Becoming The Best Version of Me

I take a strength training class on Tuesdays and Thursdays at my local gym. Every time I walk into the studio, I’m greeted with smiling faces and chatter.

Except none of them are smiling at or chatting with me.  

Admittedly, it’s a little cliquey in there, and takes me way back to the dreaded high school cafeteria. But instead of trying to figure out where to sit, I’m figuring out where to set up my weights. Very fit-looking people, who have likely been going for years, have their established groups of friends in just about every corner of the studio. There’s the group of gorgeous stay-at-home-moms over there, the dedicated retirees over that way, and in the summer, a large clump of young teachers can be found in the far-right, chatting excitedly between exercises.

And me? Well, I’m the new kid. No one says hello to me unless I do so first. And sometimes I’m merely greeted with a polite smile, or nothing at all, before they go back to their conversations. It can be a little...  awkward. I’m a very social person and have no shortage of friendly people in my life outside of the gym. It’s a whole new experience for me within those walls.

I’d love to tell you it never bothers me on account of being super confident or whatever, but I'd be lying. It does get to me a little at times. Whenever I enter a new and uncomfortable place, I’m still that grade 7 girl being relentlessly bullied. (That particularly disastrous year ended with me being set on fire in front of the school by a couple of girls who thought it would be hilarious. Because setting people on fire is super funny, obvi.) 

The problem with the gym is it’s perpetually a new and sometimes uncomfortable place. That’s because I’m always pushing myself to try new things – this class being one of them. One of my friends, who only goes to the weekend classes, encouraged me to try it out. My first attempt was exhausting, but challenging in a way that made me want to try it again. And again. And again. And now I go twice per week (three times if I join her on the weekend and we form our own little clique.) 

But physically, I stick out like a sore thumb. It’s a high-intensity class, not for the faint of heart, and many of the people who go are fit-looking in that way society expects fit people to look: slim and toned. I’m toned, but not slim. I have great muscles under the roundness. I never will be slim because my genetics are all about that bass (and I like chocolate). 

I used to think the best version of me was a skinnier version. But a little less than two years ago, I decided to try something I had never attempted: To stop making health exclusively about weight loss, and instead focus on becoming my best self – whoever that was. No deprivation, no self-hate, no expectations other than to evolve into a better version of me.

I had no idea what that was going to look like, and little did I know how surprised I would be when I found out.

I made this decision about a year after my daughter came out. I needed to take better care of myself so I could have the energy and mental health to support her through transition. I joined a gym, started seeing a specialized doctor, a nutritionist and a trainer. I saw a psychologist to deal with my anxiety. I worked my ass off to learn new ways of eating, new ways of coping with stress that didn’t involve eating, and new ways to fit exercise into my life.

It's the best thing I've ever done for myself. 

Even though I started this journey in my child’s best interest, the best version of me finally sees herself as a person worthy of self-care.

In my case, weight loss ended up being a part of that journey. I lost a little over 50 pounds in the first year, which took pressure off my cardiovascular system and my joints. This past year, I’ve kept off the weight, and replaced more of the fat with muscle (in that awkward strength training class). I’ve never felt stronger or healthier.

Three months into this journey towards a better me, my spouse also came out as trans. The night she told me was awful for both of us; so much fear and uncertainty. I felt shaken the core. I didn’t know if our marriage was going to survive or what the future held for our family. I felt gutted and numb.

But the following morning, as tired and depleted as I was, I woke up to my alarm and went off to my scheduled workout. What drove me was anger and determination.

Oh, and my car. That also helped.

I was angry that life had thrown this curveball when I was just starting to find some balance. What was it trying to do, knock me off track?

Hell, no. Not this time, life.

The best version of me knows she can’t control what’s going on around her, but is still in control of herself.

I threw myself into that workout like a mother. For 45 minutes, I did nothing but focus on push-ups, squats and chest flies.  I burned all the adrenaline off that had been sitting inside me since the night before. And when it was all over, I went back to my car, tired and sweaty, and had my first real, heartfelt sob in the parking lot.

I didn’t miss a single workout for weeks. They became my lifesaver. My therapy. They were a constant reminder to put me first.

Much has changed since then. My marriage is incredible. My wife remains the love of my life. And, if you didn’t read the blog post before this one, I’ve finally come to a place where I can acknowledge who I really am: My name is Amanda, and I'm a lesbian. Giant. Lesbo. Always have been, always will be. 

There, I said it again. It gets less weird every time. 

That awareness was buried for many years, stuffed down among many other painful things I didn’t want to look at by self-medicating with food. Now that I’m not doing that anymore, I’m truly free for the first time in my life.

Because the best version of me is an honest version of me.

As it turns out, the best version of me isn’t nearly as thin as I thought she was going to be. Surprise! Still delightfully chubby. But she’s more authentic, more aware, and much happier than I ever thought possible.  

So yes, it bothers me sometimes when the gym folks make like I’m invisible. But I still grab my weights and strut my lioness self to the front of the class. I then proceed to lift more weight than virtually everyone in there (including the menz!) and I have a proud smile on myself while I do it. 

Huh. Actually, maybe they just think I'm an asshole.

As often as she can, the best version of me holds her head high - even when no one wants to sit with her.

She recognizes they simply don’t know what they’re missing.

If I'm Being Completely Honest (and I Finally Am)...

