I shouldn't have to 'look' non-binary for my identity to be respected

This First Person article is the experience of Julia Wright, a student at McGill University in Montreal. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

Last year, I attended a conference where everyone wore name tags. I had proudly and visibly written "they/them" below my name.

When I helped a special guest presenter set up, they asked to see my tag. But while remembering my name, the presenter repeatedly referred to me as "she."

My head started spinning and I had an overwhelming urge to run to the washroom and throw up. I wanted to interrupt them and tell them to stop misgendering me. But I had no idea what their views on non-binary people were and I worried about seeming rude.

So I sat through the presenter's instructions as my stomach turned. Once the workshop was underway, I ran to the washroom where I reassured myself that my feelings were valid, even if the presenter didn't misgender me on purpose.

While I was assigned female at birth and grew up being referred to as a girl, the label never felt right. Throughout my childhood, I remember feeling frustration deep in my stomach when I was called a girl, but I never had the words to explain why.

Then when I was around 12, I started reading up on gender identity. I learned what the word non-binary meant and that some people use they/them pronouns.

I felt drawn to these concepts, but I didn't look like most non-binary people I saw on TV shows and read about in novels.

Sure, I didn't like wearing makeup or painting my nails, but I also didn't wear exclusively gender-neutral clothing or want to change my stereotypically feminine name.

But as I met others like me, I realized that always looking gender-neutral was not a prerequisite for identifying as non-binary, just as always looking feminine is not a requirement to identify as a woman. Now as a 19-year-old student living in Montreal, that realization has only grown stronger.

Feeling like a disease

I felt a wave of relief wash over me when I told my parents I was non-binary in the summer of 2021. They reacted positively, saying they loved me and were proud to be my parents.

At that point, I had been thinking about my pronouns daily for over two years. And I still am.

I am privileged that most people to whom I've disclosed my identity have been very welcoming and respectful. I believe this is largely because we as a society are talking more — whether that be in the classroom, in the media or at the dinner table — about what it means to identify as neither a man nor a woman.

I'm grateful for these discussions. But most people I meet still assume I am a woman and use she/her pronouns — oftentimes even after I've corrected them.

Mentioning my pronouns again can be scary. If they don't respect my pronouns, does that mean they think being non-binary isn't valid? Will they not want to be friends with me anymore? Will they treat me differently at work? These feelings double when the person is in a position of power.

At one dinner, a person shared their opinion that non-binary people were an "epidemic" that had "exploded" in recent years. I felt like I was a disease.

Gender expression vs. gender identity

These types of interactions with co-workers, professors and fellow students run through my head at night before I fall asleep. What can I do to get people to understand? 

I know these ideas are new for many people, and I try to advocate for non-binary people in my daily life. In my final year of high school in Nova Scotia, I co-authored a proposal to a Girl Guides of Canada's Nova Scotian council to create a more inclusive environment for non-binary youth.

Our report contained practical recommendations to help these youth feel more welcome in the organization, and I was happy when it was received positively. But I was most proud that, as I spoke with other Girl Guides about my project, I saw them become more conscious of how they could make non-binary youth feel at home in the community. 

A large part of their effort centered on ensuring they were respecting others' pronouns.

I hope that as we continue to talk about how to better support the queer community, people stop assuming anyone's pronouns and gender, no matter how they perceive them. 

I like my feminine name and wearing the occasional dress. That does not make me any less non-binary or my identity less deserving of respect.

When I'm introduced to someone new, I ask about their pronouns and will tell them mine if it feels safe to do so. That is my way of helping create more understanding and helping others by challenging their assumptions.

Do you have a compelling personal story that can bring understanding or help others? We want to hear from you. Send your pitch to povquebec@cbc.ca.