| It’s About Love. And It’s Easy When It’s Your Child.
By Renata La Forgia
“No. There is nothing hard about accepting your child when they are most comfortable in their own skin. In fact, this kid has taught me more about empathy, self-love, and truth than any of my adult friends….most of them, at least.”
It’s true. When my child came out as trans, I was relieved. I saw an end to the curled-up nights of deep, gut-ripping tears—you know that cry—the one where they can barely breathe, don’t know what to do with their limbs, shaking–so they curl up and your own parent heart splits into a million fragments watching it…rubbing their shoulder, careful of your words. Trying not to join them.
His friends knew first. He was born with girl body parts—so, at birth, a female. Let’s call my child “Sam.” Sam was a happy child—an overthinker, animal nurturer, dancing spirit. From a young age, Sam loved music and the outdoors, and if you combined both, well, just wow! Pure delight. This is where you’re wondering…” Did Sam prefer typical “boy” clothes and rolling in the mud and throwing around baseballs?” And this is where I will gently stop you—those things are not gender specific like we’ve been forced to believe. I loved those things, and I am a cisgender straight woman. I preferred big, baggy clothes, chunky shoes, and playing sports with the boys over Barbies.
Here is what Sam loved—princess TV shows, dinosaur TV shows, pink, yellow, orange, purple, blue, swimming, fish, the ocean, and his friends– Her friends at the time, to remind you). The only thing that stood out as perhaps unique about Sam was his tendency to feel things deeply—love, sadness, nature’s wonders, injustice, and immense joy. We can say this about many children. Sam opted for ice cream parties, princess parties, pool parties, and everything in between. I also knew Sam was academically gifted. There was never a “clue” that my child was going to identify as transgender at age 14. I wasn’t looking. I was living. My husband, the same.
This seems silly, but I will say it anyway—even before children, my husband and I were staunch LGBTQ+ advocates, with so many queer friends of all loves, stripes, and polka dots. And from a young age, Sam knew our home carried no taboos, conservative standards, or beliefs. Sam knew it was safe without us saying it was safe. Perhaps safe is just an energy? Did we have religion in the house? Minimal. We prayed at night to someone. We talked about kindness and caring and empathy for those less fortunate. Sam even attended CCD for six years.
Right around Covid times, like many pre-teens, Sam experienced some serious isolation depression. I mean, it was the start of middle school. From home. From a screen. We immediately found a therapist who Sam met with regularly for about two years, until age 13 when he approached me: “Mommy. I have outgrown Linda. I want a new therapist.”
Remember when I told you this child was intuitive and gifted? I meant it. He knew. So we found a new therapist, and so his journey from his original gender identity to his current one began. And it was rocky. Internally rocky. Our parental love and support was steady and constant, but at times he was depressed. We had to let him go through all of the steps the way it was happening naturally.
It began with two things: a name and the hair. Sam was still the old name in our home. With our family, but I knew and heard friends in the whispers of the galleries calling Sam, Sam. I didn’t flinch. I even asked if we should use it, and he rejected that idea strongly. It felt like a nickname, and at this point, Sam’s creativity with wardrobe, artwork, school activities—it all fit together. I need to mention that I was never strict with how Sam expressed himself—eye makeup in middle school, big chunky boots, goth-phase jewelry. I allowed it. My mother was fairly free about it too, but less than me. As a sort of artist myself, there is nothing more suffocating than not being able to try on new looks. There is nothing worse than being told “you look silly” or “you look crazy.” Who gets to decide that? Now, understand, Sam chose more moderate approaches than you might be imagining. We were not showing body parts or too much skin this young. It was more lighthearted, in the vein of 80s punk rock or 80s Brit Pop.
The hair—he enjoyed it short most summers. “A little shorter mommy. Cut more.”
And he pulled it off well. And then some highlights. And then longer and more femme eye makeup. And then short again. There’s no real—“oh my gosh, he wants to be a boy.” Gender truly is a spectrum. We have to remember that this has been true since the beginning of people on Earth. If you’re interested in understanding/reading more, I can give you lists of books or articles that illustrate this, but I won’t offer the titles up front. That’s not what I’m here to say. This is about my child’s journey.
Eventually, after a couple of years of being called Sam by friends and then teachers….we got the letter. Sam wrote my husband and I a handwritten letter. Telling us that he’d like us to call him Sam with pronouns he/him. And lord above, was it mature and brave and full of self-awareness. Most adults could not have said it more succinctly and with a clear head.
There were hugs and nothing but love and understanding. I already know what many readers are thinking—will he want gender confirmation surgery? Frankly, it’s not your business. It will become our business if it’s something Sam wants to talk about in the years to follow. For now, we let him steer the conversation ship. And believe me, I am guilty of trying to ask too many questions. Then I stop when he says—“I don’t want to talk about this now.”
Here’s what I do know:
- My child is happier than I have ever seen him.
- My child is doing well in school.
- My child has a VERY supportive circle of friends and even outer circles.
- My child stands tall and knows who he is for now.
- My child is allowed to change his mind or not.
- My child treats others with compassion,
- We love our child, and his sibling is probably his biggest cheerleader.
If anything, I hope this essay removes an ounce of fear or bias or anything like it. Every child’s journey will vary, and the journey, like EVERY human being, will be lifelong.
Am I worried about his safety? Not daily in the atmosphere he is currently in, but I will be once he is in the big wide world. Isn’t this the same as all parents?
At the same time, I see his solid judgment to surround himself in the safest spaces with safest people possible.
Renata lives in Rhode Island where she hikes and bakes.
“I think we all are born inside of our parents’ narratives. We stay there for a good while. We are taught their narratives about everything: their marriage, the world, God, gender, identity, etcetera. Then, at some point, our own narrative develops too much integrity to live inside that story. We don’t ever fully escape it, but we move into our own stories.”
Melissa Febos |
