"Don't Read the Comments"

Photo credit: "Soap Box" by MonsieurLui Flickr.com

Internet, can we talk?

Things got a lil' cray after Caitlyn Jenner revealed some stunning photographs of her fine self in Vanity Fair. Everyone had an opinion, and yours truly read a whole bunch of them in the comment sections of, well, everything everywhere.

There was talk of bravery and fakery and passion and privilege. People had a lot to say about this woman's big reveal - including, in some cases, about how they don't think she's a woman at all.

Thankfully, most of what I saw was surprisingly positive. If Caitlyn had been on the cover of a fashion magazine two or three years ago, I think we would have seen a lot more nasty.

But negativity did rear its ugly head. We knew that would happen, right?  It even found my own family.  One person insisted on telling me my daughter is a confused boy who is running the household, and another said I was a child abuser for allowing her to transition at such a young age.

So, you know, just another typical week.

That's what happens. The minute you put it yourself out there, even if it's for a good cause (like education or a fight for human rights), you open your life up for dissection by people who think they know you or your family better than you do.

So while I write articles for a living, I am regularly encouraged by friends and family not to read the comments below anyone's article or news item, EVER. 

But sometimes I do anyway. And while I'm not the most sensible person I know, I feel I have good reason to.

It's always been interesting to me that people who have no experience with something are so quick to pass judgment. I see it when African Americans protest, when obese people speak out against stereotypes, or whenever there's an article about homelessness.

People get a little snapshot of someone's life and BOOM! they've got them all figured out. They're suddenly experts on the big issues that person deals with, and are quick to point out what they would do differently if it were them.

It's not that everyone is an asshole. It's just human nature. We operate from our own experiences. We think we know better, perched atop our privilege.

And yes, it is privilege, a word that makes privileged people cringe. We don't like to think about ourselves that way. To us, privilege means someone doing better than we are. We think of the Paris Hiltons of the world. But she's an extreme example. Most people have some kind of privilege, even if we'll deny it to the bitter end.

In our privilege, where these problems aren't a reality, where we haven't walked in someone else's well-worn shoes, it all seems so simple:

African Americans should just change their circumstances ("I did. I went to college and look at how well I'm doing! Everyone can do it!").

Obese people should just lose weight ("It's not hard for me to eat well, so it shouldn't be hard for you.")

Homeless people should just get jobs ("If they worked as hard as I do, they wouldn't be homeless.")

But if we haven't lived in the inner city, have never struggled with a great deal of weight, and have never had to sleep in a shelter or stairwell, what life experience do we have to construct a soapbox from? None. We'd be constructing it from privilege, and that's a rickety soapbox, at best.

And if you've never been transgender or loved a transgender person with all your heart, how can you possibly begin to make judgments about someone who lives that every day? You can't.

I mean, you can, but you'll look pretty dumb doing it.

That's like me trying to tell a doctor how to operate better because sometimes I read WebMD. No matter how much I think I know, the truth is I've never operated on anyone (you're welcome, by the way.)

"But Amanda, calm down. Like just seriously relax. Everyone's entitled to their opinion! It's not a big deal."

You're right. Everyone is entitled to have their own views. And if I had a dollar for every time someone said that to me, I would have so many dollars that I might focus on how rich I am rather than how annoyed I get when people think opinions are no big deal.

I may not agree with everyone's opinions, but I wholeheartedly support their right to have them. However, I draw the line when:

1. those opinions are spoken for the sole reason of hurting others (the infamous troll posts of the internet, for example) and/or, 

2. those opinions are actually discrimination in disguise

An opinion would be "I like strawberries and you like raspberries. I think liking raspberries is wrong. That being said, I may not understand why you eat them, but I will support your right to do so."

Discrimination is, "I like strawberries and you like raspberries. I think liking raspberries is wrong. I don't understand why you eat them, and I don't think you should have the right to do so because it's different than what I do."

I see a lot of strawberry eaters online masquerading as people with "a simple difference of opinion."

That's why I read the comments (when I feel mentally strong enough to do so) and do my best to educate all the strawberry eaters on why eating raspberries is perfectly ok, too. Maybe they just don't know. Maybe they've only ever known people who eat strawberries, and the idea of a life outside of that is really foreign to them.

Look, I'm no dummy. I know I won't change that commenter's view. They feel so strongly about their love of strawberries and only strawberries that they just had to say something for the whole world to see. Often it's something hateful, to boot. That's pretty hardcore.

But for every commenter, there are about nine lurkers who have similar views. They just didn't feel strongly enough about it to say something.

Those are the people I might be able to reach. Those are the ones who, with a little education, might become allies one day because of something I or someone else said.  They may vote differently, which could change things on a large scale. They might speak up when they see or hear discrimination, which would change things on a smaller but equally important scale. 

And seeing me and others speak out against discrimination might be just what someone who is feeling hopeless and misunderstood needs to see that day. It could help someone face the day. It could save a life.

The internet isn't going to change overnight. People will continue to think they have all the answers to things they know little about, and I expect the love and support I show for my child will be seen as weirdly abusive by some for a long time to come.

