If you haven’t seen this, check it out. Look past the subtitles for an artistic, upbeat and informative piece about a gender diverse teen. She’s adorable!

I felt myself go over the edge as I quizzed Hope this morning, yet I couldn’t bring myself to stop. Her life literally depends on this information and yet the more I pound in the who-what-where she peacefully glances out the window daydreaming about fairies and princesses and the next Judy Moody book. My panic is all mine.

Once the field trip form popped into my inbox, the gravity of the situation came into clear focus as though never before; she could potentially be in danger and not have anyone know how to help her. Like many children these days, Hope has a peanut allergy and carries a medicine bag with her 24/7. Allergies, and so much more.

After 7 years of epipens, inhalers and Benadryl I should be a pro, right? But still, some days we forget the bag, drop what we’re doing to turn around and head home. One trip to the ER running with your lifeless child’s body in your arms as you scream for help and you take this seriously. You breathe in the gravity of one simple mistake.

The school was lovely when I grilled them and said and did everything right; I’m not complaining. Yet I can’t help but question what would happen if she needed to go to the ER, and I’m not there. How would they respond a gender diverse child? How would my extremely shy daughter respond to inquiries about her gender? Would the Department of Child and Family Services get involved? Should I carry a copy of the Safe File in my car? What else can I be doing to protect her? What haven’t I thought of?

Tears filled my eyes once the kids stepped through the threshold to the school. I can’t protect Hope all the time. Wiping my face with the back of my hand, the road in front of me morphed into a fast moving river complete with rock obstacles and shattered tree branches. Anything can happen.

Rather than succumb to my natural instincts and attempt to fight my way upstream toward a safe haven that isn’t on the map, I’m letting the river catapult me on the journey. There isn’t any rescue from this, and it’s not over. This is it – my journey.

Many days we’re blessed with beautiful scenery, and playful adventures. Other times we’re tested on how far into the darkness we’ll explore before we cling to the shore. Either way, we’re in it.

I’d like to say I don’t fear this path. I’d like to say I respect it and honor it for the lessons learned, but that’s a lie. I’m like the new kid in school too shy to make friends just yet, so I hang back when I need to and stand in the light when it feels safe. I’m still taking baby steps.

A wash of relief spread from the crown of my head and covered me like hot fudge melting down a cold scoop as I recalled the acceptance I felt as I talked about girls who feel like boys and boys who felt like girls. The supportive nods from teachers and the thoughtful questions produced by curious minds. But tell me again how we ended up laying down?

Ding! Ding! My head snapped around while no one seemed to notice. That’s a peculiar (and particularly delicate) school bell in my opinion. Ding! Ding! Maybe if I close my eyes I can determine where it’s coming from?? Ding! Ding!

Darkness registered first, and the crushing silence. Ding! Ding! Without thinking I reached out to find my bedside table only to find my pulsing iPhone indicating someone was texting me. Huh?! I’m in my room. It’s morning. And it was all a dream.

The glowing message told me I was uncharacteristically late so I threw off my fluffy comforter and scrambled to turn on the shower. Shoving the dripping toothbrush into my mouth I glanced at my weary face, sheet marks gracing the edges like I’d been scratched by cats all night. It was a dream. I can’t believe it still.

My first inclination was to tell myself, “It was too good to be true,” meaning the embrace I felt by the group, but that’s not exactly the truth. It is real. That dream signaled what I already know to be true and today I’m going to accept it.

Everything is as it should be. No matter what, we are safe. We are loved. We are accepted. That feeling didn’t come from the nods. It didn’t come from the school or the children. It didn’t come from anyone else. It came from me, and I know it as my own. No one takes it from me, and now I’m sure I’m not giving it away anymore. It’s mine, whenever and wherever I need it.

