One Step at a Time

Catching up on the path of connection.

Photo by Eric TERRADE on Unsplash

Hello readers! I’m still here, though it’s been almost a year since I’ve written a post.

I’m writing now to share what’s been happening with my daughter — a trans-identified 25 year old woman who took on a male name and male pronouns about two years ago. I’ve written about my struggles to stay connected with her while staying true to my own values. I discovered I could choose a third path — not affirmation, not denial — and called it the path of connection. I was terrified of losing her, of course, but I also knew I could not affirm the new gender identity for many reasons that I have written about.

Most of all, I wanted to keep her in my life — she’s my beloved child, no matter how she upsets or infuriates me — so I can continue to guide her through this difficult time. Family estrangement is increasingly common, and I’m sensitive to readers who are suffering the devastating, ambiguous loss that, at least for now, I’ve been spared.

So what’s new? Somehow, miraculously, my daughter has found a way to integrate her new gender identity with a life that includes us — parents who don’t affirm this identity, who disagree with her worldview on gender ideology, who know she suffers from a mood disorder, who believe womanhood encompasses non-conforming experiences.

I’m here to say to my readers — all of this is very hard work, but the pay off is worth it.

She continues to hold the trans identity, and, at the same time, our relationship is strong. And while conversations are sometimes strained, we seem to have mutually decided that we can both live that discomfort.

She has not medicalized. She has made peace, for now, with social transition only. She has not shared with me her reasons for not medicalizing — and she has occasionally hinted that the door is still open. But I feel relatively confident that this version of her is satisfying her.

As I’ve written, I had sent her letters, shared my research, and framed cross-sex hormones as trauma to her body. I spoke her language, and somehow got through. She no longer talks of T or any other medical interventions, and I now believe she would ask my input if she were to start taking medicine for this or anything else. (I could be wrong, of course, but that’s my intuition.)

What does our relationship look like now?

We meet her for dinner, we ask about her hobbies, we bite our tongues when the girlfriend calls her “he,” we leave gender alone as a topic, we share things about our life and work, we invite her to hike, we share memories of her as a child, sometimes send her old photos of funny moments and good times that we know she agrees were good. We look for ways support her in all ways but gender.

She sees our efforts. She has noted it. She says I’m sometimes too much, even as I hide most of my worry, and I have to scale back. I have learned that this is something I can do.

And what does she do? She visits, introduces us to her girlfriend, walks the dog, does her laundry, calls her sister for relationship help, leaves her cat with us when she travels, shares details about her job, asks our opinion on big decisions, calls us for help with a tax form, expresses gratitude that she has a loving family.

Yes, reader, that last part really happened.

It happened again recently, over July 4th weekend. Despite the conflict that we know is coming — over pronouns again, but I’ll say more in a second — she visited while her sisters were here. We had a lazy, low-key afternoon and evening, and she left the next morning. (There was a time when she wouldn’t sleep in our house.)

But this time, she and her sisters and friends were talking about where their friends were living, where they all wanted to end up — city? country? farm? suburb? New England? New York? Pacific northwest? Of course, I want them all near me, but I just listened, and what I heard was a gift.

She said, yeah, I guess this is a pretty great area. It’s close to hiking, the city, the beach, and my amazing family. She repeated that last part.

Was she saying it to be social, because it was socially appropriate, I don’t know. But I heard it, and I am confident that the threat of estrangement has subsided — even as we have new complications and conflicts coming our way…

* * *

When I became a grandmother last year, my daughter asked that she be called “Uncle.” I pushed back and suggested a nickname, which she accepted. She loves seeing our little toddler now — and is wonderful, warm, and easygoing around him.

What will happen when he starts speaking and uses female pronouns for her? He seems to understand she is a woman — he pulled at her shirt, as he does to me and his other aunt, saying boob and mischievously looking for milk (which he knows he only gets from his mother). And we casually use female pronouns while talking about her when she’s not there.

If he says “she” about her in front of her, will she correct him? Will she ask us to? Would she do that to a toddler? Will she see that it will confuse him? Will she have an “aha” moment about how to be in the world?

I admit that an earlier version of myself would have latched onto this problem. It would have wrung me out. I would have probably written several posts about it! But the new version of me is going to wait and see.

I have some hope — maybe I’m being overly optimistic — but there is a chance that she lets him use “she.” During a conversation a few months ago, when the topic of her future children came up, she said she would let her child choose Mama/she or Dada/he because — she said — she didn’t care. I explained how confusing that would be. She did not disagree. She was open to my suggestion that she know what she wants before she has children. But that is a topic for another day.

Hers is not an easy existence. She is highly functioning, but it takes a lot of energy to be her. With her mood disorder, small things can be a struggle — staying organized, making plans, staying steady when she has a small challenge. She is often overwhelmed by ordinary things, like a messy apartment or a sink full of dishes. Though last time I saw her she said — “you know what, I’m not going to catastrophize it. It’s messy but it’s not that messy.” I was heartened. We gave her some gloves to make the dish washing experience better.

I’m at times encouraged by her adaptive strategies. But is the trans identity a maladaptive strategy? I would say it is, but the culture so embraces it that to her, it must seem positive.

Often when she comes to visit, it’s to rest. I love having her nearby, and I consciously relax into knowing that — for the moment —she is under my roof, she is safe, and she trusts me. For now, that has to be enough.

* * *

I write this all as encouragement to parents who are going through similar challenges with their adult children. It’s not easy, and I am still learning, practicing gratitude, and getting better at accepting her choices, even when I think they are harmful to herself.

I work hard to focus on what is going well. Every day, I’m grateful for the blessing of being her mother. She was a spunky, intense, and irreverent child — caring and often hilarious to be around. This is still who she is.

Even as her challenges have wrecked me, they have also helped me find faith and grow into a more expansive version of myself that I didn’t know existed.