Accepting Weirdness

I wonder if it takes a while to get to a place where you accept your weirdness. We all have those parts of our selves we hide away, the parts we wish weren’t there, the kinks and screws that keep you , you. For some of us, weirdness is your whole existence. In my case as a Black transwoman, I walk through the world cognizant of my many clashes with society at large. I haven’t mastered or maybe I eschew that part of us weirdoes who make ourselves palatable to the majority.

I don’t ever want to blend in. I fear losing myself in bastions of sameness, of safeness of pretend. I write this as someone unsure of how I may appear in the world. And what I mean is I don’t always know if t is spooked or if I’m able to appear a “regular” woman. And when I use regular ,its relating to the way the majority sees us. Ciswoman as normal , as regular , as real. And by contrast trans women as abnormal, irregular and fake. I operate though on the assumption that my t is always open for question . I operate on a wave that expects to hear ‘that’s a man’ or perhaps get confronted by some random sucker punch by some kid who yells ‘tranny’. While I don’t experience that level of violence too often, I am too aware of how much receiving those blows would hurt.

It’s hard I find to be a woman, any kind of woman without having to give thought and possible credence in the hierarchies of women. And how there are women seen as better than others for a myriad of different stats that are endorsed by society’s views. The vast majority are cast as lesser than’s who will aspire to be the bad bitches that everyone wants to be or be with. In those hierarchies for sure ,trans women are at the bottom of the bottom , if we’re even included. As I get older and more into my journey of myself, I find dominant sociology, culture and norms of womanhood to be contrary to my own sense of self and my own ways of relating to the world. This is not a diss to womanhood as a collective or a set of ideologies but more a call that in honoring my own unique individuality, I must eschew and unlearn all the dogma of what makes a woman , a woman. And who gets to be one and what does that mean? It’s a question I ruminate on frequently. But I have learned that I absolutely have to accept my weirdness, what ever and all that it may be.