Being called Mrs.
Every time someone calls me Mrs, I want to scream…
A while ago, I was driving, going back home to see my parents. On the way, I made a stop to pick a coffee and some snacks. And while I was taking my food, the shop cashier asked whose sandwich this is, and before I could reply, one of the waitresses said, “It’s for Mrs.”.
I felt a strong urge to scream at both of them, to everyone around, and to society itself “Where the fuck do you see a Mrs.?” and “How the hell do you know I am Mrs.” It took a lot of will to just leave without screaming my guts out.
That was before.
Now, I don’t understand this need that society and people have in addressing someone with a Mr/Mrs/Miss in everyday life.
- Have you ever thought how degrading it is to hear people call you Mrs when you don’t identify as such? When all you want is someone to use something neutral like a friend, citizen, human, existence, or anything else other than Mrs.
- Have you ever had to go through a situation like the one I described above and had to keep your cool?
- Have you been degraded again and again, while realizing that this will never stop, cause this is the norm, and need to decide how to move forward and what do you do?
If the answer is yes to all of the above, I am deeply sorry you are part of this society. I still hope together we can make a change.
If the answer is no, then let me give you a hint. Because you are the ones who can help us the most.
Every time I enter a shop/market/public space to shop or to look around where they don’t know me, they greet me with “Hello” and then ask “if they can help”. So far, so good. No titles have been uttered.
If I order something and I am waiting, then, of course, I’ll be addressed as a Mrs. unless the space is queer-friendly, where I’ll be addressed as “individual with x identifying trait eg curly hair, color blouse”.
Whenever someone calls me Mrs, I feel a piece of me disappearing, being lost and I need to decide how much effort it will take to bring it back and if it’s worth it…
Imagine a pristine white wall that has been cracked before but it took time and effort to make it whole again, to paint it and make it look anew. Every misgendering, every Mrs. being uttered, every transphobic slur, every look, is a small chip of the white wall.
All of these things tend to happen together, not one after the other, and without notice, the white wall ends up having a gaping hole that takes too much effort, time, pain, tears, sweat, and blood to put back. After a while the wall is gone, nothing remains there, just a memory of what it used to be.
But this isn’t a wall, this is the soul, heart, and essence of a human being, mine. It hurts when I go out for food, drinks, shopping, traveling, or commuting. All the interactions that seem a normal thing to others, usually take a toll on me.
The easiest solution would be to stay indoors and never leave my house again or come in contact with another human being. But this isn’t living. The best solution would be for others to unlearn what society taught them and relearn how to treat others inclusively and interact with them.
Dear reader, next time you are in a situation where you need to address someone you don’t know, instead of going with your default option and calling them “Mr, Mrs, Miss”, I invite you to ask them.
Maybe instead of chipping away at their wall,
you bring a piece of theirs back!
