We had a great summer. It started with the Trans Philly Conference in June, jumped to the Columbus Pride Parade, took us to the North East for Camp Aranu’tiq, and culminated in a trip to the North Carolina beach. We were fairly ready to get book bags and school supplies ready after all of that!
If you are the parent of a transgender, gender nonconforming, agender, or non-binary kiddo, then I really hope you’ll check out the website for Camp Aranu’tiq. This is the second year that we’ve sent Conner and she always comes back pleasantly exhausted, looking like she had way too much fun, and floating on cloud nine. My favorite part about camp is that it’s just camp. There’s no planned discussion about being transgender. No counseling sessions. No agenda. It’s just kids being like every other kid at camp which is something that Conner only gets to experience for a few weeks out of the year.
Pro tip: Don’t send clothes that you don’t want getting filthy.
She slept most of the ride home. So did Misha.
Our trip to North Carolina caused us a lot of initial stress. When HB2 came out, I was convinced that we shouldn’t go. Mike was also convinced that we shouldn’t go. Conner was nervous because she didn’t want to break the law, but she also didn’t want to miss a beach vacation with our whole family. So, I contacted Emerald Isle Realty and asked their thoughts on HB2. I didn’t tell them that we were an LGBTQ family so I was very relieved when they shared how unhappy they were by such a terrible bill. They made a point to help us feel very welcome. We decided to go ahead with the vacation and we’re really happy we did.
Conner did ask me any time she went to the bathroom if she was breaking the law. Since we didn’t use any public facilities, I told her that she didn’t. We didn’t AVOID public bathrooms because I would have happily encouraged civil disobedience, but the opportunity never came up. It was a concern that weighed constantly at the back of our minds and so any family in a similar situation will need to weigh the risks and benefits. We were surrounded by family, had no need to use a public bathroom, with a daughter who firmly passes for her gender and it still caused us almost constant concern that week.
My heart truly goes out to those families in NC who are living under the stress of HB2. We had it easy during our one week in Emerald Isle but I know that your struggle is very different and I wish I could help. We’ve donated to Roy Cooper’s campaign and we’re planning an election night party to celebrate when McCrory loses his seat. I will welcome any and all tweets and FB updates about how the election results are going that night. Champagne at the ready.
We got back from vacation and had less than two weeks before school started. Middle school. That’s right. I said middle school. How did that even happen?? I just gave birth to them yesterday and suddenly they have lockers and schedules and after school clubs. And there’s lip gloss. And blush. And Daddy is not handling that well.
She did her hair today. If you’ve followed me for awhile then you know that I’ve had to practically wrestle my kids into the shower. So this sudden realization that bodies feel better when they are clean and hair looks better when it is brushed is a brand new concept. Even Murphy is using styling product in his hair. I’m flummoxed by these babies who are, clearly, no longer babies.
Oh, and we have chickens. Because, reasons.
We bought chicks this past March on a whim that actually started four years ago when we didn’t own a house. I blame our friends in St. Paul (that’s you, Amy and Kate). But, now we have a house and that house needed chicks. And those chicks also grew up this summer and started giving us eggs.
So, be warned about the occasional chicken post.
Sally enjoys an afternoon stroll through the gardens.
Happy chickens = better eggs.
Another summer in the life of the McLaren family is in the books. I hope your summer has gone well and that your schools are accepting. I look forward to what this year will bring for all of us.
Sometimes (okay, oftentimes) other people say things WAY better than I do. This is one of those times.
There are times that I get trapped by my own fears, by my concerns that my daughter is going to be pissed at me for saying too much, that something I say will lead someone to our front door, or that in my desire to do good, I’ll actually make a situation worse. I struggle to find the balance between being a strong voice, a loud advocate, and the mom of a real kid who has to deal with the consequences of mommy’s work showing up on the Huffington Post.
This mom is dealing with the exact same concerns and issued a freaking amazing post that had me alternately weeping in commiseration and standing on my couch yelling in agreement.
I’m not sure how other families steer their kids through social norms and conversational appropriateness, but in our house we talk pretty openly, though we try hard to keep things age-appropriate. The word “transgender” floats through our house frequently, and Mike and I often find ourselves having discussions with the kids that I suspect aren’t the norm in other households. Our children are mature for their age, but they’re also ten-year olds. While the topic list is open, we take great pains to remember their age and maturity level.
Our kids have always been precocious, and we learned very early to only answer the question asked. Here’s an example:
Kids (as kindergartners): Where do babies come from?
