A first haircut is a milestone for any parent and their child. Most parents will take their kids in for a big to-do snapping endless photos, snipping tiny locks of hair and saving them in a book or a box to remember the day forever. (Even though we all know it just sits in a bin in the basement or attic collecting dust until we move, and then the box is moved to a bigger basement/attic to collect new dust.. but, hey, we care).
Even though there will be a million more to come, and eventually the “magic” of the first or second haircut dwindles and the routine becomes mundane like any other, we celebrate this event for our kids. For my son, right now…. haircuts continue to be a big deal. Maybe bigger than they were before. His “first” haircut was years ago, and it was very uneventful. A tiny trim to conserve his perfect ringlets that seemed to get fuller and more dramatic (and devastatingly beautiful) with age.
But now, we don’t count that hair cut. For him, his very first true and memorable haircut came after he revealed me that he is trans. And it’s a day that will forever be etched in my mind as a turning point for us, for the better. After my son told me how he felt on the inside and that he felt he was living a lie: a boy trapped in a girls body, he wanted badly to change his hair to a boy style. It was a drastic change that had us all very nervous, even just talking about it before the day came caused (me) panic.
I was anxiety ridden, he was scared kids would make fun of him after, and I might have been holding on a little too tight to that tremendous head of hair he had. Honestly, at first I thought he might back out. He seemed unsure once the moment was staring him in the face and I definitely didn’t want to pressure him into anything. Before the first scissor blade almost grazed his hair he turned his head and stopped everyone. He asked for us to be alone to have a chat. He explained to me that he desperately wanted this change. He was dreaming about it for months. He was ready. BUT – he was petrified. He didn’t want the kids at school to “call him names for being a boy now”. A haircut meant that his appearance would match his heart and he couldn’t hide anymore if he felt uncomfortable. He would be exposed.
School was almost out, summer break was close and my son wouldn’t be going to the same school next year. So I tried to urge him to wait a couple weeks. Once summer officially started this whole thing would be a lot less stressful, for all of us. But he didn’t want to wait another day longer. This was happening and it was happening today.
The stylist first put his long, beautiful curls in a pony tail and asked one last time before she started moving her blades through the bound locks. He nodded and… snip. It was GONE. And I anticipated the tears, the instant regret he would have once he realized that this was it. There was no going back now. But instead, my child beamed.
As the stylist continued to even out the long layers my son increasingly got more and more frustrated and my heart dropped because surely this was the remorse setting in and soon he would be crying all over the floor. Yet instead, he said, “it’s not short enough, I still look like a girl.” So my friend (his stylist) kept snipping away, looking at me for reassurance as she slowly cut more and more off until he had a Bieber-esk style cut and was grinning from ear to ear. Once he found words through his smiles and giggles he looked at me and said, “mom, I really look like a boy now, isn’t it GREAT?!?!” He was so incredibly happy and all of my fear, my panic, the tension this day had built up, melted away and all I saw was a very happy little boy who had just experienced one the best days of his life.
I walked in to that appointment scared out of my mind, questioning everything I was doing and feeling so unsure about all of my most recent decisions as a parent who’s child just expressed to them that they might be transgender. This was such a huge moment for him, and for me. Once his hair was short and he was thrilled, it all made sense. I wasn’t doing anything that I couldn’t take back (after all, hair grows back) but to my son, I was “allowing” him to make the changes he needed to feel himself, to feel loved, to feel like his body and his mind finally made sense, and to know that with me, this was all ok. And in the end, that’s all that mattered.
Since then, we have had many haircuts. And every time he wants it just a little shorter than before. And afterwards he still walks around rubbing his head and smiling in disbelief. Like he went to bed a frog and woke up a prince. As if he never thought it was possible to look in the mirror and see someone staring back that matched how he felt inside. But it was possible, and I couldn’t be more grateful that I was the one that stood by and held his hand while that transformation took place. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I will forever remember his first haircut as a defining moment for him, and for me. Maybe more so than I will remember my other kids hair cuts. Because this haircut was one of the experiences that made him who he is.
