To be non-binary is to be free. Liberation from the expectations of others — expectations informed only by physical composure rather than actual character — is what propelled me to identify this way. Before 2015, I didn’t even know that deviating from the gender binary was an option. It wasn’t until this past summer and the pandemic that I really had the opportunity to consciously reflect on myself.
When I made the decision to use they/them pronouns in July, I felt drawn to it like a condor to the sky. Like spreading my wings, claiming they/them as my own pronouns was a way to take back my own autonomy, drawing a distinction between who society wants me to be versus who I truly am. It is no exaggeration to say that I finally feel more whole by rejecting the toxicity of traditional gender roles. The only person who supported me was Parker.
Parker and I first met at a small art gallery tucked away in a corner of the city that only the truly curious seemed to stumble upon. The theme that night was “Identity in Flux,” an almost laughably apt descriptor for my internal world at the time. I’d been invited by a friend who bailed last minute, leaving me to navigate the space alone. But I wasn’t really alone, was I? Parker had been there—a tall, dark-haired enigma wearing a charcoal suit with a vibrant green tie that shouldn’t have worked, but somehow did.
“What do you see when you look at this?” Parker had asked, gesturing toward a canvas filled with abstract swirls of orange and blue. Their voice was low and soothing, like the first notes of a jazz song.
I hadn’t answered right away. Instead, I’d studied the painting, then Parker, then back again. “It’s chaos, but there’s something comforting in that. Like… it’s okay to not make sense all the time.”
Parker had smiled, a small, knowing curve of their lips. “Exactly.” That single word, coupled with the warmth in their eyes, made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t expected. It was the start of something I couldn’t yet define but felt deeply drawn to.
Over the months that followed, Parker became my anchor. They were there when I hesitated to correct people on my pronouns, gently reminding me that my identity was worth asserting. They were there when I doubted myself, their steady belief in me acting as a balm for my insecurities. And they were there when I celebrated my victories, no matter how small, cheering me on with an enthusiasm that was infectious.
One evening, as we sat on the balcony of my apartment, watching the city lights flicker against the dark, Parker turned to me with a look I couldn’t quite decipher.
“Charlie, have you ever felt like you’re standing on the edge of something big, but you’re too scared to jump?” they asked.
I nodded, my chest tightening. “All the time.”
Parker’s gaze held mine, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. “What if I told you that sometimes, the jump is worth it?”
Their words lingered in the air between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. Before I could overthink it, Parker leaned in, their lips brushing mine in a kiss that was both tentative and sure. It wasn’t fireworks or an explosion; it was a quiet, steady warmth that spread through me, grounding me in a way I hadn’t known I needed.
In the weeks that followed, our relationship deepened. Parker had a way of making the ordinary feel extraordinary, whether it was cooking dinner together in my tiny kitchen or spending lazy Sunday mornings wrapped up in each other on the couch. They challenged me, supported me, and most importantly, accepted me completely for who I was.
But life isn’t a perfect narrative, and love doesn’t exist in a vacuum. As much as Parker and I had found a sanctuary in each other, the outside world had a way of intruding. One day, while tidying up my desk, I stumbled upon an envelope addressed to Parker. It was from my boss, and curiosity got the better of me. Inside was a letter that sent a chill down my spine.
The letter revealed that Parker had been instrumental in helping me secure my current job. They had leveraged connections, pulling strings in ways that felt both manipulative and loving. I didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, their actions had undeniably opened doors for me. On the other, it felt like a betrayal of trust, a reminder that even in love, there were complexities and gray areas I couldn’t ignore.
When I confronted Parker that evening, the air between us crackled with tension. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, holding the letter out like a weapon.
Parker’s expression shifted from confusion to realization, then regret. “Charlie, I did it because I believe in you. You deserve every opportunity, and I wanted to make sure you had them.”
“But you didn’t trust me enough to make it on my own?” My voice broke, the weight of my emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “You made decisions for me without even asking. How is that fair?”
They looked away, their jaw tightening. “I didn’t want to risk you saying no. I… I thought I was doing the right thing.”
The silence that followed was deafening, a chasm opening up between us. For the first time since we’d met, I wasn’t sure if we could bridge it.
The days after our argument were marked by an unbearable quiet. Parker and I still shared the same spaces, but the warmth that had defined our relationship seemed to have evaporated. I tried to focus on work, on friends, on anything that might distract me, but everything came back to Parker.
One evening, I found a letter on the kitchen table, my name scrawled in Parker’s familiar handwriting. My hands shook as I unfolded it.
“Charlie,
I’ve accepted a job offer overseas. It’s a role I’ve dreamed about for years, but more than that, it’s a chance for me to give you the space you need to thrive without feeling overshadowed by my decisions. I’ve loved you in a way I didn’t think was possible, but I’ve come to realize that love sometimes means letting go. I hope you find everything you deserve and more. I’ll always be rooting for you, even from a distance.
—Parker”
Tears blurred my vision as I read and reread the letter. Part of me wanted to chase after them, to beg them to stay, but another part of me knew they were right. Our love, as beautiful and transformative as it had been, wasn’t without its flaws. Maybe time and distance would allow us to grow in the ways we both needed.
As I stood on the balcony that night, the city lights blinking below, I thought about Parker’s words. The jump is worth it, they’d said. And maybe this was my chance to prove them right, to find my own way and discover who I was outside of us.
The ache in my chest was unbearable, but underneath it was a quiet determination. I didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, I felt ready to face it—on my terms.
