The Six Times I Did Not Tell My Mom I’m Transgender
By: Joanna Miles
Tags: Coming Out, Parents, Family, Mothers And Daughters, Transgender

The Six Times I Did Not Tell My Mom I’m Transgender

I only wish I’d found a way to talk to her about the daughter she never knew she had

Photo by Andrei Lasc on Unsplash

Many trans people can identify times in their lives when they wished they could have come out to a parent, sibling, friend, or significant other. Recently, I reflected on times I wished I could’ve been more assertive sharing my true gender with my mom. It is my hope that reading these stories will prompt a mom out there to look a little deeper, ask another question, or start another conversation that will allow their child to express themselves.

Some of these events happened later in life. In those cases, I hope other trans people realize it is really up to us to take the lead living an authentic life. It is up to us to decide the pace and path of our journeys. Please understand that I am not suggesting how or when anyone else should come out. I just wish I had found a way to talk to my mom about the daughter she never knew she had.

1.) 5, on the bed

One of the first questions we get asked when we come out is “When did you first know you were transgender?” It can be difficult to definitively answer. But I can confidently say it was when I was 5 years old in 1966.

In 1966, they had never played a Superbowl. There were no digital calculators. There was no digital anything. And the only person who had been in the news as a “transsexual” was Christine Jorgensen in 1952. Otherwise, if a man were to suggest they felt like or aligned as a woman, they would’ve likely found themselves in intensive therapy, hospitalized for observation, or shock therapy.

My first moment of trans-sanity occurred one afternoon as a 5-year old when I woke up from a nap on my parents bed. I was alone in the house with my mother. My father was at work and my siblings were all in school. And I recall wondering “Why was I not born a girl on the outside?”

At age 5, I was not aware of the term “transgender.” It would not even be introduced into the social lexicon for another 30 years. What I was aware of was that I was seen and treated as a boy, and I wished and prayed that I would wake up and be seen and treated as the girl I knew myself to be.

This was the first time I did not tell my mom I was transgender. It may sound crazy, but the thought did cross my mind to ask my mom “why?” But even then, the knowledge of being different, of being other, created a deep level of shame within.

There is a sense within a 5 year old of what is ‘acceptable’ to ‘normal’ people. This was not ‘normal.’ This was not ‘acceptable.’ It crossed over from what was ‘possible’ to what was ‘fanciful.’ A 5 year old boy convinced that he is a she is beyond what most people consider ‘normal.’ And it was enough to keep me from telling my mom she had a third daughter, not a son.

2.) I don’t feel right down there…

When you suppress a part of yourself, it will come out in other ways. It has to. When you suppress something as basic as your gender — perhaps the largest defining aspect of who you are as a human being — it will start to mess with your sense of self. Even if you have the best support system and family. Even if you don’t tell anyone about your struggle.

I had a friend who, at a young age, suffered with a hernia. We were 12. At the time, I was entering puberty. Changes were happening to my body, changes that I never wanted to happen. Changes that were starting to transform my immature body into one with more masculine features. Whether it was a physical change or my emotional reaction to it, I was convinced something was definitely going wrong in my groin.

In retrospect, I still held out hope that one morning I would wake up and the changes would be reversed. I held out hope that I would experience the puberty that must have been on my original medical chart. The internal medical chart identifying me as a woman. Instead, the transformation into a more mature male was tearing me apart. With each passing day, the thought that my unrevealed vagina was not going to appear or make itself known was causing a physical discomfort between my legs.

I thought it was time. If I could get to a doctor and have him check me out for a hernia, surely he would discover the as-yet undiscovered vagina obscured within me. Once and for all they would finally discover and realize that I was a girl and not a guy. This was my way to have the discussion with my mom based on an exam our doctor performed and his discovery of my true gender. I would simply tell my mom I did not feel right down there, and let medical science do the rest.

Unfortunately it was still 1973 and it was highly doubtful our family doctor had even heard of Dr. Renee Richards (or Richard Raskind). Even if he had, that was a one-off, an exception. It had nothing to do with the kid in the exam room going through puberty. Instead of being discovered as the girl I knew I was, my dream of the discovery of a hidden female reproductive system within me was crushed. “Everything looks and feels normal. No need to worry!”

