Love Lives Here

by Amanda Jette Knox

  But we tried. And once again, as I had with Sylvia, I was able to show one of my children how to lead with love—even if that’s not what you’re getting back.

  TEN

  fallout

  EARLY ON IN ALEXIS’S TRANSITION, I was left with another concern that kept me up at night. During recent years, my blog, The Maven of Mayhem, had become more than a website where I anonymously ranted about the life of mediocre motherhood. The audience had grown to include people across Canada and the US. It wasn’t a high-traffic site, but it had enough of a readership that I was sometimes asked to appear at local events and was occasionally stopped on the street by someone who recognized me.

  I was no longer writing semi-anonymously either. There was a picture of me and a few old ones of the kids on the site. Some people jokingly called me “Maven” when they met me, but everyone knew my name.

  My blog was my fourth baby. I loved writing it and sharing it with people. I mostly kept to lighter topics, but sometimes touched on heavier material. I made no money off the site, other than when an editor occasionally reached out after reading a piece and offered me work. In that way, it was a great showcase of what I could do, but I had no paid content, no giveaways and no product reviews. It was all personal essays. As a freelance writer and editor, I wanted one spot on the internet that was entirely mine, and themav­enofmay­hem.com was it.

  But now I was considering shutting it down.

  My family had always figured prominently in my posts, particularly my three boys. As it turned out, I didn’t have three boys. How would I explain that? Should I explain it? I feared it would put my daughter at risk to out her online.

  After much thought, I decided to shut it down quietly and take my existing social media pages offline. I could create new business accounts and a new site exclusively to sell my content. But no more personal essays. My career was writing, but my most important job was to protect my children.

  “You can’t do that!” Alexis said when I announced the plan at the dinner table the following night. “Mom, it’s your blog! You love your blog.”

  “No,” I said. “I love you. I like my blog. I can live without my blog. I can’t live without you.”

  “Why do you have to shut it down?” Jackson asked.

  “Because I’m worried that if I tell everyone about your sister, they might be mean to her.”

  “So you don’t want people to know about her?” he asked, trying to figure it out.

  “No, that’s not it,” I said. “I just want Alexis to have the choice to tell people or not tell them.”

  “Do you know how awkward this is going to be?” Alexis said. “In a few months, when I look like I want to look, people who used to read your blog all the time are going to see us on the street and wonder when you got a daughter and what happened to your other son.”

  “Awwwkwaaard,” said Jackson, making a face.

  “If you just say it, everyone will know,” she explained. “You just have to do it once instead of over and over. That’s easier.”

  “She has a point,” Aerik piped up. “A lot of people in Ottawa know you, Mom. How many times do you want to have the same conversation?”

  This was not exactly how I’d expected this talk to go.

  “Maybe you could use it as an advocacy platform,” my partner offered. “You don’t use the kids’ names on there anyway, do you?” I didn’t. I had given them nicknames, or handles: Aerik was Intrepid, Jackson was Spawnling and Alexis was Gutsy—which, come to think of it, was rather fitting. I also had no recent pictures of the kids on the site. Nobody would know what Alexis looked like.

  “You should do that!” Alexis agreed. “When I searched for trans kids in Canada, I couldn’t find any stories of families who were supportive. Not one. We should be that one.”

  We should be that one.

  * * *

  —

  My kids have grown up online, where people share a lot of themselves in exchange for clicks, likes and upvotes. Everyone wants to be a YouTube celebrity. Everyone wants to be the next star. But I was worried that they didn’t understand the permanency of it all. Privacy is not a genie you can put back in the bottle. Deleting something does not necessarily make it go away. Did they know about caches? Or that screenshots can haunt you forever?

  And what about hate groups? Some have entire databases on LGBTQ advocates, where they collect as much information as possible to use against them. People have had their phone numbers, workplaces, home addresses and credit card numbers shared publicly, simply for daring to speak out. It’s a practice called doxxing, and it happens far more than many realize.

  That was one side of the equation, and it was an important one. But the other side was also important.

  Somewhere, there was a kid searching for stories of other kids who came out and were still loved. Somewhere else, there were worried parents looking for examples of affirming families so they could have something to model. And somewhere else, there were parents who refused to support their trans child because everyone around them said it was just a phase and the kid would grow out it. How did they know? Because when they went searching for answers online, that’s what they found first.

  It’s not as if there weren’t positive examples out there—there were even a handful in Canada. But they were hard to find, which is why Alexis had been unsuccessful. Putting another positive example out there could help tip the scales; it could even become the first thing people see when they go looking for answers.

  The world was scary for trans people, and especially for trans kids. But it was scary only because the narrative was still predominantly negative. The only way to make it safer was to change that narrative, to get people thinking about trans people in a positive light. And to do that, people had to offer positive examples.

  Yes, it was a risk—a big one. But the more conversations we had, the more I realized it was one our family was willing to take.

