Every time I would be ready to take the step into the light I found some way to go in the other direction. I wasn’t really ready at all. Like many parents of gender diverse children, I feared that someone would hurt my children because they do not agree with our lives. That thought paralyzes me, the power of people who simply don’t understand. It took me a year to pull myself up by the bootstraps and remind myself that nothing will get better unless we educate the community and advocate for all of our children and their families.

Once the book was published and sitting in my hot, little hands, I felt the strength to put aside my fears and practice what I preach. I needed to believe in being who I was, a mom who loves her children with every fiber of her being. Still, I wondered how I could put a barrier between the image of my public self and the reality of my private self for their sake. Kind of a disconnect for folks seeking to do us harm. I guess living stealth for this long made me question everything around me and I wondered how I could insulate my children from any negative backlash.

Glasses! There you go! Sure, I usually wear my glasses when doing things with my advocacy work and they might make me look a little different, but would that make a significant difference? Then my mother suggested I wear a wig to cover my signature short pixie. I have to tell you, I considered it for a second before I remembered how ridiculous it was. Why do I need to camouflage myself?

The fear is real. It’s what prevents parents and caregivers across the country (and the world) from allowing their child to present as their identified gender outside the home. Every time I talk about gender diversity or talk with families in similar circumstances I relate the single experience that made the biggest impact on me and my family. It was the afternoon my child (pre-transition) asked me if he could wear a dress to a concert in the park.

When he asked I could feel time slow to a crawl as he stared at me, searching for the answer to a question that he didn’t directly ask. He was really asking if I believed everything I told the kids about being true to yourself. Was it really okay for him to wear a dress to the concert if he wanted? Then I asked myself. Did I really stand behind my own words? Could we handle the transition from him presenting inside the house to him presenting outside in the real world? It’s a big jump, and we did it.

Once you make that leap to presenting in the outside world, things change. Yes, you are free for the first time. Free to express yourself out in the open. What a liberating moment! I saw the exuberance on my child’s face being able to walk outdoors with a favorite outfit on. At the same time, I started to build a layer of armour against the dirty looks and the unkind comments like “Why is that boy wearing a pink dress?” Subconsciously I piled on more emotional protection when family and friends turned their backs on us as my child moved from just presenting full-time to transitioning to living full-time as her identified gender, a girl. The pain was immense. The loss, hard to make sense of yourself, let alone explain to small children.

Slowly I began to realize that the hiding I was doing, even as insignificant as it seemed, was unnecessary. If people wanted to find me, they would. As a mom, I am in protector mode 24/7 so that will never change. I trust myself. I will always put my best foot forward with regards to their safety and well-being, my only true concern, and now I’ve slowly started to accept that the light isn’t a threat. It is a freedom.

I showed up to the television studio unsure of what I was going to say and waited patiently as everyone busily prepared around me. My hands fiddled with my glasses as I listened to my kirtan music through headphones. I nervously put them on and then I took them off as if I was testing the waters. The more Krishna Das sang in my ears, the less I tugged at my glasses. At one point I took them off, slipped them into my handbag and then I totally let them go. Even before the producer finished asking me if I was ready I was nodding my head up and down, steady in my resolve. I had successfully taken off my glasses.

Just like that afternoon when my child confidently walked outside the front door ready to go to the concert, I smiled as I sat down in my seat, raised my head proudly and looked straight into the lens.

My heart sank. The mother of the 9-year-old victim spoke eloquently about how her daughter, born on 9/11, was brought into this world amidst tragedy and left this world in the same helpless circumstance. As I wiped the tears I could not hold back, my two little children played upstairs unaware of the hatred in this world.

From time to time I get a glimpse of that small mindedness here on this blog, my simple, safe space that I share with the world. Often the comments are so inappropriate that I do not post them, so I keep them hidden from you and me and them as if they never existed at all. But is that fair? I pocket the hate sometimes like an old receipt that I feel the irrational need to keep, but can’t seem to file away in the right place. So it lingers in a jacket that’s out of season left hanging in the closet. Forgotten, but there.

