12 Transitioning Parenthood

Jayleen Galarza Patterson, PhD, LCSW, MEd

Kailer Patterson, BSW

A few years ago, our son asked, “mama, are you a girl?” I said, “No. I identify as non-binary.” He was quick with the follow up question, “what is that?” How do you explain this to a young kid? I settled on, “I’m not a girl or a boy. I am everything and more.” He responded with, “oh. Ok.” He seemed satisfied with my answer and as most little ones do, he changed the topic completely.

Parenthood is a personal, unpredictable journey. As you can see in the previous conversation, kids are curious and very inquisitive. We are constantly thinking through random, complex questions. And for many young kids, some of these focus on figuring out who people are and what does that mean for the person but also for themselves in relationship with this person. The following essay highlights a story that is not often discussed or centered—the experiences of trans and gender non-binary parents. This is our story. It may reflect others’ experiences or may not. Our communities are not a monolith, yet our stories may feel familiar, sparkles of truth unearthed forming a thread that connects us.

What does it mean to be trans and gender non-binary parents? Like other parents, we are on a roller coaster ride of emotions ranging from exhaustion, excitement, frustration, to lots of love and pride. On the surface, we face similar challenges as cisgender parents. Parenting presents multiple challenges and lingering worries about somehow getting it all wrong. We are not exempt from questioning decisions and approaches, constantly asking ourselves, “are we getting this right?” However, what may distinguish some of our experiences are the daily threats to our parental rights, our basic human rights, as well as feeling vulnerable to acts of hate and aggression. And this is not only about us but also our children’s lives as well. To fully understand this, we want to share our stories of how we came to be parents; how our identities have played a role in understanding ourselves, each other, and our children; and the joys and challenges of all of this.

We want to offer a quick note before proceeding. In this essay, we refer to our child as our son and use the pronouns “he/him”. This is intentional because in our household we’ve always emphasized that once someone tells you who they are, we honor it. This is how we approach gender and all sorts of intersections of identities and experiences. At four years old, our son shared with us, “I’m a boy.” And that’s what we go with; however, we’ve also made it clear that if his understanding of himself ever changes, we will honor that too.

The Tough Stuff

We are parents. This is a statement that we didn’t always think would be true for us. There were various points along our paths where we doubted parenthood would be in our cards, a possible plotline in our stories. As queer, trans, and non-binary people, we have consistently received messages from various sources that parenthood was not meant for us. There are people who hold tightly to rigid, essentialist ideas of family—biology equals family, blood is thicker than water. I am sure you’ve encountered or even held onto some of these ideas yourself. I’ve boiled down these types of arguments to a highly simplistic and inaccurate statement: If your body was not designed to create children, then this is not for you. What does that really mean? Think about the types of parents and families that exist in this world. Would you say they are all connected through biology? If you readily answered yes, then I’d ask you to expand your thinking to include adoptive parents, parents who must rely on reproductive technologies to have children, and chosen family. Does the absence of a connection via DNA mean any of these configurations are any less significant or capable of taking on the role of family and caregiver? Are they any less meaningful?

And of course, some of the people who hold onto such rigid ideas of parenting and family get elected or appointed into powerful roles, orchestrating and influencing systems to prioritize their own interests—upholding white supremacist, heteronormative, cisgender, able bodied ideals—and withhold access to important resources and rights to others who do not align with such. With those folks in positions of power, it creates a multitude of barriers to accessing parenthood, let alone being seen and validated in those roles.

          One of those barriers is healthcare coverage. How do folks become parents? People do not always have all the components for creating an embryo: sperm, egg, and uterus. Some folks may have access to all of these, but functioning may be significantly impacted due to other factors such as the influence of age or medical conditions affecting health. Even further, the atrocity of forced sterilization in this country has robbed some folks of their ability to achieve this process. And cloaking all of this are the impacts of white supremacy that created, and continues to contribute to, inequitable access to healthcare.

Given all of those realities, the path to parenthood could look like adoption or the use of reproductive technologies. If you have not explored any of these options, then you may be surprised to learn how expensive it is to pursue adoption, in vitro fertilization (IVF), intrauterine insemination (IUI), or surrogacy. The specific details about each of these is beyond the scope of this chapter; however, what we can share is that for many queer, trans people, there are very few alternatives toward parenthood and there is little financial support to make this happen. Besides fertility related conditions that may bar folks from conceiving and may occasionally be covered depending on quality of health insurance, these are all out of pocket expenses. You can read more about these financial considerations and impacts in Family Equality’s (2019) Building LGBTQ+ Families: The Price of Parenthood.

          Beyond the systemic level barriers, we must talk about the personal level barriers. The act of trying to create a viable embryo is emotionally, physically, and financially taxing but this may be compounded by the level of support available from family, friends, and healthcare providers. We are lucky to have very supportive parents and family members. We were not rejected or refused care. When we shared our story with medical providers, they were supportive and inclusive. The fertility clinic we chose was phenomenal and intentional with their process—from the very first consultation and through each step of the way. They were clear on their website about the use of IVF and IUI for queer and trans/non-binary communities. Their paperwork reflected this language, and their staff were very well versed in inclusive practices and created safe spaces all throughout. However, this is not always the case for all.

         We know for many queer and trans/non-binary people, there are experiences of rejection and violence from family and other social supports. Healthcare practitioners and spaces are not free of bias leading to unintentional or intentional harm. There are countless stories of folks who have been dead named, refused to have their pronouns accurately used and relayed, and outright refused treatment. Those oppressive systems mentioned previously are responsible for negative and harmful personal experiences of navigating healthcare.

