Damaged Unknown Saturday, November 29, 2014

Oh, this post is so hard to write. 

I realize that my writing is very haphazard at the moment, in terms of chronology. There is so much history on our genderwild journey, so much backstory, and yet so much is happening in present time as well. 

It's hard to know where to begin. 

And so, I write in vignettes, in snapshots, weaving stories for you, my readers, to try to piece together a patchwork quilt understanding of our genderwild parenting journey. 

This is not one of my favorite stories. It did not end how I wanted it to end, and it did not resolve nicely. At times, I still feel resentment, and profound loss, when all is said and done. 

And with that, the story begins. 

When my oldest niece turned five years old, my mother started a wonderful tradition with her grandchildren. My mother and my niece, Sarah, went to Disneyland for five whole days, just the two of them. They flew on an airplane, stayed in the Disneyland hotel, ordered breakfast in bed, swam every day, bought princess dresses and toys and ice creams and lemonades, and really had the best of times. My mother loved the one-on-one time with her five year old granddaughter, and my niece loved all of the special attention- she got to plan the day, choose the restaurants, the itinerary- everything! It was a special, magical time for my mother and my sweet little niece. 

And then along came Jake, my brother's second oldest child. When little Jake turned five, off went my mother and my nephew to Disneyland again. The hotel, the pool, the ice creams, the light sabers and Pirates of the Carribbean- it was a fantastic trip for my nephew. My mother even ordered special keepsake photos of herself and my nephew, with Star Wars costumes superimposed over their images. She also had separate photobooks printed for both Sarah and Jacob, to help them remember their special fifth birthday Disneyland adventure with their grandmother. 

Leah, my oldest daughter, was the next grandchild in line. And here, the family Disneyland rite of passage fifth birthday trip with grandma hit a bump in the proverbial road. Leah has high functioning autism. Theme parks are loud and overstimulating. How would she do with the lack of routine, with the sensory overload, and with a caregiver that wasn't one of her parents? This question gave us pause, as Leah's parents. My mother and I talked on the phone, trying to figure out if this trip would even work for my oldest girl. But- the ice creams! The hotel and the pool! The princess dresses, the breakfast in bed room service, all of those very special things! I was heartbroken that Leah might miss out on all of this. 

I could tell that my mother was nervous, in thinking about taking Leah on a trip by herself, and admittedly, so was I. After much discussion, we decided to delay the trip for a whole year (to allow Leah a little more time to mature socially), and to cut the trip down to just two days, with one overnight at a hotel. When Leah turned six, she and her grandmother had one special day at Disneyland (with all of the special needs accommodations for short lines, etc.), and they spent the second day wandering through dinosaur bones at a science museum the following day. Leah was disappointed that her trip wasn't as long as her cousins', but she also seemed to understand that five days might have been too long away from familiarity, routines, her home, and her family. I think we were all relieved when Leah's sixth birthday trip to Disneyland was over. 

The years continued on. Another granddaughter was born. My mother was starting to add up the price tag on all of these grandchildren- this was becoming quite the expensive tradition! Next came Alex, who was then known as my little boy, and then another granddaughter, and finally my youngest, Jasmine. 

Seven grandchildren! Three Disneyland trips down, four to go! 

This is where the story gets hard. 

Alex is now four years old. We are concerned. We have done everything we can think of to encourage this child to be a boy, but he has preferred "girl things" since he could talk, and we are far past wondering if this is just a phase. We are scared, and my husband and I realize that we are in over our heads- why does our little boy so desperately want to be a little girl? What are we doing wrong? 

Several months earlier, we shaved Alex's head so that he could look like his daddy. The haircut was Alex's idea, but about halfway through the cut, you could see the look in Alex's eyes- Mama, this is a mistake. When it was over, Alex continued to wrap himself in sarongs and scarves for dresses, with superhero briefs underneath. And for hair, he wound a beautiful sheer aqua shawl around his head, and told us that it was his "princess hair". 

We buy a whole collection of superhero t-shirts for Alex, and try to remove the hand-me-down dresses and other girl clothes, cast-offs from his older sister. My husband and I let him watch superhero cartoons, even though I secretly think that some of these shows might be too old for him (but, I justify it in my mind- maybe this will help him like "boy things"?). We start buying super hero figurines, in desperation, hoping that the new toys will entice Alex away from the dollies and ponies. My husband tries to engage our little boy in rough housing and "boy play". We very intentionally set up playdates with other little boys, and send the boys off on "boy adventures" with just daddy, so they can do "boy things". At this point, we are on year three of trying to encourage Alex to be a boy, just like all the other little boys. Three years of wondering, what are we doing wrong?

