I came out as non-binary a year ago. Here is my experience.

Eden Rohatensky
Eden The Cat
Published in
6 min readAug 16, 2017

On August 11th, 2016, I decided it was finally time to make my gender identity public.

I was nervous. I knew being out would be a relief but also bring on a whole new set of challenges. I’ve known I don’t identify as a woman nor a man since I was in high school, but honestly I didn’t have the language to express how I felt until relatively recently.

I’m a programmer, and a musician. Both of these spaces are highly dominated by cis men, and as such my identity was outwardly enforced regularly. Frequently being the only “woman” on a team or on a stage often meant that my peers would strictly see me as “the girl guitarist” or “the girl programmer” or “the person we should ask to organize our panel about being a woman in tech”. As I started to find communities where this wasn’t the case, I started being able to come to terms with who I was without the external pressures of living up to an identity that was outlined for me.

After returning from my first cross-Canada tour, an experience that helped me find those communities, I posted on social media asking people to refer to me with gender neutral pronouns. I was in the process of moving from my hometown in Saskatchewan to Montreal, and as I was saying my goodbyes I explained my gender identity to my family and close friends. My mother, while she didn’t understand completely, was very accepting. I remember her asking me if she could still call me Chickadee, a nickname she’s called me since I was a child. I told her that was fine, but that I’d prefer if she called me her spawn rather than her daughter. I’m extremely grateful to have an accepting family who might not understand my gender nor my sexuality, but who are trying to.

The overall reception within my immediate circles was very heartwarming. Of course, there were strangers on the internet that responded with cruelty, but unfortunately I’ve come to expect this as something that will occur no matter what I do or say. The idea that non-binary genders exist has proved to be novel to many and there have been recurring questions and conversations that I’ve needed to address over the past year.

While I’ve personally been lucky to have inappropriate questions about my junk be mostly avoided outside of the confines of awful Tindermen™, I receive a lot of questions about how I present. People often ask why I continue to wear dresses, to wear makeup, to keep my hair relatively long, and why my selfies almost always have me wearing false eyelashes.

The reality is there isn’t a perfect way for me to present. Most days that I spend at home (which, are the majority of days), I spend in an extra large t-shirt wearing boxer shorts. I keep my hair tied in a loose ponytail and refuse pants at every opportunity. But, I also love makeup. While I don’t refer to myself as a makeup artist, I consider the way I present as part of my art practice. I wear a lot of stage makeup when I perform, and my makeup is a highly considered factor in the photos that I share.

There’s no clear visual definition, to me, of androgyny. In many cases, someone with a body type similar to mine would be expected to cut their hair short and wear suits. While this is an amazing look that I do truly appreciate, I find it hard to find suits that I can easily move around in without overheating. I don’t often like to wear a full sleeve and I feel constricted wearing ties (or most necklaces for that matter). So, I wear what’s comfortable and what I find compelling. Further, cis men can wear makeup and have long hair without their gender identity being questioned, so it feels silly for me to try to prove my gender identity through my presentation. It simply won’t work. Presentation, though influenced by gender identity, can not exist as parallel because it is a distinct and different part of a person’s identity.

If you like my makeup you can follow me on Instagram :)

My presentation is frequently the excuse that people use for not referring to me by the appropriate pronouns. There’s also the excuse of habit. There’s the tired argument that “they” is an exclusively plural pronoun. There’s the defense of ignorance. While I’m generally accepting of these rationalizations when I’m first introduced to someone, it’s hard to not feel hurt when those around me choose to use these excuses as barriers blocking them from acknowledging my gender identity. Quite frankly, the only real barrier that keeps people from acknowledging others gender identities is a lack of empathy.

I’ll often hear the critique that my gender is made up and “I’m just a white girl looking to be special”. While there’s already plenty of resources available explaining the gender spectrum, the latter is something that has made me feel incredibly insecure. I ask myself this question very frequently since coming out. I recognize that my experience has a lot in common with cis-passing white women because of the way that I present. I recognize that I have a lot of privilege as a result. I also recognize that a lot of people are more likely to accept me because I am white, and skinny, and conventionally attractive.

My privilege means that it’s been relatively easy for me to be vocal, whether it’s about my gender identity or my mental health or my relationships. I have the energy to do so because I don’t have to face the same discrimination that others do. However, part of recognizing that privilege has meant learning to be quiet and listen. Often, it’s meant learning to amplify the voices that aren’t being heard when they choose to be vocal. This has been the greatest lesson that I’ve learned in the past year, and while the political landscape has made a great influence on my behaviour, coming out has helped me understand my privilege more than I ever have. I’m still learning, though.

This past year has been an amazing experience, and I’m much happier now that I’ve come out. Thank you so much to the people that helped empower me with the language to be able to do so, and to everyone that’s supported me over the past year. I love you.

Eden Rohatensky is a musician and writer based in Montreal, QC. If you like their writing, please consider supporting them on Patreon.

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