Am I not a woman and a sister?

I received an email this morning that let me know that it was my hysterversary. "What is a hysterversary?" you say. Why, it's the anniversary of the day that I had my uterus surgically removed. As of today, it's been five years since that surgery. It's been five years since I was regularly consious of an organ in my body and the way that it was behaving. Five years since I dealt with constant pain and discomfort. Five years since I planned my day around access to a bathroom or worried about how many tampoms or pads I had in my possession. Five liberating years.

Making the decision to have a hysterectomy was difficult for me. Despite the pain, bleeding, and discomfort that I had experienced in some degree for years and fairly nonstop for about six months, I was hesitant to have surgery. Even though I had never used my uterus for its intended purpose and never intended to, I felt emotional about the decision to remove it. My uterus represented the seat of my feminity. It somehow connected me to the collective feminine. It was sacred.

So, let me start my saying that I'm hardly a traditionally feminine person, but I do identify with being a woman. I'm different from a lot of women, though. I've never wanted to by a mother. I didn't play with baby dolls as a child and preferred to play "grown up" by pretending that I had a job, smoked Eve cigarettes, and had a single, adult woman lifestyle. Sometimes I was a secretary or "business woman." Sometimes I was a waitress or a stewardess. I never heard my bioligical clock ticking. Depsite what others would say to me, I never changed my mind about not wanting to have children, and I never regretted it, either.

I hate dresses and skirts. I'm forced to wear a dress once a year to attend a Mardi Gras event with a gender-specific dress code. I'm extremely uncomfortable dressed that way and always have been.

I don't wear much makeup. I tried as a teen, but I had no clue what I was doing and never could master the fine art of eyeliner or the proper application of blush. I can't tell you what shade of eyeshadow goes in the crease or on the brow bone or anywhere in between. And I honestly don't understand the point of lipstick.

So why was I so hung up on removing my uterus? Why did I think that it represented something sacred? Why did I want to keep an organ that I had never used and never intended to use? Why was the whole thing so emotional to me? I couldn't answer or explain.

I articulated my hesitation to the OBGYN surgeon that I was referred to. I will forever be grateful to him. He reframed the issue for me. He pointed out that my uterus was a diseased organ and asked if I would hesitate to remove disease in any other part of my body. He allowed me to be logical about the situation. My uterus was no more special than my appendix. It was basically a useless, purposeless organ that I hadn't really considered until it became problematic.

So, on December 18, 2017, I went to the hospital in the morning and came home around midnight without my diseased uterus. My recovery was surprisingly easy. I was up and moving around almost right away. Less than a week later, I celebrated Christmas Eve in St. James Parish enjoying the bonfires on the levee. And, I may have cheated and started practicing yoga with Adriene a few days before the surgeon officially released me. I felt great.

Five years later, my thoughts about my uterus, and about uteri and women in general, have really evolved. I realize now that organs--internal or external--have nothing to do with gender. Just like the fact that being a mother doesn't make someone more or less of a woman. Or the way that someone dresses. Or whether or not she wears makeup. Or has short hair, or long hair, or no hair. Being a woman has nothing to do with your body. And nothing to do with what we consider traditional feminity.

I fully believe that our experience of gender is extremely personal and that no one has the right to tell another person that they are not "man enough" or that they should be "more feminine." Society will always treat us in the way that they perceive us, but that doesn't change who we are or how we can see ourselves. I'm no longer young and thin. Men started treating me differently when I gained weight. Did that make me less of a woman? White women have been treated differently than Women of Color for centuries, but we have more in common than not. Why should skin color separate us? Trans women face the same discrimination (AND MORE) that cis women do. They, too, are our sisters. 

So, on my 5th hysterversary, I celebrate myself as a woman, and I celebrate all other women--cis women, trans women, people assigned female at birth, intersex individuals, demigirls, femmes, genderfluid and genderqueer folx, Two-Spirit souls, nonbinary individuals, and anyone else who wants to be my sister. Today, I declare December 18 my sisterversary! 

none of the above

I had a medical procedure done last week that required me to be semi-sedated, so I needed someone to be there with me to drive me home. Although I am unmarried, and this is clearly indicated in my medical records, I was told that I should make sure my husband could be there and was assured that he (my imaginary husband) would be in the room with me during the procedure. Now, I have been in a heterosexual partnership for almost ten years, so I am used to people referring to my partner as my husband, but I still think it's strange that people even assume that I am heterosexual, much less married. And don't even get me started on the reproduction issue! Apparently, it is everyone's business when you decide not to have children, and they will remind you almost constantly with stupid questions like, "Who's going to take care of you when you get old?" and with idiotic statements like, "You'll change your mind someday." Oops, I guess I got started.

Because I am unmarried and have no children, I seem to be less important than many others. While we celebrate the longevity of marriages through anniversaries, there is no such recognition for unmarried couples. Many are quick to point out that without a legal commitment, it is easier for unmarried couples to "just walk away" from the relationship. Perhaps, but if this is true, isn't it more of an accomplishment to stay together for 10 years without a legal bond than with one? And isn't a couple without children more likely to be together because they actually love one another than one with children who are "staying together for the kids?" I won't hold my breath waiting for Hallmark to publish the list of traditional gifts for the anniversaries of unmarrieds, and I really don't need external validation. I just don't want to be demeaned and undervalued.

Our culture even devalues those choices that fall outside the accepted norm through our language. There's not even a word to describe my relationship. Instead of being able to say that I am married to a husband, I must explain that I am in a long-term, committed, co-habitating relationship with a male partner. I like to use the word "partner" when I refer to Mitchell, since it most closely recognizes the role he plays in my life, but this often leads to confusion about my sexuality. The word "boyfriend" doesn't differentiate him from some guy that I'm just dating and is the same word that a seventh grader would use. There's always "fiance," but, of course, that word implies that a wedding is imminent.

While my experiences are annoying, I know that they only scratch the surface of what so many others are subjected to. I have friends who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, polyamorous, asexual, transgendered, transsexual, intersexed, and genderqueer. I also have friends who have no idea what at least half of those words mean. In any case, I know that I am lucky to have the external genitalia, internal organs, and chromosomes to match my internal sexual identity. I guess you could say that I'm lucky to be white, to be straight, and to be in a long-term relationship. I realize that I am not far from the mean on the societal bell curve, but I'm not ignorant enough to believe that everyone else thinks, lives, loves, and votes like I do. I thought this country was founded on individual differences and personal freedoms. (I know it really wasn't, but that IS what they taught us in school, right?) Call me old-fashioned, but I think we risk alienating others when we assume that we know who they are and what they believe or when we force them to identify themselves with a label.

What would it be like to fall outside of society's check-the-box mentality? Imagine having to refer to your spouse as your "roommate." Imagine worrying that someone will ask you about your relationship status and you will feel forced to either "come out" or lie to hide the truth. Imagine being called ugly names like "faggot," "homo," or "he-she." Imagine being afraid of being attacked in a public restroom, because either your "parts" or your outward appearance doesn't match the label on the door. Imagine binding your breasts tightly against your chest. Imagine tucking (maybe even taping) your penis and testicles back toward your buttocks. Imagine being stared at while people try to figure out what gender you are. Imagine waking up everyday and seeing a body that doesn't match how you feel on the inside. Imagine. Open your mind (and your heart) & just imagine.