Pride

 I have complicated feelings about Pride. Beyond the whole "argh, people" thing, I never quite felt like I belonged there. 

A lot of it is internalised biphobia I guess. I've mostly been attracted to men throughout my life, so am I really bi? Is it just a convenient explanation for why I was so unfazed by my partner's transition? Aren't all women a bit bi?

It's not like I've really suffered much because of my sexuality; my teenage and young adult years were spent just assuming I was straight, and, sure, once Jess came out the microagressions got a bit tiring but that was nothing compared to what she had to go through. What all trans people have to put up with: now possibly more than ever. So when we first started going to Pride, it was because Jess wanted to, and somehow I always felt like I was going to support her, nothing to do with me.

Today was the first in-person Pride since COVID, and therefore the first since Jess died. There was no way I wasn't going. For her, obviously, but also for me. 

To prove to myself that I could. That I could cope with the people. That I could cope by myself. And that I was allowed to be there: just me, in my pretty subtle pride top, existing. And I had a good time, in my own quiet way. Met hardly any of the people I know that went, didn't dare attempt bar and didn't feel like queuing forever for food, but I managed the march without issue, I wandered round the knavesmire a bit and found a local cover band that I will probably never get round to hearing play again. 

Now my feet ache quite a lot, and I feel like another milestone, another "first since" has passed. And more importantly, not once did I feel like an imposter who had no right being there.

The Shedding of Heterosexual Privilege

As a short follow up to something I mentioned last time, today I "came out" at work.

Just chatting with my boss about planning holidays and the conversation went something like this.

ME: Yeah, we'll have to have a think about when I should take time off as J--'s writing up so can't just look after him full time.
HIM: J--, that's your boyfriend isn't it?
ME: (blushing and avoiding eye contact even more than usual) Girlfriend, actually.
HIM: (a beat) Oh. (embarrassed) Sorry.
ME: (embarrassed) S'ok.

And then we carried on as before. I don't know why I was so worried, although I'm still kind of dreading the inevitable conversation about who the Terror's father is then. But only kind of. The fact that this even bothers me at all is an uncomfortable reminder of how easy I've had it so far - the heteronormative assumptions that underpin so much casual social conversation used to work in my favour too and now I feel like I ought to give a brief bio whenever I first meet someone.

Or just get a t-shirt with "My son's daddy is my girlfriend" on it or something.

Life, and other complications

I think work is still going well. A couple of panics but no real complaints so far. I still feel a bit uncomfortable and not confident enough to take charge and suggest things that would make my life easier, but then I suppose I am technically a temp and who knows how long it'll last. Even if my immediate boss at least talks as if I'm going to stay (unless tempted away by better job). But it's good to have something to do, even if I'm tired for the rest of the day afterwards, and I'm managing not to eat too many cakes.

Slowly trying to make other changes to routine, but mostly everything seems rushed and panicky until suddenly I have nothing left to do that day. Falling asleep earlier in the evenings means I never seem to have much time to watch things, and I'm falling behind with reading too. Roleplaying has just stopped, but we still play board games so that's ok. I'm just getting scared about how fast this year is going by. Have a strange sense of unreality a lot of the time, but that could just be the tiredness I suppose. It does feel like I've wandered into someone else's life though. Especially when I catch myself happily chatting with boss at work or going to talk about volunteering at the local environment centre (although whether I'll really have the energy to....) or doing anything else that a few years ago would have seemed like an impossibility. Or when I stop and look at the Terror and think "That's my son. I'm his mother," and other such mind-boggling truths.

I really am beginning to suspect this "growing up" thing is just a myth.

I still end up shaking after making a phone call though. I still jump when the phone rings (at home and at work) and put off answering it as long as I dare. I still find myself being too shy to strike up conversations, even with people I know reasonably well. And, despite a lot of bravado online and in my head about sticking up for who I am and not being cowed by social expectations, I still can't bring myself to correct my bosses' assumption that my SO is male. And now it's got to the stage of being even more awkward to say anything without the whole "well why didn't you say something earlier?" response. Although possibly what I find worse is the knowledge that in their position I'd make exactly the same assumption.