I've come to the sudden realization that I identify as #nonbinary. And I mean sudden. I was laying on my hammock reading This Book is Gay, by Juno Dawson, a spark went off in my head, and I rushed inside to share my findings with my husband Rich.
I'm being very thoughtful as I translate my thoughts to writing, especially as both my husband Rich and I are suddenly forced to confront a slew of rapid-fire life changes.
Let's review.
My appendix burst, but I feel this has been building up for a long time given my body's transformation, inside and out. As a result of the surgery, the following has happened:
Memories - good memories - of my childhood, early years with Rich and the years leading up to and following our marriage - came flooding back (rapid fire and nonstop, driven by a chaotic mania and unrelenting panic attacks). You name a year or event (within reason) and I can connect it with a long and winding story. And the promptly have a panic attack. And then an existential crisis.
I learned that I have been living under an increasingly heavy mental fatigue and that my trouble communicating verbally, inability to stand up for myself and decrease in empathy came as a direct result of this brain fog.
My brain fog caused me to retreat into my shell. I wanted to see no one. I wanted to speak with no one. I couldn't, anyway. My voice was always whisper quiet. Instead, I walked around with a mask (both physically and metaphorically), head held down, eye gaze averted.
My inability to effectively communicate with those who mean the most to me, especially my husband Rich, left me in a head space where only negative thoughts could reside, and where I was constantly depressed, bitter, angry, irritable and cantankerous.
It takes a lot of time and energy to live in this state for any length of time (and I don't mean Michigan --- specifically). How could I not be, when I couldn't even communicate my most basic needs or string together a simple sentence without searching for words or being completely scripted?
I so desperately wanted to become closer with my own husband, but couldn't even find the words to say,"Tell me about your interests; you know, the really nerdy and obscure ones."
I recently discovered I'm super into liminal spaces and contrasting how I experience them (visually, aurally, olfactorily, physically and mentally) compared against my childhood: Specifically, the early- mid-90s, happier years where my mom hadn't fully developed into a depressed, homophobic, conspiracy theorist and my dad wasn't an emotionally closed-off, Fox News watching prick (well, I guess that never changed).
How everything from my childhood is being taken suddenly away (destruction and renewal, death, etc.), and how I (and countless others) rarely get the chance to deal with the emotions that arise from that.
I am still and will always be an introvert. I like (love) speaking and empathizing with people, too! But that leaves me mentally (and sometimes physically) fatigued, and I need plenty of time to rest and recharge, which is why I prefer remote work.
I am now in touch with my emotions and can now cry, listen to music (like, really listen to music), laugh, share (and overshare), and even have fun.
Certain stimuli can be overwhelming, at times. Although things have greatly improved since my surgery, there was a period where I was hyper aware of sight, smell, sound, and taste. It made even relaxing (watching TV, playing video games, reading) kind of unbearable.
In order to get well, I needed to be ready and willing, and nothing but a health crisis would have gotten me to where I am today. I had an intense hatred and distrust of the medical profession and refused to go to the doctor for literally anything other than the most critical of issues. Also, I became complacent with things the way they are. It was comfortable, yet horribly uncomfortable at the same time.
Every once in a while, I would have a quiet dream where an inner voice would tell me "Your time will come." These dreams often eluded me by daytime, but I clearly remember going to sleep to these words on occasion.
In order to get to where I am and for my brain to properly communicate with the rest of my body, this wake-up call is the only thing that could have jolted me into meaningful change. In my mind, when a person is suffering; be it emotional, mental or physical pain, their brain and body cannot properly communicate, leading to an increasing mental fatigue or brain fog that, at some point, will no longer be sustainable.
All that in a matter of weeks. How can I describe the feelings this left me with? I felt as if I had been given a gift - I'd gotten my life back. But I also felt manic (constantly), anxious, always on the verge of a panic attack, and oh, so very tired. I essentially didn't sleep for more than two hours a night for nearly three weeks.¹
In the hospital, I came to realize just how much noises, and especially notification chimes, Teams call prompts, Outlook new mail arrival, etc. triggered me. I went on a brief social media detox, both for the sake of my healing and my mental health. That was quickly shoved aside as I realized I've gotten back my empathy, and want to use it for quiet activism, social justice reform, inspirational messages of hope, and relatable humor.