I recently gave a short presentation to a group of hospital staff about how to best support trans youth in their clinic. It was supposed to be centered on my daughter's experiences at the hospital, but I couldn't very well leave out the fact (true fact, not an alternative one) that I also have a trans spouse. I meant to simply mention it, to say our family is no stranger to transitions, and move on, but some of the questions at the end of the talk surrounded our relationship. 

I get it. People are always curious about how we managed to navigate a transition within our marriage. I've written about it on this blog and we've both spoken about it at length in interviews and on podcasts. The short version is this: It was really scary and awful at first, but then we realized it wasn't so awful or scary and then we fell in love all over again and now we're happier than ever. 

Key point: happier than ever. That's what people seem to struggle with most. They generally get how Zoe could be happier, but me? That's a stretch for them, given such a big change.

Except it's not.

Yes, it was a big change in some ways. I had no clue my spouse was a woman. I had to get used to the idea that she is. It made it easier when I truly realized she always has been, even if I didn't know. When you think about it that way, it makes it not such a big change. The only difference now is she gets to live as the person she really is, rather than in an ill-fitting dude role. 

Can I just say it? Zoe played a lousy dude. She tried her best, but it was more participation medal worthy than gold star. She had a hard time making guy friends, had a hard time doing those more stereotypical guy things. She liked my friends way better than she liked their male partners. 

I just thought she was a weird bro, and I kind of liked it because, as I came to realize throughout my life, I was never that into bros in the first place. 

And this is where our story gets more interesting (just when I thought it couldn't.)

When I was younger, a female friend of mine and I were caught, um, doing things. Things that felt good and very right to me. And we were chastised by her mom and told what a sin it was. It was wrong and it was bad and you shouldn't do that stuff ever again or you'll go to Hell.

Listening to her, I felt incredible shame that still comes up today when I tell that story. I learned then that it was easier to be with a guy than a girl. Even if it wasn't exactly what I wanted, and even if it never felt entirely right, I could make it work.

Enter my ill-fitting bro who wasn't actually a bro. I loved her deeply and I was definitely attracted to her in her ill-fitting-ness. But the older I got, the more I came to terms with my sexual orientation. Most recently, I concluded that, under different circumstances, I would have skipped dudes altogether. They're pretty to look at, but they're not my bag beyond that.

And then Zoe came out, and I came out, too. Fearfully, carefully, slowly dipping my toe in the queer rainbow waters. It's been a process in figuring myself out.

I still get freaked out attaching the word "lesbian" to myself because people question it the way I used to. "You were married to someone you thought was a guy, so how can you be a lesbian?"

Believe me, I asked myself that, too. And I can't possibly be a lesbian if I think Justin Trudeau's hair is sexy and I want to touch Chris Hemsworth's giant arm muscles, right? This is why I identified as bi or pan for a while. Hearts not parts. Safer, easier, fewer questions, and less shame. Because OMG, the shame of knowing I hid that part of me for such a long time? That doesn't feel good. It feels inauthentic. It feels worse than sinning. 

But while my wife was hiding, I was hiding, too. I wouldn't be the first gay person to do that, to hide within a marriage. And maybe that's why, while I understood Zoe's need to be herself, I was simultaneously terrified of the repercussions of that. I had been safely hiding for over two decades, not only from everyone else, but also from myself.

Like I said, it's been a process. A whole lot of soul-searching. And this realization that I've always been a lesbian - even if I dated men (well, boys; it was high school, after all) - freaked me out more than my wife's transition did. I really thought I knew myself, that I was a shining example of authenticity. As it turns out, I had my own walls up, too. Piles of toaster ovens, stacked high.

But hey, here's the good news: as it turns out, the love of my life is a woman! And a beautiful one, at that. The soul I fell in love with was a woman's soul, so this whole lesbian thing makes a lot of sense when you see it that way.  

Now, finally, after 23 years together, we both get to be our true selves. To own who we are, to see one another and love one another wholly. What a gift that is. And I have never felt more authentic than I do today. It's time to let go of that old, cumbersome shame. 

Our daughter's coming out freed my wife, and, in turn, my wife's coming out freed me. The next time Alexis rolls her eyes at me in that teenager way and I want to strangle her, I'm going to remember how she saved our family and not strangle her. Gold star parenting.

We are, indeed, a family in transition. And it's kind of beautiful.

Here, have a toaster oven. I have lots.  

An Open Letter to My Kids About the Bullies. My Bullies.

Dear Kids,

I know you see it, and I know it hurts you.

Many times now, most recently over the last few days, your mom has been subjected to vicious online attacks. And unfortunately, you're old enough to be online, to read them, to get upset about them.

I know you're angry your mother shared something on Twitter with the word "feminism" in it and was quickly railroaded by insults from dozens and dozens of internet strangers. 48 hours in, they just keep coming. 

While some people simply voiced disagreement with the link I shared on the importance of women's rights, others bypassed disagreement completely and went straight to name-calling. 

They attacked my weight. Attacked my looks. Attacked my ability to "get a man." (That last part is extra funny when you know I have a wife and that she's drop. dead. gorgeous.)

They called me ignorant, a terrorist, a bitch, and far, far worse. They went through my profile, realized I'm a supportive mom of a trans child, and started attacking my parenting, too. 

Incidentally, attacking my looks, my parenting, and my ability to mate because I expressed the need for gender equality is a prime example of why feminism is still desperately needed. It's almost funny, really. Almost.

I know you see it, and I know it hurts you. How could it not? If my mother was being slammed with insults, I would be hurt, too. That's my mom, guys. You don't mess with someone's mom. It hurts, and you feel sorry for what I'm going through.

