Was I an Ally or a Failure? – Guest Writer Madeline Hayes
My son said I went to Trans Pride for selfish reasons, not to support him. I took it hard
I have had some horrible parenting moments. Not so much when my kids were young—in those days, my role as protector was fairly straightforward. Running into traffic, touching a hot stove: bad. Soup when you’re sick, hugs when you’re sad: good.
The moments that haunt me come from later, when “protecting” my children became a gray area. Like on the day of our city’s Trans March, when my son, 19, sobbed in pain and frustration that I was engaging with the trans community not to support him but to earn kudos for myself. His pain and frustration were real. Maybe they were about me; maybe they were about other things going on in his life. Both can be true.
I remember, long before I had kids, wondering how you could still love and snuggle them when they grow taller than you. Mine outstripped my five feet seven inches by the ages of 14 and 15, which is when I learned the answer. You just do. No matter how big they get, they remain every age at which you’ve known them.
Aching
The morning of the Trans March, I watched my son, a tall young man with nascent facial hair and wavy brown locks covered by an ever-present baseball cap, fall apart in our kitchen. I wanted to hold and comfort him like I had when he was a baby, a toddler, a tween. This young man was the child who needed to be touching me at all times until the age of 12. How I wanted some space from him those 12 years. How empty and aching my arms have felt since he grew into his independence.
That morning, I felt something alongside my instinct to comfort—I felt like a failure. My joyful, funny, smart, trans son, three years into his transition, was telling me that my activism and allyship were a vain performance. I was doing the work not for him but for selfish reasons.
I took it hard.
What kind of mother, I thought, uses her child’s journey to forge a new identity for herself? Who was I to be heading out to my third annual Trans March as though I was showing up for the community, when I hadn’t asked ‘the community’ what they wanted? (Understanding, of course, that community is not a monolith.)
Whose journey?
The crisis didn’t so much end as fizzle out. We were both exhausted and crying. I apologized. I reminded him, as I did every day that he was within my earshot, that I love him. He left to seek solace from friends. I did the same.
I called G, the mom of a trans man several years ahead of my son in his transition. We’d known G and her family for many years through synagogue. She is a PFLAG mom who spends much of her time supporting parents as they find their way along the parallel journey of their child’s gender transition.
“You show up at the Trans March because you want to,” G reminded me. Essentially, these were the same words my child had shouted, but G’s meaning was different. “This is something you do for you, not for him,” she said. “He doesn’t get to decide if you do it. Find me with PFLAG, and you’ll march with us,” she said. “You’re doing great.” Still sniffling, I thanked her.
G was right, and my son was right. Both things can be true.
Listening
In part, I had hoped my work of going to the marches and attending meetings would show my son that I was a supportive parent. But I never asked him what he wanted my support to look like. How he wished to be supported.
My son doesn’t get to decide if I go to a march, but it is crucial for me to hear how it lands for him. It is crucial that I listen to him. It is also crucial that I check in with myself to be sure I am showing up to make my own community and find support on my own journey, not to vie for allyship cookies.
Ten years on, I continue to attend the march. I love witnessing the stunning array of human expression that surrounds me on that street corner. As we move along the route, I feel supported by the cheers and love that flow from the sidelines, not a given even within the queer community. I always, always cry, because it is both a joy and a relief to know that in this place, each of us, in all the ways we show up, is welcome. —M.H.
If you like this post, join the conversation! And check out the parenting advice from trans artist Wren:
Gender Defiant
