Middlesex tells the story of an intersex individual who was, in this case, raised female because they were unaware of internal male sex organs. Years back the book was pushed on the public by a popular talk show host that I despise dislike have little respect for (those of you who read me often know exactly who I’m talking about) so as is my ritual I turned my back on the book until I felt like I could go back to it on my own terms. I’d always been interested; however, intersex is something I didn’t have a clue about.

Now after I’ve been on this gender adventure I’ve still only learned a little here and there. The few things I’ve learned came by way of a lecture or two where doctors discuss the process by which we develop our sex organs in the body. Terms like androgen insensitivity permeated my brain in the context of my child, of her development specifically. Now that I’m digging a little deeper into development, hormones and puberty, I’m fascinated about how the body and brain play a tumultuous tango before and after birth. Not being a biology buff of any kind, it boggles my mind a bit.

As my path unfolds, I want to create more inclusion for all people. It’s the driving force behind my work. It’s simple. If I’m asking for people to take a leap of faith to try to understand what my child is working with in terms of gender diversity, I have to constantly remain open to other’s experiences. I’m a forever student in this lifetime, opening my heart in every moment, and sharing what makes us beautifully unique.

Join Gender Conversations here.

Gender Conversations, a new site dedicated to discussions about gender identity, expression and diversity, was born from the need to have our expanded, global community connect in a more user-friendly way. I love social media and daily digests, but it is all missing a critical search function. I want to type “hormone blockers” into a search engine in one site and hear from parents, clinicians and trans folks and learn from different perspectives. This isn’t possible on most sites I know about right now.

By connecting with GC, members can connect and quickly explore what they’re looking for without sifting through long conversation threads. Similarly they don’t have to get online so often. Put a discussion out there and you can still easily check on it months later to conveniently see what new members have added. Love that. Events are being posted. Groups are being formed. People are talking. It’s all coming together so check it out and let me know what you think.

Click here for an invite and feel free to share with those people who have a story to share. And so the party begins!

As the flutter of little ballerinas swarmed the waiting area a few days ago my daughter briskly shoved a note in my hand then floated back to her friends who are always more focused on their arabesque or plie than their parents asking for them to put on their street shoes and skedaddle. The day seemed like any other. Don’t forget the case for her shoes. Did we bring a jacket? The usual.

Once we got home the kids hopped on their bikes and scurried out of the garage, eager to play with their friends in our close little neighborhood. My social butterflies, I love it. It wasn’t until I looked down at the reminder from the ballet studio that I realized that our typical day going to ballet would most likely be our last of its kind. Things were about to come to a screeching halt.

“No skirts allowed” leapt off the page and slapped me across the face. How would this ever work for us? My daughter is absolutely glued to that sheer ballet skirt for obvious reasons. My mind went full throttle for a moment imagining her ostracized from her beloved group either by taking off or leaving on the skirt. Imagining her pain when she learns that she would no longer enjoy the class as effortlessly as we have in the past. Imagining the confrontation I must have with the studio who knows nothing about my daughter’s gender diversity. The thoughts kept popping up like unwanted ads on your favorite website and then I simply took a deep breath aaaaaannnnndddd I slowed myself down enough to ask what is happening here?

Mid-way through a session and they choose to come up with a new rule about uniforms now? That seems odd, especially when they’ve allowed kids of all ages to wear pretty much whatever style of ballet outfit. My daughter’s outfit came from the most expensive ballet specialty store in the city so we felt that we were right in line with the expectations of any studio, seeing as though the folks at the Joffrey shopped there as well. Why the big change all of a sudden?

Immediately my mind zoned in on one particular mom who has a daughter in Hope’s ballet class. I think she’s aware of my daughter living stealth. I can’t be sure, but her actions speak volumes. One day we were having play dates (even though the kids went to separate schools after Kindergarten ended) and being very friendly chatting while the kids were in class and the next week she could not bring herself to look at me. She abruptly shunned my greetings and whisked her daughter away from my child as Hope said hello. She seems visibly spooked in my presence and Hope’s dad agreed that this mom went from very warm to freezing cold overnight. This was about five months ago.

One of the moms from Kindergarten class was aware of Hope’s gender identity, and as it seems she probably told people after we left the school. Coincidentally the informant is the mother of the child who tormented and bullied Hope for a solid year and when I complained to the school the mother threatened to out my daughter to whole school. Nice.

