I was going to write a blog about pronouns. About how my husband picked C up from her LGBTQ support group and saw one of her friends but wasn't sure if that teen was a "he," a "she" or a "ze/they. That we laughed nervously and knowingly about the mine field we've walked in to. About how tricky it is to be sensitive to others' gender identity these days, now that we know about non-binary identities.
Then I thought about writing on how my daughter's boyfriend (previously "The Boy") has now come out as trans, too. That we've known for awhile that she prefers female pronouns. That she has chosen a more androgynous name but that she's only just told her own parents about her gender identity. That we were so pleased to learn she had finally told them and they had agreed to take her to the support group, too, even though -- as she tells it -- they have not agreed to use her preferred pronouns and name (let me be clear that I am not making any judgement about how her parents choose to handle this very personal situation).
But I can't write about those things. I'm tired. I'm overwhelmed. I'm tired of making decisions, sorting things out, making phone calls. Not just things having to do with C. Just...everything. Total first world problems, folks, I'm aware. But this year has been a killer. We have been making decisions daily for months and, as of Monday, when our kids finally went back to school, it felt as if we might have a month or two without decisions to be made. C is in a good place, most major decisions have been made with regards to her new public identity. Things were trucking along.
Yesterday my boss came in to my office and closed the door. With tears in his eyes, he told me that due to budget cuts, my job is only funded through next June. It was not a total surprise, I sort of anticipated my job might be on the chopping block since it was a position endowed for just two years and I have been here four years already. But still. This man who has been so understanding, so kind, so accepting seemed to understand that what he was telling me had implications beyond just my salary. This place has been a haven for me. I love my job, in and of itself, but I am also so grateful for the community of colleagues and parishioners who have embraced us during this difficult year. The love that has been poured on my daughter as she emerged from her male shell and into her female self. I cannot put a dollar amount on that.
I have been very fortunate in my time as a parent that I have had extremely flexible jobs. I have rarely missed a performance, a game, a presentation. I have become accustomed to the flexibility I have stumbled in to for these 14 years. That will be top of my list as I look for a new position over these next few months. A good salary will obviously be on my list, too. But above those - good insurance. Insurance like the policy I have now that covers my daughter's endocrinologist, her blood work, her hormones. A policy that will cover her Gender Reassignment Surgery (GRS) one day, as my current one would. And above that, is an environment that will accept our family. That will love our family and not question our choices. That will embrace my daughter for who she is and from whom I do not need to hide the truth. In our red state, that will be a tall order.
I'm so tired of making decisions. This decision is probably the one that will have the most impact on our family, for better or worse, since the day I said to my daughter, "I love you and I accept you whatever your gender."