Here I’m on the cusp of being public for the first time to promote the book and I’m still not quite sure how to deal with hate? A friend’s voice whispers in my ear that compassion is the key. Easier said than done sometimes I think. In the past my knee jerk response to this conflict was fear, but I see how that doesn’t serve me. It doesn’t come close to satisfying what is present in my heart.

Last year a parent who was acting on the defensive (long story) threatened to out my daughter, who lives stealth. The mere mention of this sent me into a panic. Shaking, I sat at the kitchen table like a statue, unable to stop the rage and fear that pulsed through me like sparks flying off jumper cables. One part of me wanted to unleash my wrath, protect my child at any cost. Mama Bear was not happy. The other part of me wondered what I could do to defuse the situation. “How do I make this woman leave us alone?” I thought. I wanted to run away. Change our name and never look back. Looking back I recognize that her threats were out of my control. The only thing I was responsible for is my reaction to the situation.

Say the same scenario happens today, how do I react? How do I seize the opportunity for compassion and go there. Jump into the messy parts of misunderstanding and small mindedness and create a small space for love, for what it’s worth. Would it bridge the gap between she and I? Would she come to a greater understanding of my child’s diversity and I to a deeper knowledge of her fears? That’s yet to be seen.

We’ll never make sense of hatred, let’s face it. The only action I can control, especially when faced with tragedy like what happened in Arizona, is to muster up the courage to show compassion for all people, and teach my children to do the same.

For years Hope coveted other friend’s princess shoes, but when present time came around she opted for a doll each time. Even when we asked if she wanted the shoes, she would trade up for something that was bigger. Still, I would see her prance at play dates, absolutely entranced in the shoes. Each time she’d run to me, clicking away, as she modeled the “high heels”, excitement flying around the room.

Each time my mind slipped backwards, years ago, when she pleaded for pink sandals. I can still picture my son, then a sweet four year old, who was hell bent on buying pink sandals when we picked out our spring shoes at a local boutique. It came as a surprise. The shoes were awful actually, the kind that has awkward straps and glued on flowers and to my disgust, glitter in all the wrong places. It wasn’t the color I protested, it was that they were so ugly. She, then he, begged for them. The two sales people and I showed my child at least twelve other pink sandals that ranged from fancy to sporty, but nothing worked. Only those hideously garish sandals filled some void that I couldn’t comprehend. It was such a little thing to be so upset about. Yes, I bought the shoes, but as we settled in the car afterward I turned backwards in my seat to ask why the pink sandals were so important. After a considerable amount of time my child told me that he knew something he couldn’t tell me. Fear raced through my entire body – abuse? What happened? I calmly told him that he could tell me anything, that he could trust me to understand and to love him, no matter what. I hung on waiting for his answer.

“I’m a girl inside Mommy,” were the words that I didn’t expect. Those few little words began our journey and ultimately brought us where we are today, all these years and conversations later.

So Christmas morning as she scanned the presents left for her, Hope’s eyes fixated on the one little thing she’s never quite asked for, but has wanted her whole life. She got the princess shoes that day and she never took them off.

Such a long lesson in patience my friends, but isn’t that the way life leads us where we need to go? Recently I met with a lovely reporter who interviewed me months ago about the book and commented that I seemed much more at ease now. I had to admit to her that I didn’t know how I’d feel when the book was released. Would I summon the courage necessary to charge forward and spread this powerful message? Would I feel exposed on some basic level and feel paralyzed to move forward? I didn’t know. I was still thinking.

On one hand I feel like a warrior, ready to talk, discuss and educate, even with those people who do not agree with our perspective. On the other hand I feel like it is a giant leap, especially when I try to keep our real names and identities unknown. I think most families with gender non-conforming kids, especially those that have transitioned may feel this way. Visibility vs. Invisibility. Ever since Hope’s transition and I started writing this blog I have stepped back in many aspects of my life. I needed to. I abandoned my former career, a certain level of notoriety and even some friends that made my social circle as wide open as I wanted. I went from being in the center to walking away. Gladly.

