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.

That’s just it- its an outsider’s perspective. We never know what is happening in someone’s brain, in their heart. Nor can we grasp the immense pressure that we sometimes inflict on ourselves, unbeknownst to others.

As a parent I react by questioning how I can help my child to keep talking, keep relating what she needs and what she feels. As she gets older I know that the lines of communication naturally get strained, but how do you keep a child feeling safe enough to share intimate feelings and realities? Love? Stability? Security? Leading by example?

It’s funny… before I logged on I emailed my sister. Earlier this morning I had a little surgery that brought about a revelation. As the flurry of preparation buzzed around me in the cold operating room I slipped into a trance like state (meditating has proven a success in the face of uncertainty here, and the kirtan music didn’t hurt) and went to my happy place. In my email I reassured that I was fine and then I went on a tiny tangent saying that I felt like I must have been a prisoner of war or a hostage or something in another life because I have an uncanny ability to transport myself to another place when I need to endure pain. I did it giving birth. I did it for my marathons. I do it when my back pain ceases to be manageable.

I guess I did it for my emotional pain as well. When my father died I had just survived a near fatal injury months earlier and was, for all purposes, emotionally tapped. I’d been isolated in the hospital and near silent for hours and then days on end. I went inside myself for comfort and reassurance and it worked. I guess.

After his death I was left without words. It wasn’t that I kept my feelings hidden, it was that I could not sort out the shock from the pain from the grief from the fear. “Jenny doesn’t talk,” was what I heard in my bubble, but I felt too overwhelmed to try and piece apart my confusion and despair. Was this what Mike/ Christine experienced in some way? The inability to translate the tornado of emotions inside. The guilt for not being able to bring something to the table, so to speak. The hatred building because I couldn’t make anything better. The fear that if I said a single word I would lose myself completely.

Now thirty years later I have found my voice and my courage. By writing I’ve found a way to unzip my armor, let every emotion spill out into words, expose the most vulnerable parts of me and witness the reality of where I am at with love. It’s not perfect. It’s not logical at times. But it’s real. And it’s out there. I am grateful that this journey leads me to this result. Standing in my truth.

Sat Nam. Truth is my name. It rang through my ears as I laid on the table today and I was peaceful despite pain. It’s all I could hope for. Maybe tonight I will sit with my kids and talk about my experience honestly. I’ll tell them that I didn’t know what to expect, but I took a deep breath with the knowledge that I could face whatever comes my way.

“When I dare to be powerful-

to use my strength in the service of my vision,

then it becomes less and less important

whether I am afraid.”

Audre Lorde

__________________________________

As I watched my son in karate yesterday I found myself getting lost in the beautiful Japanese language as they counted from one to ten doing kicks and blocks. Music filled my ears with these little children using their voices, bodies and quiet minds. Like a high pitched harmony.

My head must have been swaying a little to the tune in my head because my peripheral vision caught sight of Audre Lorde standing, arms outstretched, as if reaching for me. Little old me just sitting on a cold metal chair. I stared at the image and then read the quote above.

A thunderbolt ignited my brain when I read it as if the words beckoned me to stretch beyond my cozy, little comfort zone I’ve created. “It’s time!”, Audre screamed to me with her poetry and I accepted the challenge. Ready for the next step.

- – - – - – - – -

It’s been a little luxurious, writing books that is. I have to admit that I feel a great sense of calm when I can rationalize the countless hours I’ve logged at the beach watching waves, for “inspiration” you know. Or the days I seem to float aimlessly from place to place, not doing particularly anything, but just being in the mix. Feeling my feelings amongst the ebb and flow of my so-called-busy-life. I’ve taken advantage of every chance to slow down and think, a thing I have never done in my entire life. Like a year long vacation if you will. Just moving from moment to the next.

In the past, my other life, I’ve been my own superhero, fast as lightning and able to make minutia a full time job. I stressed if I wasn’t at the latest event, tweeting about the next-fun-thing, going the extra mile, striving to fill my calendar the way a squirrel hordes nuts for the winter. Like I was checking off a never ending list of what I should do, who I should be.

Picture a semi truck, maybe one of those you see on the Discovery channel that drives on the ice at break neck speeds, screeching to a halt for a crying baby abandoned on the road. That was me when Hope said she needed to transition to living as a girl 24/7. Not because I didn’t know or that I was upset at her need to live authentically, but because I was speeding away on my own path. It was all planned out.