Of course I held on to those long locks of his from this very official day. Bound together by the very same ponytail and wrapped delicately in a ziplock bag…. sitting in a box… in my attic.
5 Things I Learned About Dating Apps – A Cautionary Tale
It’s a harsh reality when you realize your marriage is ending. It’s an even harsher reality coming to terms with the fact that dating has changed LIGHT YEARS since the last time you were on the market.
My biggest fear when entering the dating pool again was, “where in the world do people meet if you don’t go anywhere but preschool, karate, baseball {repeat}?” And “who the hell is going to want me now?”
My body is like a rouge grape you find at the back of your crisper, stretched and dried up again, wrinkly and forlorn. After years of breastfeeding, I have permanent pancake boobs. They literally need to be folded from their flat state into any apparatus to hold them into place, and even then it’s a gamble if they will stay or take a nosedive for my knees before the end of the night. My feet are monstrous after three pregnancies and …. I have a gray hair (or two, or forty, who’s counting?). For years I didn’t want to show my husband my body in all of it’s nakedness and he saw me shoot babies out of my vagina. The thought of getting into my birthday suit in front of a new, strange man? No thanks, I’ll stay abstinent.
Not to mention, my kids are tiny terrorists, I don’t want to admit they are mine to strangers out in public, better yet a person I’m trying to impress enough to keep around for awhile.
Thank God for dating apps, right? WRONG.
As a way to get out of my head and “have some fun” my friend and I decided it would be genius to throw myself into the world of Tinder. Tinder couldn’t be a more user friendly and readily accessible platform that can quickly take your mind off of your current (sad, lonely, depressed) situation in just a few swipes. That guy is HOT! Swipe right, INSTANT MATCH! This is too easy! Don’t like this guys stupid mustache? Swipe left. He gone. But, that’s about all it’s good for if you ask me.
Eventually, I did find myself a new man. But it wasn’t on a dating app. And I’ll tell you why.
1. People are LIARS – I was one of them. No one in the world is going to come out saying “I’m emotionally damaged and cry alone in the bathroom at least once a day, but if you can pry me off the couch and away from my beloved Netflix family for the night (good lucky, buddy), I might be fun! I don’t know, I haven’t done it in a long time.” Instead, they are going to tell you they are world travelers, hikers, bikers, fitness fanatics, wine enthusiasts, and avid foodies because that is what you want to hear and they want you to give them a chance. I’m sure half of the people I talked to were either robots or using a stock photo for their profile picture while texting away on their phone in their mom’s basement eating Cheetos.
2. Men are CREEPS – I’m just going to say it. Dick pics. No woman (at least not one my age, do younger girls want this? Am I just old?) wants you to open a line of communication with her by sending a picture of your genitalia. I do not care if you think you have the most perfect penis in the world, without seeing it I can already tell you, it’s ugly. That is why adult entertainment geared towards women tends to have men in uniforms, DRESSED in various fantasy roles, maybe shirtless, or maybe in some undies, but def not flailing their bare weiners. AND – I have kids. I don’t need one of them opening my phone to find some pornographic photo a strange man sent me and dodging questions about why there are “pribates” on my phone. If dick pics are the only way to go for you, send a warning first, and get ready to be instantly rejected. No one wants to see your pee-pee.
3. Men can’t handle rejection. Even on a stupid App – This one weirded me the fuck out. Some men have apparently never been rejected in their lives, not even on the internet. So when they encounter a woman who has zero interest in them, it is evidently impossible for them to come to terms with. So unthinkable, in fact, that they sought me out and demanded an explanation. I disappeared from their chats and that meant, in their minds, it was completely acceptable to find me on social media through mutual friends and order up answers as to why we were suddenly unmatched and why I didn’t want to speak with them. As if this had been some horrible misunderstanding and I would (apologetically) come crawling back to them because they were hand-picked especially for me by the Tinder Gods and stalking was certainly listed in my dating profile as a required characteristic I was seeking. I’m sorry, freaky man I’ve never actually met in real life, I don’t owe you SHIT. This was completely intentional on my part, and although I tried to leave quietly and respectfully in an attempt to let you hold on to your dignity, I’ll let you have it (since you asked and all)…. your dick pic was a fucking nightmare. I’m still having trouble sleeping.
