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.

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.

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.

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.

So while lost in the minutia of blogging, website updates, emails and homeschooling today, I stumbled across a fresh blog from Sarah Hoffman about her son’s reaction to my book. He asks his mom to write down what he says verbatim so I’ll share his words with you…

“This book was pretty great in some ways and okay in some ways. I recommend it for people who really do feel like they’re one gender on the outside and a different one on the inside. But for other people, I really do not recommend it.”

Picture me scratching my head. Maybe my ego was bruised because Sarah Hoffman wrote what I thought was a supportive review of my book on her blog on January 16, 2011 (she even graciously included a book giveaway) and then on January 18, 2011 shared with her readers what read to me like a different opinion. She’s a kind person, wonderful mom, and a great writer so I obviously give her the benefit of the doubt. Nevertheless, I shared this comment…

“Interesting. Just as Sam might feel like the book doesn’t fit the way he feels inside, my daughter doesn’t identify with The Princess Boy at all. Everyone needs their own story told. I guess that’s the beauty of this world- that there doesn’t have to be a one-size-fits-all answer to anything. If we can be true to ourselves and feel good about our expression, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks about it, especially when it doesn’t match their own.”

I expected that when any child (or adult), especially one that is not transgender, reads Hope’s story they learn about what Hope went through, like walking a mile in her shoes. Be Who You Are was not designed to educate about the gender spectrum explaining all the different ways children can feel. Nor was it created to promote or enforce a gender binary. My book was written to open hearts and minds toward one child’s experience that, despite being different from the experiences of the reader, is still valid and worthy of respect. Along the same lines, the fact that my child doesn’t identify with My Princess Boy doesn’t mean I wouldn’t recommend the book to people. My Princess Boy, and books like it, describe a different perspective, but still share a meaningful message for us and others.

Perhaps I’ve been spoiled. I’m lucky that the play group (of gender diverse children) that I coordinate every month is very diverse indeed. We’re blessed with a supportive network of families and children where our differences unite us instead of divide us. Some families have gender fluid children. Some families have gender non-conforming children who communicate openly about being born as one gender, but identifying as the other. Others have children who, like mine, socially transitioned to living as their expressed gender because that is right for them. It doesn’t matter what your expression looks like to the group. We support one another and respect where we are at unconditionally. Due to that mindset I think less about how we do things differently and more about how great it is that the kids are doing well in school and are happy and healthy.

After all, isn’t that what we all really care about? Not what life looks like on the outside, but that it is real on the inside.

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.

“Don’t you like my short hair?” I asked admittedly wide-eyed, a little smile creeping along my mouth as if to say, “Gotcha!” Of course he’s going to say something like “Oh… no… you ARE pretty, but I like long hair…” or something to that effect.

Nope.

“No, I don’t like your short hair,” staring my straight in the face. And then he paused. Wait a second! My dad always said if you ask a silly question you’ll get a silly answer. That’s honesty for you. Take it or leave it, it’s the truth coming out of his mouth and I got a heavy handed dose of that reality today. Okay.

After tucking the kids into bed and kissing them goodnight I chuckled to myself. Here I talk on and on about standing in my truth and living honestly. My kids are shining examples of who I want to be – real.

Just moments before I plopped down at my desk I was cleaning the coat closet, a favorite activity, while listening to my newly downloaded Beatles picks on iTunes. Retrieving little jackets shoved into the few empty spaces, I discovered wooly hats stuffed in random boots and the mitten I was searching the house for yesterday. As I tended to the less complicated part of my day, I found myself singing along with so much passion that I did something I hadn’t done since my freshman year in college. I simply stopped and sat in the closet to think. Weird as it might look, I felt like something huge was coming, like a storm or an epiphany.

“When I find myself in times of trouble mother Mary comes to me… speaking words of wisdom.. Let it be… And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me… speaking words of wisdom.. Let it be…”

I believe everyone has a beacon of light, whether it’s traveling with you right now or not. Whether you see it in the distance or not. Whatever that looks like, something brings you, and me, peace. It’s that person, place or thing that kidnaps us from fear’s grasp and returns us safely to ourselves.

During lunch today the kids were asking about my childhood, specifically about the dungeon I was sent to play in when I was a small child. My early years must sound like Dickens next to what they experience every day.

“The dungeon… was it scary?” Will asked, his eyes wide and bright. Hope leaned in a little as if the answer would have significant meaning.

“Yes. Back then I thought the devil lived there,” to which I quickly added, “but I don’t believe in the devil anymore and nothing was in that dungeon except me and my imagination… and some big spiders.” Both pairs of eyes squinted at me like there was something more that I wasn’t giving up.

“Who is this devil Mom?” Hope inquired, so serious that I could see her as an investigative reporter one day. Well, needless to say we talked about my Catholic upbringing, ghosts, angels, spirit guides and even kirtan music for a long time until Hope gave me a shock.

“I believe there is a spirit that goes everywhere with us,” she said matter-of-factly and I think I actually cocked my head. We’d never explored anything like that before. She added the spirit could be any color you wanted. Cool.

“I believe in the Universe… and everything in it,” Will added, his arms spread out wide like he was giving the air before him a bear hug. Nice.

Me? I believe in light. I believe we are all connected. We live for a brief moment and whatever joy we find along the way is a gift. Today I tuned into the little things that set my heart on fire – talking with my kids, disconnecting from my mind and turning up the volume on my heart.

“And when the night is cloudy… there is still a light that shines on me… Shine on until tomorrow… Let it be”

“I wake up to the sound of music… mother Mary comes to me… Speaking words of wisdom… Let it be”

Years ago she chose a big, brown, straggly wig for her Hermione Grainger costume and adored it. (She wore it constantly afterwards. I’ve never seen a child with such a sweaty head or a bigger smile!) Back then Halloween was her ticket out. A way, not to hide, but to be 100% real among her friends and neighbors. Although she was presenting as a girl at home, she hadn’t made her social transition outside the house yet. Halloween became the first testing ground and she blossomed each time she put on the outfit.

Hindsight is 20/20, right? Read my blog excerpt from 2009 and you’ll see a different mom, a different writer. If you told me then that my child would socially transition to living as herself, a girl, months later I guess I would be pretty confused. I just wasn’t there yet and neither was she.

I’ll be honest, as I read the 2009 post I cringed a little, particularly because of the pronoun “he” now that we don’t refer to my daughter that way. I don’t even use “he” when I speak about my daughter in the past because she doesn’t. A couple of months ago I tried to use “he” for the pre-transition period and “she” for the post-transition for a public speaking gig and it didn’t work out. I flip-flopped and no one knew who the hell I was speaking about. Neither did I. By her definition, my daughter is who she is and I am inclined to take that lead. Until she asks for her history or pronoun be to be described otherwise, I am sticking with what she says.

It’s difficult to explain, these moments when the past collides with the present.I try to be gentle with myself when good intentions somehow resemble betrayal. How was I to know what the future would bring unless it all unfolded the way it did? I often remind myself that I can’t mind-read. My crystal ball seems to be on perpetual back order and I’m happy with that.

Thankfully, this Halloween was calm and peaceful. Hope chose a simple Princess costume and she didn’t give any thought to a wig. Her own ever-growing long locks looked more authentic to the costume than any wig ever could. This year felt like the first time she wasn’t preoccupied about putting on a disguise and was happy just being 100% real with everyone she knows.

Have you shared your message of hope?