Standing In A Public Toilet, A Fellow Woman Called Me A Man

Being misgendered bothered me. But not as much as not telling anyone.

The woman? | Image created on Canva

I haven’t told anyone this story before. The only person who knows it is my husband, and that’s because he was there and he saw the devastation written across my face.

He also consoled me as I came to terms with the encounter I will never forget in the women’s bathroom.

As I recount what happened to me on that seemingly uneventful day, I wish I hadn’t been there either.

I can’t rewrite history, but something compels me to tell it. A part of me also knows it’s best to keep this a secret.

I’m struggling with the latter because when someone grossly offends you and simultaneously ruins your day, you want to tell someone.

So here goes.

Same old routine…

I make the same trek every time I’m at Forest Hill shopping centre, my local set of shops in Melbourne.

I enter through the food court entrance, snake my way to the closest escalators (past the always bustling McDonald’s), and use the first set of toilets I can see.

For some reason, I must go to the toilet whenever I get to the shops. As I get…