Other than my mom and a handful of trusted friends and mentors, I’ve had precious few positive influences. I discussed the negative impacts toxic males had for me, so it is only fitting that I spend some time on the women who instinctively recognized my divine feminine, lying dormant and ready to awaken, however long that might take. Who were patient and kind and always there, even when I was at my worst and most broken.
This includes my kid’s mom, ironically enough, though that relationship was destined to end as its only purpose was to deliver another beautiful soul into existence and to agitate my demons to the point they could be conquered. Not sure where the fight is regarding her demons, but that is none of my business now. For our progeny’s sake, I hope she finally figures things out and finds some peace as well. I’d love for her to meet a worthy partner, so my kid could have a solid male role model they can look up to and learn things from that I’ll never be equipped to teach them.
As for my mom, we are tighter than ever before. She’s an amazing abuela, an amazing amiga, and continues to thrive rather than simply survive. She also continues to be a sounding board for my growth even as we both exist on AARP’s mailing list. She couldn’t have been more supportive of my nonbinary kid as well as me when I decided the same thing two years after they did. She sees me in all my many guises and loves them all equally and without reservation. She’s also passionate about feminist causes, bringing her prodigious knowledge and communications skills to every fight.
I have had a number of women consider me a close friend over the years. When I found myself in the hospital in 1988 after almost dying from 3rd degree frostbite following a party in the desert near the Reno Job Corps facility, the only person to visit me was one of those friends. She gently trimmed my lopsided hair, having been savagely cut when I was passed out by a bully wielding a butterfly knife and malicious intent. The same group of “friends” who dropped me on the street outside the Job Corps gate, blackout drunk and dripping wet without shoes or any idea where I was going.
When my world was coming apart five years ago, the shoulders I cried on most were my women friends. They helped me to make sense of the pain and anger and hurt from suddenly being at war with my ex. They enabled me to further harness my own light and apply empathy toward myself when before I had only aimed it at others. I slowly healed those broken pieces and regained my sanity, carried on the strength and sympathy of several women who would never let me drown or let me down. I hope this post serves as a heartfelt thank you for all those unhinged talks.
They also gave me mad props when I started giving Jessica some space to breath after my kid came out. The more I leaned in, the more they applauded. When I speak of “female” friends, that list includes my gay brothers and trans sisters as well. They embody the divine feminine in the most authentic and thoughtful of ways, but they have the additional context of having (or had) boy parts and all the confusing biology that comes along with various levels of testosterone added to the equation of being human. Shit is abrupt and brutal. It takes a strong will to stand firm in the maelstrom.
Which leads me inevitably to my own journey. I’ve always had an instinctive connection to the female experience. I never really knew why or understood how it connected to my identity. We didn’t have those modes of expression in the seventies and eighties. It wasn’t until my child stepped into their own truth during Pride month in 2022 that I would find the courage to do the same. It wasn’t until I stepped into my own truth that I would find the joy of knowing who I am. Finally. I know who I am and what I am capable of becoming in all the days to follow. Being a nonbinary human is a superpower. I’m literally connected to everyone on the planet.
Owning my identity allows my kid to lean in on theirs. We got manicures at the Mall of America for my 54th birthday yesterday. They picked out the color, a super blingy shade of bright purple sparkles. I’ll be rocking it until it wears off. This was followed by their first Dr. Marten’s boots in a graduated pink with glitter in the soles. Kind of a remix of my hot pink and cotton candy pink patent leather Doc’s. They want me to paint their toenails in the morning. Guess I’ll need to do my own as well. Never really thought about it, but it feels right. All this feels right. Our lights have never shone brighter.