During this time I’ve done some serious soul-searching, seeking awareness, even enlightenment, as I open myself to every single thing that scares me. While keeping my children safe was my primary focus during the hiatus, I think I took the chance to get away myself, just to think. I look back at all those mornings on the beach this summer when I watched those two carefree souls frolicking and splashing. I know now that I was gearing up. I was charging the battery. Getting strong. All that together time made us closer than ever and we needed it, probably more than we’ll ever know. I needed to be quiet in my thoughts for some time to really feel through what it was that I was after. Define what I was called to do.

Now I sit on my living room couch gazing at wood in the hearth just begging for fire. I feel like that wood, ready for the spark. Ready to begin. I know what I’m after – to tell our story, to raise awareness, to make this world a better place for my children and all children. I’ve had my time to think and rest, and now I’m ready to get to work.

The path twists again forcing the person to accept that our Hope is just a child who is not at fault. Another twist and they need to decide whether they will be a loving and supportive influence in Hope’s life. Continuing along, the person must choose whether they can handle being with Hope in public and talking to their friends and family honestly about her transition.

The last stretch of road is where most people call it quits and go home. The final mile is where the person walks in our shoes. This means enduring public or private scrutiny for the choices I’ve made as a mother (“allowing” my child to “be” a girl) and for who my child is. Educating when someone is ignorant and speaking up against nasty comments, accusations or jokes at our expense. Stepping in the line of fire when someone tries to attack this helpless child even if it means taking a hit physically, personally or professionally. This last stretch doesn’t happen when I’m around. It happens when no one is watching.

It’s easy to be “on board” when we are standing right there and then turn your back and follow the crowd when no one would know. It’s easy to attempt to keep us in the closet from the rest of the people in your life. It’s much easier to act like it isn’t true or it didn’t happen, brushing our lives under the rug like an old tabloid article from an unreliable source. It’s easy to give up on us and not go all the way.

Thankfully people have made their way toward us. Some even seem to have journeyed effortlessly, though I am sure that’s not the case. Right now we have a circle of love and acceptance surrounding us that continue to make life worth living. They’ve acted as allies and champions for us. They’ve used sheer force to move mountains so that my child can enjoy a loving and healthy life. They didn’t have to do it. They could have taken the easy route.

If I look at my circle today I am inspired by these courageous people who open their hearts to us, comfort us and want to be a part of our lives. I admit, lots of people aren’t in my circle. Some people surprise me with their actions. Maybe some are taking their time on the path and we might see them again. Some have shown that they will never take a step toward us. That is okay. We have enough. This is the balance of life.

A friend just mentioned that there are several links on a popular search engine that basically out us. My heart sank before it began beating as if I was sprinting for the finish line. Only there isn’t an end to your internet history, is there? You can’t simply move on. It won’t let you go. It clings to what you consider the past like an ex clutching old love notes that speak of feelings long gone. It keeps shoving it in your face.

In the past I would have been frantic, flying into what I used to call “Recovery Mode” trying to fix everything that was wrong or broken, but is it? Lately I’ve been reading Pema Chodron and she’s made a huge impact on my thinking. Now before I take that emotional leap toward all the small “what if” places, I mentally sit down and let it all come. The worry. The fear. The panic. The improvised conversations with words that sting and bruise. The dark, wretched places where my child sits in the middle. The anger. The frustration. The pure, unadulterated rage. Doors open… come on in.

When I can see what my mind is fighting up close I realize that it doesn’t have any power over me. I can change the past about as much as I can change people’s feelings about me. Not at all. As I look back at the chicken scratch notes next to me about all the active sites that reflect the truth of our past, I am going to choose to do something that scares me. I am going to throw them all away and not do a single thing.

Are we still running or are we free people?

Do we stand in our truth with all its complexities and still feel whole?

Perhaps the farther I run or frantically try to erase, the more clear our past becomes. The sharper the focus. The bigger the deal. The more power we give away to people who simply don’t have the capacity to understand real life. Real life to me is what resides beneath the banter in the checkout line. Beyond the smile to your postal worker. The simple realities that are kept for those in your inner circle of trustees. Real life is everyone’s truth. Don’t we all have something we’d rather not share?