So I put on the brakes and stopped for the first time in my life. I’d never trade it. Never change a single thing. Slowly I shut down that other life, the one that didn’t add up to much if you looked at the big picture and I started to look at what I was here to do. What was my vision? Where was I needed?

It’s been one year ago today that Hope transitioned. One year since I started living my authentic life as well. Dismissing my need for “fillers” to escape real feelings and searching for substance. The nitty-gritty, real life, tough stuff that few of us ever dig deep into. I admit, I never wanted my junk to come out. My back story. My feelings. My heart. Petrified that someone would learn that I am broken, damaged, failing.

Now I look back at this year with a lotus in mind. This vibrant flower escaping the mud to rise and bloom. Free. A lotus never denies where she came from. Never tries to transplant herself in some gorgeous meadow like she was meant to be there. No, she came from what some might consider the lowest place. I’ve had 365 days to think about it another way. The filth is beneath everything, even the meadow.

As I think of Audre Lorde’s words I feel ready to move beyond the contemplative inner work of this past year and open the door in front of me. My children’s book about gender non-conforming children is being published in the next few months and I plan to embark on an outreach extravaganza. Someone recently corrected me and said I should use the word marketing instead of outreach, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Marketing feels fake to me, like telling someone they need a new coffee maker when you have one that works just fine right now. Outreach feels right. It feels like sharing a message, touching lives, making a difference. If I can educate people about gender identity and the kids that do not fit into a binary code of this-or-that, then my life’s work will be complete.

I’ve found it and I’m not afraid anymore. My courage. My voice. My mission.

When we got back home, I was compelled to find that support locally. I leaned on PFLAG for their guidance and they’ve never let me down. They directed me to a local group for Parents of Trans Kids and inspired me to host a play date for kids who aren’t gender normative. I found that all we need to do is reach out when we need help and it will be there. And in many cases, if you don’t find it, build it and as it goes, they will come.

Lately I have felt a little pushed and pulled in my world and so I’ve taken steps backward to gain perspective. I’ve been half engaged with writing my book about parenting a transgender child (and related activism) and half annoyed by my former interests (and career) that seem somewhat petty on the surface, although extremely important in the big picture. The choice between the two has been before me for months despite my resignation to the ability to juggle both priorities with enthusiasm. I know in my heart that I cannot do both fully and so I must choose.

I’ve often talked about my destiny here and as corny as it seems, I feel like Hope and I are parent and child for a reason. I feel this strong sense of purpose. Could I possibly help other parents on their journey toward understanding their gender variant children? Yes. Could this in turn help children across the globe live authentically every day of their life without shame? Could I help our kids have equal rights and protection under the law? Absolutely yes. Could I muster the courage to take the next step as parent/writer/activist? Hell yes!

Hello World- Here I come!

One bright spring day a little over a week ago I sat with my son and we shared a snack underneath a big gorgeous gazebo. It was straight out of a movie. As we walked up the stairs, he peeped “Mommy! Cats!” Who knew? There were two tabby cats on leashes lounging in the sunshine, their owner unaffected by our surprise. (I am sure she gets it all the time, right?)

After choosing just the right spot for our “Will & Mom Time” we quickly took off our shoes and lifted our faces to the sun, much like the felines to our left. I can’t say we talked about anything spectacular, but we did connect on a level that I will cherish for years to come. My heart, so full of love, burst from my smile and landed in those big, dark, handsome eyes of his. Playfully he’d smile back and then giggle as if I told him a well timed punch line. This went on for some time. Every so often I’d lean over and nestle my head in that soft tuft of hair and kiss him softly. This to me said more than all the words I’d said in the previous month combined. This closeness.

Weeks earlier I had become consumed with the results of my actions rather than the effort itself. I was too busy looking forward toward all the things I thought were my obligations instead of getting on the floor and touching my heart, that ever since my two children were born, has existed outside of my body. These two magnificent creatures are only with me for a short time, but in that time I have every answer to every question before me. My children have opened me to the very life lessons I am on this earth to understand. Now all I need to do is to be open enough to receive.

So for the past week or so all I have done is take it all in. The quiet moments. The loud, crazy times. The laughter, the sadness and the love. Instead of take everything so seriously, I’ve adopted a playful approach of saying “Really?!!?” when before I would have taken their fantasy language to heart and matter-of-factly corrected their flight of fancy. They are little children, and for that I am grateful. This little break lifted the burden I built brick by brick and left me a childlike wonder. Can you just imagine?