But if we don't speak out, if we all just silently shrug and think, "Oh well. Everyone has an opinion. It's no big deal," we'll never reach those other nine people or the silently hurting one who needs a kind voice.

I don't know about you, but I want to be that light in the darkness. 

Why Gender Reveal Parties are All Kinds of Wrong

Image credit: punctuated, via Flickr.com

 I hate gender reveal parties.

Yep, hate them.

And I know "hate" is a very strong word, but in this case it's entirely appropriate. I think they can be damaging by sending all the wrong messages.

Now before you get your hackles up, I don't have a problem with the people who throw gender reveal parties or the people who attend them. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions and free choice. I still like you. But I just don't get this trend at all.

If you don't know what a gender reveal party is, let me set it up for you: The couple finds out what's between their baking baby's legs via ultrasound. They get a cake and have a bunch of people over. Then they cut the cake, and the inside is either blue or pink in celebration of what was discovered in those blurry ultrasound images of their unborn child. People get super excited and eat cake.

There's a lot of cake.

There are many different versions of a gender reveal party, some more elaborate than others. But what it comes down to is that the baby's "gender" is the central theme of this party. It's not a shower with pink or blue balloons and a few dresses thrown in with the baby bibs and lotion and receiving blankets. No, it's a full-on gender-centered hoedown.

I don't get it at all.

First of all, we're not finding out a baby's gender via ultrasound. We're finding out a baby's sex.

Sex is biology. Sex is what's between the legs and gender is what's between the ears.

So if we're going to get technical, it's actually a baby sex reveal party.

Yeah. That's right.

I guess that's why people don't put the proper name on the evite and instead call it "gender reveal."  But don't get the two confused; studies are clearly demonstrating that gender is in the brain. Most of the time, sex and gender line up. But they don't always and there's no way of knowing that when baby's in the womb. Therein lies the rub.

We live in a society that is quickly chipping away at the gender binary. We're starting to realize that not everyone fits neatly into a little gender box of boy or girl, blue or pink. We live in a world of Bruce Jenners and Chaz Bonos and Laverne Coxes - and my very own Alexis.

We're learning that people might be born one way on the outside but feel entirely different on the inside. We hear heartbreaking struggles of how they were forced into gender stereotypes for years, feeling like they couldn't be themselves because of the expectations society - their family, friends, neighbours, teachers, employers and the media - placed upon them their entire lives.

Hiding is an incredibly painful way to live. Trans and non-binary folk have the highest attempted suicide rate of any marginalized community. 

So why are we suddenly throwing these parties that have everything to do with boy or girl, blue or pink? We're setting the stage for gender expectations before the child is even born. We've come a long way in many respects, but this is like taking a giant step backwards.

From where I sit with everything I now know, having a gender reveal party is about as ludicrous as having a party to tell everyone your fetus is straight. We don't know a child's sexual orientation before they're born; we also don't know their gender identity. We only know what's between their legs. That's it.

According to Google, gender is defined as: "The state of being male or female (typically used with reference to social and cultural differences rather than biological ones)."

Read that last part again. Gender is about social and cultural differences. It's about who someone is and how they function in society based on their gender identity. 

So why are we declaring what a child is before we even meet them? Before they even have a chance to tell us who they are?

Look, I'm not trying to be a radical. I'm cool with people shopping for dresses or baseball hats, blue or pink sleepers, saying "I'm having a boy" or "I'm having a girl." I get that most kids won't struggle with their gender identity.

I have a trans child, so I think about this stuff more than most people do. But it's because I have a trans child that I can see how painful being shoved into that gender box was for her.  While we didn't have a gender reveal party, we did have a shower that was awash in blue everything. Society - including her family - treated her as male before she was even born, from clothing to toys to sayings like "little man" and "big guy."

Pushing against that wall of expectation to be who she really is took every ounce of her strength. It nearly killed her.

Every month at our parent support group there are more and more families coming in for the first time. Our children's hospital's Gender Diversity Clinic is growing at a ridiculous pace, as more and kids step out of society's perceived gender binary and tell us all who they really are. Many waited a long time to say anything and are well into puberty by the time they come out. They just couldn't hold it in any longer.

The kids' parents are shocked, their idea of who their child is completely upended. I know that feeling. I had "boy" and "son" in my head for 11 years. Wrapping my mind around having a daughter took months. There was a lot of unlearning to do, in part because I, along with society, put too much emphasis on my child's gender.

As parents, we need to set the stage for conversations about gender identity early on.

We need to make it easier for our kids to talk to us.

We need to make gender less of a big deal, not more. 

That's why I hate gender reveal parties. They can set the stage for a lifetime of stereotypes and expectations. They send the message to family and friends that the child's gender is very important to the parents.

And even worse? They can eventually send that same message to the child.

That little baby might grow into a kid with gender identity issues, and see those pictures and the adorable blue cake and all the happy faces and think, "Wow. My parents threw an entire party to celebrate that I'm a boy. How can I tell them I'm a girl? I can't."

