A few years ago, that wouldn't have been my response. I would have been taken aback, freaked out, even. In fact, a few years ago, I barely knew what transgender meant. But a lot has changed since then, including the arrival of my youngest son, Penelope.
Penelope is a transgender boy. Today, he’s 8 years old, but from the time he could speak, he told the entire world, “I am a boy.” Our family — including his siblings — chose to believe him.
From the time he could speak, he told the entire world, “I am a boy." Our family chose to believe him.
Here’s how crazy it is: For simply supporting and loving my son as he is, I get hit with intense criticism from angry strangers all the time. Whenever I write an article or a post a blog about our family’s journey, the online remarks are extreme. “How could you do this to your daughter?” wrote one woman with a nasty emphasis on “do."
I didn't. I did it because over 50% of transgender teens attempt suicide and because violence against trans people is an epidemic. I did it because the decision to love and support him is a decision that could make the difference between life and death. I did it because all kids deserve respect.
One day, about five years ago, I noticed that Penelope — once such a happy and adventurous kid — had become sad and nervous. Everything about him showed signs of anxiety and anger. Chronic nail biting, bedwetting and nightmares plagued him. At two, he was carrying a burden on his shoulders much bigger than himself. So, I sat down with him — face to face — and asked him, “What’s wrong, baby?” It was then that he told me, “Everyone thinks I’m a girl, and I’m not. I’m a boy," all the while crying deep, heavy sobs.
As a mother, when you see your child in pain, all you want to do is stop the pain. So I told Penelope that however he felt inside was fine by me. And what came next changed my world forever, “I don’t feel like a boy mama, I am a boy." Those four words changed everything. I realised that something I'd imagined to be concrete — the gender of my child — wasn't. What Penelope was talking about wasn’t just self-expression — it was identity. And who am I to question anyone’s identity, even my own kid's?
He said, “Everyone thinks I’m a girl, and I’m not. I’m a boy," all the while crying deep, heavy sobs.
Over the last six years, Penelope (who by the way, loves his birth name and doesn’t want to change it) has consistently and unanimously said “boy,” “he,” or “son” when referring to himself. He’s never once said “girl,” “she,” or “daughter." Because Penelope was brave enough to demand this, the least I could do was be brave enough to listen.
Life got so much better for all of us once when we accepted Penelope for who he was, because it allowed us to accept our own selves in a deeper, kinder, more human way. Penelope is a boy with a vagina. As crazy as that sounds, it's true. Both he and I have come to terms with it. And, today, he's thriving.
Just a few months ago, I asked Penelope, “How does it feet to be a boy with a vagina?” He replied, “Well, mum, I’m human, so it just feels normal.”
Hopefully, as puberty approaches, Penelope will continue to be comfortable having the body he has. But for many trans kids and their parents, puberty causes tremendous fear and anxiety. Bodies change and often the alienation trans people can feel with their birth bodies reaches an unbearable apex. Menstruation, which can be a rite of passage for cis girls, is horrifying for many trans boys. Facial hair, that thing every cis boy eagerly awaits, is revolting and humiliating for a trans girl.
I asked Penelope, “How does it feet to be a boy with a vagina?” He replied, “Well, mum, I’m human, so it just feels normal.”
If I'm honest — and with no judgment to those they help — the idea of giving hormones to Penelope scares me. And I can't help but wonder, Is it our job to facilitate body alterations? Or to help move the conversation more towards self-acceptance? Does having a beard make one a man? Will having a stronger jawline validate Penelope? Or is it our responsibility to keep reminding ourselves that we all have the right to simply “be" in the form that we were made?
There are still a few years before we have to make any decisions like that for Penelope. For now, I'm still explaining to everyone that he didn’t “transition” into a boy — he is one — and he’s most certainly not playing dress-up. He’s just transgender, which means he relates differently to his body than his father and his brother. And as he reminded me, he's human, and that relates to what’s most important.