There’s a myth we’re taught early on—that becoming who we’re meant to be is a process of adding: adding accolades, identities, achievements, labels. But for me, it was never about adding. It was about taking away. It is about unbecoming.

I didn’t always have the words for it. I only had the ache.

An ache to belong, to be understood, to feel at home in my own skin. But more than that, there was an ache to breathe without armor, to be seen without translating myself for someone else’s comfort.

As a non-binary person, the world offered me two boxes, both too tight to contain the vastness of my being. I tried. I contorted. I succeeded in ways that looked good on paper—but inside, I was unraveling.

And then came the unbecoming.

It didn’t look brave at first. It looked messy. It looked like saying “no” to things I once said “yes” to out of fear. It looked like questioning the rules I was handed about gender, success, expression, and identity. It looked like disappointing others to finally stop disappointing myself.

Unbecoming was shedding inherited roles that never fit.
Unbecoming was peeling away the layers of performance (even when I didn’t know I was performing).
Unbecoming was finding softness in places I’d hardened to survive.

As I began to untangle who I truly was from who I was told to be, something miraculous happened—I found freedom.

Not the kind sold in self-help books or motivational slogans. The kind that comes from reclaiming your own story, on your own terms.

Unbecoming gave me back my body.
Unbecoming gave me back my voice.
Unbecoming gave me back my joy.

I learned that authenticity isn’t a static place you arrive at. It’s a practice. A choice. A daily recommitment to truth, especially when it’s inconvenient. Especially when it challenges what people expect from you.

Living as a non-binary person in a binary world means I’m constantly unlearning. Constantly undoing the scripts that taught me to fear my own wholeness. But in that undoing, I’ve discovered something radiant:

There is power in ambiguity.
There is beauty in complexity.
There is truth in unbecoming.

So if you’re somewhere on the edge—questioning, unraveling, doubting—know this: you are not broken. You are in process. You are peeling back the layers so the light can reach you.

Authenticity isn’t found in what you acquire. It’s found in what you’re brave enough to release.

This is the work. This is the journey. This is the gift.

I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Shaun Lee (they/them) Version 3.0 (formerly known as, Shauna Lee Baty)