You know, cisheteronormativity and normies took a lot from me, but one I'm actually still mad about is my stuffed animals.

When I was a little kid, I had a bunk bed that was originally purchased for me and my brother to share, for a lot of reasons it never ended up being used that way. So instead, what I ended up doing was using the top bunk for storing my many, many stuffed animals.

It was fantastic. I had a soft place I could just climb into and be invisible from the rest of my room.

ADHD tangent: Holy shit actually having a bunk bed was cool as fuck, I could hang a sheet from the top and have an enclosed (and therefore safe) space in my bed. I really miss it!

I am realizing now that my (relatively) recent obsession with getting a canopy bed is probably linked to subconscious memories of how happy this setup made me.
/end ADHD Tangent

Anyhow, for the longest time, I also slept with a plush. Technically I actually had two I generally slept with, both being Pooh bear plushes. I always just felt way more secure that way, sleep came way more easily.

But, as I grew older, I became more and more conscious of this. What I was doing wasn't hurting anyone, but I was a """""""""boy""""""""" and I started internalizing dumb bullshit standards about how it was "weird" or otherwise undesirable behavior.

To be clear, my parents never said a peep about this. I have a lot of beef with them, but to their credit, they never told me I had to stop, never even teased me about this.

One day, when I was still in elementary school, I forced myself to give this up. For no other reason than just, the worry of being found out somehow. A sense of shame, for no real reason other than "I should grow up."

I slept worse. But I convinced myself that sleeping without a plush was a good thing. I eventually got used enough to it.

I made an effort to pretend not to care about my stuffed animals, my toys. My lego sets. Older video games that were more cartoony. Other things that were "for kids".

None of it ever made me feel better in any real way.

So, naturally, when the time came for me to move out, moving halfway across the country, my parents had no reason to think that those toys, those stuffed animals, had any importance to me.

I want to be mad at them for donating them all.

But I really have nobody but myself to blame.

Thankfully, not all of them are gone. I kept some with me, especially the ones that were most important to me. But a lot are lost, and that still makes me sad.

One of the biggest reasons I convinced myself I had to give this all up was because I thought "One day you'll have a partner and they won't think it's cool."

Jokes on me, my partner has just as many plushes and stuffed animals as me. 🤡

They have never been even the slightest bit judgemental about things like that. But I still hid a lot from them out of shame, internalized hatred for my perceived "non-masculine" traits.

ADHD Tangent: Also realizing now that I tried to replace sleeping with a plushie with my partner. I am just a cuddly person by nature, but for the longest time I tried to fill that void with them. This obviously did not work. We both rolled around in our sleep WAY too much.
/end ADHD Tangent

One day, my partner, their brother, and I were at a Goodwill. I liked thrifting in general, this was nothing new. We wandered past the toys and stuffed animals. I tried, as per usual, to seem uninterested and disengaged. I was, of course, looking.

When something caught my eye.

Something very familiar.

Now, I should clarify, this was *definitely not the same stuffed Pooh I grew up with*

But it was an identical one. It was one of the stuffed animals I had lost.

It was one of the ones I cuddled to sleep for so many nights of my youth.

It was the one I cried about and couldn't sleep without when the movers accidentally packed it.

It was here. A chance to right a wrong. I still had a lot of internalized junk at the time. I hated myself and didn't allow my child self any control over anything I did. I denied myself every indulgence.

But that day, even in front of my partner, their brother, in the middle of Texas, I, presenting still as a cishet man, with a beard even, gave in and gave myself that one small comfort.

I marched up to the register with that pooh bear plush and an orange-shaped ice cube tray. I tried my best to be casual about it, but I was about to puke from the anxiety.

I am so glad I did.

Later on, when the veil finally tore, when the facade cracked and gave way forever, when I finally admitted, first to myself, and then to my partner: "I think I might be trans."

Somehow they refrained from saying "I told you so." At least that day.

Later on down the line, after I had been on estrogen for a while, they got me a big stuffed orange slice plush. We named it "Marmalade."

I remembered how much better I slept with a plush. I was already upending my life by being trans, what the fuck ever. I slept with it cradled in my arms.

I remember how much more easily sleep used to come to me. I still struggle sometimes, but I've slept a lot more soundly since.

I don't deny myself that, or my desire to own lots of plushies anymore. I'm so much happier for it.

Now I just need a canopy bed.