Son of a Bitch!

Long before I came to terms with being trans, my son led the way into his own transition.

It’s not often that we get to experience both sides of a transition. Over the last three years I’ve been exploring a more feminine side of myself which has led me to realize that my own path to happiness will be through transitioning to a woman. It’s a hard thing to do after 57 years — with a successful career and a 26 year marriage under my belt, but it’s become something that’s now undeniable.

One of the things that led me to be comfortable exploring my own gender was my family. I don’t write about them too much, because they are very dear to me — well, my children are. My wife, or rather soon to be ex-wife had different ideas of what marriage should be. Traditional gender roles were important to her — so that whole chapter ended fairly abruptly. She couldn’t see me for the human that I am — only the male she married — but, I understand. Change is hard.

My children are amazing. Gen-Z all the way. Kind, accepting, loving, strong in their beliefs, and open to letting others express their authentic selves. They are the generation that give me hope that the world will one day be a better place.

I say this, not to pump them up, but because they taught me a very important lesson.

—

We pulled up to the curb in front of the school my children attended and smiled as they approached the car. My daughters climbed in — one was smiling, the other looked more serious.

We greeted them enthusiastically as we normally did and asked them about their days. My younger daughter talked about math and the D&D club, but my older one was quiet.

“What’s up?” I asked as we drove off.

“I have an important thing to announce,” she said. “I’m trans. I’m a boy.”

My wife and I were silent. We didn’t know how to react. The school they were at was a girls’ school, but it was also very, very progressive (which we chose for that reason). Was this some new fad? We had heard a lot about transgender folks in the press, and at the time there was a lot of controversy about it.

“You’re transgender?” I blurted out, unbelievingly. “Are you sure?”

My wife looked at me and rolled her eyes — she clearly wasn’t buying it.

“How do you know?” she asked.

“I feel like a boy,” my daughter said.

“Girls can do anything you know,” I replied. “I mean you can be any kind of girl you want to be — why would you want to be a boy?”

The car went silent.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.

We had failed. Hard.

We tried to understand, but the vibes we gave off were clearly not accepting. We didn’t believe it — we thought it was a whim.

What was a vulnerable moment turned into a backpedal. Our daughter later announced she wasn’t transgender, but instead was gay. Apparently that was something we could easily accept.

—

About a year later, she came to us again — “I’m transgender,” she said.

This time we listened up — we had discussed that fateful day in the car many times and had realized that as parents we shut down our child in a vulnerable and difficult moment. We had betrayed trust and had applied conditions to our love and support of them.

This time was different — we leaned all in. We asked questions without judgement, we discussed pronouns, we talked about feelings and what they wanted to do to transition.

I had also read the stats on suicide for trans teens — and there was no way in hell I was going to let them be a statistic. My love transcends their gender.

Acceptance wasn’t coming easily though. I’d like to say we were all in. We struggled with the pronouns — beating ourselves up as we rewired our brains to switch to “he/him”. We struggled when he chose a new name from a book of French names we had in the house. We dead-named him repeatedly, and he reminded us of it.

I would go into other details, but I feel like they would be too personal — and I want to respect my son’s privacy as much as possible in this article. The point is that each step in his transition and evolution was difficult. We had to learn about what was happening, why it was happening, and how best to support him.

We also had to mourn our daughter, and the hopes and dreams we had for her. The thing we came to realize was that the loss we felt was over OUR dreams for our child — they had different plans for themselves. As parents we had to let go of control and acknowledge that our son was a fully formed human with their own thoughts and needs — not a person who lived in our house for us to control.

It took us a year to adapt and change. I think I was accepting, but I imagine he might tell you a different story.

What I can say now, unequivocally, is that our son is the person he was meant to be. He is incredibly intelligent, kind, caring, and creative. He is thriving and growing — his gender is a non-issue to us.

It. Just. Doesn’t. Matter.

What matters is that he’s with us — we love him, and he’s an incredible person.

—

Fast forward many years…

Our kids went to college, I retired and my wife continued to work. We had hit our goals for retirement, but she wanted to keep going… she was peaking in her career with new opportunities and responsibilities coming at her fast.

I was bored — and while I took up some fun hobbies, my mind was uncomfortably unoccupied. The high-paced, high-pressure job I had in tech was replaced with vast periods of free time.

I turned inwards.

I wasn’t unhappy, but through several odd situations I ended up in a pair of fishnets taking photos and thinking to myself, “wow, this feels nice. I like this.” It wasn’t the kind of kinky nice that dissolves after a bit — but the kind that I kept coming back to. fishnets turned into skirts, heels, and more. I was experiencing the intense, hyper-feminine pull towards presenting as a woman. Soon I purchased a cheap wig on Amazon, breast forms, bras, dresses.

