Gender, Sexuality, and Our Bodies

I’ve been a sexuality teacher for over 15 years and a human being for 41 years, and I can confidently say that when it comes to gender, sexuality, and our bodies, there is no normal. When I tell the creation story to my six-year-old child (I tell the first one in the Bible, not the second, more popular one), I explain that each of us represents some aspect of God and that only through looking at and celebrating the full diversity of humanity can we begin to understand the full scope and complexity of God. Society, even our Quaker Society, puts so many limits on us that we can easily forget that there is no normal and that stepping into our truest selves is an act of worship that brings the Divine into our everyday lives. For some of us, being our truest selves is much easier and safer than it is for others of us.

The language we use to talk about our gender, sexuality, and bodies is useful when it can clarify, claim, and help understand identity; it is damaging and harmful when it is used to negate, box-in, or deny identity and lived reality. I want to offer readers two things in this article: (1) a framework and some language for understanding the relationship between and the differences of our gender, sexuality, and bodies; and (2) an exposure to the vast and varied ways that we can each claim and name who we are.

Let’s start with our bodies, the physical vessels that house our spirits and are the target of a lot of societal messaging and expectations. Our bodies show up in all different ways. At birth, almost all of us are assigned a gender based on a quick, visual inspection of our genitals. For every 100 births, 48 of us are assigned female, having only a visible vulva; 51 of us are assigned male, having only a visible penis and testes; and one of us, at birth or later in life, is assigned intersex, having parts or chromosomes that exist in an array of combinations that exceed either the narrow margins of XX (and what we generally think of as typical “female” reproductive anatomy) or XY (and what we generally think of as typical “male” reproductive anatomy). I put “female” and “male” in quotations here, as I know men with the same reproductive anatomy that I have. (I’ve conceived with my own egg and given birth to a child, so you can figure out what parts I have.) Our current English language is not yet able to accurately describe our millennia-old human reality.

These gender assignments have huge implications for how we will be treated and what will be expected of us. Sometimes we find an affinity of experience with others who have the same assignment, and sometimes we don’t. My sister—the person with whom I share the same genetic origin, upbringing, experiences, choices, and interests—and I experience our bodies very differently. We have more in common in our nature and nurture than either of us has with any other person on the planet. Yet if you were to ask each of us five questions about our relationship to our bodies or how being in our own bodies has shaped our lives, you would get fundamentally different answers.

Both my sister and I understand ourselves to be women, and so our assignment of “female” at birth was not diminishing or traumatic, as it can be for many who are misgendered in their initial assignment or at times throughout their lives. As one female Friend wrote, “I was almost always misgendered as a child (assigned male). I consider it a form of abuse and not something to be public about. If I ever really heal from that, maybe I’ll be out, but for now it is too dangerous.”

I’m cisgender: my gender—who I know myself to be—and my assignment line up. Friends of mine whose gender is not recognized by the assignment someone else gave them use lots of different words to describe this aspect of themselves: trans, transgender, transsexual, genderqueer, gender-non-binary, and more. Each of these words has a different meaning, connotation, and nuance. Some people do not participate in or experience gender at all, and may use “agender” to describe this aspect of their identity or reality.

Those of us who are not agender have a gender identity (who we know ourselves to be) and a gender expression (gender markers we show to the world with our dress, mannerisms, and body presentation). Our gender identity may be static for our whole lives, or our understanding of it might shift and flow as we live. Our gender expression might be an authentic presentation of our gender identity; it might be what is safe, acceptable, available, or functional for the place in which we live; or our expression might be some combination of the two.

While it is natural to be curious about another human being, all we can ever say to others about their bodies or gender expression is, “You look awesome!” The only question that is appropriate to ask others about their bodies is, “How are you doing?” (When entering into a sexual or physically intimate relationship with someone, it is appropriate to discuss boundaries, likes, how our bodies function, and safety.) Imagine what would shift if the only commentary we got about our bodies and gender expression was “You look awesome!” Because, you do look awesome; you manifest a unique aspect of God that no one else on the planet does. That is awesome.

There are so many words to describe and claim identity. Even though I work in the field and teach in an urban school (the locus of much new language), I am not able to keep up on all the new ways of talking about the human experience. I do follow these basic rules that keep me in good stead:

• I regularly read and listen to people whose identities are different from mine.
• I listen intently to the language people use when talking about themselves, and I use that language respectfully.
• I ask what words mean when I don’t know. I don’t ask people to share personal information or expect them to share their story for my benefit.
• If I am not sure, I ask if it is acceptable for me to use a word, and I check the power dynamics behind it.
• I am gentle with myself and work to make amends when my ignorance harms others.

Just as our bodies get gendered early on and our current mainstream language is limited, so too is our language for sexuality gendered and limited. Often sexuality and sexual orientation are used interchangeably, but they are different. Sexuality, for those of us who are not asexual, encompasses sensuality—what we find erotic, how we experience pleasure and desire, what turns us on and gets us off, and more. Sexuality is about how I can and do enjoy my physical body, my emotional self, and my romantic self—with or without sharing myself with someone else. For most of us, our sexuality exists whether or not we are sexually active. Like gender, our sexuality may be fairly static for our lives or it may shift and flow in different ways at different times in our lives. Our experience of our sexuality can be deeply influenced by our environment, health, social circles, experiences of sexual violence or violation, aging, faith, culture, and more.

Sexual orientation is a small piece of this larger sphere of sexuality. Sexual orientation describes who we are interested in sharing our sexuality with. The most common words used to describe sexual orientation—gay, lesbian, bi, straight—connote both one’s own gender and the gender of the kinds of people to whom they are generally attracted. I am generally attracted to some other women so call myself a “lesbian.” I often say “gay” and even more frequently these days use “queer.” I use all three words interchangeably for myself and use a specific one depending where I am. I like the female space of lesbian; I welcome anyone who tells me that is their space, too. I like the movement aspect of gay. I claim queer to just be me and to stand with the huge array of people for whom cis and/or hetero is just not who we are. I am conscious that all these words mean different things to other people who also use them.

When I do workshops about our bodies, gender, and sexuality, I share the above visual to help illustrate how I understand these aspects of our human divinity to exist. In a workshop, I ask people to add the words and terms they use or have heard used to describe our physical bodies, our gender identities and expressions, and our sexualities and sexual orientations. Find a f/Friend and fill in the words for yourself that best celebrate your experience and reality.

I reached out to a wide group of Friends and asked each of them to share a list of one to three words to describe their physical body, gender, sexuality, sexual orientation, and anything else they wanted to say about their identity. Here is what I received back, a window into the divine diversity of how we show up and experience our humanity.

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