Writer’s block. Already, and I’ve only just begun. And in that lies the problem. I want so badly to tell the world my story, but what is my story? When did it begin? Where did it begin? Who did it begin with and how did it begin?
Did this journey begin today as I write this? No. I don’t believe so. Or perhaps it did, but needed to happen a long, long time ago. That’s it. It began a long time ago, in a person far, far away …
I wasn’t always a cool cucumber, and I’m not sure I am always now either. In fact, I know I’m not. Right now I’m terrified. Frightfully I tell you this story that began so long ago and has been needing to be told for almost as long. I’m terrified that what I’m about to tell you might just Blow. Your. Mind. I’m terrified you’ll hate me and say horrific things to me. I’m scared to death you might just like me, or even grow to love me. And just when you think you couldn’t love me anymore, F-BOMB! That *beeeep* said, WHAT?! And then you’ll hate me and say hateful things to me. The worst though is that you’ll hate on my kid after I tell you about the journey we began together when he was but a wee babe in my womb. And I’m terrified I’ll rip you to shreds for it.
But as we all must eventually, I have chosen to confront my fears, swallow my pride and let it go. I know if you hate on us, you do so because of your assumptions, not because you know us. If you did, I assure you, hatred isn’t ever something we cause. We’re lovers of humanity, though we’re pretty tough on injustice most of the time. But we’re fair, and all we ask is that you be fair to us in turn. Now, sit back, relax and enjoy the ride down my memory lane as I embark on a journey wrought with fear, guilt, anger, and pain only to find peace, joy and love. Always love.
In March of 2001 a bald, baby girl was brought by me screaming into this world. She was feisty, tough and anything a boy could do, she could do better. Fast forward to today. I no longer have a daughter. I have a son. And I am okay with that. Two sons is better than one and no daughter, don’t ya think? I do. I really do. I can’t imagine my life without him in it, honestly. My bright spot on a cold gray day, my boy is kind, gentle, funny (no, not funny – hilarious) and helpful. He loves football, but basketball is his real sport. He’s going to be eligible for sports at school next year for the first time. He tells everyone he is a boy, told his brother 2 years before he told me that he wanted to start living fully as a boy and came out to my best friend on a camping trip. My best friend convinced him to tell me. All I could do is hug him, wrap my hands in his long hair and say, “I know, babe. I know.” I kicked myself. Because later I thought of all kinds of tongue-in-cheek responses he would’ve laughed at. Like: Shall we chop off all this hair then? Or are you going to be a long-haired hippie boy? Ooh, or a rocker? Chicks dig rockstars. Before coming out to me that he was really a boy, he identified as a lesbian. I was told by people at the local Boys & Girls Club that he was passing notes to a little girl and it made her uncomfortable because back then he was living as a female still. I handled that one better, but I don’t think it sunk in totally that I was okay with that when I said, “Well, I guess they don’t realize that some girls like girls, and that’s okay.” I got a giggle. What I didn’t know was that my child had identified as a boy long before he actually told me he was a boy. I had a fairly rough year one year and I went seeking support and reassurance from a dear aunt of mine. She and I got to talking about my son and what she told me totally Blew. My. Mind. “D told me a long time ago, ‘God got it wrong, I’m supposed to be a boy.’ I bet you didn’t know that, did you?” I didn’t. Sadly, I wasn’t always mother-of-the-year award material. In fact, quite the opposite. Very uptight. Very anxious. Very depressed. Very angry. Getting a nice picture of me, huh? Yes, I was a total jerk a lot of times. I’ve learned to let go of a lot the past 5 years, and I think that’s why it took him so long to tell me.
This journey we are about to embark on is about me. My experience as a mom. My experience getting over physical and emotional abuse. Overcoming depression. Overcoming anxiety. And coming to the realization that the Universe knows what the hell it’s doing. I went through 31 years of crap – much self-inflicted – so I could be prepared to face this journey with my son. I learned things in the past five years that allow me to be okay and not sink back down if someone hates me for what I’m about to share and says something ugly. I’ll handle it. I might stew for a few days before I can process, but I’ll deal with it. I’m finally ready. This feels good. I’ve so long wanted to be supportive and use his real gender identity. But I was frightened. And then some dear friends reminded me of who I am. So, here I am. Love it, or hate it, I won’t regret doing this. Ever.