It’s an odd feeling to miss someone who is staring you right in the face.
When my 5 year old first started presenting as male I read and read and read some more about anything and everything I could get my hands on as it related to transgender youth. I studied and learned and researched and took notes and sent links to my fiance and family and to myself (to refer back to later). I joined groups and asked questions and met with other families of children who had come out as trans. I wanted to know IT ALL. But one thing I hadn’t prepared myself for was the grief and that accompanies the “loss” of your child. Your child as you know it is gone. And with that comes an intense amount of sorrow.
I didn’t get to mourn the loss of my child like someone might mourn a death. There wasn’t a service, no meal train was set up in our name, I didn’t get calls or texts or cards in the mail to express sympathy or condolences. There was no outpouring of support from family or the community. In many cases, it was the opposite. Months, days and hours defending my child and giving explanations and resources to family and friends.
You are so busy focusing on your child and the changes you are determined to support him through that your own thoughts and feelings get overlooked. The
HUGE changes that come along with social transition shadow your inner emotions until it comes crashing down one day and you start to realize… You are sad. You are mourning. And when you take the time to sit down and think about how you’re feeling and why, you notice that you feel as if someone died. And, in a way, someone did.
My child, as I knew him, was no longer the same person. And in his place there was a new, different child that I was still learning about. I was changing words, changing the way I referred to and reacted to my child. Everything changed. When I found out I was pregnant for the first time I had eight months to read and prepare for parenthood. And even though nothing can prepare you for the true day to day of being a mom, at least you have time. With this, I wasn’t given much time at all. As soon as he expressed himself to me that he wasn’t living his true self, he was off and running. And I was just trying to keep up. 
My son asked me recently if I still think he’s the same kid “now that I’m a boy”. And it made me wonder if I treat him differently now. Is he also mourning the mom he used to have? Has his mom morphed into someone new that he is also trying to navigate a relationship with? I sure see him (physically) differently now.
Everything he does makes this all so OBVIOUS. But I think some of that is me just trying to find and make sense of it all as a parent. How could I have not seen this sooner? How did he know, and I didn’t? So alongside the grief there is guilt. Guilt that I wasn’t doing my job as a parent to the fullest. I didn’t know him better than he knew himself. Which comes full circle back to grief and loss.
If someone ever told me there would come a day when I would miss the very child laying on my chest watching a movie with me, I would have thought they were bat shit crazy. But now, I realize how possible that is. I know with time the things I miss will get less and less as I continue to watch the development of my child in his element and becoming more and more of his true self. But for now…. it’s just a little sad.
MomTransparenting
If you connected with this post, here are a few others discussing my experiences with raising a young transgender child:
My 5 Year Old Is Transgender, And I Don’t Want Your Advice
My Son’s First Haircut – A Rite Of Passage
8 Truths Only Women With Curly Hair Will Understand
Today I expertly straightened my hair in the air conditioning of the house only to walk out of the bathroom to hear the slow drizzle of raindrops on the rooftop. Awesome. What a fucking joke.
If you are like me and were born with a wild lion’s mane on top of your head that must be carefully tamed with the utmost precision every day, then you get it. We live in a state of perpetual frizz and are constantly searching for the next serum, oil, or cream that will turn our Einstein mess into the beautiful locks we see in the media. The absurd ways we have attempted to dry our hair (upside down and to the side and off on an angle, and {later} why is my neck so sore?) just to attempt to get it somewhat consistent and *maybe* look decent for a change. The struggle is REAL. And I don’t mean that in a sarcastic or funny way. I mean that in a “seriously, this is the absolute fucking worst” kind of way. My curly haired soulmates understand because they have been there, they have lived it, and 30+ years later they still have NOT figured out how the hell to get their hair to do what they want it to. We’ve tried it ALL, amiright, ladies?
1. You will buy any product someone says worked for them. Even if you are pretty sure you can smell a scam or the ingredients read as such that might make your hair actually fall out. It’s worth a shot. And every time you try something new you wonder how the FUCK the person that told you about it got it to work, because for you, it’s either too thick, not enough, or your hair is crispy and stiff.
2. Dry shampoo? We can’t use that shit. We have to wash out the 103985 products we attempted to use yesterday to keep our hair in check, or at least try to.
3. Just a trim, to get the split ends off. 7 inches later and you’re proudly sporting an clown wig style bob haircut because your ends begin splitting the second you walk off the salon’s chair after your last hair cut.
