This is the story of the incongruities I have observed in my life, my relationship with the concept of gender, and how these all culminated into my egg cracking and the realization of my chosen name.
Now, where to start?
Body
I had always loved to swim. My sibling and I were enrolled in swimming lessons at our local YMCA back when their swimming classes were plentiful and named after aquatic wildlife, and kept at it long enough to make it through the entire sequence. While we never committed to our club or varsity swim teams, we did go to our local outdoor pool and sign up for their offseason training sessions. During the dog days of summer, when it was just too hot for land-based exercises outdoors, I went into our home pool and practiced strokes there. Out on open waters, I was fine with swimming and other activities that required me to be submerged in the water too, such as boogie boarding on the oceanfront and tubing in the middle of a lake.
Eventually, as I got older, my enthusiasm for swimming and these other activities waned. I had brought my swim gear to college, but any plans to use it never materialized. At our pool at home, I became more interested in pushing the limits of what could be used as a floatation device, only making use of our strokes when trying to get off them or away from other people. Both the beach and the boat became means for me to travel to destinations where I could go for a walk.
What gave? Was there a moment or a feeling that caused this opinion shift to occur? Maybe it had something to do with being in nothing but trunks, with a latent fear that they may come undone.
During grueling stretches of work at school, and beyond that, moments of crisis at work, I felt the need to put some aspects of my executive functioning on the backburner. Some of these, such as cleaning work or living spaces while or as soon as I was done using them, I was able to be quickly whipped back into shape doing them at the behest of those I shared the living space with, as the consequences of not doing that were clear. Others such, as "not shaving", were a different story.
One thing I am in lockstep with my family on is that in the times I was resigned to let my facial hair grow out, the results were disgusting. Andrew Luck would have contempt for my neckbeard. In situations where I tried to compromise and keep a mustache, I would draw the ire of Aaron Rodgers.[1]
Why the disgust at myself regarding what is ostensibly a personal grooming choice? Was it the face that it was a reminder that I had poor executive functioning, and that said executive functioning was gatekeeping me from where I want to be? Conversely, why do I feel better after shaving but worse after getting a haircut?
During my last bout with unemployment, I finally created and adhered to a daily exercise regimen for the first time in my adult life. I was primarily attracted to the mental benefits of routine exercise, extolling the virtures of organization, focus, and discipline that were instilled in me from a young age. The goal was to use this as a talking point for how I turned my life around and therefore deserve to be your employee.
This was not the case. Something I expected to be a point of pride instead ultimately felt like just another chore.
Why was I not fulfilled? It is true that locales such as "Mom's Basement" and "Fitness Centers in Lower-End Chain Hotels"[2] are lonelier places than the hiking trails I would prefer to explore, but that doesn't explain why I was feeling unfulfilled. Onlookers even claimed I had "gains", though I simply did not see whatever they were talking about as victories.
I have always had at least some level of aversion to the idea of my name, image, and likeness being paraded out in the open without my consent. Even when I was compelled to present myself on my own terms, I would rather people point out whatever I was interacting with in the photo I took.
What did I find perverse about pictures of myself?[3]
Voice
A voice that remains clear and confident in any situation that may arise is one of the best qualities to have. I have never felt that way about my "original"/"normal" speaking voice. In one word, I would describe my speech patterns as "abrasive", whether I intended for it to be that way or not. I got typecast as one of those dipshits that thinks "louder" = "funnier". Genuine enthusiasm gets read as anger, or an otherwise lack of calm. The pressure to come up with a swift response has resulted in a jumbled, slurred mess on many a occasion. Concise statements delivered confidently are treated as out-of-character moments. I obsess over asides and bringing up trivia, only to be met with bewilderment; I then invariably respond with a very blunt "Nothing." Every question I answer, no matter how earnestly, sounds like I am being defensive. Occassionally, I will stop myself mid-sentence, visibly mad at myself about how the words I want to come out can't come out the way I want them to. I'd be lucky to get a chance to start over and be heard out.
One of my greatest desires is to be believed. Hesitancy in my voice does not instill belief. Trying to simply state facts comes across as me starting an argument. I'm wired opposite of what people come to expect when it comes to lying; when I can't stop myself from laughing at what I'm saying, its because I am telling a truth that is so absurd I don't believe it either. Trying to highlight heightened contradictions has caused people to fall under the impression that I myself am contradictory. Perhaps most damningly, simply expressing gratitude gets conflated with romantic interest.[4]
So, I hate the way that I talk. What am I going to do about it? Simply practicing talking or preparing responses to things I know I am going to be questioned about sure seem like options, but can I really rely on my predictions of what is going to happen ahead of time? Are these shortcomings real, or am I simply letting preconcieved notions of others live rent free in my head? If I do indeed have to argue or debate something, how can I stop the feeling of being forced to relitigate it over and over again?
I am such a doormat at times. I had conditioned myself to fear confrontation, even in environments where pushing back is expected and necessary. Good example of this: in situations where I would possibly be in someone's way, instead of saying "excuse me" as asking permission to pass through them, I try and find a way to go around them.[5] I feel the need to apologize for anything I might have done that may be seen as a transgression, up to and including my own existence.
Why should anyone feel the need to apologize for simply living their lives?
Mind
Many thoughts linger within me. One that has crept up many a times over the years is "I regret the life I built for myself."
Why is this the case? I can't identify many life-altering mistakes I've made. Am I perhaps chasing an idealized, "perfect" life, ala the narrator of The Tatami Galaxy?.