So please, expectant and new parents, be mindful of the expectations you're setting for your child now and throughout their lives. Make it easier for your child to tell you who they are than it was for ours to tell us.

Goodbye, Homeschooling and Hello, Middle School!

Image credit: SickestFame via Flickr.com

LGBTQ "safe space" stickers on the doors. Check.

Staff using the proper pronouns and transgender terminology. Check.

Male, female and all-gender washrooms and change rooms available. Check.

Everyone is hella friendly. Check.

I was running through a very important list in my head as I sat in the middle school's main office this week, checking off item by item.

My daughter has made a very brave and unexpected decision: she is going back to school next year.

It's a year earlier than we had planned. The initial goal was to stay home through grades 7 and 8 while she gains confidence and resiliency, and then re-enroll for grade 9 in a high school where she doesn't know anyone. A fresh start for her, something she desperately wanted.

But what did I say a little while back? Transitions are so... transition-y. And I should really know by now that life doesn't go as planned. But then again, I'm the girl who carefully picks the shortest line at the grocery store and inevitably ends up behind the coupon-wielding price-matcher every. single. time. I'm a bit of a chaos magnet. I think I was born for it.

Last week I received an incredible out-of-the-blue email from our local middle school's principal. She had heard our interview on CBC and wanted me to know that if we were ever interested in considering re-enrollment for grade 8, she would be happy to meet with us.

This was the school Alexis would have attended this year if we hadn't decided to homeschool. She vowed never to go there. Not so long ago, the idea used to fill her with dread and anxiety. I really didn't think she would be keen to accept the principal's invitation. Like, at all. So I very delicately approached her with the idea.

She jumped all over it. "OMG. When can I go?" "What do I wear?" "Oh! I'm going to pick out my outfit right now, ok?" "This is so great!" "Do I really have to wait until September or can I start right now?"

I had an unplanned pregnancy once. He's 18 now and pretty cool. Life is a series of unplanned moments that are very much like that: not at all what I thought was going to happen, but pretty cool. This was definitely one of them.

What a difference a year can make. From terrified to thrilled. From closeted to confident. 

Incredible.

The principal was warm and inviting and wonderfully educated in trans issues. She's passionate about inclusion and making sure everyone feels safe. She's an ally to the core. I can feel it.

Alex - in her pre-planned wardrobe - toured the school with her and was greeted by many friendly faces. Her old classmates were thrilled to see her, and really excited she was going to be rejoining them in the fall.

Having already had my own tour a couple of days before, I hung out in the main office to check the pulse of the school. It's surprisingly viable. Yes, it's middle school, awash in a sea of hormones and gangly limbs, but it seems like a good place. The kids are happy. The staff is engaged. The place feels connected.

I'm not going to lie: I'm still worried. The kids who gave her a really hard time go there, and I know how cruel kids can be at that age. But I hope that between supportive staff, an active LGTBQ community and some strong allies, she's going to be just fine.

I just want her to feel safe; she's a big piece of my heart. I would say she's the most delicate piece, but that's completely inaccurate. She seems delicate, but she's not. I've never met a stronger person. She has emerged from the ashes of her former self as this resilient, confident powerhouse of a girl.  She's not going to let anyone push her around.

And I will keep being her mom, her advocate, and her grownup voice when she needs one. That's not going to stop. I'll have my fingers on that school's pulse all year by keeping in touch with the staff and volunteering my not-so-little tush off.

So for now I'm going to wrap up our homeschooling (which was mediocre, at best - I'm not the world's best teacher), make sure she's as caught up as possible, and ensure the lines of communication stay open between us as she starts her new adventure in the fall.

And you know, while it wasn't a great year for formal education, what she learned about herself was invaluable. I'm glad we could give her the space to do that. It was a year of change and discovery that you just can't get in a classroom.

My little phoenix is blazing her own trail in her own way - on her own terms. Colour me impressed, you guys.

How a Community Lifted up My Transgender Daughter

She's taking selfies now. Totally my kid.

I haven't written a blog post in two weeks because the idea has felt - and still feels - completely overwhelming.

That's because I know that, in this post, I'm going to have to say "thank you" for all your support over the last couple of weeks. And "thank you" just doesn't seem nearly enough.  Not even close. You deserve a parade or some topless dancers or oh my god a parade with topless dancers.

Unfortunately, I lack the budget for that type of fun on account of being a writer who is not J. K. Rowling. So you'll have to settle for a "thank you."

Thank you to everyone who read, shared, commented on, tweeted or emailed me about my post introducing the world to Alexis. When I said "world," you took that literally.  My inbox is overflowing with supportive messages from all over the world like a bowl of chocolate on my lap during PMS week. (Usually M&Ms, often of the peanut variety. I growl when anyone goes near it.)

I'm trying to get back to everyone - really trying - but it might take a while. If you haven't heard from me, it's not because I'm a jerk.

Ok I am a jerk, but only if you ask my eight-year-old at bedtime.

