I CAME OUT TO MY LESBIAN GROUP AS NON-BINARY. THEIR REACTION FLOORED ME

My heart was pumping from familiar anxiety, as I stood outside the Lesbian Asylum Support Sheffield (LASS) – a refugee charity hub in the city centre.

At first, I didn’t dare to go in. It was the summer of 2021, and I was going to join a meeting for the first time since lockdown.

The support group unites women from all around the globe – people that come to the area as asylum seekers, mostly after facing discrimination in their home countries.

But I am not a ‘lass’. Or even a lad. I’ve never fitted into those labels.

In fact, only a couple of months earlier, I’d finally come out as a non-binary transgender person in the LASS’s WhatsApp group. I was scared I wouldn’t be accepted.

But my worries were unfounded. As soon as I opened the door, one of the coordinators came to me and smiled, saying how glad she was to see me.

Then I was asked to write my pronouns (they/them) on a special badge. I let out a sigh of relief. Everything was fine. I was welcomed by the group and it was the first UK community where I managed to fit in.

I don’t have good experience with acceptance.

I was raised in Donetsk, Ukraine, in a highly conservative Christian family. While some people of my parents’ generation have never read a bible because of Soviet discrimination against religion, my father was the one who spent his free time studying scripture. 

Of course, as a child, I never heard about trans people.

But even as young as three, I preferred male pronouns and chose the name Mowgli from my favourite story The Jungle Book. I was instantly bullied by peers for this.

I tried to accept the name my parents gave me just to survive. I also learned not to pay much attention to my body to stop dysphoria (which is unease about the gender assigned to me at birth). 

I started to realise that there was something unusual about me.

I didn’t understand why I couldn’t wear a dress and have a beard at the same time. Gender norms were beyond my understanding.

I left Donetsk at the age of 19 after it was occupied in 2014, together with my family. I lived in Russia for several years, where I had problems with the authorities for my LGBTQ+ activism and political statements.

By this point, I had come out as a lesbian and self-diagnosed as autistic (later receiving a formal diagnosis in the UK). I was vocal about the discrimination LGBTQ+ people experienced in Russia, including the country’s ‘gay propaganda’ law. 

I met my partner, Lina – who is a Russian citizen – via social media. We instantly clicked because she’s autistic as well and we both love science fiction.

We were messaging each other for nearly a year before I moved in with her. At first, we were just friends, but our relationship soon became more serious.

We eventually married in Denmark in April 2018, which was an important step for me as an activist who believes in equal marriage rights for queer people. 

But in the summer of 2018, Lina and I had to leave Russia due to our political activism. It wasn’t safe for us anymore so – after trying to claim asylum in Israel, but being unsuccessful – we decided to come to the UK to do the same in November 2018.

At Heathrow Airport, that’s where we asked for political asylum, before the Home Office moved us to Wakefield, then onto Sheffield.

The only thing we knew about Sheffield at the time was from Doctor Who! We instantly fell in love with its parks, clean air and welcoming locals.

This is where I started to explore my gender identity more broadly and work to overcome childhood traumas.

At the age of 26, I finally accepted myself as a non-binary person, so I started to wear a chest binder and badges with my pronouns. I also started writing fictional stories about autistic transgender teens for Transmuted, which is a magazine.

I found out about LASS almost by accident – at a refugee hub – a special place in Sheffield’s Cathedral Victoria Hall once a week, where refugee people could find legal support from a drop-in solicitor.

Lina and I joined LASS during our first year in the UK, and I was excited that they easily accepted us. It really felt like they truly supported me – so I kept going back.

I especially loved the Christmas party they held in 2019 because that time of the year can feel like there’s a lot of pressure to have close people around you. Everyone opened gifts, ate a lovely dinner together and listened to Christmas music. It was very special.

I also like that the group helps us with travel to get to meetings and to go to Pride marches and festivals. But most of all, I like how easily coordinators and members welcome people with different backgrounds.

I especially felt their support before my main refugee interview with the Home Office in February 2021.

They provided testimonies to the Home Office with proof that Lina and I were really part of the queer community and that we weren’t lying about who we were. They also helped me practise the interview too.

It was both practical and emotional support in what was a very trying time.

No wonder that I was scared to lose their support by coming out as non-binary.

But they have never made me feel that women’s rights and trans rights somehow contradict each other.

Trans people are not enemies of women; actually, we are all harmed by the same system that judges us not for who we are but by gender ‘norms’ that were forced onto us by birth. I think many women’s organisations could learn from groups like LASS and accept gender diversity. 

In the last few years since coming to the UK, I have helped the group embrace trans people more through seemingly small gestures – like encouraging everyone to declare their pronouns and waving the trans flag or holding a banner during Sheffield Pride last year.

Initiatives like LASS make Sheffield the place I like today – a very diverse city that’s ready to accept human differences. 

I am not worried about being the only non-binary person in a group anymore.

In fact, I hope that more non-binary people will join it. But for now, I am happy to be accepted and loved for who I am.

In December last year, Lina and I were delighted to finally be granted refugee status.

It’s difficult to find a job when you have a five-years old gap in employment, but volunteering with LASS gave me purpose. I’ll forever be thankful for their support.

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