But I want to make one thing perfectly clear: Nobody is messing with you mom, and she's not the one you need to feel sorry for.  

As I've said to you already, the people you need to feel sorry for are the ones attempting to do the harm; those who create anonymous accounts for the soul purpose of seeking out and attacking others. I can only imagine how much hurt and anger and powerlessness must be going on in one's psyche to make that a hobby. Purposefully trying to bring harm to online strangers isn't even on my radar, as I'm sure it isn't on yours. We're not wired that way.

Do I disagree with people sometimes? Of course I do. But I'm looking for dialogue; I'm looking to learn. If our opinions are different, I want to know why. So when I posted that link, I appreciated the replies in disagreement that were respectful. We had actual discourse. We learned from each other (I think.) We left the conversation without having to use the "mute" or "block" buttons.

Disagree and yet still treat each other as fellow human beings: IT CAN BE DONE.

That's the respect I hope to model for you. And I won't be 100% perfect with it, but I certainly won't be tweeting someone, like the lady who's profile claims she's been "saved by God" did, only to say "LOL HOw about FU and your BS." 

Jesus would be so proud, wouldn't he?

Do these people not consider that I'm someone's child? Someone's mother? That my family can see what they're saying about one of the people they love the most in this world?

To be honest, I hope they don't, because the alternative is even scarier: They do consider it, but they don't care. 

They don't care. And here we have reached the sub-basement of human decency. (It's musty down here. Let's head back up.)

So let this be a lesson to you, my wonderful kids. Learn from their actions. If what's happening to me hurts you, use that to push yourself upward toward the penthouse, rather than sink to the dank cellar, where trolls breed and hide. (Way better view, far less smelly.)

Let the way I try to live my life be a lesson to you, too. I'm not hurt by their words. Okay, sure, they sting a little when I first see them. Of course it does. I have feelings. But the string quickly dissipates because I have a life filled with a blinding amount of love. No joke. I've built up a support circle of kind, accepting and supportive people who always have my back.

What do you build up when all you do is tear people down? I don't want to know. But I can guess, when you turn the screen off at the end of a long day of trolling, there isn't a whole lot of kindness, acceptance and support waiting for you. You need to cultivate that stuff, and that's not how you do it. 

But yeah, I know you see it, and I know it hurts you.

I'm sorry my job attracts these kinds of people from time to time. Anytime someone rocks the boat and creates real change, people do their best to steady it - and not always in the best ways. However, they're an unfortunate reminder of why I do this work in the first place. They remind me not to be complacent, to keep speaking out, and to not back away when the bullies walk down the proverbial hallway. 

I hope that, when I die in an unfortunate chocolate eating incident at the age of 103, you'll remember that I did not back down when hate was hurled my way. That I fought back, not by yelling insults into the cellar, but by continuing to gracefully make my slow and steady way up to the penthouse - without looking back at them even once. 

May you remember my love more than their hate. May I teach you how much more powerful that love is. It's strong, my darlings, and it will take you in all the right directions. 

And with that, know I love you more than anything.

Standing strong and looking up,

Your mom

Falling Down

Falling down: It’s what I did today, quite suddenly, in the kitchen. I sent the kids outside to shovel snow while I started dinner. Except I didn’t exactly start dinner. I just sunk down next to the fridge and started crying.

At one point, my cocker spaniel came over and gave me his concerned old man face, which is when he cocks his head to the side and puts a paw on my leg. “Are you okay?” I could almost hear him asking.

“I’m okay,” I replied through tears, out loud, to the dog. “I just need to sit here for a minute.”

It must have been more than a minute, because the kids finished shovelling and I was still sitting on the cold tile floor with my back up against the pantry. By this point, I had stopped crying, but I had that splotchy giveaway face going on.

“Are you okay?” my daughter asked in actual human words.

“I’m okay,” I replied.

“Do you want to get up?” she asked.

“Not yet. Soon.”

She hugged me. “Crying can be good sometimes. But I’m sorry you’re having a hard day.”

A hard day. A hard week. A hard month.

Not depression hard. Believe me, I’ve been there more than once. This is just general overwhelmed-ness. There’s a whole lot going on with a whole lot of people I really care about, and I can’t seem to do enough to help them. Legal battles, mental health issues, critical illnesses, poverty, major life changes. So much stuff on my mind.  

But honestly, what’s happening isn’t the problem; how I’m dealing with it is the problem.

A lot of what’s going on is out of my control, which, as an anxiety sufferer, is balls. I want to control ALL THE THINGS. Because then I can make it better, you know, since I could then FIX ALL THE THINGS, what with being a lawyer and a doctor and a therapist and super rich.

And since I can’t control what’s going on, I check in on everyone all the time, ask what I can do to help, run around helping in whatever ways I can, keep thinking I’m not helping enough, feel guilty because of that, and jump at every request to help some more. Need something? Ask Amanda. She’ll say yes!

I have this rule that I put myself first. I’m selfish like that. I take care of my own stuff, like exercise and sleep and homecooked meals and downtime, so that my anxiety stays under control and I have the mental, physical and emotional energy to help others in that balanced way they write articles about in lady magazines.

The problem is, I tend to be a rule breaker (it’s the activist in me.) And sometimes I break my own rules, like when I take too much on, don’t respect my own boundaries, and forget how to say the words “no” and “I can’t take that on right now” and “I have a show on Netflix I need to watch at the moment, so I’ll get back to you later.”

And you know what happens when I break my own self-care rule?

I’ll give you a hint: It involves a kitchen floor and a dinner that wasn’t ready until 7pm.