         Another personal level consideration is navigating daily life while addressing additional worries and figuring out how to mitigate hurt that is bound to happen, especially living in a rural, mostly conservative area. We want to be clear that living in an urban setting does not automatically create a safer space or eliminate any worries about potential transphobic and homophobic actions and responses. As we see in the news, no space is truly safe for queer, trans, non-binary, and other minoritized communities. However, in more urban spaces there tends to be greater visibility and accessibility to inclusive spaces and resources. We recently started talking about the experience of living in an area that is considered conservative and not knowing what views our neighbors hold. This is something we always had to consider but as our children grow and start school and interact with more kids, these conversations now include questions about negotiating visibility and safety. Do we keep putting our Pride flags outside the house? If we decide not to put anything outside our house, what does that mean about our own sense of pride and authenticity? We do not change the way we dress, speak, or carry ourselves; however, we are more mindful and vigilant of our children in public. We want them to feel free to explore the world; however, we also cannot predict how people will respond to our children when they start to share about their family and all the values we hold.

         Last year, our son was playing outside with a neighbor kid. On that particular day, our kid had on a shirt with the word Pride in rainbow. After playing, our son came back and said to us, “…he said pride is a bad word. Is it?” We cannot possibly be everywhere our children are and it’s not going to be possible for us to fight all their fights. We arm them with knowledge and try our best to keep them from harm. Pride is not a bad word. Families like ours are just as beautiful and wonderful as any other, and we are very proud of that.

Curious Questions—Ours and Theirs

          All of this brings up several questions for us as parents and for our children. In their interactions and socialization with other kids, they tend to want to know more about each other’s families and origin stories. Do you live with your mom and dad? Do you have a brother or sister? Where do you live? Is your mom a boy or a girl? What do we say about their origin stories? What does that mean for our relationship to our children—like adoptive parents, single parents, or others who must use donor sperm, eggs, or surrogacy must contend with those types of questions? We are direct and transparent with our kids—I am their mother; he is our son’s bonus dad (our word for stepdad) and our daughter’s father. We share the method of conception only as a means for normalizing those types of stories, but we emphasize that our roles are not defined by those pathways.

Our son is comfortable sharing with people about his father carrying and birthing him. We know this will create some or a lot of confusion for the other kids or adults engaging in conversation. When we are present for these conversations and witness these reactions and confused looks, how do we approach? As for the other kids, we don’t know how and what their parents have taught them. Will this end our kids’ friendship because he views the world differently from many? Will people start to exclude him or his family from all the things kids get excited about—birthday parties, play dates, etc. Will our kids be challenged by adults who do not understand boundaries and choose to argue with them rather than reach out to us? Of course, we will always defend our children. We will always stand true to our values; however, in some instances we need to navigate those waters very carefully.

Finally, there are questions we ask ourselves about leading an authentic life. We are read by many people in US society as a cisgender, heterosexual couple. We do not aim to be read this way. If anything, we would love to be read as trans and queer because we feel very proud and we know how important representation is for people who identify with our communities. We often feel stuck because we have the privilege of blending in, which adds a layer of safety for our family, but it also brings up questions about our own authenticity—are we truly being ourselves and how is that being modeled to our children?

The Joy

Joy is a powerful act of resistance. It counters the narratives often disseminated via the media of lives overwhelmed by sorrow and tragedy. And, yes, those stories are valid, and they are certainly real. I will never minimize the impact of violent systemic policies and oppressive structures. Just as much as we must hold space for and shed light on the hard parts, we also want to share our joy. I’ve heard folks say, “If I could do it over, I wouldn’t choose this life.” This may be their truth and is layered. My truth is this—if I had a choice, I would pick this life a million times over.

Our son is lucky to be loved by so many. His daddy and mama are divorced, and he now has a bonus dad in his life. Divorce can cause all sorts of confusing and conflicting emotions, including a resistance to quickly shifting and changing family dynamics. Yet, the one thing he hasn’t resisted is knowing that he has two trans dads and one non-binary mother. He knows and understands that his bonus dad and father transitioned because what was assigned to them at birth just didn’t fit, and they feel more themselves and happier now. He knows the story given or demanded of a person can change to find a better fit. He knows the beauty and expansiveness of gender and sexuality diversity.

Our various experiences in life have influenced the way we parent. Our goal is to embody mindful and inclusive parenting. This process can feel intense in both positive and negative ways–the unknown can feel scary but also holds potential for the richness of adventure, happiness, and love. Our society truly doesn’t give kids enough credit about what information they can grasp and make sense of. If anything, childhood is a time of exploration, being open to new and wondrous ideas and experiences. The time is ripe for understanding new and interesting ways of thinking and viewing the world. We get the honor of showing our children the endless possibilities for a colorful, joyful life, one that emphasizes care, compassion, and social justice. We get to create a space for them to explore, express, and question. We honor who they are, as they are. This gift is for them, and it is also for future generations creating a new way of thinking and existing.

What You Can Take Away

        We hope our story expands your understanding of family. If anything, we hope you come away with a sense of curiosity about your own values and the ways in which you navigate the world. We want to end with a few questions you may want to ask yourself. Change cannot happen without introspection, and this is our gift to you—the opportunity to grow.

• How do you define family?
• In talking about families or engaging with other families, how mindful are you of the language used?
• How do you help others redefine the word family?
• If a child asked you about someone who doesn’t fit their idea of a parent(s), how would you respond?
• Do you consider ways to be inclusive of all families? If so, are you challenging yourself to learn and do more?