Happy Intersex Awareness Day

Growing up I didn’t know anything was “wrong” with me. But looking back, there were signs. 

I hit puberty very young.  By age eight, I had already developed breasts, curves, and was having heavy, painful periods. I was born in 1989, so growing up we didn’t have the internet or accessibility to the information and networking we have now. Instead, we had a narrow culture of “boy or girl” and in high school, we had “gay, lesbian, bisexual.” 

Terms like transgender, nonbinary, intersex - they existed somewhere far away.  They were still inaccessible to me, and would be for years.

I never felt fully male or female. I was never quite enough to feel comfortable as one or the other, but I didn’t have words to explain my experience, and no one to relate to. 

Eventually, during my later years in college, I met someone who identified as transgender. He explained that it felt like he was born in the wrong body. He explained terms like FtM and MtF (Female to Male, and Male to Female), and concepts like gender dysphoria. It felt similar, but still not quite right. Despite his encouragement, I never felt comfortable calling myself trans.

In 2012, I suffered the first major health crisis relating to my different biology. A high fever and agonizing pain in my side prompted a visit to the ER where I was immediately admitted for concerns of appendicitis. After some tests, the doctors diagnosed a severe kidney infection caused by a mass attached to the outside of my uterus that had become inflamed and was putting pressure on my kidney. 

That hospital stay was hell and I still have trauma from some of the things that happened there. 

I was left with a diagnosis of kidney infection and several prescriptions, along with a follow up set for six months. Due to a family tragedy, I never made the follow up, and ended up forgetting about it. My health had improved and there were more pressing concerns in my life.

Years later, I had other health complications arise. 

I went for more tests, and things had improved enough over the years that intersex conditions were being talked about a bit more. I was lucky.  My doctor at the time was well versed, and suspected something abnormal. She ordered a series of texts and was able to positively diagnose me with an intersex condition. 

In hindsight, this explained everything: the early puberty, the painful periods, the previous issue with a mass that had caused my kidney infection years before (I would later find out the mass was an underdeveloped testicle). It also explained the abnormal density spots found in my breast tissue, and confirmed the need for a preventative reduction (and eventually, most likely a full mastectomy.) 

The dense breast tissue had caused pain and discomfort for years, but I had always assumed “that’s just how boobs are.” Just like my horrible periods. I had been told by numerous doctors that “periods are just painful like that.” These were never normal periods, and without birth control they lasted up to two weeks of heavy bleeding, thick clots, fever, and psychosis. 

A diagnosis of premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD) when I was fourteen still wasn’t enough to convince our family doctor that I needed birth control. I was told “good Christian girls just keep their legs closed.” (Thankfully, my mother would not stand for that.  She fired that doctor and found one who would help me.)

Finding out that I’m intersex has been both a blessing and a struggle. 

It paved the way for a major breast reduction being completely covered by my insurance (and a less than 24 hours turnaround time for that approval - something that generally takes weeks, sometimes even months.) But it also comes with the knowledge that I will likely have more complications and need more major surgeries in the future. 

It comes with the high probability that I’m infertile (which doesn’t affect me personally, I never wanted kids.) It comes with the understanding that I am not a man or a woman but something otherly. In that same vein, it comes with harsh criticisms from people who don’t see folks like me as human.

As I’ve become more outspoken and shared my story, or even the label of “intersex” on my profile, I have quickly learned that a shocking amount of people don’t see folks like me as human. To them we’re something other, something less. 

I’ve been told I’m a mutant, a genetic deviant, and that people like me should be sterilized or culled from the gene pool. Intersex is generally not considered a hereditary condition, but facts don’t matter to people who weaponize hate and ignorance.

On the flip side of the spectrum, I have also had to deal with a surprising number of trans and nonbinary folks overstepping and claiming they “identify as intersex” to validate their gender, despite not being biologically intersex. 

To be absolutely clear: you cannot “identify as intersex.” Intersex is a biological sex. A biologically female person cannot “identify as biologically male.”  That would be a lie. It’s not possible. 

Gender identity is based on gender, not biology. The two are separate things. Explaining that to some people has become dangerous, though. Some people are more fixated on their entitlement and prioritize their use of whatever labels they want (regardless of facts and accuracy) over the lives, experiences, and struggles of real people.

I’ve also experienced that intersex people are still often compared to animals. Terms like “he-she” and “hermaphrodite” are still common. It’s also been my experience that when I talk about being intersex, it seems like people see this as an open invitation to ask extremely personal questions about my genitals - more than once I’ve received demands for photos! Both  times were by folks in the queer community. 

Being openly intersex has made some people feel entitled to my body in ways they likely never would to another person. It has made me feel dehumanized - like a science fair project to be gawked at - and often fetishized.

 Do I dislike being intersex? Do I wish I were something else? 

I ask myself this a lot. 

The answer is: “It’s complicated.” 

The medical traumas and fear of what else my body might do or what else is hiding like some ticking timebomb inside of me… yeah, that keeps me up at night. So do the nasty comments. 

I’m still human, and they still hurt. Being fetishized by ex friends, being toted around as special, rare, otherly - like some shiny Pokémon to collect and show off. 

It hurts. 

But I’ve also gained so many amazing, supportive friends who genuinely care. I’ve been surprised by the protectiveness and love they’ve shown me. 

Through it all I’ve come to realize this:

This is my body, for better or worse. I am who I decide I am. No one can dictate that or label me without my consent.  

Being intersex is a part of who I am.

I am me - I am messy, and I don’t fit neatly into any box. I never have. I am me, and part of being me is being intersex.