I’m The 65-Year-Old Parent Of A Transgender Daughter. I Never Expected I’d Be Helping Her Flee The Country

When our son was born in 1996, I was filled with a love I’d never known before. I loved my wife and other members of our family, but this was different.

We knew then (as we still know now) that our love for this being would be forever. No conditions, no restrictions, no imposed agenda. Unconditional love and support as long as I lived was the contract I made then and there.

In those first days, I watched as my wife lovingly bathed him, nursed him and provided all kinds of loving care at all hours of the day and night. I would learn what it meant to be a father ― to change his diapers, to feed him in the middle of the night, to rock and hold him until he fell asleep, and to look with love deep into his eyes.

Over the years, my role as a dad would shift, and I’d make my share of mistakes, but always from a place of love (even through some of my own anger or frustration) and the intention of being the best dad I could be. And I’d marvel at what a wonderful mother my wife was. We both loved our child and would do anything for him.

In the ensuing years, we shared special moments with our son, including so many great one-on-one father-and-son times, family trips and times just laughing around our house about something silly. This is also not to say that there weren’t many times where we would get sideways for all the reasons things can go south when dealing with a tantruming toddler, a petulant pre-teen, a boundary-testing teenager or a newly liberated college student.

But all those times, the good and the not-so-fun, are what make up the whole of your relationship and bond with your child. Working through some of the toughest times is what brings a deep connection.

Through the adolescent years, we knew our child wasn’t the traditionally manly-man type of male. But nor was he the stereotypical idea of “girly.” He was just who he was in his own shade of unique and gender-neutral gray. And we loved him as he was, without feeling we needed to change him. We felt that our role as parents was not to tell him what he needed to be, but rather to give him the love, space and support to become who he truly was.

After college, when he’d moved out on his own, he came to visit our home and announced that he was transitioning. He had come to realise that in his heart and soul, he was female, not male. This was not new for him. Though he knew he’d been assigned as male at birth, that’s not something that was true for him as he, now she, looked deep within herself. She was a woman, not a man.

Outsiders, even in the intimate role of parents, cannot genuinely know what’s inside someone else. The only place this realisation can take place is deep within each of us. Some fight the truth of this realisation, and too often battle with depression or end regrettably in suicide, which can occur when loved ones reject someone in their family who is transitioning. And others continue to find a way to live in a publicly performed lie out of fear or shame.

Those who accept and embrace their realisation often have a difficult journey that requires great courage to swim against the current of who they’ve been told they are or are supposed to be. Yet after this period requiring great strength to come into their own, they often find happiness.

As you might imagine, our daughter’s revelation came as somewhat of a shock to us as parents, but in some ways, it wasn’t. We quickly learned that our now-daughter wanted to be called “she” or “they,” and had a new name of her own choosing. We lovingly listened and gave space to her as she shared all that led up to her transition and what it meant to her.

She also let us know that she was getting ready to start taking oestrogen and testosterone blockers under a doctor’s supervision and therapeutic support. She shared that she didn’t know yet whether she would ever want the “bottom surgery” to complete the physical transition, but that decision was down this new, unpaved road.

When she was done, we expressed our support and love for her. I believe we told her that it would take some time to take all this in and integrate it. I also recall that we shared our concerns for her safety, as the world might feel differently about her transition. And though I can’t remember if we said it at this point or later, we let her know that we admired her courage for being who she is and not choosing an easy path.

Although I realise it is not the same thing, this discussion brought home my own struggles of being who I wanted to be. For so much of my adult life, I worked in a family business. I’d once told people at a conference, when asked what I did for a living, that I “fulfilled everyone’s expectations of me.” I knew what it was like to worry about others and what they wanted of me instead of being true to myself. That reflection simply reinforced for me the courage my young daughter had to be herself.

For the next months, we respected our daughter’s privacy and decision to go through hormone therapy before coming out on her own timetable. This gave me time to ask myself questions like ― what does this say about me as a parent? Did I not do enough to make my son into a man? Should I have forced her to play sports? Was my parenting not firm or strong enough? Had I failed her in my duties as a father? I was grateful to have a supportive life partner and co-parent as we waded through these new waters together.

It didn’t take long to realise I had not failed her at all. Perhaps it was quite the opposite. Instead of imposing my social conditioning on her and strong-arming her into being something society said she should be, I gave her love, support, space, safety, perspective, guidance, humour, kindness, compassion and more to be able to come to this beautiful place of self-awareness and self-actualisation on her own. I’d helped to raise someone comfortable in who she was, what she wanted to be and how she wanted to live her life.

I must admit that this part of my journey included some grief. I started to become aware of a feeling of loss ― I had, in a sense, lost the son I knew. Yet I was also gaining a daughter. I couldn’t dismiss the feelings of loss for the times we’d shared as father and son, but had I really lost anything? The child who’s now my daughter is still the same person. Our life moving forward was likely to be different in many ways, but those wonderful memories with my son remain.

When she was ready to come out as trans, we sat down and talked with her and our younger child, our son, who was a high school senior at the time. Our daughter gave us the go-ahead to share with others beyond our inner circle, only to hear our youngest say that he’d already shared this news with friends and teachers at our local school, at which I was the chair of the school board.

Trepidation quickly turned into relief as he shared how his sharing this news about his sister’s transition went down.

One of his friends said (paraphrased), “I thought you had a brother?” To which our son replied, “I did have a brother, but now she’s my sister.” The friend replied, “Oh, OK.” How wonderful that our son’s generation seemed to take this all in stride and it was not a big deal.

Over the years since she shared her decision to transition, I’m so proud of her in so many ways. From working hard to establish herself in her job and career to how she came out and gained the respect of her co-workers to becoming financially self-sufficient, she’s most parents’ dream for their child. But to me, the most wonderful change is how happy she is being who she really is.

Unfortunately, those warm feelings are now coupled with an increased concern for her safety and well-being. Awareness of people who are trans is still relatively new in our culture. As such, there’s a great deal of misunderstanding about what it all means and, sadly, quite a bit of projection by those who clearly don’t agree with or support this, which has stirred hatred, physical harm and a threatening environment.

One of the things that was so helpful to me as a parent was education. As I’ve come to learn, it’s not fair or respectful to expect the one trans person you know to educate you on what it means and all that goes along with being trans. Education is something that requires each of us to be responsible enough to do our own homework. Through organisations like I Work With Grandparents Of Trans Kids. I’m Constantly Stunned By What I Hear Them Say.