4. Some men on these sites are actually looking for something serious- Nothing wrong with that. Except, I came for the free meal, not to replace my kids daddy with a dude I met online. What’s with the pressure? Listen guy, I just got over a marriage, and considering it didn’t end well, I’m not in a hurry to re-retain my lawyer and do that whole thang again any time soon. I really shouldn’t even be dating yet according to all of the (remarkably accurate) Facebook quizzes I’ve taken while stuffing my face with pirate booty and watching Gilmore Girls reruns, but hey… I needed dinner and you needed someone to buy dinner for, win-win! But – Oh! The babysitter is calling, gotta go! {{unmatch on the way back to the car}} {{finds me on social media later}}
5. You *might* match with your ex – This was when I gave up on dating apps because clearly they didn’t “get” me. I found him in real life first, Tinder. And it was a fuggin disaster. So thanks for the recommendation, but I think I’m gonna swipe NO FUCKING WAY. I felt so dirty. I needed to brush my teeth and take a shower, stat. And then it hit me…. If I could see him, does that mean he could see ME? OH GAWD.
Even if I ever find myself back on the market, I don’t think I could navigate my way back to that shit show again. Not a chance in hell. Nothing in this world made me feel like an old bag more than online dating. It’s a jungle out there, ladies. Good effing luck.
A Transformation On How I Perceive Drug Addiction – A Disease
I used to be the person that would hear or see someone talking about addiction in a negative way and I would instantly jump up with statistics and facts about how this is a disease. People in this horrible situation do not WANT to live this way, they got sucked in to a terrible downward spiral and don’t know how to get themselves out. They need support, compassion, understanding. Not judgement and disgust. And, “would you treat your family member with cancer this way?”
I used to come to bat for people struggling with a dependency issue and fully speak my mind in their favor.
That was before I watched the transformation of someone close to me and how it directly effected my family. This is a debilitating disease, that is true. One that tears families apart and ruins relationships and is selfish and self-centered.
It’s a disease that forgets what time to pick kids up, what day of the week it is, misses baseball games and important school functions.
It’s a disease that likes to blame other people for it’s problems. It’s a disease that leaves an important meeting because it’s got better things to do. It’s a disease that insists it’s not.
A disease that doesn’t open the door when you come to check on it, that doesn’t turn the blinds because it’s scared of what’s outside. One that is sad and hurting, but hurts others more and thinks because of it’s own sadness, that’s justified.
It’s a disease that can’t take responsibility for it’s own actions, even when the direct result of those actions are staring them right in the face (bars and jumpsuits and all). It’s a disease of disappointment. Of broken promises and borrowed money; a shell of a person stands in the face of this disease.
A disease that steals, cheats, and lies like a professional. It’s contagious. Like a virus. The disease consumes everyone around it and they become dependent on the disease, even if they haven’t caught it. Dependent on taking care of it, keeping it warm, fed, and ALIVE.
This disease has tunnel vision. It doesn’t see the big picture or the impact it’s having on others. It only sees itself and what it needs, in the moment, for that hour, for the day. Tomorrow isn’t even a fleeting thought to this disease, not yet.
It’s a disease that loses jobs, can’t pay bills, forgets birthdays, has cars repossessed and rights taken away. It’s a disease that loses children, loses freedom.
It’s a disease that will eventually die with it’s host. One that knows what it takes to cure itself of this madness but can’t take the plunge. One that appears to prefer living in it’s own filth and misery rather than facing the reality.
