Bathrooms
I was seven the first time cishet women traumatically approached me in the bathroom outside of my brother’s baseball game.
You – a group of three girls – cornered me at the stalls, blocking my entrance to the toilet until you had proof of my gender. As you attempted to pull my pants down, by some stroke of luck, my mother walked in, called you all off, and pulled me into her arms. She marched you back to your mothers, and took me home. You’ve probably never thought about that day again, but I have carried it with me for the last 33 years, coloring every entrance I make into a women's public bathroom.
Privileged to attend small Catholic schools with uniforms, I found refuge from judgment. My gregarious personality overshadowed my appearance, somewhere between a boyish girl and a girlish boy. High school ushered in a conformity I accepted, although it never quite fit.
In young adulthood, as I started my journey back to myself, there you were again. Double glances at bathroom doors and furtive looks of confusion or disdain in the mirror made the bathroom once again intolerable.
I understood my identity as a child, but it took me until my mid-30s to find the language for it. Throughout my life, I allowed others to impose their gender confusion on me, carrying it as a burdensome, embarrassing blanket that made my cheeks hot and my jaws clench. Only in adulthood did I embrace and step into your confusion and hand it right back to you. Stay confused, I think to myself now.
Reflecting on my past, I consider the privileges my small private school provided. I wonder had I attended public school, with no uniform to shield me, would you have cornered me again and again? Or worse?
To the teenage girls who brutalized Nex and to all bullies, both young and old, around the world: misguided narratives have emboldened you, and you are the pawns of a few self-righteous and very scared men.
To all young trans and nonbinary children: you are seen, loved, and valid. No one can take our identities away from us. You deserve to be safe. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to grow up.
Whether your tears are for the loss of Nex Benedict, for Palestine, the prioritization of embryos over women's rights, or anything else, remember this: another world is possible. We do not have to live this way. Nex deserved better, and so do we.