I'm making a memory book for Alexis with all your messages to her in it. I hope she'll look at it on the bad days and remember that she's never alone. I think we could all use a book like that sometimes. (Particularly during PMS week.)

Thank you to Hallie Cotnam from CBC Ottawa Morning for a wonderful portrayal of our family, in which we actually seemed pretty normal. Ah, the magic of radio. My personal goal in doing this interview was to normalize trans families, and I think she did a stellar job.

This piece (courtesy of CBC Radio) has been aired both locally and nationally in the last few days, and the response from listeners was incredible.

So incredible, in fact, that a few hours after CBC Ottawa Morning first aired it, CBC Television called, quite unexpectedly, and came to our house with cameras 45 minutes later to do a video segment for the nightly news.

I wish I could look that calm with a camera in my face.

(As an aside, I did not realize that I could shower, do my hair, put on makeup, find unwrinkled clothing and clean the entire first floor in less than 45 minutes. But apparently I can. I'm just glad they didn't capture the epic balls of dog fur on the stairs. When the producer said, "We can shoot around any mess you might have," he thankfully meant it.)

Last Friday was the Day of Silence, and the wonderful people at BlogHer asked me to write a piece on how anti-LGBT bullying has affected our family.

With Alexis' permission, I shared her difficult story of exclusion and harassment after she came out, which is a big part of why we decided to homeschool her for the time being.

It's a reminder that there's still so much work to do, especially in schools. But once again, the response was so positive. Thank you, BlogHer, for always being incredible allies.

Yesterday I received a journalism award - one with a focus on human rights - from the Ontario Association of Social Workers. It was for an article I wrote last fall in Ottawa Family Living on raising transgender kids.

I want to send a big thank you to the OASW, and a high-five to journalist Shaamini Yogaretnam from the Ottawa Citizen, who also received the award in the large print category.

Yessss.

I've never won an award for anything, you guys, so I probably would have been happy to get one in a box of Frosted Flakes at this point. But to receive one for this reason, and to be recognized by the very people who work with the community I'm so passionate about? Now that's something I'll always be proud of.  I'll look at it every time I need a reminder to keep writing.

So what have I taken away from the last couple of weeks?

A lot, actually.

The world is a far kinder place than I thought it was. I know this because we stepped out of our little bubble with a crazy viral post and interviews, only to be greeted with unbelievable kindness.

Were there a handful of trolls? Of course there were. Were there people who screamed that we're terrible parents who are screwing up our child? Well, yeah. That was going to happen. There will always be people like that. Hell, you can sign a child up for baseball and someone, somewhere, will object. Angry people find reasons to be angry. And sometimes people will ignore facts, data and everything society has learned on an issue, and instead choose ignorance and discrimination. I can't change them, but I can keep writing in spite of them. And I will.

Ottawa is a great place to raise my daughter. I feel like the entire city wrapped its arms around her last week, and I don't think I can adequately express how meaningful that was to her and our entire family. I've never been prouder to call Ottawa home.

But there's still much work to do. Society is getting on board, but my daughter still needs safe spaces and equal rights. I'm speaking at a Fundraiser tomorrow night and I'll be bringing Alex to a rally on Parliament Hill on Tuesday to encourage the passing of Bill C-279, the Transgender Rights Bill. (And then I'll be reading at Blog Out Loud Ottawa in the evening! You should come. It's free!)

So thank you, all of you, for your encouragement, positivity, and love. Thank you from a mom who sees the long road her daughter faces, but knows now, beyond a doubt, that she will never face it alone.

You deserve all the topless parades in the world. And maybe even some of my PMS chocolate.

Maybe.

World, Meet My Daughter

Okay. Deep breath.

This is about to be the second hardest post I've written on this blog. I'm not the best at handling change. It normally involves several cookies stuffed unceremoniously in my mouth. But since I'm portioning out and weighing all my damn food right now like a shmoe, I'm going to have to go at it raw. (That last part sounded wonderfully dirty.)

In the last couple of days, my family has opened our doors to journalists from two sizeable media outlets. Both have come into our home to talk to our daughter about living as a transgender child, and to the rest of us about what it's like to love and support her. We also spoke about Bill C-279, the transgender rights bill, and how important it is that it passes into Canadian law swiftly and without amendment.

What this means is that very soon the world - or at least our corner of it - will know our daughter's real name and what she looks like. It's big scary stuff.

Allowing this to happen was a big decision for our family. It involved many deep discussions. We did not take it lightly, and we nearly nixed the entire thing on more than one occasion. We know it's a decision that carries risk, but we also know it can carry a lot of hope.

Many trans people and families with trans children feel the need to hide, in one way or another, out of fear for their safety. Despite us being well into the twenty-first century, there continue to be a small number of hateful people and groups who make it their mission to harass, threaten, or even harm members of the LGBT community. I completely understand why many in the community stay under the radar.

There are also many trans people and families who choose to be very public. They do so for various reasons, but often it's because they want to raise awareness and encourage acceptance of the trans community. Where exposure goes, education follows, then societal acceptance. I completely understand why many go public.

