Jamie, a native of Pittsford, made waves with her debut album, which climbed to No. 8 on the Billboard charts in 2006. The popular track “For You I Will” hit No. 10 on the Top 40 list. Jamie starred in the TV series Love Monkey and appeared in the film The Rocker, becoming a teen sensation. More recently, she has penned songs for artists like Shawn Mendes, Maroon 5, and Christina Aguilera. Jamie received a Grammy nomination for Song of the Year for co-writing “In My Blood,” which Shawn Mendes recorded.
The call came just as my partner and I were gearing up for a two-week journey to Sicily to delve into my heritage. It was my eldest child, Jamie, and I immediately sensed that something was off—really off.
It was September 2017, and Jamie was nearing her 29th birthday while living in Los Angeles. Despite the distance, we maintained close contact, especially when Jamie took a step back from the limelight to focus on her songwriting. Recently, however, Jamie had been grappling with stomach issues, anxiety, and bouts of nausea. I felt a pang of disappointment and concern when I learned that she had resorted to smoking excessive amounts of weed and cigarettes as a coping mechanism, which clearly wasn’t helping. The more she smoked, the more intense her anxiety became, triggering obsessive-compulsive tendencies.
“Hey, Mom…” Jamie’s voice was small and heavy with emotion.
Just those two words were enough to tell me that Jamie had reached a breaking point—a wall had been hit. I could hear the pain, despair, and frustration in her tone, and most alarmingly, a sense of hopelessness. The rest of the call confirmed my worst fears.
I knew I had to delay our trip. I reached out to Jamie’s support team, and together we worked to find a facility where she could finally confront her challenges. It turned out that Jamie had been edging closer to this moment for some time.
With Jamie in good hands, my partner and I departed for Palermo. We enjoyed our time exploring, but three days before our trip ended, I was eager to return to our villa. It was the first time in two weeks that Jamie could take calls.
As my partner flipped through the travel guide to find a dinner spot, I grabbed my cellphone and sank into a plush sofa in the grand baroque parlor. I had a flood of questions: How was the facility? What were the programs like? Most importantly, how was she coping?
“Hey, Bud!” I exclaimed, relief flooding through me. “So wonderful to hear your voice! How are you?”
“I’m good, Mom… really good… How’s Sicily?”
There was something in Jamie’s voice that made me pause.
“I’m good,” I replied, but my mind was racing with concern.
Silence fell over the line.
“Mom?” Jamie sensed my distraction.
“Yep! I’m here, Bud.”
“Hey Mom, I need to tell you something.”
My heart quickened. What could it be? Jamie sounded clearer than I had heard in years—no longer dulled by substances.
“Mom?” Jamie’s strong, calm voice jolted me from my thoughts.
“Yes? …”
“Mom, I have always believed … and felt … and known, I am a woman. Mom, I am a woman.”
Stunned silence enveloped me.
“Mom?”
I felt breathless.
“Mom?”
My thoughts raced, “Oh God, please don’t say ‘Mom’ again. I want to respond, but the words won’t come. It’s like I’ve stepped onto a stage without knowing my lines.”
Finally, I managed to whisper a single word, almost as if it wasn’t mine. “Okay.”
Time stood still. I’m not sure how long it lasted.
When I finally spoke again, I said, “Okay. I’m just not sure what to say, Honey. I had no idea—no idea you felt this way…”
“I know,” Jamie replied. “I made sure you never knew.”
How could I have been so oblivious? As a mother, it was my duty to know my children inside and out, to anticipate their needs. I felt like a failure.
“Teddy, when did you start feeling this way?”
“As long as I can remember… definitely since I was five. I always felt this way, Mom. I thought everyone felt the same until I realized they didn’t, and I felt ashamed. I kept quiet about it, thinking there was nothing I could do. I dealt with my feelings privately for so long, terrified that someone would find out.”
At that moment, I was filled with gratitude that Jamie had the courage to finally open up. Time, therapy, and a safe environment had peeled back the layers of numbness that had concealed this truth.
I didn’t care about the years lost or the struggle it took for Jamie to feel safe enough to share this. What mattered was that we were given a second chance.
“Mom, I love you. I know this is a lot to process, but one of the group sessions is starting, and I have to go. We’ll talk more when you’re back in the States, okay?”
“Okay,” I replied. “No worries, Honey.”
“Great. I’ll talk to you in a couple of days.”