Like many people, especially women, I am guilty of taking on too much. Of saying too much “yes” when I should say more “no,” and of trudging on in the service of others until I can’t take another step. And, what’s worse? I often feel like some kind of hero for doing it.

But here’s the thing: I am not a hero for putting myself last. I am a damned fool.

It is not heroic to sacrifice my own wellbeing for others. It’s a dangerous and unspoken game I’ve been taught as part of womanhood. Do everything you can for everyone else and, if you have time, maybe you can do something for you after that.

 But don’t do it the other way around. Never that way. Don’t be a selfish bitch. Who wants to be one of those?

After sitting on the kitchen floor for about 20 minutes with a serious case of blotch face, I remembered: this bitch want to be one of those.

I need – and I emphasize the need part – to put myself front and center. Selfishly, delightfully first. If I don’t, I fall apart very quickly.

Of course, there are times when I can’t easily put me first. That’s life. Family emergencies and various other crises will undoubtedly decrease the amount of time and energy I can put into taking care of myself. But what I’ve come to realize is, if I’m consistent with self-care, I can bank some of that goodness for the crazier days. I carry some extra energy and strength with me during those times, and a promise to fit whatever “me time” I can into the current reality.

But I haven’t been taking that time as much lately. So dinner was late. And my makeup was a mess. And the dog was confused. And my kid had to counsel me. All because I forgot to be a selfish bitch. Silly me. I guess I needed a little reminder.

So tomorrow morning I’m going to the gym, where I will not be able to check in with anyone for at least an hour. And, in between bouts of work-related things and kid stuff, I’m going to read a few chapters of a super trashy book that will bring me joy as it sears my brain cells. And dinner is going to be on time, but stupid easy. I’m thinking tuna melts.

And I won’t feel the least bit guilty about it. Because, while I can’t fix ALL THE THINGS, I can take care of ALL THE ME. She’s worth it, and she makes good tuna melts when she has her shit together.

Self-care: Not always easy, but always necessary.

Duly noted, kitchen floor. Duly noted.

The Way It's Always Been (Even if I Didn't Know it Yet)

Zoe and I have been de-cluttering our home over the holidays. Doing this in January like everyone else puts our activities on par with our love of pumpkin spice lattes in the fall, which is eight levels of basic bitch. But I digress.  

We’re going through old boxes, kitchen appliances, getting rid of books we’ve read and won’t ever read again, and deciding what stays and what goes in every room in the house.

Our criteria is simple; each item has to fit into one or both of the following categories:

1. Do we need it? (No, like actually need it.)

2. Does it bring us joy?

Everything that falls under the “no” category leaves the house. It’s been surprisingly cleansing. As it turns out, we’ve held onto many things we had no reason to keep, and letting go of those things is like letting go of what doesn’t fit our life today. It’s like a transition of a different sort.

And then I found the box of old wedding photos.

Here’s the thing about the wedding photos: they’re weird to look at. Like really weird.

In them, I’m standing alongside a person I don’t recognize anymore, who’s sporting short hair and a tux, and who looks decidedly male. (I’m also wearing a dress I wouldn’t be caught dead in today. Ew.)

But here I am, nearly twenty years later, decluttering the living room with… my wife.

***

Ok, so you might think memories of a simpler time – when I was a young and happy and idealistic twenty-year-old entering in to what I thought was a straight marriage – might hurt to look at. After all, we were in the prime of our lives and about to move to the burbs and make us some babies like a good ol’ fashioned straight couple. I should, perhaps, be feeling some twinges of pain or something over a lost life.

Over the last 18 months since Zoe came out to me, I’ve walked through all sorts of feelings: hurt, sadness, fear, anger, remorse, betrayal, hope, happiness, relief, and love. The early days were harder, the more recent days are better. These days, I feel a lot more of the second half of that emotion-heavy sentence.

Like every big change in life, accepting this one has been a deeply personal process. I’m not done with it yet, but it’s getting a lot easier. I’ve put to bed a lot of my fears, and every bit of that betrayal. The only remorse I feel is for her. I wish she could have lived her full life sooner. And any anger is directed at society for not being more welcoming to trans people. We’re getting there, but overall, we still make it difficult to come out, to live, to love, and to work as a transgender person. We still have a lot of work to do.

But when I look at those wedding photos, they don’t bring up any pain surrounding a lost life. My life isn’t lost.

I’m still married to the same person, only happier.

I’m still in love, but because the wall she had around herself for years has come down, I can love her more deeply and be loved back more fully.

We still have our three beautiful kids who, despite what some of the internet would like to think, are not at all traumatized. Our children are happy and comfortable having two parents who are happy and comfortable. Imagine that.

When I look at old pictures – and at my 23 years with Zoe, overall – I no longer see a time when I had a husband. Zoe has always been female, even when I didn’t know she was. A mistake was made when she was born based on the way her body looked. Everyone thought she was male, but everyone was wrong. We have now been corrected, that’s all. The fact we didn’t know for a long time doesn’t make her less of a woman at any time in her life.

I have never had a husband, I have always had a wife. My children have never had a mom and dad, they have always had two moms.

It’s taken me a while to see things from this perspective. And it's my perspective, which is unique to me and will not reflect how every partner or loved one of a trans person feels. But seeing things this way not only honours and respects the way Zoe feels about her own life, but also makes memories less painful for me. Any loss I felt was a perceived loss, because it’s really always been this way. I just didn’t know it.

