In spiritual direction, we always say “trust the movement of the Holy Spirit!” Notice, get curious and wonder where God is leading and how you would like to respond.
I’ve said those words to hundreds of people. I never expected they would one day challenge me to follow God’s unveiling of who my own children truly are.
As a spiritual director for almost two decades, I consider myself pretty astute to the movements of the Holy Spirit, noticing the subtle consolations and desolations that slide continuously into daily life. I also consider myself a very progressive woman—post-conventional one might say—and I pride myself on the fact that I welcome all in spiritual companionship. Nonjudgmental is my middle name. As a spiritual director, I vow to follow God’s will, not my own agenda. Acceptance of all people is my badge of honor, and contemplative objectivity is my stance. Then the day came when I was asked to walk the talk in the most personal and profound way.
Four years ago, two of my five children came out to me as transgender. The first child to tell me announced it to me over a text message, saying he didn’t want to make a “big deal” about it. The second told me one month later, the day before she was supposed to be touring an out-of-state college, where she had won a scholarship and now did not want to go. I hesitate to confess this, but my very first thought was “What did I do wrong? How is it possible that I had two children who no longer identify with the gender they were assigned at birth? Surely there must have been something in my mothering style or an environmental familial crisis that caused this.” The only solution I had at the time was, “Let’s get to a therapist and see if this is “real.””
Notice, get curious and wonder where God is leading and how you would like to respond.
It was real. Then the processing began. My youngest daughter was now my son. My second youngest son was now my daughter. I understood the new gender labels, but the emotional turmoil was confusing. I loved them both deeply, but did not know how I would embrace their true identities. I was certain God loved us all unconditionally, but didn’t God know I had dreams and plans too? Wasn’t I supposed to help my youngest say yes to the dress? Wasn’t I supposed to have double the grandchildren of my friends? Didn’t Jesus know that after 25 years of parenting I needed a little easy street? The questions began to swirl within me. Immediately, I got myself to a local PFLAG meeting. The group facilitator told me that it was fairly common to have more than one transgender child in a family. Our therapist confirmed this too, citing genetic influences. Natural law. Imago Dei, the image and likeness of God, was staring at me right in the face. How could I not see that fully yet?
Having this data was a good starting point for my understanding, especially as I began the uncomfortable retraining of my brain to new names and personal pronouns. Then, finally, came the inner spiritual work I needed to do to fully embrace the changes I had, ultimately, zero control over as a parent. This spiritual director met step one of the inevitable journey a parent needs to make in order to have any semblance of inner peace while their child is transitioning: “I am powerless over my children’s gender identity, and my life will not be manageable until I fully love and accept them.” I had to arrive at a place of pure surrender. Now what?
Acceptance is not a one stop shop; it is a process. I had enough resources at my disposal by virtue of my training in spiritual direction, but now I needed to apply them to my own life. First came the work of grief—processing what I imagined as loss and embracing a new reality—which quite frankly, for me, just happens. I don’t know about stages, but I did employ some healthy quadrants as coping techniques: expressing initial lament, writing a gratitude list for balance, taking action by placing myself in supportive environments and on some days, moderating my emotions by putting it all on a shelf to be dealt with later. In time, the integration of our new reality began to become softer. Next, I had to recognize what was underneath all the fear. I discovered that my social instinct felt the risk of losing the community around me and my family. What might people think of us? My safety and security instinct also felt threatened. What might happen to them out there in the world? What does this mean for their faith life? I was clearly attached to some narratives that were limiting my ability to feel OK with the way things were versus the way I believed they should be.
Then the time comes when these carefully constructed manuscripts fail us and it’s time to rewrite what reality really shows us: a new, more authentic story that God is unfolding before our very eyes.
The funny thing about these kinds of narratives is that they are often not true. They are limiting beliefs handed down, culturally constructed false stories we tell ourselves to feel safe and connected. Then the time comes when these carefully constructed manuscripts fail us and it’s time to rewrite what reality really shows us: a new, more authentic story that God is unfolding before our very eyes.
Then there are times when parts of these narratives we receive turn out to be true. I know some people may reject us or our children. Others may not always be kind and accepting. We may feel a crisis of faith. However, that is an incomplete story. The climax of the tale of our lives is the pivotal turning point when we recognize that God is clearly guiding us. Our family has lived into the truth of Jeremiah 29:11-14:
For I know well the plans I have in mind for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare, not for woe! Plans to give you a future full of hope. When you call me, when you go to pray to me, I will listen to you. When you look for me, you will find me. Yes, when you seek me with all your heart, you will find me with you, says the Lord, and I will change your lot.
It was work. It took time. I sought the support of my spiritual director, my faith community, our family therapist and PFLAG. I adopted the mantra “go gently” for myself, which is a fruit of the Spirit from Galatians 5. These opportunities gave me the space and permission to just be with whatever God was revealing to me—about myself, about my children and the process of embracing change, which as it turns out, brought us even closer to one another and to God.
I am happy to report today that my children are thriving, although not without minor bumps in the road. They are both doing well in college and dating lovely people. They are living faith-filled, meaningful lives. While they only attend Mass with me every once in a while (not uncommon for any college student), I have witnessed them living out the works of mercy of Matthew 25, which they profess gives them a very solid Catholic identity: doing good in the world. My personal takeaway as their mother is simple: They are the same people, the same children I have always known and loved. The transformation I was so afraid of was, by far, the most profound and wonderful spiritual experience of my life. God is a great spiritual director.
