Updated: October 1, 2023
Originally Published: September 26, 2023
My youngest child expressed a desire for lavender walls in her room, contrasting sharply with the bright orange that currently adorned them. It represented a significant transformation—from vibrant to serene, from bold to subtle. I grappled to articulate my feelings about this change, trying to find the right adjectives to help me process my emotions. From loud to tranquil, perhaps?
Yet, no words resonated, not even the paint color’s name, “Monologue,” which evoked a sense of calm in a stream-of-consciousness manner. Monologue was a shade of lavender tinged with gray. As I drove home with the paint can beside me, the lid smudged with the new hue, I envisioned thoughts evaporating and condensing into sentences, similar to raindrops forming in a cloud, spilling out like a gentle afternoon shower. Monologue—it made sense for a lavender-gray.
However, my struggle to embrace this color was reflective of a deeper issue—I was trying to understand my child through her choice of room color. The transformation of the room mirrored her own transition into femininity, which was anything but understated. Her new identity was loud and vibrant, demanding sequined bows in her hair, flowery dresses with fluttery hems, and a voice that was strikingly higher.
She insisted that in order to be perceived as female, she needed to embrace a girly persona. “No, you don’t,” I countered during our early discussions after she came out as transgender. For sixteen years, she had been my son, and now she was my daughter. “You don’t have to conform to any gender norms.” I had spent my life steering clear of frills and heels, believing that if women’s clothing lacked pockets, it was inherently unfair. I wanted my daughter to resist societal pressure and only adopt femininity if it truly resonated with her.
“Oh yes I do,” she replied in her new, higher-pitched voice. “And I enjoy looking girly.”
So, I ventured out to buy her a starter makeup kit, a set of vibrant nail polishes, and an assortment of hair clips for her growing curls. I chose Claire’s, the very store where I had my ears pierced as a child, navigating this new terrain with a sense of nostalgia, yet utterly lost. My emotions erupted when the clerk, with a sympathetic tone, asked, “Did your daughter get a bad haircut? These clips will be perfect—”
Suddenly, tears streamed down my face. “No, she’s my son, or she was, and she’s growing out her hair because she’s no longer a boy, or maybe she never was, and I’m just trying to support her, but this is harder than I imagined—” I babbled, attempting to stem the flow of tears and words. I wanted to be supportive, an ally, someone who believes in the gender spectrum. I didn’t want to be the parent mourning a child who seemed to vanish. She was right here.
And yet, there I was, crying in Claire’s. Life is unpredictable.
When the day came to paint her room, I felt a surge of control return. It had been several months since her revelation. My eyes were dry, and I was determined to transform the room into a lavender haven. I laid down a tarp, assembled my paint roller, and donned old clothes belonging to my husband, which were already splattered with remnants of past projects. It was a practical choice, though ironically, I was dressed like a man.
With each brushstroke, I felt less like I was fighting a battle and more like I was contributing to something beautiful. The lavender paired wonderfully with the orange, creating a gentle blend that highlighted the new color in a delightful way. I even contemplated retaining some of the orange.
As I painted, I reflected on the contrasts in my daughter’s life. She wore more elaborate undergarments than I did but still found humor in fart jokes and resisted the idea of personal hygiene. Her hair was beginning to curl beautifully around her cheeks, yet it often appeared tousled. She would deliberate over lace-trimmed dresses but often neglected to shave. The juxtaposition of the two colors in her room began to symbolize something profound.
The reason for keeping some orange became clear—I couldn’t move her heavy desk alone. I had anticipated shifting it enough to paint behind, but that was not happening. So, I grabbed painter’s tape and returned with a fresh vision. I taped off the remaining walls in diagonal V’s, creating a mountain-like pattern. The existing orange formed the base, and I painted lavender upward from the zigzag, standing atop the desk to reach the ceiling. It turned out beautifully. Once dry, I grabbed my craft paints and added small stick-figure climbers planting a flag on the tallest orange peak. Their flag was a representation of the transgender pride flag, designed with pink, light blue, and white stripes.
Standing on the desk, I beamed at my creation. Orange mountains rose into a lavender sky—two colors that complemented each other, forming a landscape that symbolized a challenging yet navigable path.
When my child returned home, I promised her that if she didn’t like her new room, I’d repaint it entirely lavender once I had help moving the furniture. To my relief, she adored it, especially the mountain climbers.
“Thanks, Mom,” she said, her voice a bit too high. She hugged me, and I felt the softness of her dress against my hands, contrasted by the stubble of her cheek. In that moment, I was acutely aware of how complex this new life would be for her.
I realized that I couldn’t do the heavy lifting for her.
Colors can symbolize opposing forces—red and green, orange and blue, yellow and purple. The colors in my child’s room were not exact opposites; they were slightly askew, much like people.
This experience taught me that navigating my child’s journey would require more than just creativity with paint. It was clear that I couldn’t reduce her identity to a mere metaphor of her bedroom. She is far more intricate than that.
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In summary, my journey in supporting my child’s transition has taught me that understanding and acceptance are crucial. While changes may be difficult, they can lead to beautiful transformations. Embracing complexity rather than simplifying it is essential for our growth and connection.