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| "What if I told you you're going to get through this without too many stress lines?" |
I saw The Matrix
six times in theatres, although one of those times was at a drive-in and my
husband was trying to feel me up, so maybe we won't count that one.
Anyway, I know the movie pretty well. If you've managed to
see it without someone trying to grope your boob, then you know that one of the
ways to realize you're in the matrix and not in real life is if you notice
little glitches. Like one time, Neo was walking up a flight of stairs and saw a
cat. Then he saw the same cat again in the same spot, and the Pleather Posse knew
they had to get out of there.
While I was making tacos in the kitchen the other day, I
looked outside and saw a cute little black cat walk across the end of our
driveway.
I looked down again, stirred the meat on the stove, thought
about how I need to make a hair appointment for Gutsy so she can get a more
feminine look going on, glanced over at Dr. Phil telling someone off for being
a bad parent, and looked outside again.
And I saw a black cat walk across the end of our driveway.
It occurred to me at that moment that I might be living in
some kind of machine-induced coma, my marrow being sucked out for battery fuel,
and that I am not actually a mother who's child recently told her she is transgendered, and that this overwhelmed feeling I've been having is just a part
of the imperfect utopia set up by the evil robots that took over our planet.
So I ran to the window to prove my glitch theory - all the
while wondering where I was going to get a flip phone and cool sunglasses on such
short notice - and saw two identical cats walking down the road, one following
the other.
Well, fuck.
You know, everyone is saying we're handling this really
well. And I think we are, overall. Pat on the back for Geekster and I. We're
not perfect, but we are rather attractive and pretty open-minded when it comes
to letting our kids be who they are.
Honestly? I have no strong attachment to Gutsy being male or
female. I have a strong attachment to Gutsy being happy, free, and comfortable
in her own skin. I want her to be her, through and through. That's all I care
about. That is my focus. That's why I'm taking a hiatus from school, scaling
back on work, and making her transition the priority for the next little while.
But the world can really suck sometimes. She and I have
talked about it, and she's well aware that not everyone will accept what she
has to do to lead an authentic life. This has not dissuaded my brave child from
going ahead with this transition. She's just amazing. Absolutely amazing.
Thankfully, she has a solid wall of love to lean against
when times get tough. We are so fortunate that our families have been nothing
but supportive. Everyone has changed the pronouns they use. Everyone is calling
her by her new name. Everyone is reading books and articles and watching
documentaries so that they can understand what she's going through.
She will never be alone, but the harshness of the world
might make her feel that way sometimes anyway. That's what scares me. That's
what makes me cry sometimes. It's what I know I can't entirely shield her from
that has me lying awake at night.
I woke up on Thursday morning covered in a heavy blanket of
sadness. It felt like a physical weight, pinning me down. I knew I had to get
up, but the task seemed too great, too overwhelming. I was crying before I even
lifted my head off the pillow.
Just a couple of days before, I had to deal with an adult in
a position of authority who said and did all the wrong things. It was my first
encounter with any kind of negativity surrounding Gutsy's transition, and it
was like a slap in the face. This, I knew, was just the beginning of what we're
going to have to deal with over the next few years.
I carried the pain and the stress of that encounter through
the next few days, unable to shake it. It consumed me, sapped my energy, and
stole my joy. My brain and my heart have had a very tough few days.
Today, I'm letting it go. I am not going to stay sad and
angry. I'm going to learn from this and get better at dealing with these
situations in the future. Like a boss.
I'm also letting go of the pain of not hearing from friends
who I thought for sure would have reached out after hearing our news. We have
had nothing but radio silence from some of them. But you know what? That's ok.
I told people to walk if they weren't going to accept our new reality, and they
can do that. Some of them might come around later on, and some might not. But
there are others who have surprised us by demonstrating an immense amount of
love and compassion; they have more than filled the hole left by those who
can't or won't do the same.
Life, like transgenderism, is all about transition.
I feel a warrior emerging within me. An educator. An
advocate. My daughter is already teaching me so much about me. She's showing me
strength and assertiveness I didn't know was in there. And here I thought I was
all fun and movie jokes.
Today I asked a group of parents of transgender kids if this
will become our new normal soon. Will I stop obsessively thinking about
everything that lies ahead? Will I be able to sit and read something that isn't
transgender-related again? Will I feel less overwhelmed soon?
They said, "Yes, this gets easier."
Nobody said anything cryptic, like "There is no
spoon" or "Follow the white rabbit," which I'm pretty sure means
this is our real life. This is really happening. I will fully embrace it in my
own time. I won't let other people's negativity drag me down. I will eventually
stop running to the window to check for signs of science fiction conspiracy
plots.
But I'm thinking I should probably invest in some pleather pants.
Just in case.
PS: I want to thank the hundreds of you who have emailed, tweeted, facebooked, commented on and shared last week's blog post. Your responses were nothing but supportive and empowering. My family is incredibly grateful. I haven't had a chance to reply to all of you yet, but I'm trying to. (And when the tentacle machines take over and try to stuff us into food pods, I promise not to sell you out.)