***

We’re ordering a new marriage certificate soon, which will have Zoe’s corrected name and gender on it. And, if all goes well on the budget front this year (please be kind, money gods!), we’ll be renewing our vows for our 20th wedding anniversary this August.

We can have the wedding we should have had all those years ago, where we both look totes adorbs in our dresses and our friends and family can have a gay ol’ time celebrating our love with us. There may even be pumpkin spice lattes. So embarrassingly basic. So embarrassingly us.

We didn’t get rid of our old photos in our minimalist purge. We tucked them away for posterity.

But I think we’re going to like our new wedding pictures a whole lot more. This is the way it’s always been. It’s time to show that truth to the world. 

How Stares Hurt the People I Love

"Why is everyone staring at me?" my wife asked as we stood in a crowded mall in downtown Montreal last weekend.

Zoe and I had run off for our first ever weekend away sans kids in the twenty years we've been parents. And for the most part, we had a great time. We stayed in a charming little hotel in the heart of the city, slept until we felt like getting up, ate copious amounts of good food, and even stayed over three hours in a historical architecture museum without anyone related to us whining about how bored they are.

Miraculous, 

The one glitch in our weekend - the one thing that dampened our spirits for a little while - was all the staring. It seemed no matter where we went, people were looking at my wife. And not just a quick glance, but a long, drawn-out stare. Some without even trying to be discreet about it.

I don't think I notice it quite as much as she does. I think that's because I'm not someone who gets stared at very much when I'm out by myself. I fly under the radar as a white, blonde, able-bodied, average-looking, slightly chubby, cisgender (non-trans) woman with a tunic-and-leggings fetish. I don't draw a lot of attention. 

But Zoe does, and we don't always know why.

Is it because she's tall? 

Because she's beautiful? (She's so beautiful, you guys. I'm a lucky woman.)

Or is it because someone is trying to figure out if she's trans? And if that's the case, why? Is it a bad thing if they realize she is? Are they going to give her a hard time? What does it mean for her safety? For our safety? We never know. We just know someone is staring. It's unnerving.

I'm a people watcher. My eyes love to drink in diversity. But I've learned to be aware of how long I'm looking at someone (for the reasons stated above). It's okay to look. It's not okay to stare. When do I know I'm staring? When I've been looking for so long that I'd be embarrassed if someone were to notice and call me out on it. That's when you know you've crossed the line into Creepertown. 

I learned from a young age not to stare at people. When I was 12, my youngest brother was born with Downs Syndrome. People have openly gawked at him his entire life. My mom and dad can't take him anywhere without people unabashedly looking at him. 

When my best friend's five-year-old came home from the hospital after months of cancer treatments - bald from chemo, sick and frail and wheelchair-bound - everyone looked at him. A simple trip to the grocery store involved tons of looks, which he would pick up on and ask his parents about.

How do you explain to a child, who has already gone to hell and back, why people are staring at him? How is that fair?

Look, I get why people stare. We're curious creatures, and our brains have recognized something or someone out of the ordinary. We then try to process that, and it sometimes requires taking in more visuals. We make a decision on how we should feel about that something or someone, and eventually, move on. That's my laywoman's version of the scientific reason behind it. (I don't have a science degree. That may or may not be obvious at this point.)

But the thing is, staring is not comfortable for the person being stared at. And since a big part of being human is practicing compassion, we need to think outside of ourselves and our desire to satisfy our own curiosities. It might just be a few seconds for you, but the person being stared at is getting those few seconds from people all. day. long. 

Do you know what that does to a person? I do.

By evening, my wife was starting to feel pretty insecure. "Seriously, Amanda. Is there something wrong with me?"

"No," I assured her. "You're beautiful." 

"Then why do people keep looking at me?" she asked.

I didn't have an answer. So I did my patented super supportive spouse maneuver and snapped at her. "I don't know, okay? I can't know what other people are thinking!"

I was angry. Not at her, but at society. At the people who couldn't seem to find their politeness setting. The ones creating waves during our one weekend away together where we should feel happy and carefree.

We just wanted to have time away like any other couple, enjoying each others' company and reconnecting after so many recent changes in our lives and our relationship. She's just like you! We're just like you! I wanted to yell at them. The old couple at the table next to us at the restaurant. The group of guys at the traffic light.

But mostly, I was sad. Sad for her. Sad that some of us, like me, have it so much easier than others. When I'm not out with Zoe or my brother or someone else who stands out in some way, I just go about my life without fear of being singled out. Everyone should feel that way, but that's not the case.

Trans folk, disabled folk, people of colour and the plus-size community are among those who often can't look up without meeting someone's unwanted and lingering gaze, over and over, all day long. 

I felt helpless to stop what was happening. My amazing wife, who is one of the bravest people I know for living her truth in a world that is not as accepting as it should be, had been having her confidence stripped down for hours. A little here, a little there, one stare at a time. The prolonged exposure to people's curiosity and possible judgment was taking its toll on one of the people I love most in the world, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. 

But now maybe I can do something about it. Because I have a blog. And I can say things on it. 

When someone blatantly stares at the person I'm out with, I make a point of staring right back at them until they notice I'm doing it and look away. They get really uncomfortable. I feel silently victorious. If this happened in aisle 3 at the grocery store, I can pretty much guarantee it won't happen when we pass each other again in aisle 4. 

It's probably not the nicest thing to do. I'm not out to shame people. That's not my bag, baby. I'm just trying to protect the people I care about, and sometimes I can't think of another way without making a scene.

