I am NOT a Rock Star

I will never forget the day my daughter came to me and said, "Mom - I feel like I was meant to be a man." A large part of me wanted to quip back something short and humorous..."Yeah, well me too sweetie! Most women feel that way!" But deep inside, with that part of you that knows the difference between a casual comment and a plea for help, I knew she was telling me to brace myself. Changes were coming. And they did.

My child was 17 when she spoke those words to me. That was 10 years ago now. In these 10 years, I have learned so much. I have learned that my child did not "turn into" my son, but was my son all along. I have learned pronouns matter - they really, really matter. And I have learned that when I thought I was the cool mom nothing could have prepared me for what I would go through during his transition.

Trans kids face a world where they are not just misunderstood - they could face death if found out by the wrong person. From the kids at school to the president, they hear so many messages that say they are weird, they don’t matter, and often times should not even exist. My commitment to my son was that I would be a safe haven for him. Having a welcoming family as opposed to one that denies and disowns can also make the difference between life and death for these kids. They need someone to listen to their fears, hold them when they break down and give them hope that it will get better. Little did I know I would need the very same support and it almost broke me.

It was not a political or moral conflict that I had with his transition. I was "woke" enough to understand gender and sex are two very different things. I had been an ally of the LGBTQ community for most of my life and judging someone for that would never have crossed my mind. But I was totally unprepared for the need to bury my daughter, for she was dead, and then give birth to a 20-year-old son. So for three months, I was damn near in a fetal position. I was full of rage. I felt guilty. How dare his father walk away from him! How did I not see this coming? What did I do wrong during my pregnancy to "make" him be born the wrong way? I asked myself these questions and hundreds more. I fully grieved. If I am honest, I sometimes still do.

I was unable to share this grieving process with my child. I did not want to burden him with my fears. For Pete's sake, he was re-engineering his body with hormones and surgery! How could I possibly make anything about myself? But quietly, I was having panic attacks by day and terrors by night. Coping was rote. I did what I had to do but sometimes putting one foot in front of the other seemed like a task too heavy for me. I sought the guidance of a therapist which helped but I still missed my daughter and ached to know we would never have another day together.

But as with most sad stories, there began to be a light at the end of the tunnel. I participated in local support groups and learned what I was feeling as the parent of a trans kid was quite common. I read ferociously - consuming everything I could get my hands on. The more I understood gender dysphoria and my son's process, the more I realized this was so important. And so right. And with each realization, the focus went more away from me and back to him.

I dealt with my grief, in part, with ink therapy. I planned this tattoo out line by line. The ink represents my child's morphing from my daughter to my son...from female to fully male. If you look closely at it you can see the female side of the head has her eyes closed as if unable to see herself or anyone else. But the male head has his eyes wide open - his future is bright and he knows who he is.

Today my son is, well, my son. It is like he has always been that way. He has a beautiful girlfriend. He has a great career, a mortgage, two cats, and a car payment. In short, he is just like many men out there. Not long ago I sent him a note. He was having a hard time with a certain someone not accepting his transition and feeling like an outcast in his own family. In the note, I told him how proud I was of him and how so very much I loved him. I went on to say..."I have come to realize you have always been male but when you were little I dressed you as a girl. Always remember, that means I am the freak, not you."