“I want to live, I want to give…” 

Neil Young’s harmonica instantly transports my brain into warm & fuzzy autumnal mode as I sit here and wait for my almond milk chai latte. Glancing out the sun streaked window I realize summer’s gone, and the chill sets in like an old friend coming to visit. Wherever I look lately I find myself seeking out warmth and comfort and stability. I feel like a flimsy plastic bag that’s taken flight in mid air. Not quite sure where I’ll land.

My mind wants to quickly label this feeling anxiety, although with deeper inspection that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I’m free falling, swirling high above the trees and suddenly plummeting down toward the sidewalk, and oddly not a bit scared. For the first time in my life I’m rolling with it.

Like an onion, another layer of protection is stripped away. Slowly I move closer to the core, the truth, and I like what I see. Quirky, imperfect honesty. A heart of gold. A strength wells within me as if I’ve tapped into a long forgotten reserve battery. It’s love. Love for me, exactly as I am.

Traveling by myself does that to me. Without the pressure of organizing others, mainly the kids, I settle into my Quiet Observer mode, and I like it. People argue at the airport, about lines and regulations. Their words swirl around my peaceful brain like a flock of unhappy migrating birds swooping and dropping, and then they’re gone. I find myself simply smiling and figure I must look lobotomized amidst the chaos, and I don’t care when I’m alone. Everything is going to be alright is my mantra in my silence, like Bob Marley gently whispering in my ear 24/7. Now that’s a good life right there.

So as the sun laid to rest while I was still driving to P-Town I let my anxiety keep napping. Black waves lapping up at me from the side of the road and I resist the urge to ditch the car and jump into the cold darkness. The moon as bright as a floodlight I find my way and then settle into the sweetest room. Alas, I’m alone on this trip, and it makes me wish someone else could see it, enjoy it.

Even eating alone is a treat. Some of my friends detest this quality of mine that can head straight into a lavish four star restaurant all by myself and feast without a care. If I look past the hefty tabs I create, I actually love this about me. I take it all in, luxury in slow motion. Afterwards as I journey back to my tiny palace I meet a group of gals who were sensational and without a single twist of my arm I am back at dinner again, talking, laughing and learning. This WAS a special trip indeed. Effortless. Fluid. Meaningful.

The next morning was filled with adventuring around the town searching for an almond chai latte and the perfect angle for quick Instagram pics. Successful in my search (thanks to Wired Puppy) I floated through the rest of my day including my keynote speech and the following discussion about gender diversity in children’s literature. It was divinely right, each step.

As the Quiet Observer I’m able to let go and live. I give myself permission to craft my moments as I please so why do I give that up when I step back into my life at home? Tension flares. My old stress patterns return. The Quiet Observer is bound and gagged as the adrenaline machine churns more and more, streaming fear into my veins like a fitful transfusion. I’m ready to break this pattern.

“when i was a child, I was stubborn about many things, and didn’t really know what I want. I thought I was a girl in a boy’s body, and constantly dressed up. I wanted to be a girl, even going into high school, and would dream of it all the time. Nowadays, i’m a man, a 30 year old man, and those feelings have completely left. I’m glad my mother and father, who caught me doing this were ashamed. I’m glad I found out that though I wanted to be a girl, I would always be a boy. I have a penis, and I had to deal with that, and now i’m thankful I was born the way I was. I have a Y chromosome and I will not ignore that. It’s shameful that you don’t remind your child of the same thing I had to face about myself. You let your child live as they want, yet THEY ARE A CHILD, and children are the ones to learn, not the other way around. Your boy is a boy, will be a man, and you cannot, nor can he change that. You’re a parent that, though has faced much through this whole ordeal, have given in to the demands of someone much younger than you, as if they knew better than you. I agree with Lady Gaga about her one hit song, “I was born this way”- fess up to the fact that your boy was born this way-a boy.”