I'm going to pause this story for a moment, right here, to point out something important to our genderwild journey. Recently, just several weeks ago, I was at a local support group for parents of LGBTQ youth. During the meeting, I shared a little about our journey with our transgender child and our gender variant child. Afterward, another parent came up to me and very generously remarked: "Wow, you are amazing! I mean, you are so evolved- I hope that I can someday be as accepting as you are when it comes to my own child." 

I had to laugh at this parent's very well meaning remark. I was encouraged, and grateful for the kind words, because yes- I have evolved, changed, and grown to accept my child for who she is. But friends, it has been a long journey, a very long and painful journey. I didn't start out as the supportive mom. I didn't understand what it meant to be transgender, and I certainly didn't think this was going to be our story. 

To be honest, when I look back at Alex, at age 3 and 4 especially, I have a lot of regrets. Why didn't I see who Alex was sooner? The signs were there from the beginning. Deep down, I can see now that we were in denial, and did not want to admit that our little boy never really identified as a boy from the very beginning. I didn't want to alienate our families- I knew that they were not LGBTQ allies, based on their political and religious views. I thought that it would be easier for Alex, and for us as Alex's parents, if we could just convince him to be a boy. 

All that is to say, the gratitude in this story is how far we have come, in our acceptance of our child. And how I admire this little four year old child of ours, who can often be quite shy and reserved, for never backing down from being her true, beautiful, authentic self.

We return to the hard part of this story. Alex is four years old, and that fifth birthday trip is quickly approaching. Since the days of Alex and the princess box (see earlier post), we have moved several hundred miles away from my family, and so it has been easier to hide the high heels and dresses that Alex prefers, the dolls, the jewelry and hair accessories. Actually, it is more like lying by omission- I just never bring it up when I talk about the kids with my mother. I know where she stands on the matter, and I don't want conflict. Alex is fine, he is happy in school, he loves the superhero shirt that you mailed him, I tell her on the phone. Besides, I am still very conflicted on what to do about the matter of Alex and the girl clothes.

At some point, around Thanksgiving of Alex's last year of preschool, Alex's teacher and pediatrician both mention to me, independently, that they feel our family would benefit from some expert advice about Alex. His teacher notices that he is sad and withdrawn at school, unless he can manage to put on a dress from the costume area. "When Alex has a dress on," his teacher observes, "he can socialize more appropriately with the other children." I am struggling with getting Alex to school, because he cries and wails desperately about wearing girl clothes to school. I am nervous and afraid- what will people think? Surely the other children will tease him! What will the parents say? At some point, it becomes such an issue to get Alex to school, that I confide in his teacher about my fears. "Just let him wear a dress to school," she tells me calmly. "Alex is happier and more functional socially with his peers when he is wearing a dress. We'll figure it out."

Wow. I did not see that coming.

His teacher kindly convinces me to follow my child's lead, and so, ever so slowly, we begin to let Alex wear dresses to school. And then, eventually, we let him begin to wear the dresses around town. Alex is noticeably happier and more relaxed, twirling and dancing all around our small, small town in his old, hand-me-down dresses. He is so happy, and seems so free. 

I, on the other hand, am becoming increasingly concerned.

Our doctor is concerned as well. "This seems to me like this has been persistent for quite awhile now, this matter of Alex preferring girl clothing and toys and playmates," Alex's doctor gently says to me in her office. We have arranged a special visit for just the two of us, without my children, to openly discuss the matter of Alex and the girl clothes. "I think this is beyond my experience," the doctor continues, "and I would like to refer you to an expert, someone who has more knowledge in this particular area." She goes on- "I think it is okay to just let Alex wear the dresses, especially if it helps him at school with his peer interactions."

I still had not been given the word transgender to describe Alex. But I remember driving home from the doctor's appointment that day, simultaneously relieved that we could finally get some more help, and also terrified at what this so-called expert would say.

It is now a week away from Thanksgiving. My mother is scheduled to visit us for the holiday, and is planning to drive several hundred miles to come and stay with our family. I decide that I need to call her and prepare her for this grandson, Alex, that is consistently, insistently, and persistently wearing girl clothes. Again, I am anxious. I know that I need to explain to my mother about Alex, about what his teacher said about the dresses, about what the pediatrician said about needing to seek more expert advice. I know that my mother is not going to like any of this. But even so, I have this sort of naive trust, that although she might be initially upset, she will eventually see that I have tried everything I can think of, for several years, to make Alex be a boy, and that I am in over my head. We need help. I am nervous, but deep down, I know that my mother will eventually come around.

I am so very wrong.