4. Or worse yet, you wanted a short cut, HAAAA! Good luck, curly sue. You bring in a photo with someone with the perfect/short/curl tamed cut and want it recreated. And it might just be done…. by your hair dresser. That’s the only time that is going to look good is when your she blows it out and styles it for you. There is no way you’re going to recreate that look ever again. You’ll spend hours trying to remember just what she did at the salon to make your hair turn out the way it did. And once your hair is so long, thick, and you can no longer stand the weight of the products making you pour sweat directly out of the shower, before you’ve even left the house…. you’ll forget all about how catastrophic it was and you’ll do it again. (and again, and again) It’s basically the definition of insanity.
5. Some people with wavy hair (like me) try to straighten their hair. Which is great, 10% of the year. The other 90% of the time it’s either raining, too humid, or too hot and your hair does a quick cinch back up to your scalp literally the SECOND you walk out of the house. For 9 months out of the year you basically live in a hat or a pony tail because your hair just won’t cooperate with the weather. Ever.
6. Speaking of insanity, wispys are cute. Unless you have curly hair. When people with straight hair show those little baby hairs and wispys framing their face they are cute, sexy even at times. On women with curly hair? It’s like you have a halo of frizz surrounding your face making you look forever frazzled, even if you had a night of 9 hours of sleep, 2 cups of coffee and couldn’t feel more refreshed. Your hair tells a different story. You look like you just escaped the local behavioral health unit, and the stains on your shirt from your kids spilling their juice on you in the car and your mismatched shoes because you were in a hurry and lacking sleep…. that’s not helping your case.
7. You see someone with tamed, beautiful curly hair and you instantly hate them. How the HELL are they pulling this off? So, of course, you ask them. And expertly write a list of their regiment only to go buy all 40 products the next day and find that they don’t make your hair look like theirs. At all. And now you’re out $200.
8. People with straight hair will tell you they wish they had your hair. Ummmmm no, ya don’t. You want CURLED hair. Curly hair is not the same. Don’t minimize my pain. The grass is always greener and in this grass, it needs a serious maintenance.
Curly hair is God’s inside joke. Like if you leave a little note for your kid in their lunchbox, but the content is to remind them they are grounded from the PlayStation when they get home from school. It’s a curse 99.9% of the time. Hours and hours of masterfully attempting to curl, lift, pin, cream, soothe, and domesticate the wild beast on our head, and if we are lucky we can count on one hand the number days in the year we were actually pleased with the outcome. But when it does happen to work out, we couldn’t love the rat’s nested mop on our heads more. Until we walk outside and see the clouds coming in…..
Why Moms Have To Stay Up Late
If I complain about being tired during the day my partner will often say to me, “well maybe you should go to bed earlier…”
He doesn’t get it. Not even a little. It’s not like I want to be exhausted all day long. We don’t, as mothers, make poor choices nightly that effect us throughout the day out of desire. We do it out of necessity.
I tell myself every single day that tonight I will go to bed earlier. Tonight, I will put a limit on how much TV I watch or how much of my book I will read and I will shut.it.down. early. But then the evening comes, my kids are crazy, and the dinner/bath shit show starts and the marathon of a day finally comes to an end and as exhausted as I am, I just can’t wait to get my butt onto the couch or curl up in my bed with the remote in one hand and phone in the other for endless hours (however many I choose) of PEACE AND QUIET.
No one will come running in with their pants around their ankles asking me to wipe their butt. I won’t hear someone screaming my name because they can’t reach a cup or a bag of chips in the kitchen when I told them ten times already to WAIT. I can get up and use the bathroom without someone following me in whining about how their sibling called them a baby (well.. if the shoe fits, kid).
If I want to read an article, I can pay attention and focus on what the writer is saying without interruption or background noise in the form of child yelps or YouTube celebrities blaring from the other room. I can watch a show or movie on TV and actually understand the plot line and the characters and be surprised by the dramatic turn at the end. (I did NOT see that coming!) Late at night, I can understand what the hell is going on in this movie, even if I am dozing off between scenes, because I’m not jumping up to every loud thud I hear wondering which one of my kids I’m going to find bloody when I turn the corner.
No one will tell me they are hungry shortly after I just made them a meal (that they refused to eat). I can plan out my week and write down all of the appointments, sporting events, school functions, and birthday parties I have to remember to deliver my child to.
