This blog, for the most part, is about neurodivergence. I feel that there is a lot to be said about the experiences of neurodivergent sailors like me, how we navigate challenges on and off the water, and what others can do to make our sport and general society more inclusive towards us. However, there is another aspect of my identity that arguably provides just as many challenges as neurodivergence. To put it simply, I’m transgender.
I lived the first 18 years of my life thinking I was a boy, a role that never quite fitted me right. Sure, I loved trains, motor racing and medieval castles, but I spent much of my teenage years longing to not only be perceived differently to my male peers, but also to live differently to them as well. From the hours I spent looking at women, not out of any form of sexual attraction, but instead envy for bodies, clothes and community, to the countless times I looked at my own body with disgust. I thought there was no other option – I was born in this body, had seemingly masculine interests, and surely trans people only included people so dysphoric they had to turn their lives upside-down, replacing all their trousers with skirts and painting their bedroom pink? Guess what colour I painted my room just this summer….
It was going to university that helped me understand that there was a way to end my discomfort. A form of discomfort I knew was there, but didn’t know what it was caused by or how to end it. Weirdly, the spark began academically – through learning about how much of our world we socially-construct and how flexible gender roles can be. I won’t detail it all here, but I’m generally happy to chat with people about the academic theory that sparked my self-realisation. My lack of attraction to others meant I was already questioning my sexuality, so my gender identity naturally followed on. While at first I wanted to escape from the ‘prison’ I saw gender to be, I later realised that I took comfort in femininity, and a more non-typical womanhood, of sorts. While I still keep the idea of gender rebellion in my heart, and see myself as naturally non-conforming to societal ideas of gender, I’m also glad that both trans and cisgender (non-trans) women have accepted me into their community.
Some may call me a trans woman, and I’m happy to accept being called that, as I am one of sorts. I also see myself as outside of gender, and believe that the two can occur simultaneously. But in reality, more important than labels, is the way I live my life, both to be more comfortable in my own skin, and to make the world a brighter place for those around me. Many of my friends and family have mentioned how in recent months, as I’ve come to living as myself more, I’ve seemed far more comfortable and relaxed, and generally happier, even when faced by constant daily challenges. That in itself, is enough for me to say that it was the right decision to accept myself.
I realise I couldn’t write this without mentioning sailing, of course. Originally, I thought that I left gender at the dockside. On the water, we often compete in mixed-gender fleets, our kit makes it hard to see who is a boy and who is a girl, and that should be that, right? I couldn’t have been farther from the truth. It was on the water where I realised that this is me. If being trans is just a performance to other people, then the real test would be out on the water, in a case where I was often in a boat by myself. I would spur myself on by talking to myself with my chosen name, well before my friends had even heard it, and I actually felt the most affirmed I could be – simply for the fact that no one could dispute who I was. Sure, there is the ongoing issue of misogyny that I’m slowly experiencing more as time goes on (and I’m mostly unqualified to talk about), but my response has increasingly become to ignore anyone who speaks against me, and try to beat them to the finish line. There is also the ongoing issue of rules surrounding trans inclusion in racing, but that merits a post of its’ own.
Since I came out last year, I’ve changed my name, to Bex Esther-Keith Foulsham. I deliberately chose Bex as a name I was comfortable with, keeping Keith to honour a connection to my dad’s father, and then chose Esther, a name that I’m also happy to be called as an alternative to Bex. Choosing this name, as well as the long process of self-acceptance, has resulted in many tears, a mourning of sorts for the boy I thought I was, but in reality I never was. Now that I’m living as the true person that I was always meant to be, it feels like a new chapter has begun. And that is why I painted my room, waving goodbye to my old light-blue walls, and after hours working alongside my parents in choosing, cleaning and painting, my room was now pink, and upon seeing it finished, I welled up with tears again. As a feminist, I might be strongly opposed to gender stereotypes, but this symbolic change meant the world to me (mainly because I prefer the colour pink to blue anyway!)
As I said earlier, this blog is primarily focused on neurodivergence. However, don’t be surprised if I make the occasional post about something significant relating to gender, whether related to gender equality or trans rights or both. It’ll probably be mentioned in passing on certain posts (as it already is mentioned on my instagram @sailingbex). I feel it is only right to address something that is central to my life, and also where I’ve come across countless others feeling unseen and in need of representation.
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