I never anticipated that I would be one of those people who went through life convinced of something as silly as gender roles. I wasn't brought up on the whole "blue is for boys" idea (although, as a kid, I remember my world shattering when I learned that wine wasn't only for women and beer wasn't only for men), so when I found myself falling in love with a woman who wasn't assigned female at birth, I didn't imagine I'd have much to learn from it. One of my best friends was transgender, identifying as male while being born as female, so I'd already learned everything I needed to know, right? 

Yeah. Sure.

It took a few weeks before I began to realize the flaw in not just this, but many other of my lines of thinking as well. I'd been convinced that because she was trans, everything my girlfriend did would be conceptually feminine, and that the things she did that were masculine were things she just hadn't grown out of yet. I thought I needed to tiptoe around masculine ideas and strip words like "bro" and "dude" out of my vocabulary completely. I assumed that dating my girlfriend would be like dating a butch lesbian—someone who was a woman, but maybe not completely. I cringe thinking about these old convictions.

Chinese philosophy illustrates the idea of the masculine and feminine in the age-old concept of yin and yang. Ancient philosophers, like modern-day gender studies professors, knew that these two roles have the propensity to be rigid and strict and defining—but they also knew, as it is with yin and yang, that they are intrinsically connected, and not automatically separate. When looking at the concept's representative symbol, not only are the two sides curved into each other, but they are also represented within each other: there is a white spot carved into the yin side and a black one in the yang. This is a simple idea that holds massive implications, especially when in reference to gender—the thought that not only are the masculine and feminine energies intertwined, but they are existent within each other as well.

This is a theory that the Western world still struggles with, and even the rest of the queer community isn't immune from it. I thought I, as neither a particularly masculine or feminine person, was someone who was cognizant of the two ends of the gender spectrum being entwined—but even as an androgynous lesbian, it didn't occur to me that trans people could be both feminine and masculine, too. 

Obviously, I thought, they would have qualities that didn't necessarily match up with their preferred gender—trans men could be demure, and trans women could be brash—but I can't say that I'd truly expected that, nor had I realized that trans people weren't always going to be particularly masc- or femme-presenting based on their gender alignment. Something I learned was that just because my girlfriend identifies as a woman, that doesn't mean she's going to (or needs to be) feminine all the time—just as it is with any cis person.

Something I also realized far too late was that trans people aren't going to encapsulate this shared identity in the same way as every other trans person. For example, some choose to ignore or repress their assigned gender, sometimes harboring a deep dislike or hate for it, while others accept how they were born and simply choose to move on from it. Some strongly desire surgery and medical procedures while others don't mind how they look. And for those that do want physical changes made, it doesn't have to be because they hate their bodies or themselves—they may just want to improve themselves as much as possible or look the way they feel inside. Something I wish I'd known sooner: there's no one way to be trans.

In researching this article, I asked a few of my trans friends what they wish cis people understood about their identity. "...I don't need to be constantly acting feminine to be a woman," one of them said. "I get annoyed feeling like I'm always supposed to act a certain way to be seen as myself." She continued on to mention how people tend to doubt and discredit her identity because she likes things that are generally considered boyish, when what really matters is who or what you feel you truly are. "It doesn't matter how I look, it's how I think and act," another said, adding, "but people don't believe that, because I look a certain way and that's all they see."

What I think it comes down to is recognizing that for the most part, people are what they say they are—and they're not trying to offend, outrage, or confuse others when they freely admit their identity. Because even if you're the parent, sibling, or best friend of a trans person, the truth is, who they are has nothing to do with you. It has nothing to do with your opinions, your values, your truths; it just is, and chances are that how you feel about it won't change that. Plus, if a trans person tells you the truth about who they are, the vast majority of the time you should consider yourself lucky. All things considered, it isn't really any of your business, and it probably took considerable courage for them to tell you.

"Transgender people are just trying to live their lives, dude," one of my trans-masc friends said. "Just because I'm not cisgender doesn't mean I want to be ostracized and seen as different. I'm just trying to live my life the way I want it." Similarly, a trans-femme I know mentioned how she wished people realized that being trans "isn't that insane of a thing." Yes, people are afraid of what's different, but that's just it—that difference, that separation we're so afraid of? It doesn't really exist at all. "Trans people are still people," she said with conviction, echoing what the others told me. "We're just people trying to live."