  * * *

  —

  Alexis came out to the world in several steps. Family, close friends and the people at school were all told quickly. I then created a Facebook list with the names of trusted people and shared the news with them. So far, so good. We stayed in that space for a little while, with only the near and dear in the know, enjoying the relative comfort and safety. But we knew it couldn’t last. Eventually, everyone in our lives needed to be told. Families go about this in different ways. Some tell people individually and some get groups together. Others take the social media or email approach, giving their loved ones space to fully absorb the news and get over any initial shock before they speak in person. There are families who don’t make a sweeping declaration at all, but instead let it happen organically, one person and one encounter at a time. And sadly, there are still those who live in areas where the threat of being out is so high that they tell no one at all. Those families sometimes move to a different city or another part of the country, where their child can live as their true gender without anyone knowing they’re trans. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course. But it should be a personal decision, not one based in fear of intolerance or worse.

  In our case, the big coming-out-to-the-rest-of-the-world happened on my blog. I spent hours writing and rewriting a post. When it came time to pick a title, I chose “My Son Has Changed. My Love Hasn’t” and added a photo of pink high-tops. In the post, I told the world that the person I had thought was my son was in fact my daughter, and that we loved her no matter what. I asked people to be kind, urging them to please step out of our lives quietly if they weren’t going to be supportive.

  “I am writing this post because it gives you time to decide if you can accept my child on her terms,” I explained near the end. “If you can see her for more than her gender; if you can understand how important this is to her. If you can’t do this, please exit our lives, stage left. I won’t be mad, just relieved that we didn’t have to have a big ugly confrontation about it. See, we can only have people in our live
s that support her. I’m not trying to be a jerk, just a mom. Kid trumps unsupportive friend or family member. I hope you understand.”

  Reading the post now makes me wince a little. It’s riddled with problematic language like “transgendered.” People aren’t “gayed” and they’re also not “transgendered.” Transgender isn’t something that happens to you—it’s something you are. But you know, coming from someone who was still quite new to this, it’s not the worst post out there. The point is clear: our child is trans, we’re still learning, she comes first, please use the right pronouns and don’t be unkind.

  I remember I pressed Publish and then had an epic anxiety attack. The genie was now out, and so were we.

  The first few minutes after I shared the blog post were absolute hell. I was afraid of what the response would be. I was also afraid that people would not respond. What would be worse? I couldn’t decide.

  Before long, I was getting stacks of notifications on my phone. I could see that the post was being commented on, but I couldn’t see what the comments were from my lock screen. Were they supportive or ugly? Were we headed toward a welcoming love-glitter rainbow, or off a precipice into Tea Partytopia? Someone without a timeshare at Anxiety Villa might have walked away for a few hours, or maybe even gone to bed and checked in on things over a bagel in the a.m. After all, it’s not like I could do much, right? The news was out there, and whatever happened was going to happen whether I watched it unfold live or not.

  Sadly, I have a swanky condo at Anxiety Villa and I visit regularly. There was no way I could sleep, so I paced the proverbial penthouse as I opened my social media apps and had a look.

  There were piles of messages waiting for us from loved ones and strangers alike: comments, tweets, emails, PMs. And nearly every one felt like a hug.

  We support your child in being the best version of herself.

  Your daughter is so brave.

  I love your family.

  Thank you for doing the right thing.

  I wish there were more people like you.

  If she needs anything, I’m here for her.

  You’re amazing parents.

  We’re so happy for Gutsy!

  Gutsy. I’m glad she had that name. It made it all feel safer somehow, like I was protecting her anonymity while also sharing our story. It was the best of both worlds. I couldn’t wait to tell Alexis and the rest of the family we had struck gold in the community support department.

  I noticed the next morning that my Facebook friends list had dropped by a few people. My attention was fully on Alexis as I tried to shield her from any potential hate thrown her way. But I did notice, and I wondered who had decided to exit our lives. There were also some notable absences from the list of people expressing their support. A few friends who had been in our lives for many years and regularly read and commented on my blog had said nothing in response to my now-viral post. They continued to say nothing in the days that followed.

  I waited. And I hurt.

  Of all the people in my life, there were some I’d expected to hop on board the support train right away—close friends whose kids were growing up with mine, had gone to playgroup or school with us and had come to all the birthday parties. I had supported several of them through tough times in their lives, from miscarriages to worrisome diagnoses. Yet they were nowhere to be seen when I needed them. They hadn’t completely jumped ship; they were still on my friends list, but they weren’t behaving like friends.

  And I really needed my friends right then.

  For the record, if someone needs more time to process important new information, that’s understandable. But there’s a great way to communicate that to the sender. That person can say something like this:

  Hi, Person I Care About,

  I just want to let you know that I saw your news about X. This is very new to me and I need some time to learn about it. But I want you to know I’m thinking of you and am not ignoring you. I’ll be in touch soon.

  Of course, that’s in an ideal situation, where emotions haven’t taken over completely. Real life is messier, and we don’t always behave in ideal ways. (I’ve been guilty of that so many times that I could write a whole other book about it.)

