Tending the Path

And moving past an impasse

Photo by Stephen Ellis on Unsplash

My young adult daughter is entrenched; she is holding tightly to the trans identity. I can see that this is going to be long-term circumstance.

I remind myself that walking the path of connection means taking one step at a time. I remember that the obstacle is the path. The obstacle might be anger, fear, exhaustion, pain, or a sense of futility, any of which might hinder forward motion. And the path of connection, I’m discovering, requires constant tending.

Recently, I encountered a significant challenge on my path. Late at night, while I was in bed, my daughter called to tell me that she could not come home for the upcoming Jewish holidays because she needs to hear her chosen pronouns. (The Jewish holidays are important to our family; they start with Rosh Hashannah, the start of a new year according to the Jewish calendar, and we celebrate with a festive and joyous meal.) My daughter knew that making this announcement was a big deal. I did my best to be patient, even though I had been minutes from sleep. I tried to reorient myself to the challenge and the powerful feelings it drew from me.

I want to describe how the conversation unfolded over the next few days, not to chronicle the dialogue, but rather to offer a glimpse into how I found myself embracing the challenge, and then meeting the current demands of mothering my adult trans-identified child.

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Initially, my daughter said she could not come because she could not be around people who didn’t respect her, and that hearing the correct pronouns, for her, was an issue of basic dignity. In her view, even though I claim to respect her, I am showing her that I do not when I don’t use her preferred pronouns; she said that I am denying her dignity.

I listened carefully and gave her space when she paused. I then said that I know she is trans, that I accept her choices even when I don’t agree with them, that she is an autonomous adult, and that I use her chosen name to show her that I see her. I reminded her that I am not using the wrong pronoun because I do not want to misgender her, so I avoid pronouns. She said this makes her feel like a ghost in the silence. I reminded her that she knows she is not a ghost, despite feeling like one.

I also told her, perhaps more boldly and explicitly than before, that I need to be authentic to myself in the same way that she is working on being authentic to herself. I told her I can not use male pronouns because I know she is female.

She was very upset by this. She said that I “knew better” than to use the word “male” to describe pronouns; the “correct” way to refer to those pronouns is “masculine.” She knows me well enough to know that I was deliberately using the term “male pronouns” instead of “masculine pronouns.” We didn’t get too in depth into gender ideology this time, but I will continue to call them “male” pronouns because males are men, and the pronouns we use for men arise out of their maleness, not their qualities of masculinity.

I also shared with her my view on the issue of respect. I said that when she tells me I don’t respect her, it just does not compute. I re-told the story of being her mother, from carrying her in my body to supporting her academically, emotionally, socially, and spiritually, and cheering her on. I told her, as her grandmother says, I’m her biggest fan. I told her I was proud of her and that I adore her.

She then texted me then, I love you. And she noted that we were at an impasse over pronouns. She was deeply troubled by the impasse, as though it were an unbridgeable rift; she seemed worried about what it meant for her and our family. But I did not pay it much heed.

Instead, I said, yes, we are at an impasse over pronouns. I feel sad about that, but it’s okay. I told her she belonged here, with her loving supportive family. (I also said that this is an important issue, but it is not an urgent issue.) And I expressed a need to soften around this issue with each other. The holiday was coming, and we could celebrate together, and if she chose not to come, I would understand.

And then, over the course of a few days, something shifted for her. She decided to come home.

Our evening was lovely. We dipped apples in honey to welcome a sweet new year. We shared about our lives and the news. We cared for our elderly dog. And afterward, she stayed the night, which she had previously said she would not do. When she touched her sister’s pregnant belly and said she was looking forward to being an uncle, I was able to breathe and ignore the comment; I chose to think of that as a conversation that can wait for another day. Overall, I felt rewarded by the episode because she was able to move past her discomfort over language in order to connect with our family and our traditions.

And a day or two later, I had a glimpse into the even richer fabric of life that my approach was enabling: she called me to thank me.

She told me she was grateful for the lovely evening I made for the family. She said she was amazed and humbled by my generosity. She apologized for “dragging me through” her negativity and giving me a hard time about coming. She asked if she should have left me out of that difficult experience, and I said no, I was glad she shared her experiences with me. She actually said, “I don’t know how you do what you do…” I told her I was just happy she came and loved having her here.

So we had faced an impasse, which brought up anger, isolation and fear for her. But I chose to move around the impasse, to treat it as smaller than she thought it was. That treatment opened pathways, both for her and for me. Insisting on love, warmth, and authenticity helped to defuse the power of the impasse. And I think it helped that I gave her space not to come, if that was what she thought was best. I wonder if maybe she has some quiet doubt about her pronouns. Or maybe she is just tolerating me.

What I do know is that we both did what we needed to do for our relationship. We tended the path with both courage and softness, so that we could move forward.

I realized also that I was modeling for her how to be loving, truthful, and kind when facing obstacles. I was becoming the mother she needed me to be. My life is richer because of how I have learned to approach obstacles with my daughter. And I think, so is hers.

There are good days and bad days, of course. For me, the path of connection does not provide a shortcut for cutting out the bad. Instead, it is an idea, a framework, for turning the bad into a possibility for good.