A Letter to My Transgender Daughter

Five years ago, Rebekah went out in to the world for the first time as herself. This is a letter I wrote to Rebekah on the first anniversary of that day, and I read it to her each year.

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Dear Daughter,

One year ago today we affirmed your identity with a new name. It was one of the names we considered for you before you were born, when we loved you so but hadn't yet met you. It was fitting to use it now that we finally do know who you are.  A year later, I can't imagine calling you anything else. You are our Rebekah, or "Beba" as your littlest brother calls you. 

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I'm in awe of your strength and determination. I've never seen anything more beautiful than watching you be yourself, and I feel so blessed that I get to watch you grow. You're a spirited human, and you always have been. We've told you time and time again how as a baby you kept us up all hours of the night, refusing to sleep unless you were held, swaddled, rocked, nursed, and bounced in just the right order and the right way. You were born telling us what you needed, loudly. People would ask, "oh are they a good baby?" Of course, they meant did you sleep all night long and were you easy going. The answer to that would have been no, but were you a good baby? Yes, you were. All babies are good. But you were a spirited, intense, joyful, demanding, and affectionate baby... and none of those things have changed.

You didn't just make daddy and I parents, you schooled us on what it meant to love a little person with their own big feelings, thoughts, and personality. You showed us we were capable of things we had never imagined, or never wanted to imagine like not sleeping for more than twenty minutes at a time for months on end. You demanded that your voice be heard. You've known that your thoughts, feelings, and ideas mattered just as much as the next person from the start. Your age never mattered. In truly listening to one another and responding as best we can to each other's needs, magic happens. That's what our family is built on, and you taught us that. 

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In the same way you made your voice heard at home, you made your voice heard in the world. You asked questions, you took in information, and you decided what that meant for you. At 3, you declared you would be a pink bird for the school play, even if you were supposed to be a seagull. Before you even turned four, you were calmly asserting that colors were for everyone, not just boys or just girls, to the preschoolers at school. In kindergarten, I remember your teacher telling me at pick up that you had corrected her when she said your little brother couldn't marry his best friend, a boy. You told her how boys can marry boys and girls can marry girls. Love is love.

You've dressed the way you want to dress and liked the things you want to like for your whole life. It's not that people always thought it was okay. Sometimes kids, and even adults, didn't. Sometimes they parroted whatever they'd been taught about colors or nail polish and gender norms. That hurt. I know it hurt. But you worked it out. There was a very short time period where your favorite color was "anything but pink or purple", but it didn't last long. You've always known who you are and wanted to express yourself on your terms. It hasn't always been easy, but you've handled it with more grace than I could have dreamed.

In the months leading up to you becoming Rebekah, you continued in this way. Quiet questions. Lots of thinking. Careful choices. You felt your way around the possibilities, you wrestled with what was in your heart versus what was in the world in ways that most adults haven't. Like a little caterpillar, you explored, soaking up information and chomping your way towards an understanding of the world. Then you created a cocoon where you digested all these thoughts and sorted your feelings. When you were ready, you emerged as a brilliant butterfly. 

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You laughter is infectious. Your smile lights the world. You make friends everywhere you go, and your teachers tell us they wish they had a WHOLE class of “Rebekah”s (although we're certain the world couldn't handle that!). You have a spark in you that drives you to love and care for people while dreaming big and making change.  You are still so very spirited, joyful, determined, and affectionate. Mommy and daddy love your snuggles, your humor, and we survive your sass. You are still the strong little person you were when you were born, gently but firmly demanding that the world meet you on your terms, and teaching mommy and daddy the fullest meaning of unconditional love and grace. You know who you are in this world, and we are so incredibly blessed to know and love you.

Love,
Mama

What You Call Amazing, I Call Parenting

We have been incredibly blessed by an enormous show of love and support since our daughter came out as transgender two years ago. Whenever I speak at an event or lead a workshop and share our story, I’m told how wonderful I am as a person and a mother. I mean, don’t get me wrong, that’s nice and all. It’s more than nice — the support is incredible, but it also feels a little strange.

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When we first posted the news of Rebekah’s social transition (i.e. her changing her name and going by female pronouns) on social media for our family and friends, I remember reading the comments with Rebekah. Among comments about her beauty and bravery (both of which she has plenty!), these comments kept popping up.

“You guys are amazing parents.”

“Rebekah is so lucky to have you as parents.”

“The world needs more parents like you!!!!!”

“Can you please give parenting lessons?!”

No. Seriously. I’m not even kidding with that last one. Clearly, they don’t know us that well. Rebekah eventually said, “well you’re not that amazing”. HA! Leave it to the kid to tell it like it is. But she’s right! We’re not that amazing.

Now, let me be clear, I’m not knocking anyone who said any of these things. I am absolutely bursting with gratitude and love for this village who has our back. I know life would be very, very, different for us and Rebekah without them. And I try to graciously accept compliments on the way we are navigating these uncharted waters.

Rebekah (age 11 months) with me and her father

Rebekah (age 11 months) with me and her father

But here’s the deal. What you call amazing, I call parenting.

And it’s not even the hardest part of parenting. Hard is trying to figure out how to best educate my kids. Hard is dealing with autoimmune disorders and symptoms of ADHD. Hard is trying to meet the unique needs of three very different children. Hard is parenting while fighting my own anxiety and depression. Hard is watching your child struggle with those same illnesses. Hard is somehow trying to do that while modeling any amount of love and grace. Hard is keeping my cool when I’m tired and my bucket is empty. Hard is figuring out how to fill my kids’ bellies and bodies with nourishing and nutrient dense food that helps them thrive. Hard is doing all that while being oh-so-very-sleep-deprived.

Do you know what’s not hard? It’s not hard to support our daughter in her affirmed gender identity, loving and accepting her for who she really is. Listening to her and respecting that she knows who she is better than anyone else ever could has never been the hard part.

Our family 2015, just after Rebekah transitioned. Photo credit: Maegan Dougherty

Our family 2015, just after Rebekah transitioned. Photo credit: Maegan Dougherty

Now, I know we will encounter hard stuff, situations and decisions, as a result of our daughter’s gender identity. There are medical decisions. There is advocating for her rights. We know the challenges facing the trans community are not small. We’ve done some of that, and we know there’s a lot more to come. But the decision to love and accept her, well that wasn’t even a decision. It was a given.

We’re just parents doing the best we can for our kids, like every other parent I know. Wading through the hard and the messy, screwing up often, apologizing at least as often, and trying again the next day.

If you want to call it amazing, go ahead. Then again, if we’re amazing for the love and support we’re showing our daughter because she happens to be transgender… you’re amazing for the love and support you’re showing our family because we happen to have a transgender daughter. So thank you for being amazing.

In the end, I want to live in a world where none of it is amazing. I dream of and hope for the day when it’s no longer extraordinary to affirm, support, and love your child for who they are.

Originally published on Medium June 5, 2017.