Mothering My Non-Binary Child

I have dreamed of becoming a mother since I can remember having a dream. Maybe it was because of my dysfunctional, chaotic, sometimes scary, but also incredibly loving childhood. Maybe I couldn't wait for the chance to "do it right"? I remember the fear I had when my partner and I didn't get pregnant immediately. I prayed to G-d, "Please let me be a mother, please let me become pregnant." Then it happened… I know this prayer is not answered for all, including many of my closest friends. I thanked G-d regularly and prayed for the health of my first, then my second baby.

I DOVE into motherhood with conviction. I researched the "best food," the "safest gear," "the most ideal" of many things as many of us do. While I wanted everything to be as perfect as possible, I also relished the chaos of having two kids under two.

I loved that my YEARS of nannying were paying off. I knew how to fill my Tupperware cabinet with non-glass wonders for my littles to explore at my feet as I made 100% "organic" homemade toddler "power snacks" (which was over the top and unnecessary in hindsight). I knew an entire afternoon could be filled with a construction site viewing "diggies" (any vehicle at a construction site) and a trip to the play café for some organic date bar "treats." I knew which happy music to fill my car with, which PBS shows promoted creativity and confidence, and which kitchen tools would make the best mud toys. I was crushing motherhood and I assumed I would continue to feel on top of my game as they continued to grow. Then my child shared they are "not a boy or a girl."

I have a masters in Systemic Oppression and Gender Theory, I'm a DEI professional, and identify as queer myself. I came out to my entire family over 20 years ago. I, of all people, should know how to affirm my non-binary child, right? I've tried to raise progressive children who never have to "come out of the closet" like I did, or defend their identity. It seems pretty straight (or should I say queer) forward.

But when my youngest shared they use they/them pronouns, I couldn't help but feel ill-equipped. I feel guilty about missing the days of watching PBS cartoons together, bathtime, and making mud baths in the backyard. While I identity as queer, I have very little experience challenging the male/female gender binary, and even less experience trying to help an 11-year-old do the same. I know to normalize pronoun usage and am grateful to live in a town and belong to a temple that strives to affirm trans and non-binary people. I am grateful to our temple's non-binary Hebrew School teachers who help my child know they are not alone. But I no longer feel like I am "crushing it."

I have gone from a confident toddler mom to a mother often filled with doubt and fear. Often, my child is just my child until we leave our bubble. For example, when we get on an airplane and the flight attendant says "your boys are beautiful!" I am reminded that my child is likely as confused by the world as the world is by them. In these moments, a million thoughts and anxieties run through my brain: do I tell the flight attendant I don't have two sons, that the little child they just referred to was assigned female at birth, but identifies as non-binary? Then I berate myself for even considering clarifying.

Before trips, and at least a couple times a year, I check in with my child and ask, "What would you like me to do when someone calls you a boy?" They've told me to "only correct them if someone calls me a girl." Then I feel more guilt because, if I am honest, this causes me fear. My child is "ok with" being called non-binary OR male. What does that mean for their future? What does that mean for them legally? Will they want to change their body at some point, medically or hormonally? What if they want puberty blockers? Do we know enough about the long-term effects of these hormones?

I regularly offer workshops about the importance and lifesaving impact pronoun normalization can have. But now, as I look to affirm and protect my own child, I feel ill-equipped. Nothing can truly prepare you for living with an identity you don't hold. I have learned that, as their parent, it's my job to protect them, even from my own fears.

So much of parenthood for me is about figuring out how to keep my children safe, teaching them how to keep themselves safe, and trying not to impose my own fears on them. Whether those fears are rooted in Jewish historical trauma, epigenetics, or the danger of being trans or non-binary in this world, it's a tricky line to walk. Parents and guardians of Black and Brown children sadly know this all too well; yet, the mothering continues. While this is clear to me, I realize that one of my child's roles is to teach me about the joy they experience being themselves! My child may experience confusion with how the world treats them, but they are not confused about who they are. My role is not only to lead and protect, it is also to follow and celebrate my child.

I offer this Mother's Day wish based on the midrashic understanding that parents are G-d's partners in creation: 

May the parents of this world experience enough love to love whomever their children reveal themselves to be, to love them unconditionally, and to fight hard to protect them. 

May we continue to educate ourselves about the identities we don't live in, because that is what the world is waiting for in this moment. 

Only when we commit to knowing "the other," rather than waiting to be known, will the sense of peace in this world be upon us.

If you find yourself wanting to learn how you can affirm a trans or non-binary child in your life, I recommend downloading "Six Ways to Support Trans and Non-Binary Kids," sponsored by Keshet and the YES fund of the Women of Reform Judaism, and "Infinite Value: A Resource Manual for Promoting Transgender Belonging and Justice," a toolkit from the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism.