Losing My Marbles

Interview with Shy: Identification - Non-binary/Queer; Pronouns - They/Them

There are a lot of metaphors in my journey to become an ally of the LGBTQIA+ community. There’s ice cream, left-handedness, birds, and now marbles. It’s mind-bending stuff . . . and sometimes I do feel like I’m losing my marbles. But Shy shared with me that any marbles I lose can be put back in my marble jar. That’s reassuring.

​Shy said that their sexuality was smooth sailing, but they experienced angst when it came to their gender journey . . . that’s when everything got kind of “icky.”

Here’s an excerpt from their interview:

“When I went from she/her to she/they, my parents were pretty chill. They could use she and be comfortable. When I started using they/them, my parents were the last people I came out to. In fact, I never came out to them; they just found out. As long as they didn’t know, it wasn’t their fault that they were misgendering me . . . after all, they didn’t know. I wasn’t upset with them. I couldn’t be. I hadn’t told them. Once I told them, I knew that every time they got it wrong, it was going to hurt.

One day I forwarded them an email and they saw in my signature line: ‘they/them.’ My mom sent me a text, ‘Hey is that what you’re going by?’ I said ‘Yes.’ Nothing happened for a lot of months. They just used she/her. I half-heartedly corrected them every once in a while. I think they didn’t understand why I cared and why anyone would care that much. I didn’t know how to explain myself, and didn’t want to stop and say, ‘Hey, you’re hurting me every time you misgender me. I know you don’t want to, but that’s what you’re doing every time you do and say these things to me.’

Parental figures are the first response when we share gender preferences. I think that we need to give people grace; they’re going to have that first response when they don’t understand. Some people need a little convincing or explaining, but what matters is the willingness to learn and just that love for the person. My parents love me. They don’t care if I’m their daughter or their son. They love me for who I am. They don’t care if I have long beautiful hair or if I shave it all off.

We have a misgender jar in the house. Everyone has their own color of marble so we can tell who is who. ‘I’m going to shame you into doing it right’ . . . but in a fun, loving way. If they misgender in public, I just say, ‘One for the jar,’ instead of making a scene about it. It’s a nicer way to say it. I was uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to correct people nicely. I stopped advocating for myself because I didn’t know how. The idea behind the jar was once it was full, whoever had the most marbles had to do some kind of challenge or donate twenty-five cents for each marble to San Diego Pride. But it worked so fast that the jar never even got a quarter of the way full. It whipped them into shape. It made it fun, and took away some of the icky-ness of correcting people. At the end of the day we are a family and we’re here for each other. We make fun of each other endlessly because that’s the kind of family we are.”

I’m sorry, Shy and Evan, for all the times I’ve misgendered you. I genuinely want to be part of your ally family. I’ve got my jar. I’ve got my marbles. I’m ready to get this right.