Me: Babies come from a special area in a woman’s body close to her tummy where they grow until they are ready to come out. (Kids are satisfied; mommy is relieved and thanking her friend Christina for the great advice about only answering exactly what was asked)
Kids (as first or second graders): How are babies made?
Me: Babies are made when a seed and an egg come together. (Again, shockingly, kids are satisfied and mommy is once again relieved and silently thanking her friend Christina).
It took until last year for them to finally put the pieces together enough to ask for the details. I’d like to point out that Mike has never been around for these conversations.
Kids (because they are always together when these questions come up): But how does the sperm GET to the egg?
Me (inwardly cringing and cursing my husband for, once again, missing this important life event): Well (sigh), for most couples, that means the man puts his penis in the woman’s vagina and then the sperm comes out. That’s called sex.
(Dead silence for a solid ten seconds as they process this unexpected information)
Kids: WHAT?? EEWWWW! YOU DID THAT?? DAD DID THAT? OH GROSS! (barf noises and peals of laughter for several minutes from them, uncomfortable silence from me)
Then followed a conversation about how some couples (same sex couples, couples with fertility concerns, single parents) don’t make babies this way and have to have help from doctors. Of course we also covered how these conversations are for home only and how it’s inappropriate to talk about these things with friends, etc, etc, etc.
And then I called Mike and railed against the injustice that these conversations always fell to me and how he owed me big time. I think I got flowers and chocolate that night. I was only slightly mollified.
That’s an example of how we’ve handled typically difficult conversations as they’ve grown up. I say difficult topics not because I think we shouldn’t talk about them (because I feel strongly that we SHOULD have these conversations), but because many adults have strong opinions on when, how, and what these conversations will look like.
All of that said, we have had to navigate through some pretty adult conversations in this house. Conner had her first endocrinology appointment a few months ago. This was to establish some ground work, meet the physician, talk about the process of going on hormone blockers and possibly cross-gender hormones (when and if appropriate, down the line, at the appropriate age), and for the physician to meet us, meet our child, and determine all of our wishes for hormone treatment. It was a really tough appointment for all of us for very different reasons and it’s taken me a few months to be ready to talk about it.
I talk to lots of parents of transgender and gender non-conforming kids. We’re all in different places of acceptance and readiness for the next steps. Mike and I had begun to feel like pros in navigating these waters because we’ve done it for so long. Conner has presented as a female for longer than she presented as a male. She doesn’t say that she feels like a girl, she says that she is a girl. That’s an important distinction when we start talking about hormone blockers and cross-gender hormones.
There was a recent article in Slate magazine from researchers who are leading a long-term study to observe the development and mental health of children who describe themselves as gender non-conforming and transgender. It’s a great article that describes some of the nuances between gender non-conforming children (children who don’t fit expected gender norms but don’t necessarily say that they ARE a different gender) and transgender children (who usually state or feel that they ARE a different gender).
Even medical professionals struggle to put the appropriate amount of emphasis on these definitions while still trying to maintain consistency with a diagnosis. The bottom line in all things stems from a child’s level of gender dysphoria, or their discomfort between the differences between their gender identity and their physical anatomy. It is really important to understand that everyone’s identity is individual and personal. One person’s definition of their transgender or gender non-conforming identity is likely to be different from another. Just as my self-identify as a woman is different from my sister’s. This is why blanket statements are pointless and harmful.
When we first put the pieces together when our daughter was 4 and had been asking us for months when her penis would go away, the distinctions between gender non-conforming and transgender were very important to us. We were desperate to try and figure out what we should do, foresee the future, and not make a wrong decision. We were asked by other parents if our child was transgender or gender non-conforming and it felt like we had to have a diagnosis to know what the next steps were. I’ve since realized that at the age of four, when no decisions are permanent, this was unnecessary stress.
Once the decision had been made to support her, trying to figure out if she was transgender or gender non-conforming didn’t weigh as heavily. We had access to few resources, contradictory studies, and no firm guidelines. What we did have was a gut feeling that told us that supporting our depressed and anxious child could not possibly be a wrong decision. The rest of the details would make themselves clear as we moved forward. And they did. Conner blossomed, we continued to educate ourselves, and life moved forward.