And in the off chance I actually have some energy, I can fold the laundry, clean out the refrigerator, wash the floors, or do the dishes. And for whatever reason, at night, when it’s quiet and I’m alone, these mundane tasks don’t seem so mind numbing. Frankly it pains me to admit, I kind of enjoy them. But only at night.
There are plenty of moms out there that go to bed shortly after their kids. Who have self-control at night and make sure they are sleeping at a decent hour. But, if I had to guess, the majority of those moms are the ones who set the alarm early. They wake up in the wee hours while their kids are still snoozing away, and use the time to just be with themselves. To think, to peruse social media, to play candy crush or sit in silence. To read, watch TV or do the things us night-owl moms did the night before. Because soon, the tornado of the day will start and the whole atmosphere of the house will change.
If you are a mom, you get it.
We don’t have a choice. If we want any time to ourselves, it has to happen at night after the kids (and everyone else in the neighborhood without the title of “mom”) is asleep, or it won’t happen at all. We might regret it in the morning, but I guarantee no matter how many times we promise ourselves that this day will be different, once our kids are in bed… we will do it all over again tonight.
Learning To Say “No”
I’m not talking about saying “NO!” to my kids. I know some moms are very anti N-word. But not me. I say no at least 300 times a day. It’s a regular part of my conversational interactions with my children. I say “no” more than I say yes, and I’m not afraid to admit it.
That’s not where I’m going with this though. I’m talking about saying “no” in terms of not spreading yourself too thin. Allowing yourself (as a mom, as a person who needs self-care) to take a day off, to skip the laundry for today, to cancel on your dinner plans and stay home with a book.
Moms these days have so much pressure to be perfect, to be super mom. We have to make sure our kids don’t get too much screen time, but get enough that they aren’t the only kids at school who don’t know what Fortnite is. We can’t yell or scream or swear. We have to use our words carefully as to not bruise their fragile egos. We need to be their advocate, but make sure we aren’t helicoptering over them… they need their independence too, but not too much. We need to keep them away from processed foods and GMO’s and ensure they are only supplied gluten-free, sugar-free, non-GMO, fresh, clean, and homemade meals shaped like their favorite Disney characters. We have to make sure everything is fair, because (as we all know) life is always fair and simple participation in life is always awarded. Our kids must be the best in everything or it’s a direct reflection of us as parents. Hell, you can’t even apply sunscreen on your kids nowadays without someone chastising you for using an aerosol spray can of SPF that causes cancer. DEET? That’s absurd. No one uses that. It’s homemade essential oil concoctions to repel bugs in this century. Get your shit together, bad mom.
That is just the pressure we women have with KIDS! When you add in the pressure of just being a woman it’s seriously overwhelming. If you show up to school drop off looking like you just woke up, sure, some moms might get it, but some will judge the fuck out of you. Show up late for pickup? Clearly there is something wrong with you! Don’t make it to the gym on a regular basis? Stop at McDonald’s on the way home from running to school to sports to clubs and home for homework? You must not care enough about your family. What’s wrong with you?
You’re not part of the PTA, PTSA, PTSO and the NRA? Well then… you’re not a real “mom” at all!
In this world of perfection, it’s hard to take time for yourself. It’s even harder to FIND time for yourself. I have found that the only time I get any time to breathe, think, focus, or plan for the upcoming days is at night when my kids are asleep. Which is great, if you can live off no sleep. I can’t.
When my marriage started to come to an end and I had to take a look at my life and my family on a much deeper level, I realized, I was doing WAY too much. I was falling apart at the seams trying to keep up with sports, school and after-school activities, dinner and PTA meetings, cub scouts and parties and the list. is. ENDLESS. When things got really bad I was having such anxiety I couldn’t even fall asleep at night even though I was walking around like the living dead because I was so damn tired. And when I finally did fall asleep I couldn’t get my ass out of bed in the morning without hitting the snooze fifteen times (or more).
It might be an unpopular opinion I have, but I am a firm believer after years of spreading myself so thin I can’t breathe, that sometimes… I just have to say no. If I am not up for a night out, I will say so. And I won’t feel bad about it anymore. If I don’t want to drag my kids to a party where I know they (and I) are going to take days to recover from…. I make a call, send a text, and apologize, and STAY HOME. If I have to skip making dinner and order in just to save my sanity, I do it. If I have to send my kids to school with a lunchable instead of a homemade sandwich in a bento box with carefully selected fresh fruit and vegetable sides, then so be it. I overslept so I’ll stop at 7-11 on the way to school, and I might even throw in some ho-ho’s (GASP!).
