Correction
Aah, another entry that I meant to post before I fell asleep last night!
I think today was the first time I corrected someone's application of pronouns to me. Isn't that incredible, having gone so long just asking to be walked all over? Seriously, I have been uncomfortable with feminine pronouns for eight years and knew I had an alternative for four, and I've only just taken the first step to correct anyone.
I was at the bank because my debit card for the non-profit organization whose finances I manage was connected to the wrong checking account. I went in to get it sorted out and they said they just needed something in writing saying that it was okay to fix this super-minor thing that was making a mess of the two checking accounts. Instead of having me write up a "document" on the spot, the older, more experienced teller (let's call her Teller A) told the younger, less experienced teller (let's call her Teller B) to do it. It was something like "This certifies that requests that her card be switched from to ." They asked me to sign and date it, and I did. There was a queue rapidly forming behind me and I thought about whether or not to do anything, playing with the pen a bit as I wavered. I didn't logic it out until afterward, but I crossed out "her" with a single line and wrote "his" above it. I handed it back to Teller B, and she called over Teller A (who loudly misgenders me every time I walk into the place) to help with changing the setup in the computer.
After a moment, Teller B goes all wide-eyed and stops making eye contact with me as she reads my modification of the form, but Teller A just moves along with her business, instructing Teller B on what to click to update things. (Teller A reminds me of the postal employee who screwed up my whole passport application, not even bothering to check because it's so incredibly obvious that I'm female, right?) Teller B kept trying to point it out to Teller A, who kept not noticing. They wrapped up the actual bank business and I said goodbye before shit hit the fan. I could feel Teller B getting antsy, trying to say something to Teller A. It was like gossip, but I was right there.
While that was happening, I felt confident, because logic. The stakes are low because I don't interact with them much (just enough to drive me a little crazy, apparently), and my ID on file has a male sex marker anyway (not to mention they let me open the account using my initials instead of my former legal name that's on the ID I provided). Afterwards, I felt proud of myself. Masculine pronouns aren't even my favorite thing, but it felt good to not care about what they thought. I'd just rather they not slap me in the face with feminine pronouns whenever I walk in there. I felt entitled to the request because I did change the sex marker on the one piece of ID I used to open the account, so they can check if they decide to be nosy. (I wish this were something that everyone could just request without having to provide justification of any kind, especially not some that's controlled by the government, but this is unfortunately the way I treat myself.)
Anywho, it was stressful in the moment but not nearly as bad afterwards as I feared it would be. (Wow, what a recurring theme! I worry about things that don't end up being as bad as I thought they would be. Shocker!) This is significant because I've been crafting a coming out letter for work anticipating resistance about pronouns. I had a small breakthrough in therapy this week in which I realized that I don't have to actually "come out" (because, frankly, I'm not closeted at work -- I'm the same person there as I am the rest of the time, but people treat me differently because I haven't asked them to do otherwise). I don't discuss personal matters with my colleagues, and I don't really want to start now, especially not under such pressure. I'm just writing a letter asking them to use masculine or gender-neutral pronouns for me. The end! Okay, not exactly the end. I'll probably be posting a draft and soliciting feedback soon.
I think today was the first time I corrected someone's application of pronouns to me. Isn't that incredible, having gone so long just asking to be walked all over? Seriously, I have been uncomfortable with feminine pronouns for eight years and knew I had an alternative for four, and I've only just taken the first step to correct anyone.
I was at the bank because my debit card for the non-profit organization whose finances I manage was connected to the wrong checking account. I went in to get it sorted out and they said they just needed something in writing saying that it was okay to fix this super-minor thing that was making a mess of the two checking accounts. Instead of having me write up a "document" on the spot, the older, more experienced teller (let's call her Teller A) told the younger, less experienced teller (let's call her Teller B) to do it. It was something like "This certifies that requests that her card be switched from to ." They asked me to sign and date it, and I did. There was a queue rapidly forming behind me and I thought about whether or not to do anything, playing with the pen a bit as I wavered. I didn't logic it out until afterward, but I crossed out "her" with a single line and wrote "his" above it. I handed it back to Teller B, and she called over Teller A (who loudly misgenders me every time I walk into the place) to help with changing the setup in the computer.
After a moment, Teller B goes all wide-eyed and stops making eye contact with me as she reads my modification of the form, but Teller A just moves along with her business, instructing Teller B on what to click to update things. (Teller A reminds me of the postal employee who screwed up my whole passport application, not even bothering to check because it's so incredibly obvious that I'm female, right?) Teller B kept trying to point it out to Teller A, who kept not noticing. They wrapped up the actual bank business and I said goodbye before shit hit the fan. I could feel Teller B getting antsy, trying to say something to Teller A. It was like gossip, but I was right there.
While that was happening, I felt confident, because logic. The stakes are low because I don't interact with them much (just enough to drive me a little crazy, apparently), and my ID on file has a male sex marker anyway (not to mention they let me open the account using my initials instead of my former legal name that's on the ID I provided). Afterwards, I felt proud of myself. Masculine pronouns aren't even my favorite thing, but it felt good to not care about what they thought. I'd just rather they not slap me in the face with feminine pronouns whenever I walk in there. I felt entitled to the request because I did change the sex marker on the one piece of ID I used to open the account, so they can check if they decide to be nosy. (I wish this were something that everyone could just request without having to provide justification of any kind, especially not some that's controlled by the government, but this is unfortunately the way I treat myself.)
Anywho, it was stressful in the moment but not nearly as bad afterwards as I feared it would be. (Wow, what a recurring theme! I worry about things that don't end up being as bad as I thought they would be. Shocker!) This is significant because I've been crafting a coming out letter for work anticipating resistance about pronouns. I had a small breakthrough in therapy this week in which I realized that I don't have to actually "come out" (because, frankly, I'm not closeted at work -- I'm the same person there as I am the rest of the time, but people treat me differently because I haven't asked them to do otherwise). I don't discuss personal matters with my colleagues, and I don't really want to start now, especially not under such pressure. I'm just writing a letter asking them to use masculine or gender-neutral pronouns for me. The end! Okay, not exactly the end. I'll probably be posting a draft and soliciting feedback soon.