In Regard to the State of My Gender

I am extremely lucky in that I was given a gender neutral name. My full legal name, even: “Robin Lee Peterson” afforded me a lot of lifted burden and social ease when it came time for me to transition. I’ve always seen this as a very convenient benefit and, for most of the time saw fit to simply leave it at that.

Names have power and depth, however. A fact that I have learned is undoubtedly true after living a lifetime of experiencing the world often in shades of synesthetics. I often have difficulty remembering some people’s names, except in the instance where I encounter an individual has chosen their own name. At first, I thought this was because I knew a lot of trans folk and remembering their names was very important to me out of mutual respect. However when I looked at the people in my life whose names I can recall with the greatest ease, they’re almost completely always people who have, at some point in their lives, chosen what they wish to be called.

When realizing this phenomenon, Robin began to scratch around at the back of my brain. I “should” have been happy with being lucky enough to have a name I didn’t have to modify, and leave it at that. So why didn’t it sit right with me? The answer came to be in several parts:

- Firstly, Robin was given to me in full confidence that I was male, and therefore carried the direct connotation of it being a male name. I have therefore lived a good portion of my life receiving Robin as a male title and cannot deny it still feels as such up to today.

- Second, Robin carries the weight of a childhood I wish to leave behind, and a large portion of the specific kind of abuse I received has caused me to associate Robin as a submissive title. The name and kind of a person whom I am no longer.

- Finally, Robin simply does not sit right with me as the person that I am overall. Whereas in the physical or metaphysical sense. I cannot exactly describe it (as I’m sure most people cannot describe how their names attach to them) but I know that Robin just feels off. Out of tune. Simply the improper word to give title to the everything that makes up who I am.

Finding who I am and what to call me came with a lot of introspective thought and tough decision making, and finding that exact combination of letters that undoubtedly screams “ME” was mulled over for months, carefully and meticulously weighing the task of giving language to the tangled ball of everything intangible making up the person I am.

In conclusion, I guess what I’m saying is:

Please, call me Zoey.