It’s a disease that effects family more when it’s alive than when it’s dead. A disease some people wish would just go away, and some wish would turn back time.
If you are dealing with this disease, I know how hard it is to see the person inside the disease. How hard it is to disconnect the two and realize that they are not one in the same, even though it would appear that way. This disease is deceiving. This disease causes hate, mistrust, regret, overwhelming sadness. And unlike other diseases, when this one causes death, it can create more relief for the family than any other.
I used to say “consider the person”, be compassionate, understanding, have faith, have hope, be supportive. Now, when it comes to this disease, all I have to say is…. Fuck You. And this is a disease that never apologizes, so neither will I.
What’s In A Name?
There are so many facets to coming out as a trans person. As an adult or even older youth, I assume many transgender individuals are constantly thinking about all the ways their life would be and will be different before they begin revealing to people how they feel inside. When a young child presents as transgender, despite professionals advising parents in this situation to follow the child’s lead and let them pave the way to wherever the path is going, ultimately the responsibility for all major decisions lies on the shoulder’s of the parent. A parent who hasn’t spent days or weeks or years day dreaming about how differently life could be for them (unless you count what I think my life might be like as a Kardashian. But I don’t. Should I?). There are many situations that have come up that I haven’t even come close to contemplating until the instant it’s shoved in my face and I’m forced to make a BIG decision on the fly. One I’m not sure I’m ready to make on behalf of my dependent. One I’m scared to take the credit or, more likely, the blame for later.
I have joined every parenting group I can find to connect with other moms and dads with children like mine; to bounce ideas off of them, to share my fears, or hear their successes and horror stories, to prepare myself for the journey ahead of us. But sometimes, no matter how much you research, how much you prepare or plan, there is no warning for situations you are going to have to tackle.
One topic that comes up a lot is names. And more specifically, legal name changes. I’ve heard of parents petitioning for these legal name changes as young as 3. Kids that haven’t even been able to put their feelings about their gender into words (because they didn’t have words) for very long. Kids that don’t know how to articulate how they feel yet, just that they feel wrong or different.
Until today, I couldn’t wrap my head around why someone would go through this excruciating process with a young child to officially and legally change their name. In my thoughts, there is a good possibility the child’s feelings on the name they choose may change. Many times. I can’t even confidently select a sandwich to make my child for lunch for the following day without concern that their taste buds will change overnight and they will instantly reject PB&J and only eat ham from that point on (until Friday, then it’s something else, isn’t that how all kids work?). In my experience, kids are notoriously indecisive.
I guess perhaps this is where some of 
my misunderstanding or my personal bias comes in. I think about how when I was younger I wanted people to call me Dorothy for many months because I had watched the Wizard of Oz and wanted to be the girl in the blue and white plaid dress with ruby slippers who could click my heels and transport to other parts of the world, whenever the hell I wanted to. I didn’t respond if you didn’t call me by my new, chosen name, and most people thought it was adorable and would play along. Fancy that, because when my trans son asks people he knows and admires to please call him by the shortened version of his name, some have flat out refused… apparently it’s not “adorable” when it’s serious and a matter of acceptance and mental well-being. {eyeROLL}. I digress. My parents would have never ran out and changed my name to Dorothy even if I had been consistent and persistent about this. And, as luck would have it, the phase ended and I was back to answering to my birth name in no time. Maybe this is a bad analogy, because, for trans kids, a name is a BIG deal.
I have read about changing a child’s name, legally, but I have not embarked on this journey yet. It’s a big step. One many parents and trans kids will consider a huge milestone and success to be celebrated. It’s a process that includes court filings, court hearings, money, and going in front of a judge pleading your case to prove this is in the best interest of your child. I don’t know what the statistics are on getting denied, but I do know it certainly happens. And I couldn’t even begin to imagine the disappointment families must feel at the mercy of the judge who just denied their child’s existence as their true self, in a way.