The conversation begins innocently enough, with small talk about logistics, travel, and the dinner menu for Thanksgiving Day. And then, when I can't put it off any longer, and when we have exhausted all other topics of conversation, I begin with a deep breath, and a hesitant explanation. You'll notice some changes around here when you visit, I tell her. Alex has been wearing dresses a lot more. It's gotten to the point where he wears them at school almost all of the time. His teacher and doctor have referred us to a specialist. We are scared, but we are glad that we are getting some help.

At first, there is only silence. 

And then, she speaks, and as I listen, the tears start rolling silently down my cheeks. "I think you are making a huge mistake," my mother tells me. "I need you to know that I feel you are damaging your child," she continues. "Give him to me for a year, and I'll straighten him out." I am crying, and crying, trying to defend myself, my parenting decisions, and my child. On and on, the damage continues, and I am becoming increasingly more distraught at the horrible things that I am hearing about myself, my parenting, and my child. I am ashamed, and I am second guessing our decisions regarding Alex. Maybe she is right? Maybe this is all a mistake. Maybe I didn't try hard enough to make Alex be a boy. 

I argue and plead, but it is no use. My mother is appalled, disgusted, and ultimately, fearful- how could this happen to our family? I was raised with good morals, standards, values- I was the daughter of a minister, for goodness sake. I am wrong, I am damaging Alex, and she will pray for him, she tells me, and for us.

We decide that it is best to spend Thanksgiving apart. I am far too upset and fragile, and I have no desire to expose Alex to such vitriol and shame. Christmas comes, and my mom mails presents to the kids- girl dolls for Leah and little Jasmine, and a boy doll and boy clothes and pajamas for Alex. Alex cries, wanting the same toys as his sisters. Slowly, my shame is starting to simmer into anger on behalf of my child. This child is four years old, I think to myself. This isn't right. My child wants girl dolls for Christmas- what is the harm in that? Alex is thrilled with the Barbie dolls in his stocking, and his princess bike from us, a fixed up hand-me-down from Leah. We can't quite bring ourselves to buy him a brand new girl bike. Not yet.

I maintain communication with my mother, hoping to repair the relationship. It is awkward and feels forced, and we do not mention the huge argument from Thanksgiving. It is springtime now, and we just don't talk about Alex and his dresses. It is just too painful, and I still feel too damaged.

Alex's birthday is rapidly approaching. It is his fifth birthday soon, and my mother needs to plan dates for his birthday trip to Disneyland. I am feeling very uncomfortable- I do not want my child to be unhappy on his birthday trip, of all places- to be forced to wear clothes he does not like, to buy toys that he just isn't interested in. Alex dreams of princesses and new dolls and dresses, just like Leah got on her trip, just like the photos from his cousin Sarah's trip. Alex is so excited, and cannot wait for his special trip with his grandmother. He wants photos with Cinderella, breakfast with Minnie Mouse, a new princess doll, and a princess dress.

This is not what my mother has in mind.

"I have an idea, one that I think will work for both of us," my mother says to me on the phone one day, several months before Alex's fifth birthday. "I will buy Alex a whole new wardrobe of all superhero boy clothes. He can have all new clothes, but they have to be boy clothes. This way I will feel comfortable taking him to Disneyland."

I think for a minute. I can feel this little shift inside of me, a spark, in my reply. "Mom?" I say to her. "What is the harm in Alex wearing girl clothes? Nobody knows you at Disneyland. He wants to wear dresses, and it's his birthday- I really don't want him to be sad on his birthday. He is really looking forward to the princesses and dresses and dolls."

I pause, triumphant. I stood up for my child. I did it! I exhale, and I wait.

My mother is angry. "No," she replies forcefully. "No. I will not take him to Disneyland unless he wears boy clothes. I will buy him all new clothes," she continues, "but I will not condone this behavior by letting him wear girl clothes. I do not want to be seen with him like that. I do not want people to think that I agree with this. He can only go with me if he wears boy clothes." 

My husband and I talk with Alex. Do you want to go to Disneyland with your grandmother? "Yes!" he replies enthusiastically, "I can't wait! Just like Leah and Sarah and Jake!" But what if you have to wear boy clothes? And what if your grandmother only buys you boy toys? My sweet little four year old, still known as a boy, looks at me with his big blue eyes and asks, with sadness in his voice- "But why? Why can't I wear girl clothes? Why can't I be a princess? Why can't I wear what I like? It's my birthday."

And then, he says this zinger: "This isn't about me. This is about my grandma."

Out of the mouths of babes- my four year old child had more wisdom than all of us.

Alex was right. This was my mother's issue, not his. 

