I wish I could depict myself as handling it gracefully and rationally and saying Yay Mom!. But, in all honesty, I felt sad and angry and scared when my mother came out. I didn’t know if my mother expected me to call them him or Dad. What would Mom look like? What would the neighbors think? What would I tell my friends? My mom assured me that I could still call her she and Mom if I wanted to, that she was still the same person but would just have a slightly different body. I calmed down a bit after that, but I cried a lot that night and during the first six months. It was a huge adjustment and I think nearly every human being has at least some fear of change. Sometimes, I look in the mirror and I can’t help but notice how much I resemble what my mother looked like before their transition: brown eyes, dark hair (when I’m not dying it pink), thick eyebrows, long limbs and a slender figure, feet that are proportionally large for my height, a small smile reserved for moments of contentment and photographs. I feel a strange sense of loss. I occasionally wonder what it would be like to still have the mother with hair down to her butt and a closet full of fabulous high-heeled shoes. But, then, I realize those days weren’t any better - that they weren’t nearly as fun or as much of a learning experience - and that my mom is still morbid, strange, sensitive, fiery, strong, and unique in the best way possible. I’m so proud of my mom. My mom is the happiest I have ever seen them. I want to shout from the rooftops about how great my family is and educate every person I know about transgender issues. I want to twirl around the neighborhood in a rainbow dress and convey to people that I’m not only an ally, but I know what it’s like to love a transgender person and watch that process of growth. I know what it’s like to grow from someone else’s transition. Mom, I really love you. transfamilies.tumblr/ #transculture #transfamilies
Posted on: Fri, 27 Jun 2014 20:33:51 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015