Conner has always been steadfast that she is a girl. In the very beginning of social transition, there were a few comments about being both a boy and a girl. I don’t want to hide that because I hear it from other parents and it tends to cause stress as mom and dad start second-guessing the decision to allow their child to transition. We took the stance that our daughter could be whomever she needed to be to experience happiness. Did she say a few times in those first few weeks that she was both boy and girl? Yes. Did she ever dress like a boy again or ask to go back to male pronouns? No. She was adamantly opposed to wearing boys clothes or having male pronouns and would visibly suffer when forced to comply with those gender norms. We encouraged her to do what made her happy, provided clothes and toys of both genders, and allowed her to lead us.
I give this backstory because we are coming up on the age when the differences between transgender or gender non-conforming, and the level of gender dysphoria gets more important. If you stopped to read the Slate article, it was pointed out that there is a statistic that states that 80% of of gender non-conforming children do not grow up to identify as transgender. There are many layers to this very general statement and it annoys me that it gets tossed around by people who don’t understand research, don’t understand where that number comes from, and use it as the definitive answer for why children shouldn’t socially transition. Please read the article to understand why you shouldn’t just stop educating yourself at the 80% statistic.
If your child is experiencing gender dysphoria, there is a medically acceptable path. As pointed out by our endocrinologist, puberty blockers do just that: block puberty. They have been used in children who experience early onset of puberty and can be safely used in transgender children. There are medical risks such as bone density concerns that must be considered. There are also risks in denying puberty blockers to a transgender child whose body starts to go into the puberty of the wrong gender. Even for a medication that has been used safely in other children, there are things to consider in both giving and withholding this medication.
If a child persists in their statement that they are a gender different with their anatomy, and they are of a medically acceptable age, then the next step is to start cross-gender hormones.There is some debate on what this age is as standards of care are being established, but fourteen and sixteen are the two ages I see most frequently cited. Fourteen is the age when endocrinologists step in to give medications for delayed puberty which is why many parents of transgender children advocate for it.
There’s a lot more to consider once you start talking about cross-gender hormones. Up until this point, everything has been reversible. Hair can be cut (or grown out), clothes can be switched, pronouns and names can change, puberty blocking medication can be stopped and the puberty that aligns with the anatomy can begin.
Once cross-gender hormones are started, the ability to procreate stops. For a child who wants to align their body with their identity, this might not seem like a big consequence. But, as a parent, the impact is clearer. There is the possibility of allowing puberty to progress to the point where sperm or eggs could be harvested. But there is also concern about denying cross-gender hormones and seeing your child suffer. And, I’m not just talking about a few sad days. I’m talking about the extremely high risk of depression and suicide that is disproportionately experienced by these kids. There’s rarely an easy answer.
So how did our appointment with the endocrinologist go? Well, frankly, it was kind of a shit show. I was tense and babbled inappropriately or sat rigidly in my chair and tried to sound like the medical professional that my degree proclaims me to be. Conner was stressed and slept poorly the night before which triggered her cyclic vomiting syndrome. She spent most of the appointment nauseous and moaning until, of course, the actual physical exam, when she began to violently throw up in the sink (she missed puking on the endocrinologist, thankfully). And poor Mike just sat there trying to take in all the information while supporting his mess of a wife (we were both shocked when I burst into tears) and his (literal) mess of a daughter.
It could have gone better.
That’s why I was surprised when I got a phone call from the clinic asking if I would speak on a parent panel for an endocrinology conference that was being held a month later. I’m not sure how that happened. Maybe it was my quick thinking when my daughter was about to hurl on the doctor. I suspect it’s because it was clear that I understood the complexities of these issues and would be unlikely to downplay the very real concerns that parents face when raising a transgender or gender non-conforming child.
Post appointment, there has been a sense of relief that Conner is still months, likely even a year or two away, from needing puberty blockers. I forgot to ask if we have to make the decision to allow puberty to progress to the point of being able to harvest sperm once puberty begins in a year or two, or if we start blockers right away and make that decision later. I guess we should also consider it a positive that we have time to navigate yet still more adult conversations with our ten-year old. She would love to have her own children someday and would be open to having a conversation about allowing enough puberty to make that happen. But, we don’t know what kind of changes her body will go through to get her to that point and that’s a big scary unknown. Right now, she is happy and healthy and my first priority is to keep her that way. I don’t want to take away her ability to have her own children, but I don’t want to see her anxious and suicidal as her body changes irreversibly due to the wrong puberty.
I find myself both relieved and frustrated that it’s not my decision alone that will dictate this course for her life. In fact, I suspect that my role will be to help her navigate possible consequences and help her tease out the complexities of her own thoughts on this. I’m sure that I’ll voice my opinion, but in the end defer to her decisions once I see that she has considered her options.