Still, when the ballet mom started avoiding us like the plague I didn’t get crazy or pull Hope out of the class. I just observed and remained open for anyone to say anything to me. Then about three weeks ago this mom, huddled together with Hope’s ballet teacher, jumped sky-high covering her mouth when she saw me walk down the back hall. Correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s the international signal for “I was just talking about you!” Their conversation ended as I approached. They both stared at me as if I was carrying several dismembered human heads with me and began to whisper when the restroom door slowly closed behind me. Even then I thought, “If anyone wants to say something to me they are welcome to,” and I went about my merry way like normal.

Then the note. Is it a coincidence that the studio wants to rip all the skirts off little girls when this has never been their policy? Are they suddenly taking “the uniform very seriously? Why? Are we prepping girls for Juilliard here? Not even close. Still, it’s possible, right? Probable, no. So I did a little research about what other ballet teachers and studios expect. All of them agree they want to see the lines of the body so they require sheer skirts if any.

Okay, sheer skirts are completely doable in the ballet world, yet the studio is demanding no skirts whatsoever. Why? As I wait for the owner to return my call my mind wanders… Is this a thoughtless decree to make their studio look more “serious” in the dance community? Is this in response to teachers saying that kids are wearing pretty much any old thing to class and it’s distracting from the work they are doing? Or is this the quick fix so they don’t have to listen to angry, fearful parents complaining about having a transgender child in their midst? If they require all kids to come in a leotard alone (exposing what everyone is so focused on – genitals) gender diverse kids would never feel comfortable and therefore, not come to class.  Problem solved for them.

So what is the reality? Will I ever truly know the answer even if I’m given one?

What I do know is that we aren’t going down without a fight. We’re not going into hiding because of this. At first it will be friendly fact-finding mission, of course. I’ll ask about their policy, see if they will amend their rules to include a sheer skirt for body sensitive children like mine. I’ll go the high road, for sure.

Perhaps they will tell me a reason for the rule that I’ve never thought of. Okay, I’m open to that. Just maybe they’ll confess that this mother complained and they need to “handle” it in some way. In that case I can use the opportunity to educate and hopefully we’ll come to a common ground where all parties are better for it. These kids deserve to go to class just like everyone else. Let’s make that happen.

Whatever happens, an answer or a smokescreen, I will speak my truth, stand up for my child’s right to participate and still feel comfortable in the class and hopefully plant a seed of awareness.

On the flip side, this is another chance for Hope to learn how to handle challenges around her gender diversity that will come up now and again in her life. Clothes, particularly uniforms, kids and even sometimes even parents will be a problem. Life includes some modifications for all of us, and that’s okay. At least she sees her parents protecting her, standing up for what they believe in and working to create change for everyone’s sake.

It’s a life lesson for me, too. At first I slipped into my old reactive pattern of panic, and then I realized what I was doing and changed my mind. This situation is what I make it, what I bring to it. This journey can be about truth or it can be about fear. Only I make that choice.

Even the workshop I presented on creating local play groups and support systems expressed the gravity of the situation. Beyond needing, we’re craving the genuine connection with people who actually speak our language. Never mind having the same experience, we don’t need it to be exact. Just being in the ballpark is hugely rewarding. Anytime families get together like we did at the conference it’s a good thing. Kids are smiling and playing. Parents are talking and laughing. It’s a win-win and it feels good.

Now how can we find each other without flying half way around the country? My first suggestion is to join the list serves with TYFA & Children’s National Medical Center, start talking and find others in your area. If that doesn’t work, contact your local PFLAG group (or other LGBT organization) and ask what type of support groups they have for parents of transgender individuals and their kids. If they don’t have a kids play group, entertain the idea of creating one. You know you can do it, all it takes is a little effort. Then send your smoke signals out there. Set your intention and watch families come together.

If you already have a group or a solid support group for parents, tell me your thoughts. What’s worked for you? How do you manage your group? What works? What ways can we individualize our groups so they meet our unique needs?

Let’s keep a dialogue going of best practices so that we can ignite a movement across the country. Families connecting in a loving, non-judgmental way to help preserve the safety and well-being of all of our kids and raise gender awareness. It can happen. We need to be ready. Do our homework. And then go for it in a meaningful way. We need to connect with one another and spark awareness in all of our communities. Now.

During an after-dinner conversation about my morning seeing His Holiness the Dalai Lama, the kids and I discussed one of the most importance aspects of Buddhism – compassion. He explained it so eloquently today. My only hope was to share a glimmer of what I learned as I sat in pure bliss. We talked about treating everyone with generosity and respect, from the homeless individual we see at the edge of the off ramp from the expressway to the President. One person shouldn’t get better treatment than the next. We are all just humans living in this existence.

