I am having the very hardest time with pronouns. It is making me hate myself. I just want to cry every time I say "he" but I feel like I can't say "she" without someone making a big deal of it.
SEE! You DID want him to be a girl! This IS your fault! You DID do something to cause it!
It is all. your. fault.
Nobody actually says that. Just the voice in my head, and I hate that voice. So very much.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Catching Up
As a precursor to this entry, I'd like to say something about pronouns. TK has told me this week that she has decided that "girls are better" (at what, I don't know) and that she has decided she is going to be a girl for this school year. Based on what our therapist has told me lately, this type of announcement is to be expected. It could be TK's way of saying she wants to be a girl full-time, but is still afraid of total commitment. On that note, most of the kids in her class believe she is a girl and she has asked me to use female pronouns when school friends are around. Because of that, I am going to try my damnedest to use female pronouns on this blog, in hopes that writing it will help my mouth say the right thing. It's a hard thing, changing pronouns. Give it a shot sometime. Talk about your child in the opposite pronoun. It is not easy to break that habit.
So I've been glued to Orange Is the New Black lately. It took awhile for me to warm up to what I viewed as glorified porn in the pilot, but for anyone as put off as I was, stick with it. It's well worth it. Don't get me wrong, I'm no prude. I just think that if you're gonna watch/read porn, do it. Don't wrap it up in a pretty title and call it literature or a simple tv show. I'm looking at you, 50 Shades! Pft....literature! Puh-lease!
Anyway, so Orange. It took me 6 weeks to get around to watching episode 2, and 6 days to finish season 1. The reason I'm writing about it here is Sophia Burset, played by the lovely Laverne Cox. I'm probably a total child but I think it's teehee hilarious that a trans woman has the surname Cox. Teehee! But seriously, near the beginning of the season, one episode focused on Sophia's past, namely on her transition from big burly fireman to svelte and sexy woman. This alone touched me, as the idea of someone in a career like firefighting must go through hell to make that transition. However, what really struck home was Sophia's wife. There is a scene (this isn't really a spoiler...I hope) where her wife is eagerly waiting to see a new outfit Sophia is trying on. Cowboy boots and a mini skirt. The wife tells Sophia it's not working and Sophia pouts like a lost little girl. This 6 foot something firefighter pouts like a girl and says she never got to dress like a teenager. Her wife tells her she never will and finds a classy dress for Sophia to try on. It was this entire poignant moment that portrayed the agony of Sophia's transition, that of the wife being encourage while still hurt and confused, and of the pain of their relationship changing, mixed with the happiness of Sophia finally being herself. Tears rolled down my face.
TK is 8, in 3rd grade. She wears tutus and sparkly skirts, glitter shoes, bedazzled pants, and leopard print leggings. She dresses like a kindergartner. She stands out like a sore thumb against the other 3rd grade girls. A very glittery sore thumb. She doesn't seem to notice or care. It is obvious though, that she missed that stage and is making up for it now. I am just so glad that she's catching up now in 3rd grade, and not later when she's 35. I can't even begin to imagine. I can't fathom what it would be like to go through this as an adult. Right now, TK is a child. She is ever-changing and growing, learning and failing, figuring out who she is. To do that now means that hardly anyone outside our family will remember this transition. Hell, she may not even remember it that clearly. As an adult, everyone would remember and it'd hurt over and over as she ran into people she hadn't seen in years. I've been told so many times that she is so lucky to go through this now, that we as a family are lucky, that it is easier. I don't think I've believed it before but I most certainly do now. Between being told off last week by a parent of a trans man about how "easy" I had it, (oh yeah, that happened) and watching this episode, I've seen how true it is. I'm thankful that TK has been able to do this so young and I have to say that although it seems like the biggest hurdle in the world, I know that no matter how it ends up, this period of her life will fade in everybody's memory and whoever she is at 35 won't be affected by who she is today.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Cass Stage 5
If you have never heard of the Cass Identity Model, it is a neat little collection of the 6 steps of coming out. While usually meant for gay people, it can also be applied to transgender people. Much like the steps you hear about for the grieving process, the Cass stages go through confusion (or denial), comparison, tolerance, and acceptance. However, it doesn't stop at acceptance. Stage 5 of the Cass model is pride. I'm not talking about walking around with self-esteem or anything mundane like that. No people, this is the LGBT community we are talking about. It's not just pride.
