Boy to the World: a Christmas Trans Tale - by Faith
Last week, we set up our Christmas tree. Keeping with tradition, our son, Jules, donned an “ugly Christmas sweater,” looking decidedly flat chested this year. He had top surgery last month. Has it been only a little more than a year since I had a daughter and not a son?
In the summer of 2014, our beloved daughter, Julietta, 28, called to ask if she could move back home. She was unemployed, depressed, physically ill, suicidal, and suffering panic attacks and agoraphobia. It took months for her to come to the realization that she was actually male. Although we were immediately supportive, we were confounded about what lay ahead.
That year began with denial and grief, followed by changing realities and perspectives, personal growth, counseling, and support groups. We learned to use new pronouns and a new name, Jules. Our son decided on a masculine version of his birth name rather than a completely different name. But it’s been hard for me to let go of that beautifully musical name that I spent care selecting years ago. I still slip up occasionally and use the beloved name, but correct myself. I know that Jules is sensitive about being mis-gendered.
Back to our recent Norman Rockwell holiday scene. We set the mood, selecting our favorite Christmas music and brewing spiced tea. We brought out the boxes of cherished decorations that recaptured memories of our early marriage, departed loved ones, and ornaments that Jules received or made as a child. After such a difficult year for us, we became filled with the spirit.
Then, I reached into the box and my hand froze as it fell on a photo of Julietta, age 3, on Santa's lap dressed up in a holiday dress. My husband and I looked at each other, and I sadly tucked it back in the box beneath unused ornaments. Fortunately, Jules saw none of this.
Later, I thought about Christmas celebrations when Jules was little. I recalled how the Baby Jesus in our crèche received new visitors from Julietta’s little hands each day; a brontosaurus, or Barbie and Ken in their convertible. I thought of her running across the floor in sparkly red slippers clutching a beloved unicorn. And I mourned the loss of that little girl, letting the tears fall.
As the sadness subsided, I came to a place of peace with our new reality. My son feels better about himself and he’s addressing his physical and mental health issues. I’ve met remarkable new friends in my newfound support groups. Thanks to Jules, I’m a better person than I was a year ago.
Today, while shopping, I spotted elf-on-a-bell ornaments with names imprinted on them. I was able to find one with a blank nameplate. When I got home, I wrote Jules's name on it and gave it to him. He got very emotional, gave me a huge hug and told me that it was the first thing he had received with his name on it. Jules immediately hung it in a prominent spot on the tree.
Funny how a little thing can mean so much. Or maybe it wasn’t so little. Perhaps what I really gave him was the gift of immortalizing his true identity in a place where we treasure our family history, great love and special memories. My wish this holiday season is that each parent of a transgender child can find peace, love, joy, and acceptance as you celebrate with your amazing children.
~ By Faith, mother of Jules, trans son, age 30
