The impetus for me to write this blog came sometime last December 2017 after our second twin shared their transgender identification with us. Prior to that, I had felt like I could come to grips with the choices of the first twin and let go of my desire for control and instead hope for healing of relationship and renewed commitment to my faith traditions.

After we dropped both twins off at their respective universities to begin their freshman years, my goal had been to focus on developing a new relationship of peace and health with the first (and only, at the time) one to identify as transgender.

I also had a great deal of anticipation and expectation for the bright spot in my fall, the start of an adult relationship with the in-state twin who, at that time, I didn’t know would identify as transgender. She was the child most likely to listen to parental advice. She was the only one of our children who could possibly be labeled “compliant.” She was, and is, the most insightful of the three. I was excited that she had chosen to stay in state for college and would only be a couple of hours away. I had plans for weekends where I would go alone to visit overnight for a girls’ night away. We would talk about her future. She would share her new knowledge from her latest psychology classes. I would encourage her endeavors to do well academically and enjoy hearing about her finally finding “her people.” The little hitch just prior to the start of the year where she told us she wanted to go by a different name didn’t figure in too much, at least not consciously.

There were a few weekends early in the fall where we had those restful, peaceful interactions. She was coming home every few weeks to visit her counselor, so we were the shared recipients of her presence. I’m thankful for those weekends.

Then came a weekend in November where the note was shared. She was transgender, too, just like her twin, she said. The sunshine of a southwestern fall day couldn’t pick me up from that blow. The joy of my job couldn’t distract my mind long enough to keep me from incredulously questioning my every action and interaction as a parent, from times past to the present day. Tears lived just beneath the surface every moment of every day. Thanksgiving was not nearly as thankful as I would have hoped, though the effects of the hormone therapy had not yet taken hold, and at least it was easy for just a moment to pretend nothing new had transpired.

Then the questions began in earnest. I had to try to understand. I had to see if I couldn’t find some truth, some help, some hope, so that I could prevent losing my second daughter. My mind was spinning.

It is no wonder that I was experiencing crisis. When parents become empty-nesters, that’s already a normal to-be-expected crisis. When those parents are also trying to reimagine their lives together after constant turmoil and underlying tension in the home due to issues of gender dysphoria and lack of unity on the handling of that challenge, the normal crisis gets heightened another notch. Add to that the faith journey I was already exploring for finding a consensus of what the gospel means for every person of every culture for all of time. Then top it off with the revelation of our second twin, and you get a recipe for a full-blown, existential, midlife crisis. Fuel it with incessant reading and studying, emotional intensity, guardedness around others for fear of judgment, and it becomes an out-of-control wildfire.

Friends and family suggested that I try journaling as a way to untangle my thoughts. To me, though, journaling seemed futile. It would be writing down all the crazy, disjointed thoughts that lived in my head, so they could become crazy, disjointed thoughts on paper. However, the idea of writing in a different manner held some promise. I thought if I could take my thoughts and require myself to put them down in a concrete and tangible way, a way that would be coherent to others, I might distill the thoughts into actual knowledge and more understanding.

The idea of the blog was born and took shape. I contemplated the audience and determined I wanted what I wrote to be accessible to my children, including the twins. I didn’t know if they’d read it, but I wanted to write in such a way that showed respect and restraint. I wanted to be entirely honest and candid, but with a tone and an attitude that valued them and my love for them. Initially, I thought that I would ask their permission to write and share our stories, from my perspective. I wanted their blessing.

As I contemplated further, I decided I didn’t need their blessing or their permission. They had not asked for mine when they changed their gender identities or announced it to the world. They were telling their stories as they saw fit. That’s exactly what I needed to do: tell my story, share my journey, validate my experience. That doesn’t mean mine is the only valid perspective, or that I believe my story is more important. It just means I wanted to speak with my unique voice, to tell how my story has been impacted by theirs.

I let them know several weeks prior to the start of the blog that I would be writing. I invited them to read because it might help them see where I was coming from, but that I would be writing whether or not they chose to engage the content with me. Both acknowledged my invitation and have said they have read a couple entries. They have not specifically given their approval, but we are still doing our family journey side by side, each of us valuing relationship in spite of challenges.