There’s a lot to unpack here — trips to do professional makeovers, trips to try on high quality wigs, countless orders of clothing returned to Amazon because they didn’t fit.

I had the time and the privacy to explore a feminine version of myself. I took photos. I liked what I saw. I liked how it felt.

I shared everything with my wife. I don’t like secrets, I feel like they corrode trust and truth. She was curious and supportive — but deep down I could tell it wasn’t something she really loved.

The thing I want to highlight though is how consuming it started to become. I was thinking about this all the time now — it was constantly on my mind. I had a drive to perfect my look, to appear more and more feminine — I rationalized it as an art project, a desire to perfect the illusion of woman in a man’s body. I didn’t really understand that this was unlocking a part of me that had been dormant my whole life. It wasn’t a simple kink — it was something fundamental within me.

It lasted years.

—

Fast forward again …

I became unsatisfied with the hyper-feminine / sexy outfits — they felt performative. As I delved deeper into my identity and what it all meant, I realized that there were truths to this that I wasn’t acknowledging. I started combing through my childhood and my life, questioning my decisions and my experiences. I started to realize that this wasn’t about kink at all — in fact it was a deep-seated truth that had been buried so deep that I was living an inauthentic life. It had been a successful one by all measures, but there was a lingering feeling of discontent. I had never been comfortable with my looks and had always felt apart and never really fit in.

I thought a lot about what it meant being a woman. I’d observe women out and about, at dinners, walking down the street with friends, laughing easily together. I’d observe how they moved, their jewelry — I felt a longing, deep inside of me to belong. It felt impossible. But — I admired deep friendship and kinship so many women have. I saw the effortless way in which they build community as though it’s second nature. I longed for the vulnerability of shared emotions and connection.

I knew I couldn’t live the rest of my life as a man — disconnected and apart, but being a woman?…. that’s impossible.

I compromised. I settled on incorporating some feminine items into my wardrobe. I bought women’s jeans (honestly, they are better styled than men’s). I added scarves to my wardrobe. I bought a pair of women’s cowboy boots and some fun belts. I started shopping women’s everyday clothing online to weave into my wardrobe. I purchased jewelry for the first time. I opted for tighter fitting shirts.

As it became increasingly obvious that my style was changing, I decided I should tell our kids that I was exploring my femininity. Our kids were immediately supportive. My daughter offered to teach me makeup — heck, she even bought me a purse for Christmas. My wife was supportive too — buying me some jewelry, though I later realized it was for men.

All through this I felt conflicted. It was hard. Something was changing in me — and I couldn’t repress it. My feelings of femininity were growing, blooming, becoming undeniable and filling my thoughts constantly. It wasn’t choice — it felt like I was a plant that had been pruned for years that was suddently growing towards the sunshine. It felt good. It felt authentic. It felt like me. I was happy.

Then, disaster hit.

Separation. Divorce. Months of Therapy while living in Airbnbs. My wife couldn’t do it. She bailed. The unconditional love had conditions — and feminine men weren’t on her menu.

I was faced with a problem. I loved (and still do) my wife dearly and even more than my love for her, my family was the center of my world. I never wanted to hurt her or turn her off.

I wrote to her, I pleaded with her for months on end to give me a chance. I tried to explain it all away as a kink — as something I could control or give up. She didn’t believe me. I’m not sure I believed myself. She wouldn’t talk to me. Reconciliation was off the table. She was done. I had to accept it.

—

I explore my feminine side freely now. I am gradually accepting who I am and who I could become. It’s not an easy thing to question and change your gender. It’s one of the hardest things anyone could imagine — and the fear that comes with it is profound. I have plenty of writings that cover those things.

The thing that I appreciate now more than ever though is my Son. Having been through gender questioning, expression, dysphoria, and acceptance myself, albeit a different experience, I see just how much of a journey he must have gone through to make that simple disclosure to us in the car.

“I have an important thing to announce,” she said. “I’m trans. I’m a boy.”

This wasn’t a whim. This wasn’t a moment where he just woke up one day and decided he was a boy — it had to have been preceded with endless hours of angst, internal struggle, soul-searching and questioning.

Any child proclaiming to their parents that they are transgender, and risking EVERYTHING in that moment requires a level of courage I can only admire. I didn’t understand the level of internal conflict and strife required to reach that point at the time. It’s my deepest regret as a father to have failed him at that moment.

So — if you have a child who is coming out to you as Trans, or even one that comes out to you as Gay, don’t be the bitch I was — don’t gaslight them or tell them they’re imagining things… believe them, acknowledge them, tell them you see them and take them in your arms, hold them tight and say that you love them — no matter their gender.

It’s the only right thing to do as a parent.

Love your child.

Everything else is noise.