By Liz Bell |


I remember the way my wife’s face lit up when I mentioned it. She wanted so, so badly to buy a home, and our rent in Everett was skyrocketing each year. We just couldn’t justify nearly $2,400 a month for 880 square feet.

In our mid-20s with little savings, we attended home-buying classes and spoke with lending agents and realtors. Every appointment left us disappointed. The amount we could afford to borrow wouldn’t buy us anything in Snohomish County, or in most of the Seattle area. We were at a breaking point. Our next option was moving to the Midwest where we grew up (and where the same amount of money could buy us a mansion), but one thing kept making us hesitate.

Would we be comfortable?

She is a butch lesbian, and I am non-binary - that is, I am neither a man nor a woman. In unfamiliar territory I don’t so much mind pretending to be a woman - I’ve had a lot of practice and I’m very good at it now - but I don’t want to pretend. Even with the compromise of hiding my gender identity, it might not be enough. I would still like to hold my wife’s hand in the grocery store without catching a dirty look or a muttered comment or something worse.

Western Washington we knew was fairly safe, and we were desperate to stay. When homes in Grays Harbor popped up within our price range it felt like a light shining through the clouds. We called our Everett-area real estate broker, who had all but given up on us, and asked if she could recommend anybody in the area.

“Oh, I have just the guy! You’ll love him!” Her voice got giggly in that conspiratory, well-meaning straight woman way, “He’s gay!”

“Okay,” we said, “... Is he a good real estate broker?”

And so, we met Dan, who is gay and also a fantastic real estate broker, and the house-hunt began. The drive to Ocean Shores is about three hours from Everett, so we went on weekend getaways of house-hunting marathons. In between these weekends, we excitedly told everyone of our moving plans.

“Oh,” a friend said, his dejected tone didn’t so much match my giddy one, “Are you sure? My brother lived there, but it wasn’t very gay-friendly.”

From then on, I was on guard. Would I have to compromise anyways? Would a compromise even be enough? I didn’t want to put my Girl Hat on indefinitely. I asked Dan what he thought about the area, I asked the barista at the coffee shop with the pride pin what they thought about the area, I scoured shop windows for pride flags or those “You are safe here” stickers.

In the meantime, we started preparing. We had found the perfect place and made an offer, and the job hunt began in earnest while we waited and negotiated.

I interviewed at a lot of places, many of which were happy to do interviews remotely given I was still living in Everett. I had taken the pronouns off of my Zoom profile, nervous that they would scare off potential employers. Then I joined a call with two interviewers, both with their pronouns on their names, and I immediately noticed:

“(they/them)”

My canned interview introduction went out the window.

“Oh, wow, hi- I’m so sorry, I just- I saw your pronouns and- I’m also they/them, wow, that’s just so good to- I’m sorry, I’m normally way better than this.”

“It’s okay,” they were grinning wildly, “you can add your pronouns to your name, if you want.”

“Yeah, I usually- usually I have them on there, but when I’m interviewing, I take them off because I just-”

“You never know, right?”

“Right, yeah. I’m babbling.”

“I totally get it!”

I didn’t need to compromise. We chattered back and forth while waiting for the rest of the team, and suddenly I was so much more comfortable. It was a snowball effect of positivity; I got the job despite my babbling, Dan invited us to a Facebook group for local LGBTQ people, and we began moving into our new home.

Since then, I’ve met multiple other non-binary people. I’ve attached my little “they/them” tag to my work lanyard. My wife and I held an open house, and our neighbors were incredibly friendly and welcoming. We attended a gay barbecue where my roasted potatoes were a hit. I worked with a city councilor who happily chatted with me about Grays Harbor Pride.

I’m here. I own a home. I am non-binary.

I live in Grays Harbor, and I do so without compromise.


After moving to Grays Harbor in April of 2023, Liz has spent most of their time getting familiar with the area. By day they act as a county “Digital Navigator,” helping people access technology and digital skills. By night they enjoy writing and gaming with their wife.
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