Medical science — vs — a 12 year old kid. Who you gonna believe?

My mom still didn’t know.

3.) Do you want to grow out your hair?

After we slowly recovered from the doctor incident, a few years later I had my next and maybe best chance to come out to my mom. It was still two years before Renee Richards would become a household name.

We were still a long way away from the explosion of information available on the internet. At least 25 years away from being able to investigate anything resembling being transgender. Even widespread use of the term transgender would not begin to happen in my world for at least another 10 to 15 years.

And yet, here was my mom asking me, “Do you want to grow your hair out like B. down the street?” And here was me caught completely off guard. Shocked. And as much as I wanted to grow out my hair and say “yes!” I subconsciously felt my lips, tongue, and mouth saying “No!”

There were three major factors that manifested in that quick and resilient No! I was in Junior High — the most difficult time in a kid’s life. Anything that would make me more different would increase the level of difficulty in my life. This was not the floor exercises or high bar or diving where the level of difficulty would increase your score. It would only increase the chances of social failure.

“Between the repressed shame, being caught off guard, and a natural aversion to mullets, I was not able to tell my mom I was transgender.”

I was also involved in sports, with an athletic code “for boys” that did not allow long hair. Above the collar. We had longer hair back then, but still not long hair in sports.

Finally, the guy down the street had a mullet cut. So when she added “like B. down the street” my first reaction, which I was able to stifle, was to edit out the outing response of: “No woman would be caught dead in a mullet haircut!”

Between the repressed shame, being caught off guard, and a natural aversion to mullets, I was not able to tell my mom I was transgender. It was a difficult time. Life is really hard in middle school. Confusing. Exploring your identity at any time is difficult. Doing it during Middle School or Junior High is like crossing a high wire between two buildings blindfolded.

4.) Out on my own

Other than recently, this was the time I really thought I would explore my gender identity and discover a new world within me. I did, to an extent. It just turned out to be more difficult than I thought it would be.

I was just out of college and got a job in sales in a large midwestern city. I thought I would be comfortable in the anonymity of a larger city to try exploring the new world around me, presenting as a woman.

As many of us discover, there are no geographical solutions to the problem — or opportunity — of being transgender. Just different surroundings. And the surroundings I found myself in were really not any more welcoming than those I grew up in, or those I experienced in college, or the vast darkness between my ears. I was just the same person on a different block. Still just Joanna from the small town.

I tried scouting out some areas I thought might be accepting of me. I went to a bar that had a drag show. But I was like a fish out of water. I went disguised as my male self and it was not a comfortable feeling. I left before the first performer was on stage and only wound up more confused, instead of being able to go out with any confidence. It’s a hard-knock life for us.

Photo by Cortney White on Unsplash

It was during this time that I’d hoped to establish whether or not I would be comfortable presenting myself outside of work. In that dream, I would eventually see myself telling my mom that inside I knew I was a girl from a young age, and that the young girl that was with me then had blossomed into a beautiful young woman.

It was also around this time that I asked my mom if she had picked out a girl’s name for me when she was pregnant. She said she could not really recall what name they had picked out. She asked why I brought it up and I stammered something about just being curious. Another missed opportunity.

I started to build a feminine wardrobe and go to several wig shops around town. But the progress I envisioned was still a long ways down the road.

Which leads me to the next event…

5.) Do you want to be a Showgirl?

Even if I was not fully progressing into the woman I’d dreamed of being, there was time on my own to practice make up techniques, develop a sense of fashion, and correspond with other gender non-conforming women.

Donohue, Sally Jessy Raphael, and Oprah were featuring many people who took shelter under the transgender umbrella in those days. Every week I would search the television listings, desperate to see if any of the talk shows were featuring stories on crossdressing or transgender guests. I was thirsting to find others who shared a common experience, to see how they survived and what I might learn from them.

Gender identity issues were beginning to become more mainstream in the late 80s and early 90s. It was a little before Jerry Springer, thank God, so even though many of the shows had a voyeuristic feel to them, most guests were treated seriously and with respect.