So rather than glare at everyone whose eyes linger for too long with that slack-jawed look of curiosity, I want to provide an alternative: If you find yourself looking at someone who likely gets looked at a lot, smile at them.

Not a creepy smile, dudes. A nice smile. A warm, friendly smile. 

I do this all the time, because my difference-loving eyes will inevitably find their way to a person who stands out in some way: a little boy with a disability, perhaps, or a Muslim woman wearing a beautiful headscarf. Some of the people I notice are likely the victims of discrimination in their everyday lives along with the looks they get, so I try to combat that with kindness.

And sometimes I'll say "Good morning" or "beautiful day, eh?" (just like that, which is very Canadian of me), or "I love your hijab. It's so pretty."

You know, like I would do with anyone else. What a concept. 

I'm going to assume most people stare at my wife because she's beautiful, and stare at us when we're together because we are very much a couple in love (with great hair).

I want to believe most people are inherently kindhearted and curious in their looks, and hope the rest learn, through repeated exposure to diversity, that there's nothing to fear or judge. Different does not mean bad. 

We can change society with simple changes to our own behaviours. For example, I know if Zoe had been met with a smile or a compliment rather than a stare last weekend, it would have made a difference to both of us.

And I definitely never stare down people who smile at her in aisle 3.

One small effort at a time. One smile at a time. That's how we're going to make things better for everyone. 

Gay Agenda: December 6, 2016

6:30am: Wake up early enough to apply makeup and select cute feminine outfit. Everyone knows girls who love girls don't like lip gloss, but wars are not won without agents who blend in. Must fool the muggles.

7:00am: Drive transgender child to early appointment. Also need enough time to stop at fast food place for breakfast. Was told on Twitter how low quality foods are the reason she's declaring a gender other than the one she was assigned at birth. Since it turns out having a daughter is awesome and tweets are always science-based: breakfast sandwiches are a must.

8:00am: At orthodontist with kid. Satan probably made her teeth crooked, but there's a fix for that.

Cross out "FATHER" on intake forms and write "MOTHER #2." Politely suggest they look into more inclusive forms; a move which will undoubtedly lead to rapid decay of the traditional family. 

Also make sure everyone knows to use the right names and pronouns for your child like the world owes her something. 

(8:45am: Observations: Ortho staff seem kind, educated and supportive. Check to see if local queer sleeper cell has already infiltrated this location. No sense in redundant effort.) 

9:30am: Strength training class. Because all ladies who dig ladies covet big muscles (rule book, P. 34, paragraph 3.) Make sure to do something subtle in change room to show queer presence like sing Tracy Chapman songs in shower and towel off with pride flag.

11:00am: Grocery store. Don't forget eggs. 

SPECIAL NOTE: Makeup will have worn off at gym. Do not blow your cover! Place yoga mat and a minimum of two pumpkin spice-flavoured items in cart to avoid detection.

12:00 pm: Lunch. Chicken and kale salad. With the little cranberries. The dismantling of all wholesome values this country was founded on takes effort! Make sure you get enough protein.

1:00 pm: Work. Must save up to buy new gay agenda in January. Hoping to order special vintage edition, dipped in MIke Pence's tears on the day "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" was repealed. 

2:15 pm: Send text with string of rainbow hearts to wifey. Discuss dinner, which will include hummus (obviously.) 

3:30 pm: Welcome queerlings home from school. Ask how day went. See if they shared their liberal ideas with other children like they're supposed to. The gay don't spread itself.

5:30 pm: Serve Dinner. With hummus (obviously.) No salad for trans family members, but will offer them extra MSG. 

6:00 pm: Write and send out Christmas cards. Delightfully imagine how upset this must make some people. NOW WE'RE ALL UP IN YOUR CHRISTMAS AND EVERYTHING.

7:00 pm: Shopping mall. Resist buying plaid. Keep therapist's number handy in case the temptation becomes too much.

8:30 pm: Day is nearly done. But first, tuck in kids, make lunches, watch TV. Remember: Practice is key! Act like typical, traditional family (ignoring the fact both adults in it appreciate boobs.)

11:00 pm: Bedtime. Good job today! Societal collapse surely imminent. Any day now. Make sure celebratory plaid dress is ironed and ready to go.

Say prayers to David Bowie before lights out.

"You're Raising Your Trans Child Wrong." Sincerely, the Internet

Hi there. I'm the mother of a transgender child and the spouse of a transgender woman.

I choose to share parts of our family's story because it gives people an inside look into what it's like to learn someone you love is trans (or, in my case, two someones), support them through transition, and come to the realization everyone is better off when people can just be themselves (go figure.)

I believe the more connected a person feels to a community they don't belong to, the fewer misconceptions they have about that community, and the more learning and acceptance can take place.

This kind of advocacy work - writing, talking, sharing - is how I try to make the lives of my loved ones and their community a little easier in the long run. Change minds, change hearts, make the world safer. That's the goal. 

But talking about trans issues - unfortunately, still a hotly debated topic - leaves us open to criticism, bigotry and outright hatred. We occasionally get threats, which is not the most pleasant experience. But mostly, we just get emails and tweets and Facebook comments about how we've got it all wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Especially when it comes to how we choose to support our daughter. It seems everyone has an opinion about how to raise trans kids - especially people who have never done it themselves.

These people - always folks who don't know us in person, by the way - kindly and not-so-kindly like to inform me that supporting trans youth by allowing them to live as the gender they identify as is wrong.

And the whole "trans experience"? The idea of actually being trans? That's apparently wrong too. They feel I should know that. I've been misinformed, you see. Trans people are actually just confused or mentally ill, or a host of other things.