It's PAH-RIDE!!!!!!
*sparkle, sparkle*
*sparkle, sparkle*
I remember when we first started therapy, we were new to the acceptance stage and trying to just deal with the idea of having to explain TK to others. I asked if this would ever become something that just was part of our lives, something that wasn't a big deal, that wasn't part of our conversation several times a day, something that we just lived with without all the focus. The answer I got was a resounding YES! I breathed a sigh of relief, but then the therapist told me to enjoy this stage because in between acceptance and synthesis is pride. Big fat rainbow-tutu'd, getting interviewed by drag queens, gold glitter highlights in the hair PRIDE!
TK jumped into the pride stage with aplomb. No, he didn't jump, he sashayed. In fact, he's still riding that pride wave high. Today was his first day of 3rd grade. I have been nervous about it all summer. Last week, the county was awesome enough to go into his school and give an LGBT training to the teachers. It got some pretty good reception so I was a bit hopeful that this year would be different from the train wreck of last year. New school (because the school is split at 2nd grade, not because we changed schools), new teachers, new principal. But the same kids. The same students who have known TK since kindergarten...the kids who know he is a boy.
TK waltzed onto that campus this morning in his leopard print leggings, glittery top, and pigtails streaming. Four pigtails, actually. Can't pass up an opportunity to be different. He walked right into his classroom, hung up his Hello Kitty backpack and lunchbox, and said hi to all his old classmates. Some of them recognized him, some didn't. Some gave him a long look, others didn't blink an eye. But, none of that mattered because he was on top of the world and this is going to be his year.
As I went to leave, TK told me he wanted female pronouns. I don't know if he meant at school or everywhere and I haven't had the chance to bring it up but, he did tell me that everyone called him "she" at school. However, that's not the most exciting thing. To me, the best part of the day was when my 6th grader said he saw TK coming out of the bathroom. He used the bathroom! At school! He hasn't done this in a very long time. Yay for the pride stage! If it means my son is happy and comfortable in who he is, I'm happy to let the flamboyant dress-up and outlandish hair-do's last as long as he needs them to.
And although I am looking forward to the synthesis stage, I kind of want to hang onto my baby's male pronouns for a bit in the meantime. I've read about how parents of trans children feel like they've lost a son or daughter and I never understood, until now. Hearing other people call TK "she" regularly now, a part of me dies inside every time I hear it. He is my baby. He's my last child. He's my little boy. Only...I'm not sure he is my little boy, or ever really has been. He may actually be that daughter I've always wanted.
 |
| TK (left) & his cousin |
TK jumped into the pride stage with aplomb. No, he didn't jump, he sashayed. In fact, he's still riding that pride wave high. Today was his first day of 3rd grade. I have been nervous about it all summer. Last week, the county was awesome enough to go into his school and give an LGBT training to the teachers. It got some pretty good reception so I was a bit hopeful that this year would be different from the train wreck of last year. New school (because the school is split at 2nd grade, not because we changed schools), new teachers, new principal. But the same kids. The same students who have known TK since kindergarten...the kids who know he is a boy.
TK waltzed onto that campus this morning in his leopard print leggings, glittery top, and pigtails streaming. Four pigtails, actually. Can't pass up an opportunity to be different. He walked right into his classroom, hung up his Hello Kitty backpack and lunchbox, and said hi to all his old classmates. Some of them recognized him, some didn't. Some gave him a long look, others didn't blink an eye. But, none of that mattered because he was on top of the world and this is going to be his year.
As I went to leave, TK told me he wanted female pronouns. I don't know if he meant at school or everywhere and I haven't had the chance to bring it up but, he did tell me that everyone called him "she" at school. However, that's not the most exciting thing. To me, the best part of the day was when my 6th grader said he saw TK coming out of the bathroom. He used the bathroom! At school! He hasn't done this in a very long time. Yay for the pride stage! If it means my son is happy and comfortable in who he is, I'm happy to let the flamboyant dress-up and outlandish hair-do's last as long as he needs them to.
