Some truths reorganize everything
Until she was 13 and told me otherwise, I thought my daughter was my son.
I, like many other Gen Xers, assumed that a child’s gender could be identified by their sex at birth, and never stopped to consider otherwise.
I named him Aidan. (Because I thought it sounded nice and I HADN’T watched Sex and the City and therefore had no idea how popular that name was about to become)
This child tried so hard to be good at being a boy. She told me later that she believed from very young that she must have been a girl in her previous life and that’s why being a boy felt weird. So she tried really hard to learn how to do it right.
She was always asking things like “Mom, is this ok for a boy to wear?”
Aidan and younger sister River loved to play “Palo” together when they were young. It was a game they co-created with his Halo MegaBlocks figures and her My Little Pony figures.
Because you know, it’s acceptable to play with ponies if you’re doing it for your sister and you bring your war guys.
By the time Aidan was 13, he was miserable. Suicidal actually. On a family court ordered suicide protection plan where he signed a contract saying he would call me first if he was experiencing suicidal ideation and that his dad wasn’t allowed to take away his phone for any reason.
But he was still hiding knives under the bed.
And writing shocking things on his papers at school.
We had lots of meetings about it.
With her Dad.
Teachers.
Administrators.
Superintendents.
School counselors.
Therapists.
Psychiatrists.
Trauma resolution experts.
CPS Social workers.
Cops.
Everyone had a different theory on why Aidan was in so much pain.
But no one ever stopped to ask if maybe Aidan wasn’t really Aidan.
Thank goodness for the Internet.
No seriously.
We had always been a pro-human rights household. I took the kids to the Pride parade every year and we’d talked about sexuality being a unique experience for each person.
And while we all knew about the T in LGBTQ, I had never really made it a point of introducing the kids to any trans people or explaining their experience. I was pretty uninformed about it myself, honestly.
So it took thirteen years for my oldest to see through her conditioning and her pain enough to wonder if maybe she was actually a girl in THIS life.
She had befriended a few friends online who were nonbinary and she had started seeing things in her dreams that were cracking her paradigm open.
One day she came across an article titled “21 signs you might be trans” and the 18/21 score showed her this was not something she could keep sweeping aside.
Six months later, she went out for a walk by herself and sent me a text that said:
“Hi Mom…I wanted to tell you something but I don’t know if I can do it in person. I know you’re very accepting but idk…it’s just too weird. I think I may have been born in the wrong gender…I’ve been having doubts for months now but I feel like I am right here…it’s how I feel. I am not sure but I would like to talk to a gender therapist… Someone to help me figure it out. I’m sorry to spring this on you but…I didn’t know how else to do it. In some ways my greatest fear is discovering I’m wrong. All I know is I need help with this.”
I had actively prepared for the possibility that my children might need to one day tell me they were gay. Or even time travelers. So I knew what to say and I said it and I meant it. Won the moment!
But I had never at all prepared myself for the possibility that my child would tell me they were not who I’d told them they were.
I didn’t even know I had been telling her who to be.
And that was a restructuring of my world like no other.
I remember saying goodnight to her when she went to bed that night. I made sure that she knew she was loved and safe and supported in her exploration of who she is.
But when it wasn’t all about her anymore, when she was asleep and my focus came back to my own experience, I fell apart a little bit.
I remember feeling terrified of what she would face from the world on this journey.
I remember thinking that this poor child had already been through too much! How can she also have been given the wrong body!?
I worried about how her world would handle it – her teachers, her friends, her dad, her grandparents.
I remember, somewhat shamefully now, if I would still be able to understand and connect with her the same as I could as “Aidan”.
But the biggest thing I remember was this sort of click. This instant shift into permanent Mama Bear Activist mode.
I had spent years prior trying on various traditional, ancient, and new age perspectives. Debating world views with people sitting in much different political perspectives. Or who even had different takes on reality itself.
But that night, the field narrowed sharply.
Suddenly it was not about intelligent discourse or considering alternate perspectives or philosophical debate.
My child had found what I wanted most – the key to turning her suffering toward joy.
The number one priority now was protecting her access to that joy.
From that day on, I have done everything I can to create space for her to be herself, and to empower her to create that space for herself.
The years ahead would feel long and hold some significant challenges, but that night, the choice was instant.
Nadia turned 21 a few weeks ago and is a joy to know. She’s in the kitchen right now, whistling and making breakfast, as she often does.
She loves to walk in the desert. She writes. Invents elaborate story worlds. Mentors other trans people online. Builds complex tabletop games where they can adventure together. Educates herself as a hobby.
Some mornings I still stop and listen to her in the kitchen and just think, thank god she stayed.
She is one of the very best people I know and I am so grateful she trusted me enough to tell me who she is. And so very happy that I listened.
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