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Becoming a Parent Helped Me Realize I Am Transgender
Parenting is a bizarre journey. I often find myself scrubbing sticky remnants off my furniture and shouting things like, “Please don’t poke your brother with that fork!” But amidst the chaos, these three little beings have compelled me to take a long, hard look at my own identity.
It wasn’t until my second child that I truly began to see myself. For the first three years of my relationship with my partner, I had candid discussions about my discomfort with my body. Despite openly identifying as a family with two moms, I never let my kids refer to me as “mother.”
Yet, I felt I had to maintain a certain facade. I was an adult after all, and there was a distinct image I had to uphold — one that I thought was the best version of myself. I couldn’t keep questioning, “Why do I feel like a boy?” So, I just didn’t.
Whenever that thought surfaced, I would buy a new skirt, grow my hair long, or awkwardly dab on some makeup. My first child didn’t prompt a change. My partner carried and named her, and she is absolutely incredible. Yet, I was still wearing a mask of femininity. The dysphoria hit hardest during my pregnancy with our second child — those experiences felt so intrinsically linked to being female. I yearned for them, so surely that meant there was still something feminine within me, right?
Taking a deep breath, I convinced myself I must be gender-fluid. I had a few masculine inclinations, but I remained a woman, right?
Then, my son arrived, and he is a handful. His exuberance is contagious, and he has forced me to confront my own reflection. He insists on exploring his identity, sometimes identifying as a girl and bounding around the house pretending to be characters like Annie or Elsa. When he tells me he’s a girl, I respond, “Well, sweetheart, you’re one of the most wonderful little girls I’ve ever met.” I use “she” until he decides he’s a boy again.
My love for him is fierce, and I am committed to supporting his right to be whoever he chooses to be. He’s a perfectly delightful little imp who can scatter cereal everywhere in the blink of an eye and often shouts from the car window about being a girl. Whether this identity will solidify or change over time doesn’t matter. This child of mine — who is both he and she at different moments — is simply perfect.
If my child is perfect, how could there be anything wrong with me? So, I decided to drop the feminine parts of my name. I buzzed off my hair and stopped pretending to dress like a woman. I’ve sought out friends, built a support network, and started embracing those delightful he/him pronouns. It’s a slow journey to discovering my true self, all inspired by this child who loves wearing my partner’s lipstick and rocks his long blonde curls in a pink ponytail.
I carried him, birthed him, and still nurse him. I am male, and that’s perfectly okay. Thanks to the lessons from my child, I no longer pretend to fit into the role of a mother, and while it’s liberating, it’s also terrifying.
If you’re interested in similar topics, you might enjoy reading more about the process in our other blog post on intracervical insemination. For those looking to start a family, Make a Mom is a great authority on home insemination kits. Additionally, the NHS offers an excellent resource on IVF and related treatments for anyone looking into pregnancy options.
In summary, becoming a parent opened my eyes to my own identity. The journey has been complex and filled with self-discovery, and I am grateful to my child for inspiring me to embrace who I truly am.