I started this blog a few years ago, in order to have an anonymous outlet as well as a conversation forum for some of my thoughts as I explored a butcher identity.
I had come out a decade earlier, but still certainly had layers of “the real me” to uncover. (and still always will to some extent I’m sure!)
I was born into a white homogenous heterosexist suburb of Boston. I didn’t know anyone gay until I went away to boarding school, and even then my mother had been so critical of any aberration from any norm in my appearance that I think it really stunted my self esteem and self expression. I didn’t join the Gay Straight Alliance in boarding school (this was in the early 90’s) because I was too afraid that someone would think I was gay.
Though I saw girls kissing at a rugby social my freshman year of college, I drank too much and smoked too much pot to come to any sort of terms with my sexuality for many years. I sucked a lot of dick and had a lot of meaningless sex with men. I was actually too stoned to notice that there may have been some queer women or at least some cool feminist things happening around me. I spent most of my time with stoner boys. They didn’t mind my hairy armpits, were harmless compared to some of the men that had taken advantage of me, and thought I was pretty cool. And feeling pretty cool was a big deal for me back then, after growing up feeling very not cool. I guess I wasn’t ready to rock the boat just yet.
It wasn’t until after college that I finally had a close lesbian friend. She was a cool artist and I spent a lot of time hanging out with her and friends in my early 20’s. It was during this time that I broke up with my stoner boyfriend and started exploring my sexuality. I had absolutely no idea how to date women. I came out as bi, and wanted so badly to date women, but ended up continuing to date men on and off for years because they would hit on me, and I really didn’t know how in the world to ask a girl out.
It’s funny looking back on myself during my early years of coming out. I shaved my head and wore pretty big men’s clothes. I don’t think I was trying to look queer and had not much concept at the time of the word “butch.” I was doing a lot of drugs, pretty miserable, and a lot of the sexual assault I had experienced thus far in life was really hitting me hard. I was consciously trying to hide the female curves of my body from predatory men, and baggy men’s clothes did this quite well. Walking home to my first solo apartment in big pants, combat boots, and a big hoodie made me feel much safer. No one bothered me at night when I looked like a boy.
It was around that time that I hit a bottom with drugs. I overdosed, was pretty crazy for a while, but eventually ended up cleaning up my act and staying clean. Finally getting off of drugs certainly allowed me to come to whole new levels of exploring who I was that I had thus far missed in my life.
This was about a decade ago. I would say that it was during the past decade that I in a long roundabout way came much closer to getting back to the core of me (threads of which have certainly been consistent through all my tumultuous phases of life).
The key layers of this involved exploring what bisexuality meant to me, as well as to other people (who often had quite different ideas of who I was precisely because of my bisexual label). It was fascinating to see how differently the world saw me (and treated me) according to who I was dating. I was offended by the term “heterosexual privilege” at the time, because I was still going through a lot of emotional turmoil and didn’t feel the least bit privileged. I felt a lot of prejudice from within queer community at the time, and felt like I fit in no where (too straight to be gay, too gay to be straight).
When I finally had a long term relationship with a woman I came to a new level of understanding about my sexuality. Questioning my sexuality and starting to have sex with women was much different than being in a relationship for 3 years. I experienced a lot more homophobia than ever before, and yet as I was growing up emotionally (staying clean from drugs and alcohol allowed me to do this), I was really beginning to feel more myself than ever before as well. To come out in a heterosexist society takes a lot of guts. It took me a long time to fully come out. I could give a number of reasons: fear, heterosexism, homophobia, pressure from my mother to fit in and be straight, etc., etc. I’m not sure I can clearly put my finger on any one reason. I just knew so much more about myself after that long term relationship. By the time we broke up, I was already in my 30’s. As I started getting ready to date again, I was quite clearly only interested in women. In fact, when I was having sex during that relationship I remember thinking about how much better sex with women is. I know I had had a lot of sex with men, and some of it was certainly fun, but this was a whole new level of good, of satisfying, of exciting, of pleasurable. I know that I often thought “How did I have so much hetero sex before this?” “Oh my god, I am so gay.”