What things?

Lots of things!

What's happening, according to the kind folks who are trying to educate poor, misinformed me, ranges from our crappy parenting skills to what I was thinking when I was pregnant. Here's a quick tour of some of the "reasons" folks have used to explain why my child identifies as a gender other than the one she was assigned at birth:

 

Bad parenting

We are bad parents. Like not purposefully bad, of course. We're not monsters or anything. Folks are quite sure we mean well.

We just did everything wrong from the start, that's all. We must have been overly-permissive, or too liberal in our thinking, or we confused our child because we didn't set strict enough gender roles. "This is for boys. You are a boy. Be a boy. Here are some testosterone-infused mini-muffins for snack time. Now go outside and wrestle the wildlife." 

Or perhaps we went the other way entirely, where we were too rigid in gender roles and couldn't accept our child was a more "feminine boy." So she got confused, you see, and this lead to a catastrophic situation where she's now happily living life as a girl.

Given that we have three kids and must have made these mistakes with all of them, I'll have to check in with our two sons and see when they plan on transitioning. I'm sure it's just a matter of time before the confusion sets in.

Good thing, too. It's been a while since I wrote a big coming out post on here. Those get so much traction.  

 

The "Transgender Agenda"

Apparently, this is like the Gay Agenda (which I've been informed is destroying the sanctity of family.) It's a real shame, since the Gay Agenda itself is quite lovely. My friend Jenn sent me a copy a few months ago and I've been using it to plan out my meals as well the inevitable destruction of all the values you hold dear. 

"Accidental Lesbian Edition"

Anyway, it seems the Transgender Agenda - or Transgenda, which is what it would be called if bigots had more imagination - is leading to an unfortunate level of societal acceptance and understanding. This, in turn, is causing young people to follow a terrible path where they finally get to live as their true selves in a way that feels right to them.

If only we could stop listening to transgender people and all their lived experience, and instead listen to people who have strong opinions about an experience they've never lived.

 

"Maybe you really wanted a girl when you were pregnant, so the baby changed to make you happy." 

Seems legit.

 

Anime

This one is new to me. It seems that young men are getting confused by the heavy focus on feminine characters in anime and that's leading them to question their own gender.

Once I found that out, I immediately went to talk to my twenty-year-old son, the only one in our household who watches anime. I'm worried. Despite his straight, cisgender appearance, he must be terribly closeted.

He denies it, but I'm going to keep an eye on him. Poor thing.

 

Low Quality Foods

Still my favourite reason, and by far the most plausible.

Do you know how many times I skipped adding a vegetable to the dinner plate? Too many times. And now look what happened: My kid is all comfortable with who she is. 

And probably low in vitamin A.

Not Letting Jesus/The Lord/The Holy Spirit Into Our Hearts

Well, that explains why there are no devout Christian LGBTQ people. At all. In the whole world.

And why the "pray away the gay" approach is so effective.

And other things I could make up that are about as true as the original statement.

I asked some other parents of trans kids what reasons they've been given for their children coming out. Here are some gems, shared with permission:

"She wanted to be more like her sisters." (Meanwhile, my daughter wanted to... what? Stand out from her brothers? Maybe we could pick one judgmental, factually-unsound theory and stick to it?)

"You just really wanted a boy/a girl."

"It's easier for you to accept a trans daughter than a gay son." (Sure. Because people who would have a hard time accepting a gay child would have no problem accepting a trans child and all the changes in names/pronouns/ID/social support/medical support that comes with that.)

"I don't care what you read on the internet, it's wrong to try to turn him into a girl." (Still trying to turn my house into a beach house. It'll happen. If I can persuade my child to fundamentally be someone she isn't, I can do this.)

"It's the gluten." (It's always the gluten.)

"Because you're a feminist so you must hate men and your child picked up on that." (Hating men is totally what feminism is all about!, says no one who actually understands feminism.)

"Because you want to create conflict with your ex-spouse so you confused your child into transition." (Hey, why not? Custody issues are so affordable and comfortable, after all.)

"Are you sure this isn't another phase like Pokemon was?" (Oh, Anime. You're everywhere.)

And on, and on. 

Look, here's the thing: It's okay to have an opinion on something. But it's better to have an informed opinion, especially if you want to share it with those who have lived experience in that something.

I've spent nearly three years now learning about trans issues from my wife and daughter, from hundreds of people in the trans community, and from experts around the world with years of experience working alongside the community they support.

I know where to find the latest research and what older research has been debunked (like the 80% "desist" rate in trans kids - the article people love to throw at affirming parents.) 

Basically, I have a great deal invested in understanding trans issues, have devoted much of my life these days to understanding them, and I still don't claim to know everything. Not even close. And I would never claim being trans isn't a real or valid experience just because I've never experienced it. It wouldn't make sense for me to do so. 

So chances are, if you are not trans or non/binary, not an educated family member, or not an expert in the study of gender dysphoria - if you are simply someone who has an opinion and has read a few articles you feel back that opinion up - what you have to say isn't going to hold much water with the rest of us.

Instead of your opinion, I welcome your questions, your openness, and your concerns.

I welcome discussion and learning.

I welcome misconceptions and the opportunity to talk about them.

But if you're just going to tell me I'm wrong in supporting my child or my spouse in being who they are, I'm not going to pay you much mind. Sorry. (Sorry for saying sorry, I'm Canadian.)