I chose to share this part of our lives because too often people assume that parents, kids, and medical professionals are blithely making decisions that have sweeping consequences without considering the the long term effects. Nothing could be further from the truth. Our lives are constantly weighing decisions.
I don’t know any accepting parent of a gender awesome kid who doesn’t find themselves struggling to balance support for their child with naked fear of the future. The authors of the study mentioned in the Slate article called us pioneers. They would know. We sat with them just a few months ago as we took part in their study. I’m so appreciative that researchers see the need to conduct well-designed studies like this. If you are the parent of a child like mine, then I encourage you to get in contact with the TransYouth Project. It was a few hours of our time, to be repeated if we are willing, so that the development and mental health of our kids can be studied long term.
As someone who teaches evidence-based practice, I see the need for studies like this to help future children. While many adults rigidly conform to expected gender norms, our children do not. Adults raise a ruckus when Jaden Smith wears a skirt for Louis Vitton or when Miley Cyrus refuses to conform to a specific gender. But do you know what our kids do? Nothing. Because they don’t care unless you tell them to care. We need strong evidence to help us determine which kids will need continuous love and support to express themselves authentically and which kids need that AND hormone therapy.
If you are looking for a great resource to help you understand the complexities of transgender and gender-nonconforming identity, I encourage you to start with the book Trans Bodies, Trans Selves. It will help you understand the rich layers of identity and why you can’t assume that one person’s transgender expression is the same for someone else.
The longer I advocate for my daughter, the more my understanding grows, and the more I realize how ignorant I am about this subject. I will never be able to step into her shoes, I will never be as eloquent as others in illustrating the needs of this community, but I will always try to be open to having my assumptions and beliefs challenged.
It started with a frustrated question as I watched my daughter throw up (again).
“Do transgender kids miss more school than their cisgender peers?”
I posted it on my personal Facebook page and a friend immediately responded that kids who are bullied tend to miss more school.
I started to type this statement: “To the best of my knowledge, Conner isn’t being bullied. I mean, she IS being discriminated against by the school system . . .,” and that’s when I stopped typing and started crying.
She IS being bullied. She’s being bullied by the school system that tells her to stand up against bullies. I never made that connection before.
“Maybe,” I thought to myself, “Maybe, I am mistaking what the word “bullying” really means.”
So, I did what anyone else would do and I googled it. This is the first definition that popped up:
“Use superior strength or influence to intimidate someone, typically to force him or her to do what one wants. ”
That’s exactly what’s happening here.
The school system:
Is not allowing her to use the girl’s bathroom
Asked her not to disclose her own personal information because they weren’t educated on how to respond to questions from parents and students.
Due to the former, put her in a situation where she felt like she had to lie about why she wasn’t using the girl’s bathroom so as not to get in trouble for disclosing that she was transgender.
Is not creating a culture where she feels safe to openly be who she is
Is not creating a culture of safety for other LGBT kids
Is creating a stressful environment where she has to be the one doing the educating instead of the other way around.
I should stop and let you know that I appreciate many people in the school system who are hoping to make things better. I understood why they needed time to get educated. The school system as a whole was completely unprepared for us.
I am frustrated because they’ve known about transgender and gender non-conforming kids in the school system before we arrived and didn’t start working on changes at that point. They recognize now that they need to make changes and we are actually meeting this week to discuss where things stand and how to move forward. That’s great. I acknowledge the work being done. But, why did it take my kid (and my mouth??) to prompt these changes?
I really wish they could hear some of the conversations my daughter has had with her healthcare team. I wish they could see how stressed she gets and how it leads to throwing up. I wish they could understand the toll it takes on her to be in an environment where she is constantly wondering if she is safe. Or if she’s going to get in trouble for talking about who she is. Of being in an environment where she is doing the educating; where she is leading a culture change.
There are transgender kids in every school system across our nation. Too many times, schools are not updating their policies towards transgender kids until faced with parents who won’t go away. Too often, a child is discriminated against, which prompts the school system to realize that their policies need changed.
Why are we okay with that? Why aren’t educators leading the change here? Why are we forcing children to create their own path because one doesn’t exist for them in their school? Why are we asking children to carry the burden of educating their teachers and their peers?
Why aren’t schools creating a culture where kids feel safe to ask the tough questions? Why are the schools participating in a form of bullying because of outdated policies and lack of education?