So to wrap it up a bit, it took me into my 30’s to really come out as gay, after about a decade of identifying as bisexual. In that long term relationship, and really before that too, I had never been interested in butch/femme identity, I guess in much the same way that I wasn’t interested in being gay before I came out. It was something I had preconceived notions and judgments about and I didn’t think it had anything to do with me. I’ve thought that about many things throughout my life, until some sort of experience and open-mindedness pushes me beyond some edge and gets me to see things in a new way and then suddenly I feel like I came home at last, to a place I never thought was mine. This process could describe so many aspects of my sexuality and gender identity (which I am just getting to). I thought I was straight, I thought I was bi, I didn’t think I would like to spank anybody or be fisted. Time and time again I got to new levels of comfort with myself and the world around me and would finally let myself be a new layer of who I was.
This is what has been happening in the past few years with my butch identity.
This is what I wrote when I started this blog:
“Ok. So I’m going through some changes. Self awareness, fashion, sex, gender, sexuality, presentation. Not sure I even have the words for all of this. Kind of scared to do this publically. But then I know how helpful it is for me to read the thoughts of others going through uncomfortable and beautiful metamorphoses. And how much it helps to share what is in my head, heart, brain and skin.
Allowing myself to tell myself the exact opposite of what I might have told myself growing up, or yesterday, or last year. Like, in my fantasies, sometimes I am a man, but I don’t want to be one in real life…or maybe I do? or not? or just a little…and what is female masculinity? who am I attracted to? am I attracted to you because I want to be you? or do you? or both?
And allowing all of that to just be beautiful, ok, honest, and fluid.
Whew…I like opening this fountain…of genderqueer butchdom…or something.
xoxo,
Zoey Rayal”
As I read these words today I thought it was time to change them, because I’ve come quite a long way in the past few years. I was scared to identify as butch, but I’ve heard myself say the word out loud more than once. I was scared to shift my appearance. I was scared to cut my hair short again, after years of positive reinforcement from my family and the professional world for my long beautiful hair. I was scared to change my dress for many of the same reasons. I was scared to change my underwear choices lest my lovers laugh at me or reject me when they got my pants off. I was scared of trying to claim an identity that might mean something different to somebody else. I was scared to claim an identity and have someone tell me I wasn’t enough of something to claim that identity.
I’m sure I still have a long way to go in life in getting to know me, and fully being me. (I certainly stumble with job interview outfits, new clothes for fancy occasions, and that sort of thing). And I still wonder whether my lovers will like my hairy armpits, my sports bras, and my men’s underwear. I hesitate to think that I need acceptance of these aspects of my presentation from other people in order to feel comfortable in my identity. I will say that my current lover finding me sexy not despite these things but precisely because of these things certainly helps.
In any case. I feel clearer about my identity (sexuality and gender) than I did when I first started this blog. I want to update my profile blurb, but before I did that I wanted to reflect on what has gone on it the past few years. Thank you to all of you who have liked, commented, or reblogged my posts. It has done numbers for my self esteem as I continue to explore who I am and how I express me.
Peace,
Z Rayal
I like mrsexmith’s discussion of multiple meanings of trans… transitioning, transcending the gender binary, etc. I started this blog as an aid and as a documentation of my current coming out process. More than 10 years ago, when I was first coming out, I told a lesbian friend that I was bisexual. At the moment, I was feeling pretty proud of myself enough to be able to slap on a label. She promptly responded, “Labels are for other people, but not for you.” While her statement was so profound I am blogging it over a decade later, at the time I was disappointed. I think I wanted to just settle on a label & move on; stop trying to “figure things out.” Right now, I am noticing that the figuring out of things can be so wonderful & freeing and beautiful in and of itself. I am so shy and self conscious lately. And at the same time I feel bold & sexy. It’s true that I get used to the way the world outside me reacts to the me I present. I recently cut my hair short, in my first “butchy?” haircut I have had in 10 years. Only a few months ago I had long flowing red wavy locks just about nipple length which attracted lots of attention and compliments. Sometimes I forget why the world outside reacts differently and then I remember that I look different. I was walking out of my office building by some male construction workers the other day & I noticed something strange. They didn’t notice me at all. For quite some time I had kept my hair long because I was comfortable fitting into what I think an American standard of beauty for an office woman might be. It was just easier. I felt like a little girl playing dressup. If I dressed the part, I felt like people would take me more seriously. I didn’t want it to be like that necessarily, but it seemed to be working at the time. It’s a bold move to step out in a new way, whatever may be new, a haircut, a new style, bolder makeup, etc. What makes me so extra self conscious is the conscious reflection and reaction from people outside of myself. The bolder the change, the more the reaction (or lack thereof). I’ve been wearing butcher pants lately. Somedays butcher shirts, but not everyday. The other day I showed up to work in more feminine slacks & a top (something I’ve been doing a little more lately in conjunction with my shorter hair). A coworker (a sweet, flirty, supportive perhaps-gay one that has encouraged me to “let my butch flag fly”) noticed and said “those aren’t very butch pants:)” to which I replied, “I’m just me. Did you think I fit into boxes?” of course not. Tomorrow we will go out to lunch. I bet we’ll chat about sexuality & gender…maybe a little gossip… Maybe I’ll try and make out with her while we’re away from the office ;)
Ready, set, queerer!
Ok. So I’m going through some changes. I think. Self awareness, fashion, sex, gender, sexuality, presentation. Not sure I even have the words for all of this. Kind of scared to do this publically. But then I know how helpful it is for me to read the thoughts of others going through uncomfortable and beautiful metamorpheses. And how much it helps to share what is in my head, heart, brain and skin.
I could start from the very beginning. Or just start where I am at right now, and unravel a little.
I think the hardest part of what I am going through is the world outside. Just as soon as I come out a little more to myself, or allow myself to be just a little more who the fuck I am, then I take something from outside of myself personally. Maybe it is personal. Maybe I do a triathlon and think and think and think while I swim bike and run and wonder “can I really do this” and somewhere along the way as I realize that I am doing this I think so loudly I want to shout it, “I AM SO GAY!!!!!” and it makes me happier than ever. And then the next day I mention a woman I am dating to my mother and I hear the disappointment in her voice like icicles weighing down a moustache. “Do you still wish I wasn’t gay?” I inquire? To which I receive the lovely, “I can dream a little, can’t I?”
OW. Wow. I felt like I was punched in the heart. And that’s perhaps the way it always was growing up. Except I don’t think I ever really got to the full moments of coming out to myself however I was before I got punched in the heart. I just was stifled all along before I ever came out. As a high schooler I wasn’t allowed to play ice hockey because as a girl I was supposed to be a figure skater. As a hippy tour kid I would come to visit my mom and she would have a bottle of “Smells Begone” right inside the front door. When I finally found someone capable of commiting to a relationship with me enough to bring home to visit, of course he wasn’t good enough.
And then, after coming out as bi, there was always the hope after every breakup that my next relationship would be with one of those creatures with a penis. Once, while coming out of surgical anesthesia at age 30, I said to my mother, “Do you still love me even though I’m gay?” She didn’t say a word.
It’s a wonder I even let myself be who I am. Well, I do. One moment I feel great about it all, and the next self conscious. One moment one thing feels great, and then the next I wonder about everything. I think about boxes and labels and who needs to know what and/or nothing. And when it comes down to it, all that really matters is that I am comfortable with myself. Even if I prefer femme tops and butch bottoms. I’m talking about clothes here. Boxer briefs and a corset. Mmmm. That feels great right about now. I feel queerer than straight, butcher than femme. And a little like…no…a lot like nothing that really even has a name. Not that the general public understands anyway. I’ve been reading a bit here and there. Some S. Bear Bergman, some Kate Bornstein. Wikipedia’s definitions of butch, boi, genderqueer, and genderfuck.
And then just living. Allowing myself to tell myself the exact opposite of what I might have told myself growing up, or yesterday, or last year. Like, in my fantasies, sometimes I am a man, but I don’t want to be one in real life…or maybe I do? or not? or just a little…and what is female masculinity? who am I attracted to? am I attracted to you because I want to be you? or do you? or both?
And allowing all of that to just be beautiful, ok, honest, and fluid.
Whew…I like opening this fountain…of genderqueer butchdom…or something.
xoxo,
Zoey Rayal