And although I am looking forward to the synthesis stage, I kind of want to hang onto my baby's male pronouns for a bit in the meantime. I've read about how parents of trans children feel like they've lost a son or daughter and I never understood, until now. Hearing other people call TK "she" regularly now, a part of me dies inside every time I hear it. He is my baby. He's my last child. He's my little boy. Only...I'm not sure he is my little boy, or ever really has been. He may actually be that daughter I've always wanted.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
My son is one cool chick
"Which one is your son?" he asked.
I smiled and turned to my friend. "He wants to know which one is my son."
We laughed and I turned back to the stranger, pointing out my son, who sat across the room. "There. The one in the pink dress and braids."
I braced myself for the backlash.
He squinted, finding my son. "Wow. What an awesome kid!"
I let out the breathe I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Phew! Confrontation averted. My son saw us smiling and looking at him. TK waved enthusiastically, his multitude of tiny braids shaking down his back.
I was asked recently if I could remember when "all this" started. When did you first notice your son was...different? Well, that depends. When did we first become aware that he felt different, or when did he actually start feeling it? Because the answers are years apart. He has only changed his clothing recently. But, if I really think about it, the signs have been there all along. When he learned to talk at 3, he insisted he was a girl. Assuming he was just having vocabulary issues, I corrected him until he gave in. During a bath a year or two ago, he told Daddy that he wished he could switch between boy and girl. And of course, there's his penchant for nail polish, long hair, and running around the playground in the midst of a pack of girls. It doesn't really matter how long he has been like this, all that matters is that he's allowed to explore it to the fullest. As long as TK's allowed to be whoever he is, I can hope it makes up for years of us blindly brushing all the signs away.
You see, the thing with my son is that everyone wants to put him in a box. There is no box. He is simply himself. While he technically fits under the transgender umbrella, he hasn't yet figured out where on the spectrum he fits. It's been hard enough to wrap my own head around that without showing my frustration, I'm always shocked when a perfect stranger can. I'm even more shocked when loved ones can't.
TK is a girl today. Maybe because he got a new skirt last night, and wants to wear it. Maybe for another reason he can't put his finger on. Yesterday he was a boy. Actually, he's been a boy for the better part of a week now. That is common with TK, though. He switches back and forth, sometimes in the same day. Some days, he'll even mix it up. Boy's shorts, girl shirt, girl shoes. He says he feels different on different days. Who doesn't? The frustrating thing for him, is that with waist-length hair and the most cherubic freckled cheeks, people assume he is a girl every day-no matter what he's wearing.
It is undeniable that on the girl days, he is happier. He has more energy, more pride in his appearance. He wants to spin and jump, to run and laugh. He exudes an obvious sense of self-love and peace in his own skin. On the boy days, TK is prone to a trembling chin and a few solitary tears sliding down his cheeks if you confront him on anything. He is more likely to want to cuddle, and needs more positive reinforcement. He'll ask those childlike questions. "Do you love me the most? Do you love me more than the boys?" He'll fight more with his brothers, he'll lock himself in his room and put a sign on the door. "KITTIES ONLY!" He'll build Legos for hours in there, alone. Then come out in just his Hello Kitty underwear, with a huge grin on his face and the most heartfelt hug. "I love you, Mommy! Want to see what I built?"
It's taken me months to make the connection between dresses and carefree behavior, and boy clothes and sadness. Yet, I refuse to push him in either direction in the morning. I want him to wear what he wants to wear, what makes him feel comfortable. Until he figures out what I have about his moods, I will stand by him. I will cuddle him on boy days and dance with him on girl days. I will go to bat for him in Target when an old woman says how cute "she" is as he stands there, frustrated, in camo shorts and a Spongebob tee. I will fight the bully moms at his school when they flash disapproving looks across the playground as he skips across the blacktop in his Hello Kitty dress. I will expose him to kids just like him, to adults who have made this same transition, and to the LGBT community that rallies around him. I will stand between him and the people who are afraid of what they can't understand; I will stand up for him when those people have the poor taste to actually verbalize their fear. I will go with him to counseling, and TG playgroups, and the girl's section at Old Navy. I will paint his nails, braid his hair, and make him that rainbow tutu he wants. And if the day comes where he chooses a box, boy or girl, I will celebrate with him. Because figuring out who you are is not usually something that is so difficult, and it certainly isn't something that most 8 year old boys have to worry about.