A trans person’s birth name associates them with someone they used to be, someone that was in pain, someone that was misunderstood and living a life that wasn’t true to themselves. Their birth name (also known in the trans world as a dead name) isn’t THEM anymore. They are now known by a new name, one with hope, with peace, and most importantly (and hopefully), acceptance. So to refer to a person who is trans by their old name is considered offensive and hurtful. It can cause emotional trauma, especially if it’s done intentionally. It can remind them of all of their terrible experiences living as someone they were not. And as a parent, no one wants to knowingly put their child in a situation where that could happen. Ever.
Getting to the point (finally)…. I met with the school this week to talk about my son and his situation. We are just starting elementary school and as if coming into kindergarten isn’t scary enough for a child, my child socially transitioned from a girl to a boy since we registered last winter and it has put us into a tailspin of explanations and preparation before school starts. I feel the need to give them some insight as to how he likes to be referred to, what staff members should be included in his circle of trust, and what situations we can try to prepare for.
It wasn’t until this meeting that it clicked. I now understand why parents of young trans kids are changing their names. The principal informed me that per state law there are certain forms, certain cards or documents that will have to be received by my child with his full (girl) name on it, because that is the name that coincides with his birth certificate. If he has to sit down and take a state exam, there will be a box he will have to obediently check that says “yes, this is me (dead name )”.
The summer camp my kids attend is one my son has been registered with for years. They had his girl name on the roster, and this is another one of those situations that had to punch me in the face for me to be like “ahhhh, shit, this isn’t good and I should have prepared for this”. We walked in the door and he noticed his name tag and got upset, hurt, and didn’t want to go inside the classroom. I quickly alerted the counselors who swiftly changed his name tag, attendance list, and cubby holes for backpacks, and that was that, problem solved. But in school, it’s not going to be so easy.
If the teacher is a sub, the lunch 
staff is in a hurry, or the librarian doesn’t make a conscious effort to correctly call my child out by their preferred name over the name they will see on the computer screen or card he hands over…. this might devastate him. This might “out” him to whoever is in line with him, to his classmates or peers, and it could be terrible. I instantly felt pressured with the decision of keeping his legal name and preparing him for these anticipated situations that WILL arise through the school year, or starting the process of changing his name legally and hoping that as a 5 year old he has the wisdom to pick a name he will want to carry for the rest of his life. What kind of pressure is that for a child? It’s immense. He has a name picked out, he’s been testing it out for over a month when strangers he meets ask him his name. He likes it and ironically it was one of the first names he told me we should call him on the VERY DAY he told me that in his heart and in his brain, he is a boy. Maybe he will stick with that name forever. But what if he doesn’t?
But am I? Pressured… that is. Is this a national or state-wide law or just a district policy? Is this something I’m being told is a requirement when really it’s just never happened before at this level in the school and they don’t know how to address it? Stay tuned because this is something I’m going to get to the bottom of. This is one of those times when being an advocate for your child is so important. Therapists and doctors will talk about putting your child on hormone blockers to keep them out of puberty and give them more time before making long term decisions, and this is one of those circumstances that warrants more time to decide.
So on top of getting my kids prepared for a new school year and trying to learn as much as I can about what is going on with my child, I am now going to start researching what the hell the law says and why a name has to be officially and legally changed in order to get a report without your kid’s full girl name on it. I’m scrutinizing district policy and what it will take to have the system changed so that I can give my kid (and myself) more time to think about this. More time to be sure before we go making a drastic change that is something I vowed not to do until years down the road. Something that isn’t easily reversible.
I guess we aren’t in Kansas anymore.
When Your Child Comes Out – Family Can Be Harsh
Once my son expressed his true feeling to me about feeling like a boy trapped in a girl’s body, he was rapidly ready to make some serious external changes, and people started asking questions. My child was very open about how he felt to most people. At school he walked right in and announced himself as a boy. In the neighborhood kids asked “so, you’re a boy now?” and he would simply respond, “yep!” and continue on playing, business as usual. There was no doubt in HIS mind, but it sure as hell did make some heads turn or eyebrows raise, especially if this was the first time someone saw him since his appearance drastically changed.