A recent conversation about the difference between “right to know” and “need to know” floods my brain and my heart slows the pace. We are just people living in this world. People who want to live authentically. Although I protect some details for the sake of my children, I am not afraid of our truth. It’s ours and I am proud of that. It is as much a part of me as the memories I keep closest in my heart. I don’t need to explain them. They just are.

I keep thinking about S. Bear Bergman’s book, The Nearest Exit May Be Behind You, where he talks about how trans individuals are portrayed in the media, particularly as a deceptive group. Think Crying Game and you get the picture. Then I thought about Candis Cayne, the gorgeous actress who portrayed a trans woman in the tv series Dirty Sexy Money. I loved that she was on prime time, but at the same time I wished it wasn’t in a story line about a politician trying to keep his affair with a trans woman out of the media spotlight. Why couldn’t she have been a boring, but very attractive co-worker or neighbor? I guess that isn’t quite saucy enough.

Who represents our children?

I’ve searched high and low for books that represent my daughter, but I haven’t found a single one. Warning! Tangent- Please do not suggest 10,000 Dresses. Most people who recommend this book do so without reading it first. Trust me, big mistake. It’s one of my daughter’s least favorite books. She actually re-wrote the ending to this book because she and her brother found it so offensive. The main character who is painfully shunned by hir whole family sees a friendly stranger on a porch and goes into their house. Does anyone else see the problem with stranger-danger here? Encouraging vulnerable kids to seek emotional and physical shelter in a (possible) predator’s home is grossly irresponsible.

Since the books, movies and tv shows are lagging behind we just have to keep putting our stories and images out there until the world stops slapping a label on what it means to be transgender and starts seeing all people for who they are- unique, beautiful and yes, different in a good way.

If there was a ever a handbook for successful living, Oh, The Places You’ll Go is it. It’s inspiring, realistic, supportive, logical, brave, cautionary and compassionate.

Whenever I find myself in one of those slumps where I can’t seem to catch a breath or think a clear thought, Dr. Seuss’s words fill my brain with a sing-song like compliment. Clearly, they speak to me.

I found myself like that tonight. So many life changing decisions to be made. Anger at the base of my throat itching to be released. Worry strapping an anchor to my heart as if the storm was coming in and it needed a safe harbor. Sadness watering the corners of my eyelids as I blink repeatedly. “Do you dare stay out? Do you dare go in?”

At lunch this afternoon some friends and I had a discussion about living stealth. “Think of how hard it is for an adult,” a friend commented. I nodded in agreement (and I do agree), but almost immediately my words snapped my head backwards with a force, “If it were just me living stealth I could know enough to choose when to walk away, when to stand up for myself and when to run. My 6 year old doesn’t have that option.” My voice cracked a little as if the weight of my emotions was lurking somewhere behind it.

Parenting a child who has any special needs of any kind means that you go the extra mile. You research a little more. Read a few (dozen) more books. Join a group or five to keep talking and learning. Learn to breathe with your heart outside of your body at all times. Abandon the construct in your mind of what you thought life would look like. Dismantle your ego day after day. Expand your capacity to love greater than you thought humanly possible. Swell with pride at your child’s smile knowing that nothing matters more than giving this child every chance at a good life.

“And remember that life is a great balancing act.” Yes, it is. So here’s a recap of the best pep talk in history- from me to you.

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look ‘em over with care.
About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you’re too smart to go down any not-so-good street.

And you may not find any
you’ll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you’ll head straight out of town.

It’s opener there
in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen,
don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along.
You’ll start happening too.

OH!
THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!

You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed.
You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you’ll be the best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’ t
Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so
but, sadly, it’s true
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.

You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump,
you’re not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked.
A place you could sprain both you elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right…
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a sting of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

NO!
That’s not for you!

Somehow you’ll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You’ll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

With banner flip-flapping,
once more you’ll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. there are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t.
Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times
you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win
’cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you’ll be quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance
you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go
though the weather be foul
On you will go
though your enemies prowl
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike
and I know you’ll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life’s
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3 / 4 percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU’LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

So…
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O’Shea,
you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

Dr. Seuss

To retrieve this mystical keepsake I had to venture into the dungeon. This isn’t a metaphor for the dark, creepy places of my past. This WAS the dark, creepy place of my past, otherwise known as the only place I could escape the relentless heat of my parent’s dry cleaning plant where we all worked Monday through Saturday. The dungeon where I spent my childhood.