Or am I really expressing my laments towards a life that forces beyond my control built for me?
I wish to be in control of my own destiny. In the household I was raised in, along with the schools and workplaces I have attended, it has felt that I am continuously being held to the standards of a perfectionist; that "good enough" is never good enough. Through my eyes, imperfections are to be celebrated as the things that make us unique. When uniqueness is considered a weakness that must be eliminated in favor of a uniform group of "perfect beings", the resulting world is monotonous. The struggle for my personal self-determination can be summarized by an exclamation I have used many times over the years: "Let. Me. Be. Me."
Is there any leverage I have that I can use that will allow me to take control back? Is the assertion of others that "everything happens for a reason" sincere positive affirmation, a comforting lie, or perhaps a cruel, threatening reminder?
Why does it feel like I can't be myself?
I want to build. Build an identity for myself. Build a community based on shared values. If I build something, people will notice it, commend me for it, and appreciate its (and my) existence. The community aspect will aim to make everyone involved feel like they are part of something greater than themselves. The vibe I want to keep is that of a homecoming even for the homeless.
Unfortunately, it is easier to be sardonic than sincere; to dream of conquest rather than promise self-actualization. Great things get torn down as the parties involved get too busy fighting to marvel at what they've built.
Why must everything I try to build break?
My entire adult life has been split across two states of being: "trying to find a job" and "trying to keep my job", which I am certain I am not alone in. I felt like I was falling behind and had to resort to a laser-focused approach to catching up.[6] This often came at the detriment of personal desires such as considering what I actually am or want to be. Whenever thoughts questioning my place in the world came up, I went to great lengths to find creative ways to dodge them. Most crucially to this part of the story, this included simultaneously declaring I would be fine with "any pronouns" while not embracing the light of transgender identity.
Why do I abjectly feel the heightening contradictions, both of my personal life and the world at large?
Heart
I hear a voice inside me crying for help. I feel what it feels. When I heard this faint voice for the first time in my adult life, I declined to answer the call. I demanded a relentless pursuit of real goals in the real world; determining that now is not the time to entertain this thing called "feelings".
One way in which this inner voice reflects my real voice is that we are in essense both putting ourselves out there waiting for replies that never come. Eventually, this voice confronts me directly by giving me its first name (Maribel) and its current mailing address (what I believe at the time to be the bottom of my heart).
"What a beautiful name" I think to myself. It evokes feelings of a better world, one where love wins and everyone gets their deserved happy ending. Perhaps in a bout of dissatisfaction with the name assigned to me at birth, I begin to think to myself how cool it would be to have the name "Maribel".
This thought lingers in my head for a while until it parlays itself into two follow-up thoughts:
This name isn't particularly masculine. Am I perhaps, in part or in whole, not a guy?
Why does this real name that is most famously used in fiction[7] as a wild guess at romanizing a nonsense name[8] from the liner notes of CDs for collections of music from the OSTs of games from a genre I've never played up to this point resonate with me so damn much?
Item two is itself the subject of a whole other entry in this series, so let's focus on item one.
At this point I finally start to question my gender in earnest, using the "any pronouns" designation that I previously used as a thought-terminating cliche as a real starting point. Some people clued themselves in on this assertion acknowledged it by offering up neopronouns for me to collect. While I respecfully declined most of them, "voi/void" piqued my interest enough for a closer examination.[9]
Next, I would examine my relationship with donning traditional gender neutral pronouns as part of a non-binary identity such as they/them and it/its. I get a kick out of showing people that the singular "they" is and always has been grammatically correct. "it/its"'s initial pitch to me was the notion that the indignities that I've gone through have dehumanized me, though one that worked better on me was the idea that I can write any mixed pronoun sets that use it as "its/[him/her/them]".
There was one thing left to tackle: Am I, in part or in whole, a woman?
The first place evidence started to mount in favor of being a woman was my dreams. The only truly pleasant dreams I've ever had were ones that culminated in the loving embrace of a woman. Eventually, this desire for a cathartic release had additional clarity imbued into it: I desired the loving embrace of another woman. I later started daydreaming about seeing myself in the future as a beautiful woman in my own right.
Fitting with my nonchalant approach of taking life however it comes at me with relatively little care for "urgency", I viewed these as curiosities, not things I needed to act on right away. This would soon change.
Combo Breaker, an event I haven't missed since its return in 2022 after the onset of the pandemic, is my personal idea of paradise. The main selling point to me is the promise that every individual and every game would be treated with respect. The 2025 installment was a big deal for me, not only because it was my first real vacation time at my current job, but because it was a reliable source of genuine love that I felt was fading from the outside world.
With both of those in mind, I fully expected post-event depression to hit extra hard this time around. The sum total of emotions I was feeling turned out to be far more profound. The work environment I returned to was one that immediately collapsed into crisis mode. These crises compounded as I stood paralyzed trying to process whatever the hell was going on inside me. When it got to the point where I had to do the manual labor myself, I froze once again, thinking about every stone I've traveled over on the road that was my life up to now. I need to act. I need a definitive answer to every question I've posed above and more. A conclusion was drawn:
I am a woman.
My name is Maribel ("Merry" for short).
Since I now share a first initial with my mom, I should look into sharing a middle initial with her too.
I ended up deciding on "Althea" for that last one, which is also a whole post in and of itself. Next order of business was to process the explosion of emotions that comes with this realization so I can be as calm as possible when I say what could be the most difficult sentence I have ever had to say: "I am transgender".[10]
Now, with more and more coming off my chest, my life's journey can begin in earnest.