Our initial game plan was this: Mom (that would be me) goes public on her blog, and she posts using the endearing-turned-terribly-appropriate nickname "Gutsy" that she's always used for her now-out transgender daughter. No pictures are posted outside of Mom's personal Facebook page. This would allow mom (that would be me again) to learn, grow and advocate for her child in the best way she knows how, while maintaining a certain level of privacy for safety reasons.

And in our everyday, our family was out to everyone. At that time it was a nice in-between, a good balance.

But things can change. Transitions are so... transition-y. As my daughter found herself, she also found her strength and her voice. As I did when she came out to us, she found new purpose. She watched me advocate for her on the internet, on radio and in magazines, and she started wanting to do so as well, in her own way; not for her, but for the kids who don't have as much support as she does.

At first I hesitated. I felt it was too dangerous. I told her there are hateful people out there, ranging from trolls to far worse. But there are other trans kids doing this all the time and it's been okay for them, she countered. She's right. We even know some of them personally. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that if this were another issue she wanted to advocate for - hearing loss, learning disabilities, asthma, mental health, or anything else that affects her daily life - I wouldn't be so hesitant.

I dug deeper into my feelings on the issue. What it came down to was figuring out why people aren't always supportive of trans rights. The answer? Ignorance - plain and simple. People fear what they don't know. People judge what they deem abnormal.

Why not educate? Why not make it, well, normal?

So, when we were asked to do these interviews, we said yes.  Let people get to know us. Let them get to know our insightful daughter and her incredible brothers. Let them get a taste of our typical life: mom and dad and three kids living in the suburbs, heading off to school, going to work, making meals and paying stupid bills. We're a lot like you. We just happen to have a transgender child. 

Let my daughter advocate for herself and her right to use public women's washrooms. Let her teach the world that gender is what's between your ears, not your legs. Let her use her voice to help other children, to educate their families, and to encourage their communities to be more accepting.

But before all that happens, before the media floodgates open, I want to introduce you, the people who have supported us through everything, to my daughter.

Why yes, she does have the coolest. hair. EVER.

This is Alexis. She is 12 and sweet and funny and way smarter than me. Like, way smarter.

She loves board games and computers and riding her bike. She loves her family and friends deeply. She rocks at card tricks. She's an incredible DJ and musician. She has the greatest laugh.

And since embracing who she really is, she is the happiest she has ever been. Ever.

She knows the risk she's taking, but she's taking it anyway in order to help others. And if that doesn't exemplify bravery, I don't know what does.

Alexis being interviewed by the CBC this morning. She's a total natural.

Here we are. We're out out. Wow. I won't lie and tell you I'm not afraid. Of course I am. But Alex is choosing to step up and make the world a better place, and that fills me with far more hope than fear.

So no matter what happens in the next little while, I know we chose hope over fear.

And that means hope wins. 

:)

5 Things I Want You to Know About my Transgender Child

Image credit: https://www.flickr.com/photos/gazeronly/8206734246/

It's the International Transgender Day of Visibility, and writing a blog post is about the most visible thing I can think of doing today. We've learned so much this year from raising the coolest trans kid I know (I might be somewhat biased) and I want to share some of it. If experience has taught me anything, it's that sharing our stories makes the world a more inclusive place. 

So without further ado, here are some of the highlights:

It’s Not a Phase

One of my very first thoughts after Gutsy came out was “is this a phase?” It seemed like a valid concern at the time. The idea of someone feeling vastly different on the inside than they appear on the outside is alien to most of us. In the last year, it’s become the question people ask me most.

But statistically speaking, the vast majority of trans children my daughter’s age tend to stay the course for the rest of their lives.  Just like I absolutely knew I was a female at 12, so does she. The direction her pubescent body was going in wasn’t the right one, which rang all kinds of internal alarm bells and ultimately lead to her coming out to us. I’m so glad she did. This is the beginning of a whole new life for her.

But as a side note, if she were to tell us tomorrow that she feels differently, I wouldn’t regret a single decision we’ve made. Our job as parents is to meet our kids where they’re at, listen to them, and support them – which leads me to point #2.

Family and Community Support Matters

Even at the glorious I-know-better-than-you age of twelve, Gutsy is a family-oriented kid. I can’t even begin to imagine how she would have felt if we had dismissed her, disbelieved her, or tried to force her into accepting her body through brutal methods like conversion therapy.  If that had not lead her to make an attempt on her life (like 43% of the Canadian transgender population), she would have at least left her childhood with some big emotional scars.

Support matters – a lot – to all of us. But it especially matters when you’re feeling scared, alone and vulnerable. It matters when you feel different and like no one understands you. So as parents, we strive to understand and support her as best we can. If that not only allows my child to stay alive but to full on thrive, sign me up.  We love that our extended family, friends and neighbours all support her, too. It makes her life so much better.

Respect the Pronouns

It was important to our child that we use the correct pronouns. She identifies as female, so we use “she” and “her.” Pronouns are part of everyone’s gender identity, and being misgendered – for example, being mistakenly or purposefully called “sir” when you’re a woman – is hard for many of us. But it can be incredibly painful to a trans or gender fluid person.

