Parenting Jeremy – a gender journey

So a pretty cool thing happened.

Jeremy had dinner with his dad.  An event 22 months in the making.  According to Jeremy they talked heaps, and his dad said that they needed to do more things, just the two of them.

Jeremy is really happy about how it went.  Therefore I am happy.

Jeremy reckons that you need at least four hugs per day to prosper.  On Mondays I need considerably more.   I remember reading a story about Yul Brynner talking about the early days of parenthood with one of his adopted children, holding her skin to skin in a hammock, rocking her to calm her.  At 14, a pearl of wisdom imparted to my dad was that teens needed hugs every day or else they would warp, my dad is the best hugger in the world.

For a child the power of a simple hug can be enough to turn the tide of dark thoughts.  It is a tangible sign that your child is worth your undivided attention.  It is a brief but powerful reminder that once they were always in your embrace and even though their hand is no longer little and clings constantly to yours, your love hasn’t changed.  To my mind a hug is parenting at its most powerful.

Jeremy is speeding towards 18.

Recently J underwent his second psych assessment and was told by the psychiatrist that they will provide Jeremy with the diagnosis he needs to access his cross hormone treatment.  His blood tests will be completed in February so he will be prepared.

His 18th birthday will be a D-Day for me, scripts for cross hormone treatment will suddenly become reality, his journey will take an irreversible step.  Well not totally irreversible but still, when your life has revolved around binders, packers, boys clothes, it is very easy to convince yourself that despite the stats, despite all your support, maybe your support won’t be needed, maybe this journey will end, maybe your baby will realise the dreams you had instead the dreams they have.   It’s a new kind of mourning.

Time has been a double edged sword.  The two years on this path has given us space to seek counsel, adapt, educate.  It has also given me time to think.  My marriage was characterised by constant movement, posting to posting, moving from state to state, the constant negotiating with schools, day care arrangements, employers, managing my husband’s absences long and short.  Our decisions were made on the run about so many things.  So two years to spend time exploring Jeremy in a new gender is a luxury of sorts.

It has been a revelation to a decision making process to have time to review and assess, to change a mindset, to influence others.  But here we are, a date that seemed so far away at the start of 2013 is now staring us down a barrel.

So we are looking yet again at some level of transformation.  I am pretty sure the requested four hugs per day will go a long way to keeping our sanity.

I have finally gathered the courage to read about the suicide of Riley Matthew Moscatel, a 17 year old transgender teen in Pennsylvania.  I choked down tears reading from his suicide note “You say she/her/daughter and I say nothing” because for me, out of every point he raised, this is the one that I see as being at the heart of so much distress for transgender youth.

Imagine if you referred to your child constantly as “idiot”.  Think of the effect on a young person to always be referred to in such negative terms.  Their self worth measured by a derogatory term, no positive reinforcement.  A child raised in this way would have to be extraordinary to rise above such verbal abuse.  The normal child, the everyday child would wither, depressed, lack confidence, slide to the bottom of the academic pile.  In some small way I think this must be how a transgender child feels each time they are misgendered.  It’s like a knife in their heart.  A knife that a parent can plunge into their child over and over again simply by not listening, by not consulting, reading, respecting what they are being told.

So I have no option.  Maybe other parents have options, but I don’t see that I do.  Nearly two years on Jeremy is who he is, this is no passing phase or cry for attention.

Does that make it hard for you? I can’t stop to care about how you feel.  I will explain and then I have to move on, you can accept Jeremy or not.  It is not my role to make you feel comfortable about my transgender child.  I can’t change your embarrassment or pre-judgement of your friend’s reactions or whatever the particular issue is that makes you pull away, or hesitate, or start to apologise and over explain my child.

Just like a parent that will seek out therapies and treatments for their seriously ill child, like a parent who will fight service providers and government departments to access services and products for child with a disability, I see my prime role as creating an environment to support my child.

I thought this journey would get easier instead I find that as Jeremy moves towards 18 and he steps further away from me there are new terrors.  Do you worry about your child being grabbed by louts on the street, feeling between his legs to humiliate him? Or being forcibly ejected from toilets? Sideways glances, rude comments, deliberate misgendering are all daily grist for a transgender young person’s mill.  I have talked before about the challenges that Jeremy had at school, that it was not the overt but the covert reactions that Jeremy found tiring, the teachers that looked past him uncomfortable in addressing him, the other students ignoring him.  Had his emotional foundation been less stable he would have slid further into depression.  Our story would not be the positive one that it is.  But I can’t be there all the time, I can’t manage the whole world much as I want to.  I am in terror that Jeremy will have one of those dreadful physical confrontations that so often seem to be a result of a group of “lads” fueled by ignorance and alcohol.  A recent incident at LGBTIQ venue “The Beat” has hit home that even gay nightclubs are not a safe environment.  

Straight kids get into trouble, straight kids get assaulted, straight kids commit suicide.  I get it.  Statistically though transgender young people are over represented in assaults, depression and suicide.  

Riley’s parents have suffered the worst pain in the world, the death of a child.  But unlike a parent who has lost a child through disease or misadventure there was something of which they were in control.  Riley’s parents, even in death, referred to him as “she”. That may not have been enough to change Riley’s mind, all I know is that Riley felt that pain.

So I am taking control of what I can when it comes to Jeremy.  I will not leave him wallowing in a pit of despair, unable to balance what he sees with how he feels.  I will help him have a voice.  I will show him respect, because his smile is a treasure.  I can’t manage your feelings too.

trans-teen-steps-front-train-commits-suicide

I’m sorry
Each time someone misgenders you
When you notice stares or hear negative comments
That because of who we are and where we live you have to wait to access hormone treatment
That you feel that parts of your family no longer love you
That things other people do you can’t automatically do too

My heart gets so heavy sometimes, and my momma shield falls away and I want to cry and cry. My love for you is so big, it makes me feel 10 foot tall, I want to make it all better, fight the world and change society. I hate that you have to face any negativity.