So many times I get lost in what I fear when I could feel dizzy with gratitude for all of the good things in my life. My children are happy and healthy. My family is loving and connected. Sure, there are the kinks in the chain of this life, but it remains strong nonetheless. It may look different, but it’s mine.

Hope is in a good space where she feels at ease with who she is (most of the time) and it inspires me. Her little locks are curling down around her ears, which makes for more mom and daughter time in the morning styling her hair. I still sneak a peek at her beaming in the mirror as we brush and comb those precious wisps reaching her collar. She’s so happy. Even Will notices. Yesterday he leaned over and whispered “Hope, you are beautiful.” and it brought streams of tears down my cheeks. How soft. How sweet for this otherwise scruffy voiced little “worker man” as he calls himself. She stopped for a moment and then gave him a huge hug that said it all.

Usually I get grumpy this time of year. Spring seems a little far from our reach in the Midwest and as winter lingers, sentiments run amuck. Not this year. I’ve consciously set my sights on the goodness of right now. Add a bottle of Vitamin D capsules, the Writings of Nichiren Daishonin and some Pilates and I am staying positive about where we are at. I’ve also taken to writing with pen and paper while writing the book and it’s unlocked a well of happiness. And truth.

Well, that depends on what email I am answering or who is calling on the phone. You see it’s not so easy when part of you lives stealth. Your life starts to divide in a weird way and some things fall on the “new” side like the new school the kids are attending, writing the book, doing gender advocacy work and some things fall on the “old” side like my past career, friends from the old school and my larger group of acquaintances before Hope’s transition. It might sound easy to reconcile both sides, but it is not.

Here’s the tricky part about stealth. Most everything that identified me before (Hope’s transition) identified me as a mom to 2 sons. I regularly said and wrote stories about “my boys” and I can’t erase that part of my history no matter how hard I try. It’s out there. Most of my career and my social groups have nothing to do with my child’s gender identity so it shouldn’t be an issue, right? Wrong. Constantly people ask how the “boys” are mentioning them by name as I cringe in my seat waiting for my panic attack to pass. Keep smiling Jen. What to say? In that moment I am left at a crossroads where in a split second I need to decide whether I address the situation honestly and discuss Hope’s transition or divert the subject never answering the question at all. I’ll be honest with you, this process still gives me the hives.

Living stealth means there are some people you tell and some you don’t. You need to decide quickly in most cases. And for me, that is a slippery slope. Who is the gossip? Who would take this information and use it against us? What if I tell someone from the “old” life and they interact with someone from my “new” life? What happens then? When should we just maintain our privacy? When is it appropriate? Who can I trust?

It’s like I have a foot in two worlds and they constantly intersect leaving me to trip and fumble as I move forward. At my support group for parents of transgender kids, I sometimes find myself so envious of the parents of older children. They can simply tell their friends about their child’s transition and move on. Take it or leave it style. If the other person has an issue, the parents can say “Talk to (my child) about it.” And there it is, a clean break, a new start. Their adult age children can fend for themselves, whereas, my little one cannot. She looks to me to make sense of this journey and sometimes I fear she finds me with my head inside the proverbial map trying to find my way.

I remind myself that it’s going to take time so I need to be patient and gentle with myself. I wish there was a guidebook so my mistakes wouldn’t threaten Hope’s safety and well being. That is all I care about. Not me or my itching, but her. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her and I struggle that this tiny little wish is completely beyond my control. Perhaps that is why I cling to this page and release the struggle. Half of me needs to get it out and the other half needs to prevent another parent from making the same mistakes I do. Still the two sides of me tug and pull like children wanting to go in two different directions.

I’ve turned a corner today. For the past few months I took a break from writing the book. I needed clarity. Stress combined with fear made it impossible to hear my voice clearly and so I stepped back. Usually I’m not the type to just relax and let it happen, but it’s getting easier. Now the stories swirl around my head again and I itch to get back to the page.

Thank you. All of you.

So many new feelings swirl around my brain that I’m enjoying a little writing hiatus to just sit back and feel each one as they come and go. Uninterrupted and under-analyzed. And in some weird way I’ve let go.

Last night after making our first Thanksgiving meal in the new house our family snuggled by the fire to play games. My eyes became sleepy with pure satisfaction so I did something I would never do – I took a grateful look around the room, blessed each person and fell asleep. I am talking out cold.

Everything was as it should be. And it still is.