One of the things I’ve learned this year is that gender, like sexual orientation, is a spectrum, and there’s a big middle ground that is fluid. Some people don’t identify as male or female, or feel they’re a mix of both.  Some use pronouns like “they” or “zhe” rather than male or female ones. Their pronoun choices are just as valid.

If you’re not sure about what pronouns to use, ask the person, and honour what they tell you.  And if you slip up, that’s ok. You’re trying and that’s what’s important. That validation from others can mean so much.  I know it means the world to my kiddo.

Her Transition is as Unique as She is

“Transition” is the state of moving from living as one gender to the other. It can take months or years, or remain in a constant state of flux.

Some trans girls or women can’t wait to start wearing dresses and makeup and great shoes. Gutsy is not one of those girls. She moved slowly from male clothing to gender-neutral female clothing. She now wears far brighter, feminine colours like pinks and yellows and vibrant greens. I won’t lie: shopping with her these days is so much fun.

But just try getting her into a dress. Go on, I’ll film it. It’ll be like trying to put a tutu on a lion. She has absolutely no interest in wearing one or putting on makeup outside of special occasions. She finds a purse cumbersome and loves a good pair of sneakers.

Gutsy is not extremely feminine. But her gender expression – how she shows off her femininity - doesn’t make her gender identity less valid. How many tomboyish girls do you know? How many women don’t wear makeup or high heels and run as far away from skirts as they can? That’s my daughter. Her transition, thus far, is not a frilly froufrou one. Will it be that way down the line? As she gets more comfortable in her new outward identity, she might experiment some more. Or she might not. Only time will tell. It’s her life, her transition, her body, and she can make those decisions.

Being Trans is Only a Part of Her Identity

I write a lot about having a transgender child. I’ve penned articles, and given interviews and talks about this topic because I’m passionate about raising awareness. But I want to make something abundantly clear: being transgender is only part of who my daughter is.

Just as I wouldn’t introduce her with, “this is Gutsy, my asthmatic child,” I don’t put a huge amount of emphasis on her being trans in our everyday. I say, “This is my daughter, Gutsy” because that’s exactly who she is. She’s also a granddaughter, sister and niece. She’s a talented musician, avid computer geek and gamer, and a good friend to those who know her. She likes Futurama and peanut butter cups. She’s a whole lot of things, and she just happens to be trans.

It’s important that we don’t make someone’s gender identity their entire identity.

*****

I could write an entire book about the things I’ve learned in the last year (Hey, guess what? I am!), but those are some of the most important. Now go forth and raise some trans visibility! Share a supportive article or blog post.  Write a quick Facebook status to let people know trans lives matter. Visibility and support are crucial in helping marginalized populations feel less alone. You could save a life today.

And as always, thank you for supporting my child and the strong, vibrant and inspiring community she belongs to. 

Why Parenting with Love is better than Parenting with Guilt

Photo credit: William Warby

It was a hard parenting week, you guys. Honestly, the fact that I haven't given myself some permanent calm via a home lobotomy speaks wonders to my self-control.

It was reality-show crazy over here. We had epic sibling fights galore. We had anxiety-fueled meltdowns on the daily. We had walk-on-eggshells-or-the-household-will-implode evenings. It was a really bad week. They so rarely befall our family these days, but when they do, they're in like a lion and out like a lion. There are no lambs involved. Weeks like these eat the lambs. It's the first thing they do. They're dicks.

In short, a whole bunch of stuff happened (much that I'm leaving out for brevity) that left me feeling like the world's worst parent who can't keep things together and should probably take a course or something but actually that money might be better spent getting my kids some therapy because clearly I've already caused irreparable Jerry Springer-like damage that will lead them to be immortalized in Dr. Phil reruns where everything will point back to their terrible upbringing. Something like that.

I was pretty good at holding it together all week, but by nine this morning, I was calling my friend at work in tears (the poor thing has never been happier to have her own office.) I was in Emotional DEFCON 1, but she talked me down fairly quickly - probably because she needed to, like, work and stuff. I'm so grateful to have people who get me even when I don't get myself. Everyone needs those people.

Then I spent the rest of the day hating all people everywhere, which happens about once every two or three years. I just hate everyone. I become a buxom Trent Reznor and wear a lot of eyeliner and spend my time listening to songs with angry guitar solos and stay as far away from other humans as possible.

Hey, don't judge; it's cheaper than the therapy I clearly need.

Every time I get that way, I know I need to do some digging on the inside. So that's what I did today while I was busy hating everyone (especially myself), and this is what I came up with:

 I don't do well with feeling like a flop of a parent. There are days when I just know I'm dropping all the balls I'm supposed to be juggling. And this year, the balls got so much bigger and hairier. It's like Mission: Impossible for clowns.

When I had kids, I made a promise to myself that I was going to be an amazing mom. Like totally great. Most days, I don't feel I come anywhere close that. I drown in my own guilt.

