My dear daughter,

Well, here we are. One year later. Can you believe it?

Remember what we were doing a year ago? Shopping for shirts for National Pink Shirt Day. It was tough to find anything pink in the boys' department, which led to your little brother sporting a rather long women's shirt in the smallest size possible and tying it in a knot on the side like something out of a Debbie Gibson video. 

It also generated what I thought at the time was a very healthy discussion about the ridiculousness of assigning particular colours to gendered clothing, and how it's really okay to just be you.

I said it mostly for your brother, who likes to wear nail polish on occasion and predominately hangs out with girls these days. I felt like I had done my little self-esteem job of the day.

Nice one, mom. I told myself. Good parenting and stuff.  Just make sure you never show the kid a Debbie Gibson video.

But what I didn't know until last night, when we were driving home from a LGBT support group, is how closely you were listening to my every word that day. I didn't know that conversation was your catalyst. A few hours later, you would send us an email to tell us that you are she. You are her. You have never really been him all along.

I'm sitting at my desk right now, which is the same spot I sat when your dad came in to show me the email on his phone. I remember it so clearly. "You need to see this right now," he said. I'll never forget the wave of shock that rushed through me as I read those brave words. I was floored. Even when I look back a year later and try to unearth from your childhood some concrete signs of you being transgender, I can't find any. We couldn't have seen it coming.

"What are we going to do?" he asked. I knew what he meant. The implications were huge for you emotionally, physically, socially. We looked at each other worriedly.

I took a deep breath and stood up. "We're going to go tell our child we love him." That's all I could think to do. That had to come first.

You were hiding in your room, crying under the covers. You were so scared of what our reaction would be. Your dad and I climbed into your bed and hugged you so tight.

"We love you," we said over and over. "And that will never change."

We support you no matter what. 

We just want you to be happy. 

We are always here for you.

Waves of fear crashed into me for days and days. I cried a lot. It was ridiculous. Making toast? Cry. Frying an egg? Cry. Pumping gas? Cry. I don't know how I didn't die of dehydration.

And you? You hesitantly dipped your toe into femininity. It took months to shed all the boy clothes completely. Your hair grew longer, your smile wider. Transition takes times. It's not over yet. Maybe it's never over. In a way, aren't we always transitioning, all of us?

But look at us now. It's been a whole year. And today is pink shirt day again! I couldn't find your brother's Debbie Gibson tie-up shirt, so I had to send him to school with a pink scarf out of my closet. He can handle it. 

You know what's great about today? You're no longer sad and I'm no longer afraid.

You've changed the course of your life, and in turn you've changed the course of mine; my writing, advocacy work and future educational goals are all fueled by my drive to make the world a safer place for you. You've given me direction.

By letting me tell our story here and elsewhere, you have shifted people's thinking and opened their hearts. I get emails all the time from readers who tell me how much your transition is helping them understand someone else's. You are literally improving the lives of others. How incredible is that?

So yes, we were scared. We cried (Mostly me. Very salty eggs that month.) We worried for the future. Sometimes I still do, but those moments are fleeting.

Mostly, we celebrate.

Happy one year out to the brave and beautiful girl I am proud to call my daughter. Thanks for being you. Thanks for letting us all be there for you.

Thank you to your brothers, who accepted this change swiftly and wholeheartedly. Thank you to your dad, who is the greatest guy I could travel this bumpy parenting road with.

Here's to our extended family that has embraced you entirely. Here's to our friends, both online and off, who have shown us so much love. Here's to the other trans families who let us know we were on the right path by supporting you, and the incredible trans community for reminding me that it gets better. Here's to the experts, people like the wonderful Nadine Thornhill and the great people at CHEO's Gender Identity Clinic, who helped us learn so we could fully support you.

Here's to a full year of life lived authentically, and to many more to come. 

We support you no matter what. 

We just want you to be happy. 

We are always here for you.

We love you.