As my partner, Emily, and I were putting away laundry one Sunday, she paused and turned to me with a sweet smile on her face.

‘I’ve been looking at the updates to your new website; I noticed it said you’re non-binary. Is that how you identify?’

There was no sense of judgment or interrogation, just pure love. 

A month or two earlier, I’d updated my professional website with ‘she/they’ – essentially coming out with my new pronouns and gender identity. 

I looked at her with tears forming in my eyes and told her that I’d subtly mentioned things in the past about hating my chest, but just never knew how to properly talk about my gender identity struggles to her. 

That’s when she replied: ‘I love you exactly how you are. Whoever you are.’

I started sobbing, and Emily held me, telling me how much she loved me. I had finally come out as non-binary demifemme to my wife – and it made us stronger than ever.

I just knew that my identity fit under non-binary. I didn’t fully identify as a woman and connect fully with the idea of ‘woman-ness’.

I felt dysphoria around having breasts and internal sex organs. 

One night I was doing research for a client session and saw the term demifemme and it just hit me. This was me. 

Demifemme means different things for different people, but for me, it means that while I don’t fully identify as a woman, femininity is part of my gender. 

Being femme is real for me, and so is being non-binary.

I met Emily through a friend when I was 21 in 2008, while I was in college. 

She was so confident, secure and downright attractive, I was drawn to her instantly. 

One night shortly after meeting, I decided to message her and ask her out on a date. 

She was surprised, but accepted, so we agreed she would come over to my house after work later that week.

I cooked, we watched the groundbreaking queer TV show The L Word, and talked for hours. 

Things moved fast – about a month later, I moved into her place and we were together for a year before breaking up.

We spoke intermittently, but inconsistently over the next decade, checking in every so often.

In 2019, however, Emily and I started talking more seriously again, and quickly decided to get back together. 

I knew things were different. I had missed Emily so much. Two years later, we got married in a private ceremony in my parents’ backyard.

But I didn’t really start considering my dysphoria and my wider identity until I joined an LGBTQIA+ resource group at the company I was working for as a therapist. 

Soon I began making subtle comments to Emily about my discomfort here and there, like when I was wearing shirts that showed off my breasts or I was in a bathing suit. 

Emily couldn’t understand what I was really getting at, because I couldn’t quite articulate that I was talking about gender dysphoria. 

The resource group allowed me to connect closely with people who understood my queerness. 

They allowed me to talk through my feelings and dysphoria. I was also able to talk with some of my closest friends about how I felt about my body and gender identity. 

But I still didn’t know how to tell Emily yet. 

I knew where I stood in my sexual orientation as a queer person, but I’d never really taken the time to sit, talk, and think through my gender identity until then.

Soon, my work as a therapist became more specialised, focusing on people exploring their gender identity. 

Then, last year, I made the decision to leave my job and start my own private practice. As I was about to publish my practice’s website, I deliberated on how I wanted to list my pronouns. I couldn’t leave pronouns off completely as they’re important for the clients I work with. 

So I had to either list what truly fit me – nonbinary demifemme (she/they),or use she/her until the ‘right time’ to invite people into that part of my life. But deep down I knew there was never the ‘right time’.

It felt like I was at a crossroads. 

I knew if I wanted my clients to feel safe and comfortable with me, I had to be true to myself too.

So, I decided to take a leap of faith and list she/they pronouns, proudly showing my partner the website without drawing her attention to that section, letting fate decide when she found out. 

Since my conversation with Emily, our relationship has never changed. She’s the most wonderful person I know and shows me that every day.

She steps up when I’m struggling, emotionally or physically, she’s the person I can lean on when things are hard, she thinks about me in the small moments, she always has my back, and has never once thought of me negatively.

Our conversation was the first time I truly felt completely seen and accepted in my gender identity by someone who loves me unconditionally.

Since then, a lot of my friends in the queer community have celebrated my coming out.

But it’s Emily who matters most – she’ll always love me for me.

Originally published February 15th, 2026

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jessica.aureli@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.