So, I wound up on Twitter, of all places, and right as a certain billionaire went off the deep end and ripped it to shreds. Regardless, I finally discovered the original meaning of Twitter and wanted to use it to spread laughter and happiness, as well as hope. With all the chaos going on, that wasn't to be. And that's when I discovered Mastodon, which is everything I wanted Twitter to be and more.
Prior to this, however, I created a Tweet noting how vile it is when people clamor for others to label themselves before they're ready. Being forced "out of the closet" before one is ready can be traumatic, and the consequences can be felt for years, even decades.
It got me to thinking: Why this? Why now?
And that prompted me to think about the people I follow online, and who bring me joy. After shedding the internalized homophobia I learned through my parents' harmful beliefs, I discovered that I found great comfort watching transgender and non-binary content creators, such as:
Why? In the face of everything they're going through, and in spite of constant negative messages from trolls, they present themselves authentically, without fear of who they are or repercussion, and exude joy and happiness. I also adore that they often dedicate themselves to helping others who are suffering or who have set themselves on a similar life journey.
And that led me to do some deep introspection post surgery. I realized I relate on a deep level to those who identify as non-binary. I've always had male attributes and female, and neither have been particularly strong. But I was taught to suppress anything feminine by my homophobic parents, who would give me demoralizing messages, such as (paraphrased):
"Don't walk with a limp wrist."
"You're slurring your 'S's.' Don't slur your 'S's." (My mom had experienced profound hearing loss in one ear, and it affected the way she heard things.)
"If you ever come home with an earring, I'm going to kick you out."
"I can see how people like Ellen may think they're gay, but you don't act like her."
"Stop acting so effeminate."
At the same time, my mom surrounded me with old Disney movies, Broadway musicals, Barbara Streisand, Wizard of Oz dolls (I never heard the end of it when I lost one of Dorothy's slippers!), and classic sitcoms. Talk about mixed messages!
Or there was the time I was six or seven and at a school event at the local skating rink (which, I think kids had just adopted roller blades, and now roller skates are back in vogue. What's old is new again). Everybody was on the rink, when an announcement came over the loudspeaker that it was time for just the girls to stay on the ice. I think I misheard what they said and lingered. One of the adults chided me and, embarrassed, I slunk to the sidelines.
That begs the question: Why couldn't I skate with the girls? Why can't kids just be free to be themselves. Free of subjectivity. Free of the politics. Free of the hyper-involved helicopter parenting from the Chad and Karen of the neighborhood. Free of societal judgment. Free of the iron fist of a sky daddy and their prophet son?
And so, by identifying as non-binary, I am able to shed myself of the gender conformity bullshit my parents shoved down my throat and express both my masculine and feminine sides (or neither) without having to deal with dated societal norms.
That out of the way, I would be grateful if you would allow me the opportunity to reintroduce myself:
My birth name is Jason. I never felt comfortable with it. Never. I don't mind being called Jason, I guess, but I'd prefer J. (and I know it'll take time and patience on everybody's part).
Growing up, another Jason lived down the street, so I was assigned the nickname of "Little" J. and he was "Big" J. This did not sit well with me, but I always kinda liked being called J. I quickly narrowed my choices down to two: Jax and Jae (sounds like "Jay"). It took no more than a quick peek at the meaning of the former to see that it had religious connotations. Then I read the origin for Jae:
I could have spent hours researching potential names and not found as good a match. It fits me perfectly.
As for my last name? My family name makes me want to crawl out of my skin, because my parents are homophobic. That being the case, I would like to adopt my husband's surname.
So, once again, hello! And welcome to the "real" me. My name is Jae Moore, I'm 38 (almost 39), happily married to my husband Rich (together 17 years, married 7), and I identify as a non-binary gay individual.
That pretty much does it for this post. I could go into how I broke the news to my mother-in-law (If you're reading this, "Hi, Ma!"), but I think I'll save that for next time.
Notes:
¹ I have since been seen by a primary care physician, gotten medications to help with sleep and anxiety, and have also started therapy to begin processing what's happened.
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