Non-binary and neuro-divergence

Through a parallel process, I worked out that I was probably somewhere on the autistic spectrum. Various people had suggested it to me over the years and after an accidental research into my nephew’s autism (I read a book “Untypical” by Pete Wharmby – excellent read), I realised that I was almost certainly on the spectrum myself.

While researching neuro-divergence I discovered that neuro-divergent people are significantly more likely to belong to gender and sexual minorities than their neuro-typical peers. NDs often find accepting societal norms difficult, and its been suggested that NDs tend to live more authentically because they struggle with the arbitrary rules of society.

After all, why should people with one physiology in a certain place and time be permitted to wear garments open at the bottom, whereas another group be compelled to wear garments that are joined underneath (ie skirts vs trousers). Or why should “”men” be expected to take the bins out and are allowed power tools, whereas “women” “boys” get given cars to play with and “girls” dolls? Why is it a struggle for “men” to express emotions, yet “women” are more often seen as too emotional? Double standards that do not make any sense.

Life without hormones

Being without hormones for several months helped me to pick apart my gender identity and work out what I am – don’t underestimate the power of hormones in determining who you think you are! Take them away and you can be a radically different human. I was much more emotional – and I liked that because it felt more me.

Testosterone came back in small doses. I needed it – for bones, for energy – but I didn’t want to overdose on masculinity. That’s the privilege of being a eunuch: to fine-tune your hormones like a sound engineer mixing a track until it hits just right.

The cost

The surgery (including flights and care) cost about £9,000, which we borrowed against the house for.

The real cost hasn’t been money though: I made a lot of mistakes with how I handled this second coming out with my husband, which, after quarter of a century together suddenly found that the man he loved had been hiding a big part of himself away.

While trying to work out what and who the hell I was, I said a great many things to him. Some proved to be wrong (you know that sometimes you don’t know how you feel or think until you say it out loud … no? that’s only me then?). These things were said and they were heard, and the hearing was upsetting even if the thing said turned out not to be true (sorry for being obtuse here).

I was, in effect, asking my husband to be flexible with his sexuality. He is a gay man attracted to men. He tried very hard and I don’t believe that the fact of my non-binary nature is the problem in our marriage, but that and the years of secrecy destroyed his trust beyond hope of recovery.

The love of my life and I are therefore separating.

Some couples manage to continue when one partner comes out as trans or nonbinary, some do not.

I may not look or sound like it, but my heart is broken.

Life now

I’d always thought coming out as gay was the hardest part. But in truth, that was just the first chapter. Coming out to myself about my gender identity was harder, more disorienting – and ultimately, far more healing.

I used to think of dysphoria as a private curse I didn’t have language for. Now, I understand it as a signal – one that led me, kicking and screaming at times, toward the person I actually am.

The processes enabled me, caused me, to re-evaluate and reinterpret my whole life. There’s lots that now makes sense to me that previously never did – inconsistencies and contradictions that are now reconciled.

These days, I’m at peace with my body in a way I never imagined possible. I still don’t fit comfortably into ‘man’ or ‘woman’, but I finally fit in my own skin. And that’s not the end of the story – it’s just where I start living it.

However, I’m also writing – living – this in a time when trans and nonbinary people – especially those of us in the UK – are facing increasing scrutiny, suspicion, and outright hostility. It’s a frightening time to be visible, but silence is no protection either. I didn’t ask to be politicised. I just wanted to be at peace with myself and the world around me. But since being myself is now an act of resistance – so be it.

The world isn’t all bad, though. I’ve made some very good friends – some are people like me, and some are allies, some sit at the desk opposite me. Support and real friendship are out there, even if you sometimes have to look for them.

Coming out isn’t a moment – it is a lifetime.
It’s not a single truth but a series of unfolding ones.
And sometimes, the deepest truth is the one you uncover when nobody’s asking anymore – the one you live quietly, fully, finally.