Where I lived at the time — a flat without a washer or dryer — doing my laundry was not convenient. So trips back home meant bringing my laundry and borrowing Mom’s washer and dryer. Many of those early Saturday mornings were spent in a fog recovering from the night before. Often, before I could do my laundry, my mom would already have it in the dryer.

On one of those weekends, I came as close as I ever had to outing myself. I came down from my slumber, and if I remember correctly, my mom asked me to go into the basement with her to look at something. I thought she had some gossip or needed to tell me of something to avoid around my dad.

I was half right. She had some juicy gossip. But it wasn’t about someone else. It was about me! It seems a tag from a recent wig purchase had fallen into my laundry bag and when my mom emptied it out, and voilà! I was quasi-outed.

“Do you want to be a Showgirl?” The name of the wig was ‘Showgirl,’ and it was gorgeous. Long, flowing, and wavy! She did not ask in a nasty or accusatory tone, but rather, a tone of surprise… yet not necessarily concerned surprise.

“Of course I do!” is what I wanted to scream. Alas. I don’t even really recall how I responded. Incredulous? It must have gotten mixed in by accident at another trip to the laundromat? I somehow slinked off with a likely “No!” and another blown opportunity to come out as myself.

It is hard to go back all those years and experience those same emotions, and only wonder what may have been.

I recall my mom being somewhat amused by the thought of me as a showgirl. And maybe that is what was most painful. But she wouldn’t, she really couldn’t know how I was feeling without me telling her.

None of us are mind readers. But maybe if you find yourself one day holding a tag from a wig, in a bag of your son’s laundry, be gentle, be kind, and don’t accept a weak, nonsensical answer when your intuition tells you there is someone else standing in front of you.

6.) Divorce and a new identity

Going through my divorce was the most difficult time in my life. Nobody gets married to get divorced. And there are as many expectations for marriage as there are people who get married. Mine were extremely high, with a commitment to making it strong and “until death us do part.” So when the parting came with the premature death of our marriage, I was devastated.

My siblings knew of problems in my marriage, but my mom did not. I was hopeful that the marriage could be restored, and did not want to burden my mom unnecessarily if it could be avoided. She was in a nursing home at the time and her memory was failing. Telling her once would be hard. Having to tell her repeatedly why my wife was not with me was too much to bear.

Eventually, it became too difficult to keep from my mom the fact that my marriage was dying. We lived out of state, so I needed to plan a weekend to go back and tell her. It was as difficult as I imagined, but at the same time, her love and support was incredibly healing and affirming. Nobody loves you like your mom, or knows you as well. My fear that it would be too much for her evaporated as her words and kindness soothed my heart and began to help heal my wounds.

At the time I was in no place to reveal my being transgender to my mom. In fact, at the time, I was at a point where I had tried to suppress and “pray away” the reality of who I was (and am).

In large part, I felt who I was had been a major cause of the divorce. It wasn’t. If anything, the denial of who I was may have been the bigger factor, leading to resentment on my part and withdrawal and dis-connectedness from my wife. So, revealing my female essence was the last thing on my mind. But I list this as a time I did not tell my mom because it was one of the last times I could have told her in person. The divorce was final in the spring of 2007. My mom passed away in the summer of 2008.

Today

I wish my mom were here now. I am finally ready to tell her.

Mom, you have another daughter. I wish you could have curled my hair as a girl. I wish you could have taken me shopping for my first communion dress instead of to the doctor when I didn’t feel right. I wish I had been honest about wanting to let my hair grow out, past my shoulders and onto my breasts.

I wish you would have remembered what girl’s name you had picked out for me. I wish I had been honest about wanting to be a Las Vegas showgirl. Or even just to go to Las Vegas as a woman. I wish I could experience the same love and affirmation you gave me during the divorce as I will need if and when I finally transition into the woman I have always been.

I wish I knew if you knew or suspected, that when you were carrying me, or when I was a little girl, or was going through puberty, or struggling finding myself, or going through my divorce… if at any point you knew I was your transgender daughter.

It would have made all the difference. Even now.