As my partner, Emily, and I were putting away laundry one Sunday, she paused and turned to me with a sweet smile on her face.

‘I’ve been looking at the updates to your new website; I noticed it said you’re non-binary. Is that how you identify?’

There was no sense of judgment or interrogation, just pure love. 

A month or two earlier, I’d updated my professional website with ‘she/they’ – essentially coming out with my new pronouns and gender identity. 

I looked at her with tears forming in my eyes and told her that I’d subtly mentioned things in the past about hating my chest, but just never knew how to properly talk about my gender identity struggles to her. 

That’s when she replied: ‘I love you exactly how you are. Whoever you are.’

I started sobbing, and Emily held me, telling me how much she loved me. I had finally come out as non-binary demifemme to my wife – and it made us stronger than ever.

I just knew that my identity fit under non-binary. I didn’t fully identify as a woman and connect fully with the idea of ‘woman-ness’.

I felt dysphoria around having breasts and internal sex organs. 

One night I was doing research for a client session and saw the term demifemme and it just hit me. This was me. 

Demifemme means different things for different people, but for me, it means that while I don’t fully identify as a woman, femininity is part of my gender. 

Being femme is real for me, and so is being non-binary.

I met Emily through a friend when I was 21 in 2008, while I was in college. 

She was so confident, secure and downright attractive, I was drawn to her instantly. 

One night shortly after meeting, I decided to message her and ask her out on a date. 

She was surprised, but accepted, so we agreed she would come over to my house after work later that week.

I cooked, we watched the groundbreaking queer TV show The L Word, and talked for hours. 

Things moved fast – about a month later, I moved into her place and we were together for a year before breaking up.

We spoke intermittently, but inconsistently over the next decade, checking in every so often.

In 2019, however, Emily and I started talking more seriously again, and quickly decided to get back together. 

I knew things were different. I had missed Emily so much. Two years later, we got married in a private ceremony in my parents’ backyard.

But I didn’t really start considering my dysphoria and my wider identity until I joined an LGBTQIA+ resource group at the company I was working for as a therapist. 

Soon I began making subtle comments to Emily about my discomfort here and there, like when I was wearing shirts that showed off my breasts or I was in a bathing suit. 

Emily couldn’t understand what I was really getting at, because I couldn’t quite articulate that I was talking about gender dysphoria. 

The resource group allowed me to connect closely with people who understood my queerness. 

They allowed me to talk through my feelings and dysphoria. I was also able to talk with some of my closest friends about how I felt about my body and gender identity. 

But I still didn’t know how to tell Emily yet. 

I knew where I stood in my sexual orientation as a queer person, but I’d never really taken the time to sit, talk, and think through my gender identity until then.

Soon, my work as a therapist became more specialised, focusing on people exploring their gender identity. 

Then, last year, I made the decision to leave my job and start my own private practice. As I was about to publish my practice’s website, I deliberated on how I wanted to list my pronouns. I couldn’t leave pronouns off completely as they’re important for the clients I work with. 

So I had to either list what truly fit me – nonbinary demifemme (she/they),or use she/her until the ‘right time’ to invite people into that part of my life. But deep down I knew there was never the ‘right time’.

It felt like I was at a crossroads. 

I knew if I wanted my clients to feel safe and comfortable with me, I had to be true to myself too.

So, I decided to take a leap of faith and list she/they pronouns, proudly showing my partner the website without drawing her attention to that section, letting fate decide when she found out. 

Since my conversation with Emily, our relationship has never changed. She’s the most wonderful person I know and shows me that every day.

She steps up when I’m struggling, emotionally or physically, she’s the person I can lean on when things are hard, she thinks about me in the small moments, she always has my back, and has never once thought of me negatively.

Our conversation was the first time I truly felt completely seen and accepted in my gender identity by someone who loves me unconditionally.

Since then, a lot of my friends in the queer community have celebrated my coming out.

But it’s Emily who matters most – she’ll always love me for me.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.