In the book Nobody Needs to Know: A Memoir, intersex activist Pidgeon Pagonis details their journey through a sea of trauma that consisted of lies, misdirections and surgeries. It wasn't until their college years that Pagonis figured out what had been happening: They had been born intersex (with such individuals composing up to 1.7% of the population, according to various sources)—but had been raised as a girl. Initially immersed in curiosity and pain, Pagonis gradually turned their discovery into moments of truth and healing.
In a candid and sometimes emotional conversation, Pagonis talked about their memoir and name—as well as what they would like for themselves more than anything else right now.
Note: This conversation was edited for clarity and length.
Windy City Times: First of all, we're going to provide Intersex 101. For our readers, what's your definition of intersex?
Pidgeon Pagonis: [Pauses] I don't want to give the same answer, so I'm trying to think of another way of saying it.
First, being intersex is to exist and to be human. And it's existing in a spectrum of biological sex traits. People who are labeled intersex tend to fall in the spectrum where they're not 100% male or 100% female—and I hate saying that because I don't think anyone is 100% male or 100% female, and it supports this binary model.
Technically, intersex is an umbrella term for people born with sex traits—which can be gonads, chromosomes, sex organs, etc.—that don't fall into either category of male or female. By the way, intersex traits can be seen at birth but sometimes they don't appear until later, like around puberty. And sometimes people don't even know that they're intersex because those traits are internal and they don't see them. Also, there are at least 25 variations of being intersex—and within those variations, there's so much variation.
About 2% of the population is born with traits that could have the people classified as intersex. This is roughly equal to the amount of people in Japan.
WCT: I also saw where the number of intersex people is roughly the same as the number of identical twins and redheads.
PP: Yeah—those are roughly about 2% of the population as well.
WCT: And how did you arrive at "Nobody Needs to Know" as the title of the memoir?
PP: I love the title. Thank you for asking me about it.
The title came to me while I was thinking about the doctors who told me that nobody needs to know my secret and that nobody needs to know my medical information—my truth, basically. I was told that I should never let [the information] out—not at school, not to people I'm dating [but] maybe after I get married.
So I thought this should be the title because so much of my life journey has been about learning how to reject the advice and letting everybody know the truth about what happened to me.
Now that I say it out loud, it sounds similar to what people who have survived other [forms] of trauma have gone through—like sexual abuse. The people abusing them will tell them not to tell anybody else or they'll hurt somebody. People with authority can maintain this hold over others and have them keep this secrecy. And coupled with that is the shame or stigma that occurs naturally in our society; so many things are not known about being intersex that there is this natural stigma that comes with it.
Our society is so rigid and obsessed with being "normal" and being defined by binaries and categories. And there's no intersex person like you when you grow up. There's no one in storybooks like you; there's no one in Disney movies like you; there's no one on TV, in books or in your family like you; and there's no one in school like you.
If you have the luxury of knowing you're intersex and knowing the truth, you already have shame and stigma attached—but, on top of that, you have medical professionals who are older than you that [tell you] nobody needs to know.
My book—and my life, from about the time I was 20 or 21—has been about telling people the truth and encouraging [others] to tell their stories. Before that, people were telling their stories in secret. There's a part in the book about this support-group meeting I first went to; we had badges that read "Women's Support Group" so no one knew we were intersex. I want this book to be a direct challenge to stigma and shame.
WCT: And the book also answers the question of how you arrived at your name. The story is beautiful, although I'm not the biggest fan of the bird itself. However, your story made me appreciate the bird a lot more.
PP: [Smiles] Yeah—it's an amazing bird.
I actually couldn't care less about pigeons today. It started out being cute, but people started giving me pigeon pictures, paintings—anything. A friend gave me refrigerator clips in the shape of pigeons. People just assume that I'm obsessed with them, but it's all about one pigeon. When I named myself, it wasn't because I loved birds—especially pigeons. It was just that one particular pigeon made me laugh.
I then started to identify with the bird more because I discovered that the history of intersex people is rooted in being a monstrosity or freak. Intersex people were relegated to freak shows. There's this lore about intersex people that we're subhuman—and pigeons, out of all the birds, seem to be the most hated. If pigeons could understand us, they might feel shame and stigma, too. Pigeons and intersex people are misunderstood—and I root for the underdog.
You know what's funny, though? My [birth] name, Jennifer, is actually built into "pigeon"—and I didn't know that. It's a phonetic thing, like if you say "pidge-Jen." My Twitter [now X] name is actually spelled "Pidgejen" because "Pidgeon" was already taken. And then I found out that my last name means "peacock" in Greek. So, in English, my name is "Pidgeon Peacock." [Laughs]
The one thing I like about my name is that it's recognizable. There are probably a million Jennifers and a lot of Jennifer Pagonises, but there's no [other] Pidgeon Pagonis—but I'm thinking about changing my name.
WCT: I can't even imagine the emotions you went through once you found out the truth about yourself. Was that the hardest part of writing the book?
PP: No. The hardest part—and I didn't expect this—was the childhood stuff.
I think it's because—in my work, throughout the years—I talked about the surgeries a lot. But I never really delved into what my childhood was like. During the pandemic, when I was home alone a lot and writing this book, I had to tap inside the younger person who was still inside of me and handle the spaces that were still inside my brain, like the house I grew up in.
I did so much time-traveling into my past, and it was unexpectedly devastating. To go through that experience without the knowledge of what was going on—and to go back and relive it—was doubly hard. They told me there was surgery for my bladder but I know today that it was vaginal-reconstruction surgery that left me with scar tissue and nerve damage, along with so much trauma.
The other day, I went by a house where I grew up and I had my cousin take a picture of me on the steps. I realized then that I have such a longing for home—and I feel like that's a chapter that I never got to finish in my life. [Voice breaking] Me, my mom and dad had this perfect life for a few years, even though they would argue behind the scenes—but we had a house and a yard, with a block of kids I could play with. We had all that for a few years, and then it was gone.
I've lived in an apartment since I was seven, and I just have such a longing for a house. There's something about a house that I just love.
I think my childhood was just extremely sad; my family has a deep, deep sadness within it. There's so much pain and trauma, and they don't talk about it—which just made me think of the book's title. I thought my uncle died in a car accident and it wasn't until I read a book that he was murdered by the Mafia. I never knew the pain my grandmother went through after her son was murdered. And then they did the same thing with me: keeping secrets.
The second-hardest part had to be everything else, like the sex part with my boyfriend. When I was writing the book, his phone number came into my head. I texted it and he answered it; he still has the same number after 25 years. We had a long-ass conversation and he apologized to me. He fully supported me writing the book and talking about us, even though he's straight, married and has two kids.
But everything was hard about writing this book—except maybe the successful parts at the end. It took me to some dark places.
WCT: What does this memoir say about you?
PP: I think it says that nobody can tell me what to do and that nobody can shut me up. It says that I'm really strong. I think that some people feel I'm too young to write a memoir but I feel like I've lived so much already. This book says that I'm resilient.
Nobody Needs to Know: A Memoir will be out Tuesday, Aug. 15. It'll be available at all major online retailers, such as Amazon and Barnes & Noble, as well as Pagonis' own website, pid.ge/ .