I love your strength. My day brightens each time I see your thousand watt smile. But mostly right now I am feeling lost and not sure that I have managed everything correctly, pushed the right buttons, ticked the right boxes.

Sometimes I wish you were little again, and when the doubts wake me up at 2 am your little sturdy body, kicking me in the back, would be there. I miss your little hands holding my face still so you could give me a big kiss. Our biggest decision then was what to have for breakfast and what to wear.

Sometimes I wish we were at the end of this journey, that we have gone through the surgeries and treatments and you have your goal realised.

I know tomorrow things will seem brighter. I know that this is a bump in our otherwise sunny happy travels. I wanted you to know that even when everything seems ok I am still vulnerable, I still question that I have done all that I can.

Life is like that, no neat packages. It is unpredictable and varied with highs and lows. Through it all I hope you always know even when times aren’t great I will always try and I will always love you.

Momma

“I brung you into this world, I can take you out” – Bill Cosby’s momma, many moons ago.

We have had such a busy few weeks that it feels like the year is out of control.  The distance education experiment has not been the resounding success that I hoped, and I have to acknowledge my lack of understanding of how much self discipline J would have to exercise.  I think though that we are finally on the right track.  Last weekend, during a visit from my friend who has recently lost her husband, we discussed grief.  It was good to talk and during our conversation she asked me about my grief when Jeremy started his transition.

Honest reflection is a good barometer to test the intensity of what you have come through.  It was positive to be able to talk to my loving friend about how I felt, the anger at god for deciding that this would be my path, the bone-crunching exhaustion at having to face another challenge after so many, the pain at having to let secret motherly hopes and dreams for my baby girl go.  I found though that I was talking about those emotions in the past tense.  Because, like all things in life, grief loses its intensity in time; your reality reshapes around the loss and you move on.

Talking to my mum yesterday she was recalling the time when my younger brother called her “my mum, my me-maker” as an acknowledgement as a pre-schooler that he came from somewhere, specifically from his mum.  On Mother’s Day I wanted to take some time to reflect on the lives that we shape as mothers, the values that we instill in our children and how that is such a precious gift.  It is only as an adult that I can see my honesty, my passion for fairness and my courage to live openly have come from my mum.  I watch both Jeremy and Luke as they move away from childhood, Luke feet firmly planted in adulthood, Jeremy standing on that threshold.  I listen carefully as they talk to others around them, listening for tones that are harsh or at odds with what they have been taught.  Today I reaped a crop of love and joy, breakfast in bed, movie watching and a very thoughtful present.  I have been bowled over by their desire to show me how they feel.

I feel like a farmer who has gathered in a very special crop today. May there be more harvests, many more harvests.

Today is ANZAC Day, which has always been a special day of reflection in our home.  Jeremy’s father serves in the military, Jeremy’s early childhood was marked by Dawn Services, marches in major cities or country towns depending on our posting.  He attended his first dawn service at two weeks old, in a wee white jump suit and a special bonnet, bootee and cardigan set to keep him warm as we watched the sun come up at the mouth of the entrance into Jervis Bay in NSW.  We have many family members and friends who are either current serving members of the ADF or have served previously.

We have had an interesting couple of weeks in the lead up to today though.  Firstly, Jeremy has turned 17.  We had a party here and it was a fun evening, lots of food, a group of friends and a bunch of guys staying overnight.  It was a far cry from his 16th which seemed overwhelmingly sad as it came at a time when Jeremy felt very isolated.  Coincidentally a close friend of ours passed away on the morning of Jeremy’s birthday.  It added an edge of reflection to our celebrations, but our relationship with our beloved friend was such that I felt that he would have approved of our party, that lives go on.

As a result we spent our Easter on the road, Melbourne to Canberra after work on the Wednesday before Easter, funeral on Thursday in Canberra, Sydney on Friday to take Jeremy’s brother to his flight and then Sydney to the farm on Saturday.  Many many many hours in the car for the three of us.  Jeremy saw many people at the funeral that he hadn’t seen since he starting transition.  Good Lord we are surrounded with so many wonderful amazing people.  Through her tears, our friend who had lost her husband gave J the biggest widest hug welcoming him, other friends were warm and inclusive, and the girlfriends of his brother’s friends took him in under their collective wings at the wake.  At such a time of remembering Jeremy’s presence was welcomed and accepted.  I know that this is how it should happen, but the reality isn’t always that simple.

The friend that we farewelled had served in the Navy in Vietnam.  It was this service that led to his exposure to substances that eventually developed into myleoma.  He battled this cancer for seven years and when his battle ended on Jeremy’s birthday we took the time to have  a talk about his special journey.  Our friend was a kind loving man, generous with his time, experience and personal success.  He was open and honest.  Most of all, he would welcome everyone.  To Jeremy, who knew him from primary school, he was a loving gentle and, as a highlight, taught J to fish.  It was on one weekend away that 11 year old Jeremy caught enough fish for breakfast, a very special memory.

When you live your life openly you are exposed.  J and I experience this a lot, and we accept the negative because it is so overwhelmingly balanced by the positive.  You may never know the influence that you have on others, and I like to think that positive living leads to positive influences on others. Our last two weeks have been a roller coaster of shared joys and tears and celebrations and love.  Our reflection on what one lovely gentle man brought into our lives has given us so much joy, even when we couldn’t see though tear filled eyes that those times had ended.