Halloween Reflections
For years I never quite had the words to explain why I love Halloween, or rather, I wasn’t ready to announce why. This year was different though; I was finally ready.
“Why do you love Halloween?” I get to dress up as whatever, whoever I want without worrying about being questioned. The reply: “people are still gonna ask questions”. Sure, but, who cares, it’s Halloween.
Halloween is the reason, the answer, the justification. It’s the explanation that’s provided without me even having to say a word. And, most importantly, it’s accepted. Why do they look like that? Halloween. Is that? Halloween. What the? Halloween. I don’t understand…? Oh, yeah. Halloween.
For me, Halloween began with a gendered climbing competition (meaning there were male or female divisions). The format was certainly not new to me, but on Halloween, I pondered not subjecting myself to the gender binary. I just wasn’t in the mood… but, costumes!
I decided on being a mummy. I knew I wanted a more gender neutral costume, and there was nothing immediately gender-afiable to a mummy, plus it was fun to create and didn’t restrict my ability to climb.
The universe has it’s ways though, the wisdom to bring us back to our authenticity, when we allow it. I was becoming less and less mummified with each climb, and all along I knew I had a plan B, a plan B that secretly wanted to be plan A. Crop top mummy. I was feeling anxious, but also bold because I knew the answer to “what would people think?”… it’s Halloween.
I had not planned to wear both a male and female costume that night; it just kind a happened. Obviously, there is nothing inherently gendered about revealing one’s tummy (I mean, come on, really?), but we do live among the patriarchy, toxic masculinity, sexism, and oppression (even on Halloween). So, if I had to choose between two genders to compete (my sex assigned at birth) and struggle to feel joy in a very gendered environment, I was at least going to give myself permission to play with it a little.
The following night was different, a bit of a safe haven among a covid-bubble of friends, an environment I intentionally created, where I chose to be a witch… a quite sexy witch in a thrifted lacey corset (if I do say so myself). I worried a little about perpetuating an oppressive culture (we all know most department store female costumes are oversexualized), but when had I gotten to feel sexy on Halloween, or perhaps, any other day?
All in all, it was a great weekend, one that will propel me toward greater authenticity in the future. There were some challenging moments, including the one I’m about to share, but fortunately the universe came to me again with a reminder: No amount of outside affirmation, validation, or attention is ever going to be enough.
As I headed towards the grocery store exit, I heard an employee calling out to somebody but I was too far away to hear the entirety of their sentence. “Ma’am, you…”
I was marveling at the weekend, how strong I felt climbing, how much joy I felt as a witch, and how hot I felt in the black leggings I was currently wearing. I was in my own little world. Underneath my thoughts, I heard the faint calling continue, “Ma’am”, and I realized they could be talking to me.
I turned around and immediately noticed a pear on the ground. I looked down at my bag of pears, where there was once four, and now saw only three. They were talking to me. I said thank you as I made eye contact with the employee. The next and only word I heard from them next was, “sir”. I picked up the pear and left the store, but this experience stuck with me.
I reflected on the exchange as I walked to my car. This ma’am/sir situation was not new to me, but it felt different after this weekend. I thought about the change in tone, from the warm, soft, respectful pleasantry of “ma’am, you dropped a pear” to, well, something else.
I continued analyzing as I drove home. Maybe they just felt guilty for misgendering somebody. That could explain the awkward pause when I turned around and the coldness I felt in the undertone of “sir”. Perhaps they were merely confused that their knowledge of gender norms didn’t allow them to easily put me into a box. I searched for justification and rationalize my entire way home. They probably meant well.
After pulling into my drive way, and turning off the car, I reheard what felt so crystal clear to me in the moment. Short, brief, but exact: judgement, anger, and betrayal. How dare I intentionally confuse somebody, and cause them to feel uncomfortable. Shame on me for creating such an awkward situation. That aligned with how I instantly felt in the moment: guilty, sorry, and ashamed.
Situations like these have taught me to say, “don’t worry about it” or “it’s no big deal” when somebody apologizes for misgendering me. Remorse is what I feel most in these situations, and internalized shame intensifies. Always.
I turned off my car, and just sat in the dark for a moment, as I watched the movie going on in my head, a collection of all the experiences from that night, the weekend, and so many years before.
And, that’s how the night ended. No real clarity came until the next day.
— —
Even if that person indeed had the best of intentions; it was a reality check for me.
“Hope you enjoyed Halloween, but it’s November now. Welcome back”.
No amount of outside affirmation, validation, or attention is ever going to be enough.
