My great aunt and uncle, fondly nicknamed ‘Auntie & Unc’ bought me a set of “Growing Up Girls” when I was born. They are little porcelain figurines of a small brunette girl. Each year they’d give me a slightly larger pink cardboard box with a slightly older girl inside. I thought they were beautiful. Each girl wore a different colored pastel dress, had a different accessory, and had a small gold-colored number to indicate their age. I had a small shelf above my bed to display them. When I was younger, I’d stand at the head of my bed balancing haphazardly on stacked pillows to reach the shelf and take them down one by one. I was extremely careful in handling them. I’d trace the waves in her hair, run my fingers over her smooth arms, poke at the tiny ornamental flowers on her dress, and stare at the shiny little number. I remember thinking to myself, I’m five! I’m six! I’m seven.

            Auntie passed away just after my seventh birthday. We’d all been preparing for it ever since her cancer diagnosis. She’d been getting treatment to try and prolong what little time she had but after a few months of treatment, she was tired. I remember my parents carefully sitting my brother and I down to explain that she had died and what that meant; it was our first encounter with death. Each time I saw the little numbered statues I’d feel a lump in my throat. Seven stared back at me with the same composed rosy complexion as her sisters. 

            My great uncle, Unc, became increasingly closed off. Auntie was always the extrovert - she wouldn’t drag him places, he would just happily follow her. Without her to lead, he fell into a structured daily routine. Needless to say, I wasn’t expecting him to visit for my birthday the next year. After cutting the cake I began to open gifts. Unc silently placed a slightly larger pink cardboard box in front of me and gave me a kiss on the forehead before sitting back down. Her hair was down with a small flower in it, she wore a lavender dress, and she held out a small ribbon with a little golden eight in the center: a peace offering. 

            I later discovered that Auntie bought a collection of the “Growing Up Girls” before she died. Years later, my mom had forgotten about them for a while after we had moved, and upon remembering she brought me up to the attic to find them. 

            “I’m not sure which box is for what” she’d said. I was a little upset at opening all of them at once since they were a bittersweet reminder of my Aunite and Unc, one that I knew would stop at some point. There were twenty in all. One through eighteen and then…a box labeled, “This one first, please” in black sharpie. Her white dress had cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. Her head was tilted delicately and she held a bouquet of baby pink roses in both hands; a bride. It hurt me to see how much she loved me. She wanted to see me grow up, fall in love, and get married. Auntie wanted to see me happy. 

            I was a bit surprised by how happy the bride figurine made me. I’d never given marriage much thought as I was only sixteen but, there was an exciting buzz surrounding the notion of having a wedding and choosing a partner. My Pinterest account had collections dedicated to wedding bands, white gowns, and party decor. Marriage has always been something I see for myself in the future. 

            The last box was labeled, “Then this one, Sweetpea…”. Sweetpea was her nickname for me, that and ‘little miss fresh’ for when I was being a brat. I felt a wave of disgust as I unwrapped the figurine from its tissue paper. She was holding a baby. “Then this one” so old fashioned of my auntie. Not to say I wanted a child out of wedlock but the assumption that I would want a child at all. My teary-eyed mother looked at my scrunched-up face and laughed.

            “Don’t worry, you’ll change your mind.” I didn’t think I would though. 

            For a while, I dwelled on the idea of children. As a teenager, not many want or consider having a child anyway. I decided to give it time and maybe I would change my mind. My now ex-boyfriend told me he would want kids while we were discussing our future. I was surprised with how quickly he responded and when I asked him how he knew he’d just said, “I dunno, I’ve just always wanted to be a dad.” Most girls would probably swoon but I looked at him like he was insane. 

            “How many kids do you want?” I’d asked.

            “I want a bigger family so maybe four?” he’d said. 

            “Four?” I said dryly. 

            I was beginning to think there was something wrong with me. Why did other people just know that they wanted kids? How were they coming up with these numbers? The thought of being pregnant disgusted me. The thought of taking care of a tiny human frightened me. From high school till recent times, I still struggle to understand how others could be so sure of their choice and struggle to understand how uncertain I am in my own. 

~

            When I first started working in college, one of my co-workers asked me if I was queer. I replied honestly, knowing that they too were out as asexual and non-binary. “Yea, I’m pan.” 

            “But like what about your gender? What pronouns do you use?” They’d asked. I’d never really given it too much thought before then. 

            “I use she/her pronouns” I replied.

            “But…” they started, expecting me to elaborate. “...You’re questioning? Cause I mean just looking at you - you’re obviously gay”. This sounds like it came off as rude almost teasing comments but that’s not what Rory meant to do. While they have no filter and say anything on their mind, they do it in a loving way. The questions surrounding my gender didn’t make me feel defensive, in fact, I felt seen. Since I was little I’d always been the tomboy, the one who hated frilly skirts and dresses. When picturing my “Growing Up Girls”, they were little markers of my age; beautiful but I never envisioned myself as one until laying my eyes on the bride. When I was able to dress myself for school I would gravitate toward the baggy sweats and T-shirts. The lacy dresses on the “Growing Up Girls” were never something I sought after, just something I admired. They were perfectly posed, backs straight, hair done, makeup on; I was always slouched, hair disheveled, dark circles rarely concealed. 

            My sexuality was a gateway of sorts into my journey of discovering gender. I’d always tell people I wasn’t really attracted to physical attributes. The best way to describe it has always been, I dunno, I’m drawn to people's vibes. I feel as though I’m capable of loving anyone. That then uncovered the question of how I view myself. 

            I’ve settled on she/they pronouns and have identified as non-binary for two years now. I’ve been able to feel much more comfortable with myself in those two years. As someone who’s always struggled with self-image, I feel a sense of safety in the person I’ve become. My identity has also helped me understand more about my distaste for becoming a parent. I don’t feel as though my body is meant to have kids. I’ve always said that if I change my mind I would adopt older kids in the system. I’ve only just recently been able to recognize my uncertainty surrounding kids to be linked to my gender identity. 

            I’ve been able to find some comfort in the labels I’ve adopted for myself. I’ve found a community of friends who’ve supported and encouraged my journey of self-discovery. I hope to continue learning more about myself in the future and even maybe return the favor of support to others. One of my career interests in the future would be to provide speech and language therapy. Specifically, I’ve found an interest in gender-affirming voice therapy, which allows transgender and non-binary folk to find the voice that best suits their identity. Although it’s still a new field of study, I’ve already begun planning for that route through schooling and future research prospects. Through studying more about gender and speech therapy I hope to continue to grow into my identity, form a community, and support others like myself.