If my kids can't get along for days at a time, I figure it's my fault because I haven't taught them enough conflict resolution. If my kids don't get along and I don't serve any vegetables with dinner, they're going to develop heart disease before they can ever learn to get along and that's a double failure on my part. And if I do that really stupid thing and yell at them to stop yelling (and eat their damn vegetables) because I'm totally frustrated? Family of origin therapy before the heart transplants. Triple parenting fail threat.

If my daughter is having a bad anxiety week, it's my fault because I haven't taught her the right coping skills or she must need new medication and I'm neglectful for not noticing or I'm missing something really serious going on with the trans kid with the world on her shoulders and I need to shape up and pay more attention because holy crap she has a lot going on and what's wrong with me?!

Or maybe I'm too strict, or too lenient, or I'm coddling them, or I'm not giving them enough attention. Maybe I'm too busy or too present or not letting them make mistakes or letting them make too many. Or maybe it's all those things. Shit.

Everything always comes back to me. It's incredibly self-absorbed and destructive.

Guilt: it's what's for dinner. I like to serve it with a nice side of shame and sprinkle it all with MSG, because that shit is bitter if you don't hide the flavour.

But the conclusion I arrived at today while listening to vicious guitar riffs, is that I need to just cut myself some slack, already. Parenting sucks sometimes, and nobody likes handling a bunch of big hairy balls. So it's ok if the idea makes me cry a little. I'm only human, after all.

And this perfect juggling record I've been striving for day after day? It's just not humanly possible. I will always drop some balls. Always. Pretty much every single day. And I had better get used to that. I criticize myself in ways I would never criticize another parent. That shit needs to stop.

Because, the thing is, I really love my kids. Fiercely. Devotedly. Completely. And that's this anti-supermom's greatest power.

Love makes me try harder. It makes me a creative problem solver. It makes me believe that I'll figure things out, even if I have no clue how in the moment.

Love makes me get up the next day with new resolve. It makes me turn off the guitar solos and go hug my children while they struggle to get loose so they can try and kick each other.

Love makes me both soft and fierce. And even on the days when I haven't dished out a single vegetable, I'm still dishing out the love. They give it back to me, making it the best renewable resource.

So chin up, imperfect mom that you are. You've got love on your side. Some days it's all you've got, but it's enough.

You're enough.

Dear Daughter: You Don't Have to Hate Your Body

Image Credit: Alan Cleaver via Flickr.com

Dear Daughter,

The day you came out to us as transgender was a big day for you - and also for me. That's the day I found out I had a daughter, when I had been under the false assumption for many years that I was raising a house full of boys.  Silly me.

I've never told you this, but for many years I had a deep-seated fear of raising a girl. In fact, when I was surprise-pregnant at 19 with your older brother, I was sure we was having a boy. And when people asked me how I knew, I told them the universe wouldn't give me a daughter yet because there was no way I was ready to raise one.

"I don't have the self-esteem to raise a girl with self-esteem," I would explain matter-of-fact-ly. People would give me all kinds of strange looks, but I knew it was true. It's not that boys don't benefit from having confident mothers, but as girls we come into the world at a disadvantage, and a strong female role model can make all the difference. I didn't love my body back then, and so I knew I couldn't teach someone how to love hers. I tied my self-worth to how I looked, so how could I teach a daughter to do the opposite? You can't model something you don't possess.

Flash-forward 18 years (feel free to make some great time machine noises.) I've done a lot of work on myself, and that's a good thing because - surprise! - I have a daughter now, and she's watching. Moreover, I have a daughter who will have to work harder than most to be comfortable in the body she has, so my task to raise you into a confident woman is even more important.

(But no pressure or anything.)

So here's what I need you to know: Throughout your life, you will be told that unless you look like a model dipped in Photoshop edits, you are deeply flawed.  But you are not flawed, our society is. The weight loss industry is. Our impossibly high standards are. But you, my beautiful girl, are not. You are exactly who you are meant to be and you should be proud of that.

Throughout your life, you will be told that how you feel about yourself should be directly tied to how you look. That is so wrong that it's Kanye-at-an-awards-show wrong. Our physical form changes all the time, my darling, so using outward appearance as a measure of the beautiful beings we are inside is just a really stupid idea. Some of the most beautiful people you'll meet on this planet will never be in a fashion magazine.

Throughout your life, you will be told you would be happier if you could just attain a certain weight or fit into a particular dress size. Well I know a lot of people - on account of how popular I am - and I can tell you that there are miserable folks of all shapes and weights. Happiness does not come from a dress size.

The good news is that society's messed up constructs on weight are like The Matrix. Once you're shown what a bunch of bullshit it all is, subscribing to it again becomes a choice. I want to give you that choice. You don't have to hate your body.

I say all this because, as you know, I've recently committed myself to getting healthier, and it's very likely going to involve some weight loss. But I need you to know I'm not doing this because I hate myself; the shame train left the station a long time ago and I wasn't on it. 

I'm doing this because I love myself in a super great way. 

I love myself so much that I'm going to learn how to eat and exercise properly so that I can feel better and hopefully live longer. 

