BY RAE STACHOWSKI

Oh, the power that exists behind just a single word. Never mind the ones that cut, the slurs and barbs meant to hurt and subdue. Not the words wielded as weapons, but the ones we use to find us, define us, make us whole. Every major moment in my life when I discovered a new Me was marked by learning a new word. Feeling the ground slide out from under myself as I realized this, this word, was Me. My life has been a scavenger hunt. Uncovering words and building an identity. Feminist. Autistic. Creator. Queer. Single words on a page. But somehow Me. There’s magic in finding the perfect word. There’s magic in finding yourself. 

The first time I heard the word “bisexual,” it was a punchline I needed to have explained to me. A friend spelled it out — how some people were into boys and girls — and I felt the world around me dissolve. It’s strange, but at that moment, my mind was oddly empty. I struggled to breathe, and it was all I could do to keep my face blank. Minutes dragged as I willed my body to stop shaking, my stomach to quiet, my heart to still. When I was calm enough to stand, I made an excuse and hurried home, holding the thoughts at bay until I was safely behind my bedroom door. And then I cried. 

I broke down. A 12-year-old-girl, alone in her room, sobbing over a word she had just learned. But it wasn’t just a word I learned that day. I learned a piece of Me. I wasn’t crying over shame. Or anger, sadness, or disappointment. It was relief. It was understanding. It was acceptance. 

I had always known I was different. But I knew I wasn’t gay. So what was I? Who was I? A freak? An anomaly? Some sort of abomination? 

Bisexual. Just a word. 

But…

If there was a word for it, that meant there were others. And that meant I wasn’t alone. The word taught me about my sexuality, but it gave me community, as well. A place to belong. A way to come to terms with and understand myself. It doesn’t have power over me; it bestowed me with the ability to define myself on my own terms. By learning that word, I took its power into myself. I was stronger for having known it. More complete. 

This is what people don’t understand when they complain about there being too many labels, too many pronouns, or genders, or any other way folks choose to identify. We do this because it makes us whole. It gives us the gift of each other. It saves us from the nebulous void. 

Or maybe they do realize, and it was always about taking our power. Silencing our voices. How can we speak our truths without our words? So I say, never stop creating words. Use them. Claim them. Become them. Because words have power. And so do we.