Cybele Abbett - Leaping Forward

 

About five years ago, my youngest child came to me in the kitchen one night. It was right after her freshman year of high school. And she said, "Mom, I really need to talk to you in private." And this was my third teenager, so I was worried. [chuckles] I know what a private talk usually means. And it usually means I would have to take care of some problem, or something might be slightly illegal, or something that they've done. So, I was a little concerned, but I said, "Okay." 

 

We went in my bedroom. My daughter sat down on a little green brocade chair I have, and I sat down on the end of my bed, and she turned to me and she said, "You know, Mom, I think I'm gay." I was so relieved. I thought, oh, this is great, you know? Wonderful." [audience chuckles] Because I had wondered what direction this youngest child of mine would take in their life. I was really happy that she'd found out something about herself. I tried not to be too excited, because I didn't want to scare her that I'd known something that maybe she wasn't too sure of. So, we talked for a while, and then went on our way.

 

Sometimes I can be quite the helicopter mom. So, for the next week, I called some gay friends to ask them what it was like for them when they came out, and how I could best support my daughter through this process. So, about a week later, I was sitting out on the porch, a very hot summer evening, drinking a glass of wine, and my daughter came and sat down on the bench next to me. I turned to her and said, "Hey, you know, I've talked to my friends, and we have a counselor we've worked with for many years. You know, maybe you want to talk to somebody about this. Maybe you have questions that I won't be able to help you with." She turned to me and she said, "You know, Mom, it's not a gay issue, but a transgender issue."

 

And in that moment, I actually thought that she was probably confused. I was confused, and not quite sure how to respond to that or what to do in that moment. So, I let it just go for a week or two, because I thought, maybe let's just see how this shakes out. But it was very apparent that this was what was happening. So, I started doing a little bit more research. Because what I really realized at that point in my life, as liberal as I was, I really didn't have a really clear understanding of the differences within the LGBTQ community, and the differences that happen between in that community and the people in that community. 

 

As I did my research, I became pretty scared and pretty worried for my child. I really realized that there was a big difference between being gay and being transgender, and that one was about who my child would love and build their life with, and the other was about who my child was in this world. It was really scary. I'd been through a lot with this youngest child of mine, and I wasn't sure if I could do this. But we moved forward slowly. All of a sudden, there were doctors and psychiatrists who were in our life. They were these adults who were telling me what I needed to do to make my child whole. 

 

And that was really hard, because I had been the parent who knew my child, I knew my children. I was the one in charge, I had been the one who directed and helped them with their lives. All of a sudden, these other people were telling me what I needed to do, and I felt lost. For a long time, at that time, 15 years, when people said, "Oh, how many children do you have?" I'd say, "Well, I am the mother of two daughters and a son." And that was a big part of my identity as a mother. 

 

I started reaching out to friends, and family, and even just some acquaintances and telling them what I was going through. They would always say, "Wow, that's really big." And I would say, "Yeah, it is really big." They would say, "How do you feel about that?" And I would say, "I feel like I'm losing my daughter." And it often felt that way. My child was changing before my eyes, and I didn't always know how to deal with that.

 

One day, I was leaving the why. A girlfriend of mine came in. We'd known each other for about 12 years. I hadn't seen her for a couple months. But we had met when our two youngest daughters were in preschool together, and they had become friends, and my girlfriend and I had become friends. And in a really tragic accident, her daughter was killed about a year after we met. And this really lovely, beautiful woman had managed to move forward with her life.

 

And so, 12 years later, we're in the lobby of the YMCA, and catching up on our families and our jobs. We had similar jobs with nonprofits. I told her and shared with her what was happening with our family. She's just this kind, gentle person, and big, big eyes, and she said, "Wow, Cybele, that's huge. How do you feel about that?" And I looked in my friend's eyes and I realized how selfish I'd been, because my child had been able to come to me and say, "Mom, I think I'm gay," and a week later come to me and say, "No, really, I'm transgender." We're going through this really amazing process of transition, and I got to be a part of it. 

 

I looked in my friend's eyes who had lost her daughter, and I realized that I really hadn't lost my daughter. I'd lost a gender, a title, and it was that easy. I say it's easy, and it wasn't always easy. Being the parent of a minor child who is going through transition means that you really are part of every single step of the process, and you're signing papers, and giving permission for your child to change their name and to change their legal gender and to start medical procedures and things like that. And those processes, I would step forward with my son. But I always had this step back with each one, an emotional step back, and then I would have to reevaluate how I was feeling, and then I would move forward again.

 

About three years into my son's transition, he came to me and said, "You know, Mom, the next step is top surgery." I really took a huge leap backwards with that one, because I loved my son's body, [chuckles] and I couldn't conceive of somebody changing it. I sat in the psychiatrist's office at an appointment, and I tried to convince the psychiatrist that my son's generation is really sexually fluid, and he would find a woman who loved him for the man that he is with the body that he had.

 

And the psychiatrist gently reminded me that it wasn't about sex, but about gender and identity, and told me that my son thought of his breasts as warts on his body that just really needed to be removed as quickly as possible. That was such a hard concept for me, because I really loved his body. I had made his body. I felt like it was my body. I mean, it wasn't mine, but I felt like it was mine. I was his mother.

 

We drove home from that appointment, and my son was asleep in the car because he's a teenager. I thought about how I felt about my body as a woman, how much I love my breasts as a woman, as a mother, as a lover, and I leapt forward with my son.

 

When I walked into the recovery room after his surgery, he looked at me with this huge smile on his face. And then, he looked down at his chest, bound for the last time, and looked at me again with just this incredible smile. He was so happy. And at that moment, his breasts became warts to me, so insignificant and unimportant. And 10 days later, we got home, and we're unpacking the car. My son took his suitcase into his room. A few minutes later, he walked out of his room without his shirt on, and he walked through the house like a man does. For the first time, he was able to do that. It was very calm, and very quiet, and really beautiful, and incredibly natural.

 

The hard part about telling this story for me is using the words my daughter, or she, or her, because the real truth is that for the last 20 years, I have been the mother of one beautiful daughter and two amazing sons. Thank you.