“Hey Jamie— I love you, Bud. Remember, everything will be alright,” I reassured myself more than her.
“I know, Mom. Love you. Bye, Momma.”
I don’t know how long I sat there with my cellphone still in hand. I was overwhelmed. Everything was about to shift, and I had no idea what lay ahead.
Eventually, I heard my partner asking, “How’s Jamie doing?”
I shook my head, unable to speak. I had never before felt so utterly speechless.
Finally, I managed to say, “Jamie is a woman.”
After returning from Sicily, the weight of reality hit. One night, I was overtaken by an overwhelming wave of dread, grief, and uncertainty. Motherhood had always felt instinctive until then. Now, I questioned everything. That night, I cried inconsolably for the past and the future, mourning the end of the life I had known since Jamie’s birth. When the tears finally subsided, I took a deep breath.
Looking back served no purpose; I had to move forward. But how?
Confusion reigned. I recognized I would need guidance, so the next morning, I scheduled an appointment with a counselor.
I found someone highly recommended. However, when asked about the reason for my visit, I was mute. Nothing came out.
Eventually, I managed to explain my situation.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s just a phase,” the therapist replied dismissively. “Transgender is a trendy thing right now. Give it some time; your son will be back to normal soon.”
Excuse me? Had I heard that correctly? I felt nauseated.
I drove home and immediately searched for therapists specializing in transgender issues. This time, I found someone who worked with families, especially moms navigating this journey.
I knew little about the transition process Jamie was about to embark on. As a middle-aged, white, heterosexual woman raised in the ’70s, my understanding of LGBTQ+ issues was limited. So, I turned to the internet, googling “transgender” and absorbing information.
I ended up hand-copying seven pages of definitions for terms I had never encountered before. I watched enlightening Ted Talks and learned about the everyday realities of transgender individuals.
I also reached out on Facebook, connecting with administrators of support groups for parents. Everyone I spoke to was kind and eager to help.
I worried about how society would judge Jamie based on ignorance and prejudice. Transitioning would affect not just Jamie, but also our entire family. For 30 years, we had only known her as male; this shift created a significant adjustment for us.
Jamie asked me to inform my other children, Alex and Rachel, ages 24 and 20. When I called Alex, his response was heartening:
“Mom, this is no big deal. Jamie has my full support. Whatever she needs, I’m on board. Team Jamie, Mom. We’re Team Jamie!”
Rachel also voiced her immediate support. However, telling my parents, who were 85 and 91, proved much more daunting. How would they process the shock of discovering their grandson was now their granddaughter?
I was pleasantly surprised by my mom’s acceptance but understood my dad’s more complex reaction. Jamie and he shared a special bond, united by their mutual love for music. After I explained Jamie’s decision, my father wept in my arms, heartbroken—not over Jamie living as a woman, but for the pain she might face from a world filled with ignorance and cruelty.
On October 27, 2017, while visiting Rachel at college in Boston, I received a text from a friend in Rochester I hadn’t heard from in a while. “Have you seen this?” it read, linking to an article titled: “Singer Jamie Geiger Makes Major Announcement: ‘I Am Transitioning.’”
In the weeks since returning from Sicily, Jamie and I had been in constant contact. I was still trying to process everything, and Jamie hadn’t mentioned how she would share the news publicly. My phone began to buzz with calls and texts, inundated with questions I couldn’t answer.
The news spread rapidly, reaching global audiences through major news outlets and foreign articles. I struggled to comprehend why people worldwide would care about Jamie’s transition, but they did.
I called Jamie, panic in my voice. “Honey, have you thought this through?”
“Momma, relax. It’s all good,” she reassured me.
Relax? I worried about how people would react and the hurtful things they might say now that she was in the public eye.
In my protective mother mode, I offered to fly out to LA to support her. “Nope, Momma, I’m fine.”
“Teddy, if you need me, just call, and I’ll be there.”
“Yes, Mom… I know.”
“Just be careful. Don’t say or do anything that could harm the LGBTQ+ community or hinder their progress.”
“Geez, Mom, chill out. Everything will be fine.”
This past Thanksgiving, my three adult children and I visited my parents. Jamie had just completed her first year of transitioning, and we were all learning to navigate this new reality together.
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In summary, Jamie’s journey of self-discovery, support from family, and the challenges of navigating societal perceptions illustrate the complexities of love and acceptance in a changing world.
Keyphrase: Jamie’s Transition
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