“Find them for me…”

The words that have been burned upon my heart for the last couple months. When Hope asked me if she was the only boy who felt like a girl inside I replied with a quick denial. Softly she asked if she could meet the other kids as if saying it any other way would be construed as a challenge. No, this sounded more like a plea.

“I promise.”

Isn’t this what we all seek to some degree- people who are like us? People who validate that who we are is okay.

As a child I had few friends. My family’s all consuming business made it impossible for me to play after school outside the confines of my parent’s steamy drycleaners. As you can imagine, having a friend over was impossible. To think of the second and third degree burns that my school friend would be exposed to, that is, if they could endure the over 120 degree temps. No, this was not a place for children. I rationalized to myself, I just worked there.

Curiously I’d watch kids bike outside through a half screen holding the back garage bay open as I untangled hangers careful to jump in a shadow anytime their glance met mine. What were their lives like? Where were they going? I knew at an early age that my life wasn’t like other kids.  It was different. Although I kept very watchful eyes, I never discussed my isolation fearing the punishment associated with whining. I just kept it to myself.

Fast forward to my daughter expressing her loneliness and every nerve in my brain sets ablaze. My maternal protection instinct (what I casually refer to as my “Mama Bear”) kicks in and I know what needs to be done. I needed to search, connect, hell… even talk on the phone (my least favorite activity) to find people who are like us. Stepping back it feels like some reincarnation exercise to heal my childhood wounds so I slip and slide between my insecurities as I put myself out there.

Tomorrow we leave for Seattle to attend the Gender Spectrum Conference where (at last) my daughter will meet dozens of children who know where she is coming from. Children who know what it’s like to be stared at. Children who feel out of place in their own body. Children who have the courage to be exactly who they are without excuses. Even thinking of it I get goosebumps to think we are so close.

Selfishly I think of finally fulfilling my promise and then it dawns on me. Once I agreed to Hope’s request, I set out on a divine journey of my own. Without thinking of my ever present social anxiety, I reached out to people, told our story, asked for help… this is all new to me. By honoring what I held in my heart for Hope, I met a whole group of people who were like me. Parents who know what it’s like to be stared at. Parents who try to explain how your body doesn’t have to define your identity. Parents who bravely encourage their children be exactly who they are without excuses.

Maybe I didn’t need the support of friends back then as much as I need them now. Maybe it’s never too late to reconcile with your demons and ask them to lunch. Maybe my destiny is less at my fingertips and more swirling and flowing right through my very being leading me toward a kind of peacefulness I have only watched others enjoy.