I smiled and turned to my friend. "He wants to know which one is my son."
We laughed and I turned back to the stranger, pointing out my son, who sat across the room. "There. The one in the pink dress and braids."
I braced myself for the backlash.
He squinted, finding my son. "Wow. What an awesome kid!"
I let out the breathe I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Phew! Confrontation averted. My son saw us smiling and looking at him. TK waved enthusiastically, his multitude of tiny braids shaking down his back.
I was asked recently if I could remember when "all this" started. When did you first notice your son was...different? Well, that depends. When did we first become aware that he felt different, or when did he actually start feeling it? Because the answers are years apart. He has only changed his clothing recently. But, if I really think about it, the signs have been there all along. When he learned to talk at 3, he insisted he was a girl. Assuming he was just having vocabulary issues, I corrected him until he gave in. During a bath a year or two ago, he told Daddy that he wished he could switch between boy and girl. And of course, there's his penchant for nail polish, long hair, and running around the playground in the midst of a pack of girls. It doesn't really matter how long he has been like this, all that matters is that he's allowed to explore it to the fullest. As long as TK's allowed to be whoever he is, I can hope it makes up for years of us blindly brushing all the signs away.
You see, the thing with my son is that everyone wants to put him in a box. There is no box. He is simply himself. While he technically fits under the transgender umbrella, he hasn't yet figured out where on the spectrum he fits. It's been hard enough to wrap my own head around that without showing my frustration, I'm always shocked when a perfect stranger can. I'm even more shocked when loved ones can't.
TK is a girl today. Maybe because he got a new skirt last night, and wants to wear it. Maybe for another reason he can't put his finger on. Yesterday he was a boy. Actually, he's been a boy for the better part of a week now. That is common with TK, though. He switches back and forth, sometimes in the same day. Some days, he'll even mix it up. Boy's shorts, girl shirt, girl shoes. He says he feels different on different days. Who doesn't? The frustrating thing for him, is that with waist-length hair and the most cherubic freckled cheeks, people assume he is a girl every day-no matter what he's wearing.
It is undeniable that on the girl days, he is happier. He has more energy, more pride in his appearance. He wants to spin and jump, to run and laugh. He exudes an obvious sense of self-love and peace in his own skin. On the boy days, TK is prone to a trembling chin and a few solitary tears sliding down his cheeks if you confront him on anything. He is more likely to want to cuddle, and needs more positive reinforcement. He'll ask those childlike questions. "Do you love me the most? Do you love me more than the boys?" He'll fight more with his brothers, he'll lock himself in his room and put a sign on the door. "KITTIES ONLY!" He'll build Legos for hours in there, alone. Then come out in just his Hello Kitty underwear, with a huge grin on his face and the most heartfelt hug. "I love you, Mommy! Want to see what I built?"
It's taken me months to make the connection between dresses and carefree behavior, and boy clothes and sadness. Yet, I refuse to push him in either direction in the morning. I want him to wear what he wants to wear, what makes him feel comfortable. Until he figures out what I have about his moods, I will stand by him. I will cuddle him on boy days and dance with him on girl days. I will go to bat for him in Target when an old woman says how cute "she" is as he stands there, frustrated, in camo shorts and a Spongebob tee. I will fight the bully moms at his school when they flash disapproving looks across the playground as he skips across the blacktop in his Hello Kitty dress. I will expose him to kids just like him, to adults who have made this same transition, and to the LGBT community that rallies around him. I will stand between him and the people who are afraid of what they can't understand; I will stand up for him when those people have the poor taste to actually verbalize their fear. I will go with him to counseling, and TG playgroups, and the girl's section at Old Navy. I will paint his nails, braid his hair, and make him that rainbow tutu he wants. And if the day comes where he chooses a box, boy or girl, I will celebrate with him. Because figuring out who you are is not usually something that is so difficult, and it certainly isn't something that most 8 year old boys have to worry about.
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