Entry #535623, added on 09-16-07 @ 10:51 pm EDT
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| Fear of a Public Bathroom | Entry #535623 |
It may seem like something so simple, so everyday. But it's a object of intimidation and dread. Using a public restroom. But there are people who have to worry when they walk into a restroom that they will get questioned, get looks, or frighten someone. My wife is one of those people. So are several of my friends.
I don't get mistaken for a guy. I never have. When I came out, I had long hair and wore makeup. I wore mostly female clothes. I was usually told that I must not be a "real" lesbian. Or that I must be bisexual because of how I looked. As someone who struggled with their identity for 25 years, this was a huge insult and discouragement for me. I didn't feel like how I was categorized. I still don't. But finally I met someone who gave me the gift of freedom to wear what makes me comfortable and cut my hair that way that suits me. Now, when people see me, they may not automatically assume I'm a lesbian but they sure don't assume I'm not.
There are a lot of days (let's say 80%) that I feel butch. My emotions are stereotypical butch. My demeanor. My attitude. My persona. But there are those other days... the days I feel like putting on a little mascara, the days I take pictures like the one in my profile, the days that I want a car door opened for me or to be treated like a female. No one at work ever sees that side of me. Ever. I have personal reasons for that. One is safety. It's just safer for people to assume that I'm some badass bulldyke. Then they won't fuck with me. Looking the way I look now, I have less worry of some arrogant, stupid male deciding to prove my sexuality wrong. But sometimes, I want to be seen as beautiful.
Because my wife is perceived as butch she has fewer options than me. For starters, she's 6'1, broad shoulders, strong arms, and minimal hips. To many people, they think she's a guy. And it's not even just at first glance. It's stupidity. "What kind of name is Michelle for a guy? Is it French?" Stupid. Or "Michelle? Oh, I'm sorry, I mean Michael." Stupid. We've heard it all so let me squash those questions. No, she doesn't want to be a guy. No, she's never wanted to be a guy. No, she's not transgendered. She's not scary. She's never even been in a fight really. She's not a fighter.She's butch true enough but she's a woman. My wife has sensitive emotions and cries more than I do. She's sweet and goofy. She's soft. She has a beautiful body underneath her Adidas shirts and cargo pants. She's romantic and a great mother. She's not a father figure. She's not a dad. She's their mom.
Her voice isn't deep. Actually, we're mistaken for each other on the phone. We sound a lot alike. And neither of us sound like a guy. Over the phone, we're "ma'm". Over the phone, there's no confusion. But let her walk into the women's restroom. People are bold enough to ask, Are you in the right room? This bothers her because (as she says): A. They think I'm a guy. B. They think I'm a guy with man boobies. C. They think I'm a guy with man boobies who apparently can't read and is too stupid to know which bathroom to use. Nice.
She's called "dad" by doctors, nurses, school workers and they are all corrected. It's fucking infuriating. Have we as a society really gotten so lazy that we can't take the time to do more than just a quick glance?? Because if anyone looked at her for more than a second they would see the softness in her smile, the breasts, the hidden hips, and the female voice. They wouldn't assume because of her stature that she's male.
I love my true butch wife. I love her strength and her emotions. I love her attitude and her sense of humor. When I look at her, I see the woman who choked up during wedding vows, the woman who calmed our oldest son as he got stitches in his face, the woman who never missed a karate class for our middle son, and the woman who carried our youngest son around the zoo for hours when he was two and fell asleep. I see the woman who stayed with me through each of my mistakes, the one who stayed when no one else did, the one who supported me when I lost my job, and the one who was with me during each bipolar episode before meds and didn't walk out.
To my wife and to all my butch brothers and sisters, I love you. You are beautiful. You are proud. You are honorable. You deserve better.
Peace,
Angie aka rainbow-writer
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