Of course, the reader and I have different belief systems and will have to agree to disagree on this. There doesn’t seem to be any room for change or awareness, but this message that I should be ashamed of myself (much like the reader said his parents were ashamed of him) makes me understand why people go into hiding figuratively and literally as they steep in denial when their feelings don’t match what society traditionally deems as “normal”, whatever “normal” is. And I’m not just talking about trans issues, I’m talking about anything that seemingly goes against the grain.

In my comment back to the reader I admitted I no longer believe in shame. When I grew up I knew what shame was and over the years I started to dismantle that notion that I wasn’t good enough just the way I was bit by bit. The last piece of shame faded when my daughter started living genuinely and I began to understand the power of loving ourselves just the way we are in the present moment.

I don’t believe in the purpose of shame. I do believe in love and truth; however, and I will follow that path without hesitation.

Will, on the other hand, stood comfortably looking at me stark naked as he was with a face like a question mark. “What??!?” he replied. Apparently he doesn’t channel “nakedness” like Hope and I do. He simply has no issues with it. And really, if we look at it, Will doesn’t have a lot of issues with anything. Quirky as he is, he is the most amiable, adaptable, intuitive, loving and supportive child I’ve every encountered. He is Hope’s biggest fan.

In all my work writing, speaking and advocating for gender diverse kids, I want to underscore the importance of siblings and validate their experiences. All too often siblings willingly step aside and let the occasional (or sometimes continual) drama of their gender diverse sibling’s life take over the family dynamic. Siblings have this beautiful capacity to understand on the most fundamental level and often selflessly act as loving buffers to the outside world. Can a parent get any luckier?

All too often I lay in bed ruminating that I’ve not given Will enough credit. His plate remains full most days. Let’s be honest, for the past three years he’s filled various roles for all of us: bodyguard, professional listener, motivational speaker, enlightened poet, personal assistant, master comedian, loving brother and a dream-come-true son. And he’s six.

Thank you Will. From the bottom of my heart. I may not say it enough but your quiet goodness inspires me every single day.

Did you see this line-up? It’s astounding how much we can learn in 3 short days, but I’m doing it all… including the yoga and meditation. I’m in. All in.

It’s funny, my daughter told someone recently that I was going to a conference and that I wrote a book. I was surprised because she prefers that we live relatively (almost completely) stealth so I probably produced a more than inquisitive look at her proud declaration. (Still working on my poker face truth be told…) Later I asked about it and she simply replied that she was happy that I was “helping people be better parents.” Whoa!!!!?? 

I wish that I could assume such a glorious job title, but alas I felt more comfortable clarifying that I ask questions and talk about things that might help parents along their journey. Simple. A take-it-or-leave-it type of thing. No pressure. But in her eyes, when she sees the cover of my book she’s constantly reminded of our talks about the parents who may not understand their child’s gender identity, or as she prefers to it as “how people feel inside”. She may ponder what life would be like if we didn’t listen to her or forced her to be someone she isn’t. That breaks my heart.

Even my son brought on the water works today. Bright and early, before 6am he chose to absolve me of my parental duties by telling me that he “forgives me for missing his graduation” and gave me an enormous hug that made me wish that this was my wake up call every morning. Mind you, he is graduating from preschool, which is huge for him and totally important. I get that. Still.

I start to tear up when I think of connecting with others this weekend. Why? Maybe because I feel the emotional weight of families who struggle with issues surrounding gender expression. I was there just a few years ago, not knowing where to turn or how to help. Life looked condensed in a way, with fear closing all the doors I wish were open. That was then.

Today we are free. Not completely transparent, but living and standing in our truth day in and day out. And I have so many people to thank for that. You know who you are – you beautiful, courageous, loving, loyal, open and supportive friends who have stood by me even when my brave disguise had worn thin. You’ve lifted me, carried me, soothed me and inspired me to do more for all of the families, like ours, that want to live genuinely, no matter what that looks like. I’m eternally grateful. And blessed.

