I was a gender-conforming kid. I’m still genderfluid.

A smiling blond child in a blue jumper sitting on a rocking chair.

I grew up in church—literally. As a pastor’s kid, I spent countless hours doodling in sanctuary pews. I happily wore dresses and bows on Sunday mornings and curlers in my hair on Saturday nights; I experimented with makeup as soon as I was allowed to.

One of my sisters was labeled a “tomboy” by the adults in our lives. She typically took male roles during our dress-up…