Mom, Interrupted.

“Is there something you need to tell me?”   He said, “Yes, I’m transgender.”

Those three words have changed my life forever. They also made things so clear. A distance had been growing between my son and I for a while. It started in May of 2014, when Tyler informed me that after graduation he was moving away to live near his dad, choosing not to attend a local community college as we had planned. The sudden decision (at least it appeared to be sudden) threw me for a loop and yes, I was mad. Why would he want to leave? I understood the desire to break away from your parents; having moved out myself when I was 19 years old. But we had made plans, and as far as I knew, he was good with them.

Over the next few years Tyler would come home for visits, but there was still a distance between us. I just couldn’t pin point it, and spent a lot of time trying to figure it out. I finally chalked it up to the normal maturing process of separating oneself from their parents. 

During this time, I started to notice that his Facebook pages were filled with a variety of interesting posts – particularly in support of social justice and self-identity topics. He had always been one to stand up for those being bullied or feeling like they were outcasts (he still is and that’s one of the things I love about him). Eventually, the posts started to lean more heavily to the homosexual and transgender topics – so much so that I and others started to wonder if there wasn’t something he was trying to communicate.

One evening I was driving home from work and the wondering started again. But this time, I thought to myself Oh I don’t have the patience for this, I’ll just call him up and ask him what’s up!  From the day he was born, I promised myself that I would always be honest with him and made sure he knew he could do the same with me. This was the perfect time to put it to the test, right?  He answered the phone right away, and I said I had a question…based on his social media posts, was there something he needed to tell me?  He said, “Yes, I’m trans.”

Now, I’m not sure what I expected to hear. What I wanted to hear was “No, mom, I just believe strongly in these issues and want to support my friends.”  I had even prepared myself for a possible, “I’m gay.”  But transgender?  No. Absolutely not. In fact, I can say with 100% certainty that the thought never, ever crossed my mind.  But as shocked as I was to hear it, I remained perfectly calm (a trait I’ve always been proud of.  I’m definitely the person you want next to you during a zombie apocalypse).  My calmness didn’t stop me from asking questions, though, like “What?  Are you sure?”  “What does that mean, exactly?” “Are you saying you want to be a woman??” Again, I give him credit because he answered all of my questions. 

We ended the call with the usual I love you's and I drove the rest of the way home in shock. But after coming home and telling my husband the news (I guess making it real), I broke down in tears and cried the whole weekend.

That was almost a year ago, and during that time, I’ve experienced a range of emotions (and I’m sure will continue to do so). The first and foremost was shock and fear. 

Every terrifying scenario for what Tyler’s life would be like ran through my head in quick succession (like a View Master toy at high speed). My heart was breaking – not for me, but for him. For what I thought this meant for him: everything from being treated as an outcast to some crazed person hurting him, or God forbid, killing him.  I literally cried the entire weekend, fear and sadness consuming me.  I even called my mom and cried to her (isn’t it crazy that no matter how old we get, when we’re in distress, we want our moms?). I threw one of only a few tantrums in my life, and this one was aimed at God. What good could possibly come from this news?

One emotion I didn’t expect was guilt. I was absolutely sure I had passed on something in my DNA that was causing Tyler this distress. It didn’t matter that there’s no way I would have known that or would have been able to do anything about it, the guilt was excruciating.

Anger is another doozy (which of course leads to more guilt). How could he do this to me? Didn’t he realize the hell he would be putting me through for the rest of my life? How selfish could he be?

But the most difficult emotion to deal with, and the most irrational, is the deep sadness that comes from mourning a loss. Worse than that, it’s a loss that hasn’t happened yet, but you know it is coming and you know you have no power to stop it.  It often felt like a dark cloud that was following me wherever I went and threatening to burst open at any moment and envelop me in a downpour of grief. Why am I in mourning? It didn’t matter how many times I reminded myself that Tyler wasn’t dead, there was a profound sense of loss for what was. Loss of the baby, child, teenager and now adult that I raised, loved and had dreams for.  This person that I, and others, knew as Tyler didn’t want to be that person anymore, and to hear that as a parent tears at your heart.

This journey is just beginning for Tyler (who began his hormone treatments just a couple weeks ago) and for me.  But with much reflection and prayer, I’m now learning how to see Tyler (soon to be “Katie”) as an adult, and not just “my kid.”  My fear is fading somewhat as I see the support he’s receiving from our family and friends, but it never really goes away.  I will say that while fear, guilt, anger, and sadness still rear their ugly heads at times, God’s peace and assurance still outweigh them, and for that I’m most grateful.

Author's note: I originally wrote this piece in August 2018. Tyler is now six months into his hormone treatments.