Today while sorting laundry his words danced across my consciousness like opening credits in a romantic comedy and I quieted my thinking long enough to evaluate what it meant to me. It’s true in the past I’d reinvent myself. My job hit a plateau and poof! I’d have a better one. A boyfriend broke up with me and chop! went the hair. Bored with my apartment and voila! I’d be in a cuter place across town before the month ended. A friend makes a snide remark (like I wouldn’t fit in her skinny jeans even if I tried… not like I remember that or anything) and snip! went the ties that bind us. Yes, I could stop dead in my tracks, switch direction and forge a new path without a moment’s hesitation. Yes, I could pick myself up and change the scenery. Yes, I could run and hide and pretend nothing happened. But it did.

When my friend of many, many years said this, I think he was trying to compliment me, even comfort me that I didn’t need anyone else’s help. I would be just fine on my own no matter what because I had this fabulous quality the way he spoke about it. Always-have-and-always-will type of thing. A couple years ago I might have beamed with pride at hearing that assumption about me, but today it leaves me hollow, like a dingy, vacant apartment with little bits of packing tape on the floor and empty, bent hangers in the closet. Just pick up and reinvent myself now? Me?

The concept is utterly foreign to me if I am honest with myself, but perhaps I’m not expanding my thinking far enough. Just maybe each time I scrapped where I was I simply moved closer to being who I really was. Instead of thinking that I put on a new disguise, like I lived my life incognito in some weird way, maybe I can see how each decision navigated the course toward finding the real me? Deep in my heart I believe there is a divine time, divine order in constant control. Whether I resist or not is up to me. My actions are up to me. Still, does that mean that I am forced to shift gears when things go sour? Or do I have the power to ride the wave of challenging times with complete surrender? I think I’m growing up.

Let’s face it. It would have been easier to chuck everything and move when Hope transitioned two summers ago. No doubt about it. If I was the one-trick-pony my friend alluded to than I would have reinvented us somewhere else and started over, right? I’m not saying that moving fixes every single hurdle, it doesn’t. Nothing does. But it does give the chance to have some breathing room. Despite myself the thought never crossed my mind to leave our city and go where no one would know us. If anything I was on auto-pilot digging deeper to keep things grounded and normal and real.

Maybe that’s a signal of me outgrowing my more impetuous reactions and quick-fixes or better yet, not needing to chart the course in search of myself. I’m here. And I’m handling my problems moment by moment, not by changing my surroundings either. In the end I think my friend was partly right, no matter what happens I will be okay. Not because I can change directions and start fresh, but because I can stand still and just be me.

Despite me not thinking much of an ad the simply celebrates parents and kids (and really cute clothes BTW), apparently lots of people can’t seem to stop talking about it. Some even claim that Jenna Lyons is confusing her son and making his life more difficult. Thankfully some professionals have come out with an acknowledgement that this is simply not true. If my Mac wasn’t acting wonky I’d add some links, but I’m guessing you’ve read all the reports in the LA Times and Chicago Tribune, am I right?

Let’s all agree that toenail polish can’t make you change your gender or affect your sexual orientation. Trust me, just as much as all the blue in the world couldn’t make Hope feel like a boy, all the pink in the world won’t make Will feel like a girl. We feel the way we feel regardless of how exterior forces persuade us. The reality is that there are children right now being dressed in clothes that don’t feel right for their identified gender and they hate it. They are being forced to live a way they don’t feel is genuine and that is painful. I’ve seen it.

While I would love to thank J Crew for celebrating trans kids, I don’t really get that in this ad and frankly, I don’t have to. I see a mom and her child having fun and I love it. What I will express gratitude for is that Jenna Lyons (and J Crew) are courageous enough to depict real life through their work. Plain and simple.

Obviously J Crew struck a chord with some people. Hopefully this spark will ignite many conversations where minds can open, hearts can connect and understanding can grow. That’s the balance of life. Something happens that challenges how we view life and we take away from it what we need. Another day comes and another spark ignites.