I work in a church. An amazing community of Episcopalians who I genuinely feel are family. Today, a friend was leading a yoga class in the sanctuary for the first time. Just a quiet, gentle yoga class in this gorgeous building with vaulted ceilings and stunning stained glass. Lying there, breathing deeply and focusing on releasing the tension, the flood gates opened. And I mean, opened. Like ugly crying - but silently in yoga class.
I'm not mourning my son or anything he might have been - I'm excited for who he will become when he finds his true self. I love him unconditionally. I cried for everything he has been stifling for all these years. For the pain he has endured silently. For the pain still to come. For the choices he has to make, the friendships he will inevitably lose, the realities he will face. I cried that I am hiding this from my husband for now and I cried for how hurt he will be when he learns this has been kept from him. I cried for all the LGBTQ kids living secret lives, especially in unforgiving environments. I want to help J through this in the right way. But I don't know the "right" way. This is uncharted territory, to say the least. I want to mention hormone blockers to him before his voice changes more and he develops facial hair, but I don't want to put that kind of pressure on him. I want to suggest a million and one ways to handle a million and one scenarios but I don't want to put those scenarios in to his head if he hasn't already thought of them, and he hasn't confided those thoughts to me. I just want to wrap him in cotton wool and protect him from everything he will find out there. But then, I think, he's going to find a whole lot of wonderful, too. And hopefully, he'll find himself.
So, the class ended and my friend gave me a hug. I wanted SO badly to tell her what's going on but it's not mine to tell. I don't have permission to tell a soul and I will not break that confidence. So, I will smile when my brain is going a million miles a minute and think about my amazing child who smiled through his pain for three long years. I can do this as long as he needs me to.