In the past I’d been forced to climb inside this lifeless gray tomb as an adult. Mom always feared that the pit would overflow and the decades old discards would be floating. (Notice how everything even sounds creepy… the pit)

The first door led to a cave that housed my Dad’s office, a space that only the Munsters could enjoy. A single hanging light bulb sprinkled light across the dusty rust streaked floor. It smelled like the inside of a sewer pipe. Like second nature I threw my hand out in front of me frantically waving for the feel of the string on my fingertips and quickly yanked the cord for more light. Where is it?

Without fear (or a care in the world) I went straight to the back table littered with what appeared to be all the contents of the bookcase from my bedroom in the 70′s. Joke book, metal Jay’s potato chip can filled with musty old crayons, worn out Dr. Seuss books… where was it?

I didn’t even flinch as in years past when I went to this space that once doubled as a morbid art gallery of my mother’s Emmett Kelly clown paintings. Funny, not a single painting survived the ravages of the freeloading renters of the apartments on the second floor. Decades of singles and families who did and housed whoknowswhat down there. I shudder to think.

If it wasn’t there it had to be in the next space. There were two, you see, two little cells with battered screen doors caked with dirt that should have been somewhere in a filthy Mayberry, not the depths of hell. And between the two coffins was a void where I was sure all evil lived, breathed and waited for me. (Later I found out it was the staircase that led to the two rental spaces above. I was told this by a reliable source, but I never believed it.) Nevertheless, I hurried through glancing here and there for exactly what I was looking for, stopping now and again to notice how it oddly resembled the basement in Silence of the Lambs. How had I not noticed that before? Why, yes. I chuckled and wiped the dirt from my running nose with the back of my cold hand.

Back to business. I had a job to do, and by golly, I was going to finish it. I found every other disturbing thing on this planet: just the head of a dirty, old doll with its eyes rolled back into its head (bonnet and all), a ratty kangaroo with a broken neck (baby still clinging to it’s sagging pouch), the old ballet doll whose mangled legs could never perform another plie- ever. All this tragic crap and no helmet.

In that moment I felt like all I needed was my equestrian riding helmet that saved my life almost 30 years earlier. My pummeled and bruised helmet to whisper all the little answers sweetly in my ear. I wanted my helmet.

Why? Maybe to prove that I might not be invincible, but I’m not easy to kill anyway. Maybe to remember that vanity planned to take my life long before sound judgement fought to save it. Maybe to realize that I was once just a child. Simple. Vulnerable. Defiant. Naive. Headstrong, yet compliant. And now?

Now I’m on the other side of the fence watching as my child races on a wild beast away from me and out into the world. Her face determined yet anxious, like something wonderful is right around the corner. Her tiny hands steady and strong like she’s practiced this a million times in her head and now… it’s time for the ride.

Instead of going on the attack, I tried something new. I took a moment to find out where this anger is coming from. Feeling left out, I guess. Both my feeling of being left high & dry and the fear that because my daughter is trans that she’ll be left out just the same. Maybe the fear that they really don’t accept us. That they wouldn’t really go to bat for us if they can’t handle a simple birthday party. Abandonment has a special hold on me at times and floods my judgment with instant panic. So breathe, Jen, breathe.

Maybe, just maybe, this isn’t just about me or my child. Maybe this person needs some extra time and can’t say so. Maybe some of the people at the party disagree with Hope’s transition or simply can’t understand. It wasn’t long ago that these friends finally came around to even seeing us and now a big party could feel a little daunting. Perhaps this is her way of protecting Hope? Can I be a little patient? Can I be big enough to put the shoe on the other foot and see from a different perspective? If my child came to me with the same issue, how would I suggest they handle it? Can I practice what I preach?

Sure, I want things to go on like normal because that’s how life feels. Still, I have to honor where people are at and what they can and can’t accept at this time. Truth be told, I know in my heart that attending the party isn’t in the cards for us. No matter what excuse is used or how it is communicated, it isn’t meant to be- plain and simple.