Today, my teacher was looking at the stickers on my computer. She stared at the one that takes up the most space: a butterfly colored yellow, black, purple, and white—the non-binary flag colors—with the words “they” and “them” painted across the tips of the wings. I know she saw it, and, almost as if I had X-ray vision, I could see her holding her tongue.

Even though I carry a bag for eight hours every day with a pronoun pin for the whole school to see, my heart still races when I see people’s eyes trail along and suddenly stop on the strap of my backpack. I’m lucky no one has ever made a comment directly to me, but the things I’ve overheard somehow hurt me more.

The mentality seems to be that if they don’t think their target is in the room, it’s suddenly “okay,” and it’s deemed a safe space where they can share their thoughts and feelings without someone calling them out. Even though I want to be the kind of person that holds people accountable for their actions and the tears they undoubtedly, if unknowingly, cause, I often stay silent, becoming accountable myself, too. 

“Oh, I didn’t know he swung that way.”

“Did you know she’s actually a dude?”

“I don’t get why people make such a big deal out of it; it’s not that deep.”

Still, I stay silent. 

I find myself questioning how we’re even the same species.

For some reason, people think it’s okay to ridicule and bully others when they don’t have to see the sour look on their faces or the tears that seep into the cracks of their lips. It’s easier for them that way.

When I do work up the courage and energy to deal with often uneducated, close-minded transphobes, even then, my efforts are in vain. No matter what I say to try and dissuade them from going down the path of Joe Rogan podcasts and January sixth insurrections, a new way to avoid the question will arise; they will say I’m being unnecessarily sensitive, and this will become their new arguing point. 

Even though I’ve been out for almost a year now and overall have received positive reactions, all the confidence I’ve accrued is instantly null in the face of some stranger giving me a dirty look.

I wish that people understood that I didn’t want to be trans.

What I mean by this is that it would’ve been so much easier if I could have somehow been assigned non-binary at birth, that androgyny could have been the default. I am proud of who I am, but it’s taken a long time to get to a point where I can tell people who I am without being ashamed. On top of all the dysphoria, insecurities, internal conflict, self-doubt, and accommodations, the added factor of bigotry is just too much sometimes; it’s hard enough accepting myself as trans, so it’s exhausting having to justify and explain my existence to everyone on top of that.

So here’s a PSA to all the cisgender people: try your best to understand the trans people around you.

Yes, non-binary is under the trans umbrella. No, not everyone who is non-binary identifies as trans. 

We all have enough to worry about and deal with, apart from you asking intrusive questions. 

Yes, cis people still have a gender and a unique gender expression and pronouns. 

Don’t ask people their dead name, if they’ve had surgeries, “what they are,” or if they’re just asking for attention—they’re not. 

Above all, be kind. We’re all human, and we all yearn to be understood and accepted. 

This story was originally published on The Central Trend on January 24, 2025.