  Some people fell out of our life without saying a word. I thought rejection would hurt less as an adult. But given that this rejection seemed directly related to the core of who my child is, it hurt even more. I hurt for me, but I especially hurt for her. Who had she harmed? What had she done to deserve this?

  One friend did not slink away quietly, but instead spoke up quite loudly—and when she did, I immediately wished she hadn’t. Her words were like a punch to the gut, her judgment harsh. She insisted on calling Alexis by her old name and using male pronouns, even though I’d asked her not to. She did it publicly and deliberately. Raw from the exchange and feeling highly defensive of my child, I told her where to go. I had no energy to give to people who refused to show compassion to a struggling child and her family.

  In other circumstances, I might have reached out to those people. But I didn’t because I couldn’t. I was exhausted and teetering on depression. This big change, which felt like a crisis at the time, had drained my emotional gas tank. I was running on fumes and didn’t have a drop to give to friends who were struggling with the news in their own ways. Their job, I believed, was to be there for me and my family as I had been there for them at other times.

  The human brain is hard-wired to prioritize negative experiences. When we get close to a fire, it will remind us of the one time we burned ourselves on something hot before it reminds us of all those times we safely and happily roasted marshmallows. It’s a protective measure, and a good one. Learning and evolution at work.

  In this case, however, my brain’s primitive priority filtering didn’t work in my favour. Logically, I knew from the reaction on social media, the texts and phone calls, and the in-person visits from loved ones who just wanted to hug Alexis or bring her a little coming-out gift that we had an impressive support system. Go, team! Yet my mind wandered most often to the people who were gone, not the ones who were still there. I felt those losses deeply. Sometimes, I still do.

  Rejection always reminds me that I’m still that kid in the schoolyard wondering why no one will play with her. I’m still the young girl with her legs swinging on the stool, finding out that her father left before he could get to know her.

  Except now I had a daughter, and she was being rejected too.

  And we weren’t the only ones dealing with the fallout. My mom had a long-time friend in her neighbourhood. They had raised children together, gone through crises together and spoke nearly every day by phone. When my mom wasn’t home, I knew there were three places she’d likely be, and that friend’s house was one of them. She was like an aunt to me.

  For weeks after Alexis came out, my mom’s phone remained silent. Her friend did not reach out. My mom had a sneaking suspicion there was an issue and readied herself for it as best she could. When they finally did speak, the friend made it clear she disapproved of, and would not accept, Alexis’s transition.

  “Well,” my mom said sadly, “then you don’t leave me with any choice, I’m afraid. If it comes down to you or my granddaughter, there’s no competition.”

  My mom lost a lifelong friendship that day. She will tell you it hurt, but it was a simple decision to make. Family is her top priority.

  Love always comes first.

  * * *

  —

  Meanwhile, my sister, Katie, was getting married. The date had been announced several weeks before Alexis came out. At the time, Katie had asked Aerik and Alexis to be ushers. I was one of her bridesmaids.

  “Alexis, I just want to make sure you’re still comfortable being part of the wedding party,” Katie said.

  “I am,” said Alexis, “as long as I can be me when I’m doing it.”

  “Of course!” her aunt replied. “You can wear whatever feels good. I want you to be comfortable.�
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  Katie meant it. My sister had been planning her wedding since she was old enough to know what weddings were. Despite knowing exactly how she wanted the day to look, she gave Alexis free rein to choose her own style and came shopping with us to cheer her on and tell her how beautiful she looked.

  The programs had been printed a while back with Alexis’s old name on them. Without the slightest hesitation, Katie and her fiancé, Rob, ordered new ones.

  But there was one problem: our mother’s lifelong friend had been invited to the wedding but was now adamantly opposed to Alexis’s transition. After some discussion with my mom, they decided she would be uninvited—not to be spiteful, but to ensure Alexis was surrounded by people who would make her first big public appearance as herself as positive as possible.

  The night before the wedding, Katie invited her bridesmaids and her only female usher to the bridal suite for a sleepover. She wanted Alexis to take part in all the excitement. In the morning, the bridesmaids helped Alexis with her makeup and hair. She glowed, both inside and out.

  I have several pictures of my daughter that day, smiling proudly in black dress pants and a bright pink blouse that matched the bridesmaid dresses. On top of pulling off a gorgeous ceremony, Katie achieved her goal of making her niece feel comfortable and accepted.

  When negativity sees itself out, all that’s left is positivity. Alexis was surrounded by it all day.

  ELEVEN

  affirmation

  ONCE ALEXIS HAD TOLD US she wasn’t a boy, one of the most pressing issues was to ensure that she didn’t keep developing in the wrong direction. We needed to stop her puberty.

  Of all the issues facing trans kids, by far the most controversial are the medical treatments. Those who oppose medical support prior to adulthood, such as puberty blockers and hormone replacement therapy, argue that it causes irreparable damage to children. I would argue the opposite: that failing to provide medical support when needed can put young lives at risk. This stance is supported by recent reliable studies tracking trans youth, as well as the world’s leading pediatric medical organizations.