Once I determined that the kids were right on track with our talk (not falling asleep or looking bored to tears) we moved on to the concept of ahimsa, non-violence. They got it right away. Don’t hurt people in our actions, even in our words or thoughts. In the midst of what I thought was a pretty dynamic conversation, Will asked if we were ever going to see Patrick and Carrie again. Abrupt halt. Pause. 

Backstory = Patrick is my cousin who does not understand or agree with Hope’s gender identification, particularly her transition. He hasn’t talked to me in over a year. The last I heard Carrie, his wife, read this blog and was offended. Definitely not my intention here – ever.

I have to mention; however, I don’t write this blog for my relatives or to have a conversation with my relatives or friends. I’d much rather my friends and family talk with me. I write this for the thousands of people out there who, like me, are coping with serious issues surrounding our children’s safety and well-being, our role as supportive, loving parents or issues related to gender identity. If I write/wrote about anything to do with my family or friends, it is because I am struggling with coming to terms with all the aspects of our lives, not theirs. Their involvement is not the focus, but rather just part of what we are coping with. It’s not the person, it’s the concept of what we are coping with. Does that make sense? I have no other agenda but to connect with others facing similar circumstances and to heal.

After reading hundreds of emails from readers, I recognize this as a common theme  among families handling issues surrounding gender diversity. Unfortunately dealing with and losing family and friends is one of the things we deal with when our kids present and transition. It rocks the boat, and some people may jump ship. Fact. That’s why I write what I write. Often I am getting so many emails asking the same questions or sharing the same concerns from across the globe that I’ll write a blog post sharing where we are with that issue or where we’ve been. I know that it isn’t just us facing these issues. It’s all of us in a sense. I only speak for me, but I am speaking to/with people like me, faced with similar situations. I make no apologies for that.

Ironically Patrick and Carrie are the people the kids went to in our wills. They were my “true blue friends” who I thought I could always rely on when the chips are down. The kind you call at 3 am for a favor and they don’t get angry. Now I wouldn’t quite say that my child’s gender identity qualifies as a “chips are down” sort of thing, but what we were/are going through was/is a transition in our lives where we needed/need all the genuine love and support we can get. Still. I never in a million years thought that Patrick would turn his back on me. The thought never entered my brain; we were so tight. But life has a way of throwing curve balls, of challenging our values, our belief systems, and shining a light on what is truly important. What we do is up to us.

But this story isn’t about them, it’s about us. So we are sitting at the dinner table as I try to explain that Uncle Patrick and Aunt Carrie are having “a hard time giving up Nick” as our therapist suggested. Will bursts out into tears.

“We’re never going to see them again?” he shrieked as he jumped into my arms, my little tough guy now so vulnerable and shaken. His hands drawn to his wet face in disbelief. Those enormous eyes looking to me for answers. I guess he was trying to holding out hope that whatever it was blew over and we’d be at their house the next weekend. In the beginning I’m sure I grasped at straws the same way, as silly as that sounds.

“I don’t know Honey,” I admitted, “We just don’t believe in the same things anymore…” I watched for her reaction across the table. Hope remained calm and steady in her chair though you could tell her mind quickly toyed with the idea of this whole thing being her fault. And what could I do? I explained that this is no one’s fault. We didn’t do anything wrong. They didn’t do anything wrong. We love Patrick and Carrie and their children just as much as we did before. We are still family with them even though we don’t see each other. We respect them and their belief systems, despite being different from our own. We reinforced that we’d never say anything bad against them. The fact is that we just don’t agree on how to live our lives. They want things to be like they were and we need to embrace living our lives honestly, no matter what. Funny how the start of this talk, the themes of compassion and non-violence, were exactly what brought this discussion to a close much later.

“I just miss them,” Will whispered as his tears stained the front of my shirt, his head moving up and down as he quietly sobbed.

“I miss them too Sweetie,” At that moment, there was nothing left to say.

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.

“Nick? Nick, is that you?” she asked, her head bobbing in the yes direction as if she was the person who was making this decision and possessed the power to make us agree by placing us in a trance like state with her nod. The three of us sat there in the park perplexed as if she was speaking a foreign language to us and seemed desperate to to find out where the bathroom was. What was she talking about? Time passed slowly, very slowly. Oh heavens, Hope used to be called Nick. I forgot.

So many times we find ourselves in such happy spaces with life moving blissfully forward that we don’t remember that our existence was different at one point. We simply don’t remember right away. That might sound strange to the outsider. How could you not quickly recall that your child was once identified as male? Odd as it may sound, I do, I forget.