My husband communicates with my mother that Disneyland just won't work on her terms- that this is Alex's trip, and we want him to enjoy himself. My mother is angry, and blames us for not letting her take her grandson on his trip. We feel protective of Alex, and don't want him to be shamed for liking girl things, so we tell my mother that unless she can take Alex on the birthday trip that he wants to go on, the one with princesses and fairies and all things pink, we don't feel like he would enjoy himself. It just wouldn't be worth it, we tell her, for any of us. We ask our little boy- are you sure? Are you sure you don't want to go with your grandmother on this trip? "No," he replies firmly. "I would rather not go."

We still have a few weeks to go until Alex's birthday. My husband and Alex and I drive down to meet with the expert that our pediatrician referred us to, the doctor who has more experience with gender variant children. We first hear the word transgender, we are given reading materials and websites, and pointed to a support group for families of gender nonconforming children. At the doctor's suggestion, we eventually "try on" female pronouns for a weekend, just to see if it fits. 

We haven't used male pronouns with Alex ever since.  

My husband and I decide that I will take Alex to Disneyland for her fifth birthday trip. My good friend, Rosa, and her daughter come along as well. Alex has very recently transitioned to female, at school, church, and of course, at home. We are all really trying to use female pronouns consistently, although in the beginning, it is very challenging. Rosa and her daughter try to use female pronouns for Alex at Disneyland, but it is exhausting and difficult- it still doesn't feel natural to any of us. All of us feel like we are constantly stumbling.

Alex is happy at Disneyland, but she misses her grandmother. Alex is young and so very sweet, and she just doesn't understand why she can't wear her beautiful dresses and be with her grandmother. She doesn't understand why she can't have it both ways.

We stay in a really nice hotel, but not as nice as the one that Alex's cousins or sister stayed in. I buy one or two toys, but the trip was an expense that we hadn't planned on, so money is tight. I can't buy Alex the dresses or fancy shoes or special photos. My friend is on a budget as well, so we share meals, splitting our dinners with our kids to save money. Breakfast in bed, ice creams and lemonades, the heated pool- these are all things that we just can't do for this trip.

Today, a year and a half later, I think Alex and I both understand a little better why my mother couldn't take that trip to Disneyland. Her fear of the unknown, of watching her own daughter raise a transgender child, was just too large and overwhelming. 

But the damage has been done- to her relationship with my daughter, and to her relationship with me, as her daughter. Trust has been broken, hurtful things were said, and a lovely birthday tradition with my mother and her grandchildren ended for my family. 

It's been two and a half years since my mother has seen my children. To this day, she still cannot bring herself to use female pronouns when referring to my middle daughter. I've asked her if I could send her school pictures of Alex. She tells me she is not ready to see him. Recently, we have been trying to talk more on the phone. My mother will ask about Leah and her special education program at school. She will ask about my four year old, and how preschool is going for little Jasmine. My mother asks about my health, about my work as a pianist, and about my husband's job.

She has never asked about Alex. 

And so, out of a lot of pain and sadness, a new tradition has been born. In spite of the bittersweet reasons that prompted me to take my child to Disneyland for her fifth birthday, I did love my special time with just Alex. I loved being a witness to her joy as she met the princesses, saw the castle, and experienced that special Disneyland magic. I loved taking Alex, the girl- in spite of the newness of it all, and the fear that I still had to work through as the mom of a transgender girl, it felt right. I loved my special trip with my special child, my daughter, Alex.

In just a few months, my youngest daughter, Jasmine, turns five. I'm already planning our special trip, just my littlest girl and me. Jasmine can't wait for her turn to go to Disneyland with mama, just like Alex did.

And the lessons that we took away from all of this? Sometimes, your friends become your family. Sometimes, traditions can be broken, and something beautiful can rise from the ashes of hurt and disappointment. New traditions can be made. And sometimes, we as damaged, flawed, and fearful people can say damaging, flawed, and hurtful things to those we love. 

But I'm tired of feeling damaged, or ashamed, or hurt. My transgender child, Alex, is not damaged- she is a happy, beautiful, thriving, vibrant, and loving little girl. 

Alex is different, but she is not damaged. She is cherished, beloved, for all that she is- every last part. 

Like I said, this story doesn't have a happy ending. Not yet, or at least not with my mother.

So maybe then, our little family of five is the happy ending, the unexpected one, the surprise twist at the end of the book. We love our children, all of them. Our lives are full and rich, filled with the most amazing people that love and support our family. It is not what I expected, and definitely not what I planned. But it is a life filled with laughter, love, hope, truth, courage, and joy.

It is a life filled with sparkly painted nails, rainbow earrings, ballet shoes and soccer cleats, many playdates, and new traditions and celebrations.

And one happy little girl, that used to be known as a boy. My brave daughter, Alex.