I want to close by saying that my daughter did come out to her friends a few weeks ago. She started by asking them if they knew what transgender meant. Their response?
“Everybody knows what transgender is unless they are a baby or an old person.”
Think about that response for a second. Your child probably knows more about transgender issues than you do.
The end to that coming out story? After some typical grade school drama, her best friend said, “You can stop trying to explain because it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that you are my friend.” High five to that kid. That was over a month ago and there’s been no more discussion about it because it’s not a big deal to our kids. It’s a big deal to the school.
Our children are teaching the educators if they will only stop to listen.
Kids get it. It’s the adults who make it more complicated than it needs to be.
But, I need a break from thinking about those issues! So, I thought we’d take a walk down memory lane. I am hoping to start a little series entitled “Did I ever tell you about. . .” because our twin stories are legendary with those who know us. While I like to keep this blog mainly about transgender issues, I’m also trying to show you that we’re just a family like everyone else. I’m not sure that this is the story that shows that off the best, but here goes. . .
I had just gotten off a grueling day shift at the hospital and picked the kids up from the babysitter’s house. Fighting traffic during rush hour, we made our way to a home improvement store. They were young; probably around three.
It was blustery that day, as is typical if you live in Minnesota. It seemed like nine out of twelve months could be described as cold. As we trudged through the gray slush, I distinctly remember asking the kids if they had to go to the bathroom.
If you’re the parent of a young child, you know that it’s best to ask frequently if your kids need to use the bathroom. Before you leave the house, before bed, before the movie starts, during commercials, as soon as you get to the restaurant, before you leave the restaurant. Mini humans are like water sieves at that point in their lives. Water goes in, water comes out. Almost immediately.
So, as was normally the practice, I asked my two bundles of snow pants and winter coats if they had to pee. When they bobbed their little heads in the negative, we proceeded into the store.
After browsing through paint swatches, gardening supplies, and new appliances (because why not?), we rode the free amusement ride (otherwise known as the moving ramp) up to the second floor. One tiny hand was firmly grasped in each of mine as we rode that glorious-ramp-of-joy to my favorite part of the store.
We were living in a beautiful turn-of-the-century craftsman style home that was equal parts charming and inconvenient. The home improvement store was a frequent stop in our never-ending battle to add function to our home. While I don’t remember what drew me to the store on that particular day, it was always a habit to walk through the bathroom models and dream about the possibilities.
The kids were right behind me. I mean, right there. As I stood there gazing, mouth agape, at the most beautiful tile flooring ever, I heard snickering behind me. It didn’t register at first because, seriously, the tile flooring. But, I glanced up, annoyed that someone would break my reverie of bathroom remodeling bliss.
I saw an adult, no make that three adults, clearly all patrons of the store, staring with amusement in one direction. As I turned my head to follow their gaze, I realized that my innocent little angels were no longer right beside me. It was then that I saw them.
Two little butts.
Two little naked butts with coordinating frontal anatomy were both poised and ready to launch a urinary assault on a pristine alabaster display toilet. I shrieked and bolted for those little butts, but I knew I wasn’t going to make it in time.
I had looked at too many items in the store. The wallpaper that I was never going to buy, the carpet swatches I wasn’t even interested in. Their bladders were only able to hold a shot glass worth of liquids before imminent evacuation was necessary. That point was probably reached well before I’d even ascended to the bathroom nirvana that was about to be destroyed by twin golden arches.
Imagine, if you will, a slow motion scene of me, hair trailing behind my frantic and horrified face, arms outstretched in desperation, shouting, “NOOOOOOOOOOOO,” in a futile attempt to staunch what nature had told my children was right and natural.
In their minds, a toilet was for two things: number one and number two. They had to pee, their mother was clearly helping them by bringing them to the fanciest toilet they’d ever observed in the whole of their three years of life, and so, pee they would.
It was, in that moment of harpy-like shrieking, that their startled faces glanced up to observe the face of their mother coming at them like a freight train.
People, it was enough. It was ENOUGH!
I got there in the nick of time; no golden bullets having yet been released. I pulled their pants up, and we RAN, I mean RAN to the bathroom. One kid was tucked under each arm like I was an NFL running back about to score the winning touchdown. People were dodging to get out of my way, a shriveled old bird tsk’d at me with a look of disapproval on her pursed coral lips, I think there was a tuck and roll at one point, and possibly an end cap made the casualty list. I burst through the doors of the bathroom hoping that I wasn’t about to take out an innocent bystander on the other side. It was in my way and nothing was stopping me.