I love our family so much that I don't want to exit it prematurely and leave you all wondering who's going to change the toilet paper roll (you guys might have to hire someone). 

And I love you so much that I want to keep fighting for your rights as a proud trans girl for many years to come.

So please don't take the journey I'm embarking on as a sign of disgust; it's a sign of pure joy. I've watched your own transition from the inside out and it's been remarkable. Do you even know how amazing you are? Every day I see you becoming more and more the girl you are inside, and it makes me want to become the woman I am inside: a woman with more energy and more years to show off her fabulous hair. What's not to love about this idea? 

You're the very best teacher. I love being your mom.

So let's not hate our bodies together, ok? Come on, it'll be fun.

Make Some Room for the Good Stuff

One of my awesome graduation cards. Thanks, @stephdesign for recognizing what a classy bitch I am.

Over the last couple of weeks, I have seen both the best and worst of people.

In the same week as we all saw a man fat-shamed for dancing, I witnessed a bunch of women severely tear down another woman's looks. It hurt me to the core - not because I know the woman in question (I don't), but because that woman could have been me, or you, or anyone - and no one deserves that.

In fact, I was that woman - or girl - once upon a time. My school days involved some pretty extreme bullies; they tore down my looks, beat me up, told me I should just go kill myself, and eventually even set me on fire in front of the school. I wasn't severely hurt, but the emotional scars lasted for years. To this day, I have yet to feel so alone as I did back then.

So, while a part of me wanted to say more than I did when I saw this barrage of insults to another woman's physical form, another part was fearful I would be the next target if I spoke up.

Isn't that awful? We teach our children through anti-bullying programs and talks to defend the defenseless, and yet I couldn't do it.  I'm still mad at myself.

Thankfully, I rarely find myself in a position like that. That's not my norm, yo. In my day to day, my world is filled with really positive people. In the last week, for example, I've been helping some of them move a pregnant single mom and her two children into a home filled with new-to-them furniture, a stocked pantry, and cupboards and closets brimming with everything they will need to start their lives anew.  Friends and strangers came together in person and over social media to raise money, provide gift cards and donate clothes and household items.

If you've never been part of a beautiful movement such as this, I would strongly encourage you to jump at the next opportunity. I can assure you it's life changing.

I didn't initiate the movement, merely joined it. One of my good friends was the organizer. We spent the week packing, moving and unpacking items, collecting and sorting donations. It was fun, tiring, and entirely worth it. As I watched my friends work so hard for one of our community members, I couldn't help but feel grateful to know them.

That's the world I live in today. The world of good people. The world of kind, generous, do-anything-for-you people. I'm not at all surprised they did what they did for this family. Knowing who they are, I would expect nothing less.

In the midst of all that crazy, some of those friends - along with many others - threw me one beautiful surprise grad party. They made me a yearbook with all their high school pictures in it, and signed things like "it was great to sit next to you in chemistry class!" and "I'll never forget that moment we shared behind the bleachers. Let's stay in touch!" They insisted I take cheesy pictures with flowers and a robe on, and made sure to stuff me full of delicious food. I was moved to tears that they would do this for me. I'll never forget it. In that one night, I could feel the old wounds from my former school years heal up - for good. In that one night, I said goodbye to the pain and the loneliness a part of me still carried around. It's easy to see that I'm anything but alone these days. I wish everyone could feel this way.

Awkward grad photo! Credit: Christina Hajjar, who insisted it look as cheesy as possible

My life wasn't always filled with great people. I didn't always make good choices when it came to friendships, nor was I always the greatest friend.  For many years I was insecure, petty and passive-aggressive. I didn't know how to communicate effectively and I had to hard time trusting people. I'm still a work in progress. I always will be. But one day I decided I was worth more than the shit I was putting out and getting back. And that's when everything shifted.

Sometimes people tell me they wish they had a good group of friends like mine. And I tell them that if they're anything like me, they just need to make room in their lives for good people. If we're always busy dealing with negative people or situations and our own negative attitudes, we won't have the time or energy to cultivate positive friendships.  

When I found out I had a daughter last year, I made a commitment to her and to myself to model healthy relationships. My bullshit tolerance is now incredibly low, both for my own and for other people's. If you don't add something positive to my life and we can't seem to get on the same page, you're no longer going to be a part of it. If I walk away from our interactions feeling drained or belittled or like I need a shower to wash away the ick, I won't keep coming back for seconds (and I love seconds, so that really tells you something.)

It's so much harder to deal with chronic negativity than positivity, so much more work to handle toxic situations than healthy ones. It leaves no room for anything good to happen. I spent years in those situations, with those people and as that person. Those times are over, and that's not only allowed for an infusion of new healthy friendships, but for existing ones to get the attention they deserve.

Like I said, I've seen the best and the worst over the last couple of weeks. But what I can say for certain is that the best has had the most staying power, giving me so much warm and fuzzy that it could put a litter of puppies to shame.

Be the good. Make room for the good. I promise if you do, you won't be disappointed. (But the puppies might be.)