May 26, 2025
Influences and various traumas in my childhood have lead me to, even passively, strive to be two things:
1. Someone who is socially included.
2. Someone who does not trouble or inconvenience others.
The painful part is how my desire for #1 has always propelled me in a way that risks compromising #2. The even more painful part is that there is a third, more significant thing that risks compromising the other two:
3. Someone who is true to myself.
I want to do what feels right for myself, and exist in a way that suits me.
So when I came out as nonbinary to the closest of my friends, I felt a combination of elation at being able to comfortably express my identity, and agony at realizing I would inevitably have to correct people on my pronouns/gender and the worry that they would eventually feel like my relationship with them wasn't "worth" dealing with something like that. It still doesn't go away. I loathe being insistent on anything about myself; I had it engraved in me that I should keep my head down, that I shouldn't "become a problem", and unfortunately to "become a problem" meant pretty much anything that required people to "accomodate" me in any way. This "social submission" built into a passive resentment for people who were simply comfortable expressing and asserting their presences; to me, the justification was that they were "too much", or that they were annoying, or conceited, or what have you. But the core of the feeling was that in the same way that the moon was allowed to glow and draw attention without people shaking their fist at it for the mere act of being what it is, I wished that I, too, could feel that it was okay for me to freely be whoever or whatever I was meant to be.
Another hurdle recently came that challenged the three objectives in my programming, and that was with my dive into veganism. Even though I had given it passive thought for a good while, what lead me to make this decision was an astoundingly simple question, one that flashed in my brain like lightning one day, seemingly spurred on by a good online friend who was also enveloped in the lifestyle (thank you, Levo!):
"If I can make a few extra decisions and go through a little extra inconvenience to save even just one life, why wouldn't I?"
And that was it. I'm hardly an animal lover. I didn't really grow up with pets, and had no desire to get any. I only recently got a dog, and I love her but I mostly wish she were less noisy. I used to be genuinely baffled at people's attachment to their animals. But I value life independently of my personal feelings about beings, and I thought that if I could take a few detours to better preserve it, it seemed like a no-brainer to at least try. And while it's a lot more than just food, adjusting my diet also ended up being an excellent excuse to cook more as someone who already loved to get in the kitchen; after about two weeks I feel like I'd learned at least ten different ways to work tofu into my meals, and rather deliciously at that! I was in love with the flexibility; while there's no such thing as a 1:1 to a meat product, I was more than satisfied with how well I could prepare it as a ground beef-adjacent for tacos, and later as a chicken-adjacent for dipping nuggets like I'm in elementary school again.
But in the same way that I struggled to tell my friends "um, actually, I go by they/them", I struggled to tell my father things like "oh, actually, I can't eat meat". It was telling of how deeply ingrained this complex was in me that I struggled so badly to remind him as he suggested we get steaks at the supermarket to celebrate us moving out. He'd been nothing but supportive up to this point, and in contrast to my mother, who had rattled down a laundry list of reasons why I'll struggle as a vegan when I explained the prospect to her, he simply said "Hey, that's cool, I hear tofu is good for you. Did you know your grandfather used to be a vegetarian?(confused, but he's got the spirit)"
But when he realized he had forgotten about this, I was already in "it's fine, I don't want to make this difficult" mode, while he was vehement and insistent on getting me some frozen veggie burgers or veggie dogs so he'd at least have something to grill for me that day.
And even after that, he tried to get me some ice cream and it was my brother who reminded him that it'd have to be non-dairy 🥹 But he didn't mind the compromise, or the slightly higher price. He remarked that he seems it as really no different than shopping for someone with an allergy and if it feels right to me then he'll support that, and that just because I live under his house doesn't mean I should be expected to eat everything he cooks. Feeling like a "burden" in that way still makes me want to die; but I'm blessed with at least one good parent who does his best for me.
I still do struggle with frustration towards those more "free" than I, and I feel like I'll never be able to completely overcome the nagging urge to just fade into the background and bend my life around other people, rather than risking them doing anything to bend their lives around mine. I have the kind of convictions in myself that make me want to speak up, but the fear of being "too loud" and scaring people with my voice ultimately is something that can keep me silent. I don't expect to be able to use my voice all the time, and I don't want to become someone who speaks for the sake of speaking and asserts for the sake of asserting; my traumas aside, I consider myself an agreeable presence who could never be that kind of person regardless. But I know when it comes to valuing myself at the bare minimum, I can improve, and that I'm not wrong to make a little noise when it concerns my life, what makes me comfortable and happy and feels "right" to pursue.
If there's anyone else reading this who struggles with asserting themselves like I do and is the kind to just nod their head, I think you should understand how important your voice is, especially when it concerns you. Why is it important? Because you're alive. Your words are important. Your life is important. You deserve to glow, and to have the kind of company who acknowledge the way you do so. I'm still learning, but each decision I make — in the name of my presence, my happiness, my beliefs, my right to exist — is another block upon the tower of resolve, and we're aiming for the moon with this one.