On the heels of my courageous son

So, this is a wild story. I was pregnant with my youngest, and still working in the corporate world. One day I waddled into the kitchen and got to talking with a fellow pregnant co-worker. At the time Caitlyn Jenner had recently transitioned and she was all over the news. I guffawed at the hub-bub over her transition. I turned to my co-worker and cracked wise: “For crying out loud, what’s the big deal? Either of these babies we’re carrying could be trans!” The look she shot me told me everything I ever needed to know about her. It was at once a mix of hostility and shock, as if I’d cursed her unborn child. No sooner was I absorbing that, when a voice - like a little bird - appeared in my mind and said: “you’re talking about yourself”. Needless to say I was stunned and quickly batted this voice away. I was also still in the habit of ignoring and pushing off these little voices and visions and I carried on dutifully.

Fast forward to our sonogram appointment. My husband was driving and we were bantering about names. I was certain I was having a boy, who, according to Italian tradition, would be taking my Father in law’s name. So, I didn’t feel like trying too hard in the name generation game. Out of nowhere I heard the word that would become my [now] son’s name. I turned to my husband about a minute later and told him he’d come up with the perfect name. He gave me some side eye and gently corrected me. No, he told me, I had said the name. Huh? I was certain he’d said it. So, who used me to say that name? Who knows I thought, and I brushed that off too.

Finally, March rolled around and I rolled right along with it. The day was unseasonably warm and I met my brother in law at the park so all the cousins could play. I told him I was in labor, not feeling so hot, and very likely to give birth before the day was out. He asked me if I’d read the weather report that day, no I hadn’t. Apparently, that night was to be the biggest full moon in 18 years. Moon, the name of my child (in Italian) that I received many months earlier. Neat, I thought and again, I didn’t acknowledge the course I was on.

Sure enough, he arrived on March 19, 2011, close to 8 pm on a Supermoon, it felt like the largest moon I’d seen in my lifetime.

Baby pictures

For all that wonderful ramp up to his birth, he was a challenging baby. I know now in retrospect it’s largely because I didn’t know who he was (even though I’d been forewarned!). He was collically, hardly slept, and I felt broken. We muddled along and he just never seemed to find an even ground, which meant I didn’t either. When he was 2.5 years old he told me he was a boy in whatever toddler language he could muster. I was thunderstruck. I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t honor his identity from the start. I was midstream in that nasty chronic illness stuff and didn’t have the capacity to be me, much less help him navigate his identity. So, I stuck my head in the sand and of course everything got worse as it does when you're in denial. Night terrors, sleep walking, tantrums, despair are what followed for him. I was also met with a deeply disquieting feeling that my child may not be long for this world which I couldn’t seem to shake.

Finally, when he was 5, after he’d timidly told us a couple more times that he was a boy, I finally started to edge closer. I changed his wardrobe, he got all stereotypically boy themed toys for Christmas and quietly, just between us, I called him my son. One day, after school, I acknowledged how sad he was. I asked him if anyone at school knew that he was a boy. He said, “No, I have to keep my secret.” And that folks, is when it all came thundering in. I knew instantly that I was the source of his pain. I knew I was the problem. I knew that his “secret” and my denial would end him, slowly but surely. I grabbed him, held him tight and told him, “No, you don’t have to keep secrets. I’m going to fix this, I’m going to make a way for you”. And that was the beginning of his social transition (which amounts to a haircut and change of clothes).

It took time for him to trust this pivot that our family made. We immersed ourselves in beginning to understand being transgender meant. We discovered that gender identity forms as young as 2-3 years old. We learned that kids know who they are and when not affirmed we were setting our child for failure and worse. We got ourselves into a family support group. We go to events for kids and families like ours. And now, gratefully, he feels affirmed and seen for who he is. It's taken time for him to learn to feel safe in his body and in our family. I wish I had affirmed him sooner. But like I said, I wasn’t in the habit of listening to myself yet.

As he transitioned and grew comfortable over time, I also transitioned. It wasn’t a gender transition – but a new understanding of who I was. Last week I mentioned feeling comfortable in being unremarkable. I was now faced with the choice to embrace what made me remarkable and weird. I had loads of personal evidence for it. But not a lot of support, beyond my friendship with Marge. I took buckets of courage and sadly some losses. But like Maya Angelou said, I “wouldn’t take nothing for my journey now”.

So, how can I help you in your journey to weirdness. I promise it’s the most special part about you. I’m launching my Psychic Development Masterclass on March 29, and I’d love to have you along on the journey. Reply and let me know if you’d like to be a part of it.

*disclosure: I have my son’s complete permission to share this story. He knows that by revealing our story we have the opportunity to change hearts and minds. There is A LOT of anti-trans rhetoric targeting trans kids especially. It's my hope that in sharing our story, you come to better understand gender identity and the courage that’s required for these folks to become who they are. Below are some ideas on how you make a way for trans kids. Thank you.