest reading this. Heck, I’ll buy you the book if you’ll read it.

When I am going about my everyday life and I happen to look down at my chest, I feel a little bit sick. I could go into more detail but I don’t honestly know if I have all the words. This whole chest thing is why I was so desperate to get money for a binder – wearing my binder makes me feel more self-confident and a little more like just myself.

Without a shirt on at all, I, surprisingly, do NOT feel any gender dysphoria. Perhaps it’s because when I see myself like that, it’s easier to dissociate my chest and make it feel like just… extra skin.

I like my hair as it is right now – short, but not too short, with the classic Agendered™ hairstyle and dye. This also makes me feel more confident in myself.

Another thing that makes me feel more confident in myself – and this might actually be the one that affects me the most – is my name and my pronouns.

*horrified gasp* Pronouns?

Yes. I know.

My name is Haven. That is my name. I am not embarrassed of the name you gifted me at birth. I am not ashamed, nor judging of the name you gifted me at birth. However, as I recently read somewhere, a gift is exactly that – a gift. You give it out of the goodness of your heart, and if the recipient doesn’t want it, then… they don’t take it.

My pronouns are singular they/them. They, them, their, theirs, themself. (Honestly, even I’m still debating that last one. But I think this grammatical abomination makes it a bit more clear that I’m still a single person.) For example, you might say to one of your co-workers: “Yes, my child Haven recently finished writing their next book! They showed the finished product to me right away, and I was very proud of them.”

I know, I know; you miss saying ‘daughter’ already. But I’ve got solutions for allll those gendered names. Believe it or not, I’ve put a lot of thought in this. I spent an entire month in incognito mode, googling all about gender and pronouns and trying to figure out if what I was feeling had a name, a definition, or, most importantly, a community.

As a parent, my children would call me “Makua.” It’s Hawaiian for “parent,” and one of my friends suggested it to me. I think it has a nice ring to it.

In place of sister, my brother can call me sibling, or sibster, or just sib or sibs.

Instead of being my aunt’s niece, I will be her nibling – cute, huh? Perhaps even her sibkid, or simply her nieph.

Instead of calling me your daughter, perhaps you could call me your child? Or your kid. Or your oldest! Or even your offspring, if you’re feeling humorous.

I am my partner’s datemate.

Rather than Miss, I prefer Mx.

Friend or Tiz (short for “citizen”) instead of ma’am.

Instead of a boy or a girl, I can be called either an enby (based off NB from non-binary), a null, or simply a kid.

Yes. I am agender.

I know this may seem like a lot to take in. I will accept any questions. I will not accept any criticisms. This is who I am – this is me, “myself,” and, in your own words, if anyone doesn’t like that then that’s their own problem. “We should accept people who are different than us,” as you then continued. I pray to God that wasn’t just talk.

All brusqueness aside, I really do hope you will accept me. It would mean a lot to have my own mother’s approval.

Well. I suppose that’s all I can say.

Who knows when – or if – you’ll read this. Maybe I’ll link it to you tomorrow. Maybe next week. Maybe I’ll chicken out, and it’ll sit here forever, never used for its intended purpose. That’s okay – these things take time.

-Haven.

One Reply to “A Message to My Mother”

  1. I sosososososo hope this goes well. If it doesn’t, know that there are plenty of others who /will/ accept you, okay?

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