Either be willing to learn with us, or just don't show up. It's that simple. Because we won't be serving any testosterone-injected mini muffins at this party.

3 Steps to Being a Good Person in a Not-So-Good Time

I've read and listened to a lot of disturbing accounts of hatred since Trump's surprise (to most of us) win.

Whether you blame Trump directly for inciting this hatred or not, the fact exists these crimes are on the rise since the U.S. election. 

And they're not just happening in America, my friends. There is a surge of bigotry around the world right now, including in my country of Canada, a place known worldwide for its tolerance and kindness.

I love my country very much. I'm proud of it; even more so today with our new progressive and open-minded government. But these hate crimes don't surprise me. As much as I feel generally safe here as a queer woman living quite publicly in a family with two trans people in it, I know intolerance is bubbling just under the surface. And when given a chance, like it has this week, it will spill out in toxic puddles everywhere. 

The truth is, those of us in marginalized communities are not safe.

And some are less safe than others. I'm one of the lucky ones. Being white and cisgender (not trans), I have more safety in my everyday life than some of my friends and family do. You wouldn't know I was in a same-sex marriage unless I told you. You wouldn't know I have trans family members I advocate alongside unless you've seen some of the work I've done. This means I can pass under the radar more than many other people.

But with that safety comes responsibility. I feel passionately about this. And since I also feel passionately about every space being a safe space for every person, I have some simple rules I play by to try and make the world a little better. 

This list is by no means complete. You will find some lists online on being a great ally that are far more comprehensive. Consider this my simple foundation. It's like when I just wear mascara to the grocery store because I can't be bothered to do eyeliner and stuff. It's just bagels, not a gala.

Three rules. Every day. Here they are.

1. If I see hatred in progress, I will intervene.

Today I read about a trans woman in Toronto who was assaulted and mocked while a group of people simply watched. Nobody helped her. Nobody stood up for her. And while she's been given a clean physical bill of health, the emotional scars will take much longer to heal.

As someone who was once bullied, beaten and even set on fire at one point, I can't stand to see another person being victimized. So I vow to stand up to the bullies. Stand with the victim. Deescalate the situation. Call for help. I will do whatever I can. But I will do something.

And yes, this includes the racist joke my friend makes, or the family member spouting homophobic rhetoric at Thanksgiving dinner (I don't have one of those, thankfully, but you know what I mean.) All of it matters.

2. I will not assume that just because it's not a problem for me, it's not a problem for others.

As it's been explained to me, privilege is all but invisible to those who have it. I see that now, because I've lost some of mine.

When I was a living a typical suburban existence - along with the person I thought was my husband and our "three boys" - I automatically related everything back to that type of existence. Hetero, nuclear, typical, acceptable.

And relating to the world through our own lens is a normal part of the human existence. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's just how we're built.

But if we want to practice empathy and understanding, we need to think outside of ourselves. I had this conversation with a group of women recently who are all married to men. I brought up travel, and how we now need to be much more careful about where we vacation, as our very existence is barely tolerated in some areas and downright illegal in others. They had never considered that; they just book vacations. It's all about overall safety (crime rates) and affordability for them. They don't have to worry about being refused service at a restaurant or told they can't use the washroom. It's much more complicated with my family these days.

So I try to remember that some people navigate the world with more challenges than I do. I consider them when I vote, both with my ballot and with my wallet. Politicians who preach inclusiveness earn my support, as do companies who adopt inclusive policies and train their staff.

At the end of the day, it's going to be the more privileged among us who will make these changes happen by numbers alone. 

3. I will strive to learn whatever I can about people I know little about.

I'm going to admit something here: I used to be a little, uh, afraid of trans people. Yep. There, I said it. 

I know, right?!

Not on purpose, but as a result of ignorance. I just didn't know any trans people, and what society had taught me up until the time Alexis came out wasn't the full picture, and was pretty inaccurate. I never judged trans people, I just didn't understand them. And that lack of understanding made me uncomfortable and wary. 

And then Alexis told me she was trans. Suddenly, one of the people I love to the moon and back needed my understanding, so I had to school myself - fast. It's a good thing I did, too, because finding out I had a wife 18 months later might not have gone over so well if I hadn't. 

What I've learned through all this is impossible to put down in a single blog post, so I won't bother trying. But the short of it is, I realized knowledge brings us closer. The more we know about people who are different from us, the more we realize they're not so different. There are far more commonalities than anything, which leaves me feeling less afraid, less wary, less uncomfortable. 

When people hate, it's often because they don't understand. And I'm not excusing that hate away by any means, because hating others is a decision we don't have to make. Ever. Buried beneath that hatred often lies fear and/or judgment stemming from a lack of knowledge. Just like a scared or confused person feeling their way through the dark could benefit from a light switch, people afraid or standing in judgment of other people could benefit from an education. 

And so while I'm not a hateful person, I can sometimes be a wary one, and that's why I learn. I learn about different races, different faiths. I learn about mental health and invisible illnesses, about people with disabilities and about neurodiversity. When people offer up their knowledge, I eat it up like I'm at a buffet. The more I know, the less I fear and the closer I feel to all people - not just the people most like me. 

*****

Like I said before, this list is by no means complete. It's just the late-night ramblings of a woman who saw a little too much of the awful this week and wanted to put a little good out there. 

Look, we're not going to solve the problems of the world overnight. But if each of stood up us more often, thought outside of ourselves more often and kept an open mind more often, we could create the type of world where a woman isn't pushed into wet cement and laughed at.

It's entirely possible, and it begins with us.

So let's begin.