I got to the bathroom and threw them into a stall. Pants were pulled down and bladders released. I was a hot mess of sweat and running eyeliner but at least I was able to leave that store with the knowledge that my children’s urine was safely deposited in the appropriate receptacle.
That evening we had a serious discussion about why the display toilets at Menards are only for show. And, Mike and I had a really long laugh over beers (okay, it was probably whiskey).
That story happened easily six or seven years ago and remains a family favorite. The kids, who’ve heard this story dozens of times, continue to laugh hysterically each time they hear it. They ask for the story every few weeks, and it seemed high time to share it with you, our dear readers.
The Twinadoes started fifth grade yesterday! It was with a 60/40 blend of trepidation and joy that I dropped them off at the door of another new school. While homeschooling was easier than I expected, I was pretty excited to have the house to myself for the first time in 6 months. The kids were both really pumped to spend the day making friends, having recess, checking out a new school, and oh yeah, maybe learning some stuff.
As it has been in every school, the Little Miss was the first transgender student they’d interacted with. Mike and I met with the principal almost two weeks prior to the start of school to share our story and meet with someone who would become an important part of our lives. We shared our journey and some of the concerns we had for the upcoming year. Our principal is a wonderful person and I’m really relieved to be with yet another understanding educator who is eager to learn and create a safe space for all children.
Unfortunately, for the first time in her school history, our daughter will have to use the unisex bathroom. The school system has a policy in place that dictates that all transgender kids will use a unisex bathroom. My heart sank when I was given this information, but it was paired with the statement that we would work together to get the right people the information they needed to make positive changes for this population of children.
I watched as Conner’s little shoulders, so high with expectation, slumped in shock when she heard that she wouldn’t be able to use the girl’s bathroom. For her, being forced to use the unisex bathroom indicated that the school didn’t believe her. It told her that the school thought she wasn’t really a girl as she would be denied the very basic right to use the bathroom with all the rest of the girls. By telling her to use a unisex bathroom, it set her up for questions from her peers, it put focus on an area of her body that already caused her distress, highlighted her difference from her peers, and set up the school as her largest source of stress instead of a safe haven for learning.
For a child who has always identified as female, this was both confusing and embarrassing. We explained how her hero, Jazz Jennings, went through similar struggles and helped pave the way for Conner to use the girl’s bathroom at her previous school in Florida. Though it will be hard, Conner now has the opportunity to help create change in her current school system.
I want to be positive and see the tremendous potential that Conner has to help create change here in our town. It was with mixed feelings that I gave her the positive spin of, “Go, be a trailblazer, young one.”
But, my heart hurts that the responsibility falls on her shoulders. It would have been wonderful to show up to a school system that was ready for a child like ours. I will say this, the hearts of the teachers in our school seem to be ready for Conner. It would be the expectation I guess, for the next line to say, “And the rest is just paperwork.”
But, it isn’t that simple. I foolishly thought that we’d be able to share our story, everyone would see how silly it is to keep Conner (and kids like her) out of the bathroom of their affirmed gender, that I might have to point out the Department of Justice’s opinion on the matter, and that would be the end of it. But, no. There will be meetings, and education, and calling in reinforcements to help with the education, and making ourselves available to answer questions, and these things take time.
If you don’t already know this about me, I’m impatient on a good day. It’s not uncommon for my family to see me fuming at my computer as I wait for the little round spinning rainbow image to do what I’ve asked the computer to do.
I’m even more impatient when it involves a process change which is why my doctoral capstone project was such a trying event for me my family. When the issue causes my daughter to feel shame and makes her feel different, then the slow process of change is likely going to drive me insane.
I know that other families are going through this process too. So, I’m going to share the links to everything I had posted in the Purple Transgender Binder of Awesomeness which I gave to the administration of our school district. I’m also going to be updating my resources link to include this information though that won’t happen for a day or two. And, because I write when I’m agitated, frustrated, happy, and bored, I’m sure I’ll be giving updates along the way. I won’t be sharing the name of our school system or the individuals involved out of respect and privacy for this process. There are some really great people trying to make positive changes and I want this to be as smooth as possible for the school system, our advocates, and the families as we all partner together.
Without further adieu, the contents of the Purple Transgender Binder of Awesomeness:
So, like every other family who is starting school TOMORROW, this mom is super busy. I made a video instead of writing out a blog post. It’s short (less than 90 seconds). And you get to judge my messy office.