It’s interesting to watch. Especially at this age, because kids {mostly} don’t care. They seem to breeze right over it move on to more fun things. It’s not the kids that scare me when it comes to my child. At least not yet. It’s the adults that seem to be confused, scared, and downright mean.
Since my son has gotten more open about his feelings, we’ve gotten support where we least expected it, found friends in strangers that have gone through similar struggles, and received a lot of backlash from the people I expected to be our biggest supporters.
My son made it very clear rather early that he wanted me to do the explaining. He didn’t want to sit and field questions as a child, he was still figuring this all out for himself and at four that’s hard to articulate to an adult anyway. On top of the language barrier between adult and young child, anyone that wanted to question him seemed to have an agenda of using whatever he said as a way of discrediting his feelings or making him prove to them that this wasn’t some child’s play. It. Was. Infuriating.
Everything he said and did started getting dissected. If he had played with a doll while I was at work (even though he was playing the dad and the doll was the son, as he often did) my family babysitter would call me after and say, “you know, {FULL GIRL NAME} was playing with dolls today, and SHE LIKED IT!” Huge effing eye roll from me.
No one understands until they do the research that this is a spectrum, that one action does not make or not make you identify as a boy or a girl. And who am I to tell my child how they feel on the inside because of the toys they play with? I’ve always had toys for both sexes in my house. If my oldest (born male) son puts a headband on and prances around the house (and, he has) does that make him feel like a girl on the inside? No.
Comments like this made me quickly realize why he was overwhelmed and decided to defer the questions off to me to let me handle the explaining. Mama Bear mode came on strong in many cases.
Everyone had their theory, everyone had their opinion, and many times… it wasn’t favorable to the path we had already decided to take with my son. The path that the professionals, the parents, the doctors, and every other person I could tell my story to, begging for an answer, had advised us to take. I would spew out statistics and evidence-based research, but it didn’t matter. There are some people that no matter WHAT you tell them, will always think they have the answers. When my son started requesting male pronouns be used to refer to him, some family members flat out refused.
My family tried to tell me horror stories of other trans kids they had heard about (but didn’t personally know), how my kid was going to get bullied out of school, how other kids were afraid of my child. As if I wasn’t already afraid enough for my child. As if this was a choice. I heard all about how my child needs attention, is around too many boys, must be confused, is too young…. I should wait five years. See if this sticks before we do anything “drastic”.
My kid was told “NO” when he would ask them to address him by his new, shortened name. And then they would emphasize his “dead name” when they addressed him to show their opposition to his change. (Dead name is the name you were given at birth. The name you no longer associate with. And for many trans kids, a painful name. Don’t beat yourself up if you aren’t familiar with terms – I still am learning all of the lingo and politically correct terms relating to all of this).
I learned a lot about my family in the beginning, to say the least. And we are still working on some (most). It’s sad when you have to consider if it’s going to be safe and healthy for your child to attend something as simple as a family BBQ, or if you should just stay home altogether. It’s not fair. Hopefully, by this time next year, things will be much different. One can wish… right?
I hear from other trans kid’s parents that they sent out letters or emails, sent an announcement to their family when the situation got real for them to explain what was going on, how to address their child, and many included a number of researched referrals/articles for their family to read if they had questions. I didn’t do this. I should have. Maybe I was giving it some time to make sure, maybe I was scared. I honestly don’t know. But I think it would have helped prepare my family (and done my kid some good) if I had warned them all before we showed up at the next family function with a hair cut, boy clothes, and a new name. Lesson learned.
Until next time, be the mom that sticks up for your kid. Even if it’s to family and even if it brings you pain. Be in their corner. And be proud of that.
MomTransparenting