In most cases when speaking about anxiety and depression, women are TWICE as likely to be affected than men. I think that speaks volumes to the amount of pressure we are under as women, as moms, and as wives. It’s a hard thing to admit when you are in over your head. It’s almost like you’re admitting defeat. Admitting you can’t handle the stress. But, in reality, if you can be someone who knows their body, knows their mind and their soul so well that they know when enough is enough and it’s time to slow down. To do what it takes, for your own well-being, and ultimately for your overall health so you can actually take some time to ENJOY life and have FUN with your family, with the strength to not give a DAMN about what anyone thinks about it. Well, that makes you the real super hero.
**did you know? According to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America“
Generalized Anxiety Disorder affects 6.8 million adults, or 3.1% of the U.S. population, yet only 43.2% are receiving treatment.
Panic Disorder affects 6 million adults, or 2.7% of the U.S. population.
Social Anxiety Disorder affects 15 million adults, or 6.8% of the U.S. population.
SAD typically begins around age 13. According to a 2007 ADAA survey, 36% of people with social anxiety disorder report experiencing symptoms for 10 or more years before seeking help.
Major Depressive Disorder is the leading cause of disability in the U.S. for ages 15 to 44.3.
MDD affects more than 16.1 million American adults, or about 6.7%of the U.S. population age 18 and older in a given year.
While major depressive disorder can develop at any age, the median age at onset is 32.5 years old.
More prevalent in women than in men”
Things I Promise Not To Do On Your First Day Of School
Dear Son,
As you skip up the walkway and get into line with a group of your peers, all bright eyed and fresh faced with hope and dreams and the future in your eyes, I promise not to lose my shit in front of the friends you don’t know you’ll make yet. I won’t embarrass you and bawl. I won’t scream your name and tell you to tie your shoe because you’re jumping around and I can foresee the future of you tripping on your own laces and face-planting in the hallway. I won’t lick my finger and wipe away the leftovers from your breakfast off your cheek.
When I come in to wake you that morning, I assure you I will not stir you with my sobs while I stare at your sweet sleeping eyes and think about all of the times I have watched you sleep. Carefully sneaking into to your room to gaze at you longingly, to study the rise and fall of your chest. Expertly moving out of the room begging not to wake you or there would be hours of hell to pay, but I couldn’t help but watch you breathe one more time before bed.
I vow not to tell you that as you were getting ready this morning and making sure you picked out your best clothes and combed your hair to perfection that I was thinking about the day you came into this world and took me by storm. How beautiful and perfect you were and how I stroked that same hair with my hands, in the same way you are now as I nursed you into the wee hours of the night. How I too, carefully picked your clothes before you even took your first breath so that I could make sure to document the moment, with the best photos, and never forget.
I pledge while you sit and eat the special breakfast I made for your very first day, I won’t tell you about the look on your face when you tried a new food that you realized you liked and the faces you would make when you didn’t. I won’t tell you about all of the messes, the noodles stuck in your hair and the sauces rubbed on your high chair like paint and the discolored baths that followed. I won’t tell you that even if in those moments I was frustrated, I was tired, or I seemed mad, in this moment, I would do it all again.
I swear on my life I won’t tell you stories about how through my sleep-deprivation, my stress, my long days, that even though I may have appeared defeated and tired, I (secretly) loved waking up extra early with you and sneaking in extra snuggles. I adored watching the sun come up with you in my arms while you fell back asleep…. but my coffee was finally kicking in and now I was wide awake. Just studying you. Memorizing the lines on your lips, the wrinkles in your neck, how you smelled, your perfect little nose, those miniature ears. The way you smiled in your sleep. Your incredible sense to reach up, even when you were fully enveloped in dreamland, to search with your fingers for my face before you sighed with relief and continued on snoozing away.
And after the day is over, I cross my heart that while I hear your stories about all of the friends you made, your new independence and the experiences you’ve had (and will have) that didn’t include me, I won’t tell you that I missed you. That after I walked away and left you in the hands of the school, your teachers, your friends…. I cried today. How I thought about all of the things we could have been doing if you weren’t busy at school, without me. I won’t tell you that I worried about how you were alone with no one to hold your hand and guide you. But you weren’t lonely at all. I was. But I promise I won’t tell you that.