I guess I don’t see her as anything but Hope. Even when she had a different name and was identified as a different gender, she was always the same person, the same child: sweet, funny, intelligent, tender, playful, responsible, intuitive. She is just the same today. Granted she is way happier with people understanding who she understands herself to be, and that’s a good thing; however, not much has changed since she transitioned. Maybe her clothes got a little more colorful and her hair got longer, but she is the same wonderful person I’ve known since Day 1. And I’m grateful.

Even Will told our therapist that he thought the woman who was shouting at us was speaking to him. “Who’s Nick?” he said gesturing wildly with his hands, his shoulder bouncing up and down as his voice went up an octave, “My sister is Hope.” The words fell on my ears like kisses, this remarkable little person, two years younger than his sister and yet so protective and so extremely sensitive to her feelings. What a blessing that we are related to this tiny champion, but then again, there are no mistakes in life. No roll of the dice in my opinion. Throw luck out the window on this one. We are all meant to be together, to be this family working through moments like this when things go from lazy day at the park to spotlight on Hope’s gender transition.

“It’s Hope now,” I explained to our now somewhat familiar interrogator as I gently placed my hand on Hope’s back. I think the woman worked at the preschool the kid attended in what seemed another lifetime.

“Is Nick at school then?” her urgency for crystal clear answers felt like a chill on an otherwise sunny afternoon. She wasn’t going to stop, was she? 

“I think you’ve forgotten, it’s Hope now,” I calmly, but strongly, informed her with a generous smile and a nod as if to say, “That’s it. Show’s over. Move along…” And she did. She still had the deer-in-the-headlights look, but she finally walked along.

When I glanced down at Hope safely cuddled in the crook of my arm she looked oddly cool, calm and collected. Strong. Even though I offered, she didn’t want to leave right away and for that I was incredibly grateful. She didn’t need to run away from what happened or any of the realities I tend to forget. She wasn’t afraid to be in that space, as uncomfortable as it was. None of us were, and that still amazes me. I guess that means we’re finding our ground day by day. Moment by moment.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Portland, Oregon February 17, 2011

BirchSwinger Films & TransActive present “…small words”

A new documentary about children, their families and gender.

This is an opportunity for parents, family and allies of gender non-conforming and transgender children to meet respected Portland documentary filmmaker and director Dennis Lavery, who’s upcoming film “…small words” will explore the everyday lives of children, youth and families who, among other things, happen to be gender non-conforming or transgender.

This event will provide parents and others the chance to ask questions of both the filmmaker and TransActive staff regarding potential participation in the film itself, or general information that may pertain to children who do not experience or express their gender identity in ways that conform to cultural expectations or stereotypes.

This event is open to the public (all ages) and will feature:

• Excerpts from Mr. Lavery’s prior documentary film, “In The Shadow of The Temple”
• Screening of TransActive’s new video, “Unconditional”
• An informational presentation by TransActive program managers Zena Britadesco & Sheryl Rindel, LPC, NCC
• Extensive Q & A
• Snacks & beverages

When:
Saturday, February 19, 2011, 2:00-4:00 PM

Where:
In Other Words (Feminist Community Center)
14 NE Killingsworth Street (At Williams)
Portland, OR  97211

Phone: 503-232-6003

# # #

TransActive Education & Advocacy, a non-profit organization, provides the necessary support to improve the quality of life of transgender and gender non-conforming children, youth and their families through education, services, advocacy and research.

Click here to listen to the podcast and tell me what you think.

I was naive enough to trot out my front door to pick up my son, happy as a clam, when I hung up with the host. Little did I know they finished the hour with callers who provided their questions and thoughts, free of my answers and perspective. Maybe that was best for me at the time? I’ve had mixed responses from the people who listened. Some folks said that the host, and some of the callers, were hard on me. Some said that they thought it went well.

Me? I think that the host needs to stir the pot whatever the subject, get the listeners thinking about what they believe in, keep them engaged until they can’t help it but call in and give their two cents. That makes for good talk radio. I don’t fault the host for his line of questioning, or the callers for their reaction. That is what is.

The silver lining? Our message of love and acceptance reached a group of people who might not otherwise know what transgender means, let alone understand that some people come to their gender awareness at such a young age. Before they might have pictured a drag queen when they heard the word transgender, but maybe that image was challenged for an hour or so. Maybe they took this subject back to their dinner table or water cooler. Maybe they did a little research of their own. Or just maybe they opened their heart enough to move closer toward that gender diverse child in their own lives.

Again, yoga saved my day. In times of difficulty I have my little mantras that bring me back. As long as I have my breath I endure anything. Even when the questions get harder. Stand in my truth. Especially when people don’t agree with me. Compassion is my guide. My life lessons are right here before me and all I need to do is be present.