Chronicles of an Intersex Soccer Mom

My greatest anxiety? Menstruation. Not my own — I know I’ll never experience that monthly visitor. But I was acutely aware that someday my daughters would, and that thought terrified me for nearly a decade. How could I possibly guide them through this mysterious female milestone when I felt so out of my depth? Sure, we read the classic American Girl book The Care and Keeping of You together, and they would likely hear about it from their friends, right? I told myself I could dodge this fear for a few more years. They had just turned ten, after all. Surely, I was off the hook for a bit longer? Nope.

It was a sweltering summer morning just outside Seattle. I had traveled across the country for my fourth intersex support group conference — an annual gathering I cherished. It was a chance to connect with my community. The women there understood me; they were intersex too. We affectionately called one another sisters and embraced the rare and beautiful orchid as a symbol of our intersex uniqueness. While each of us had our own stories, we shared the profound bond of being born with physical sex traits that don’t align with typical definitions of “male” or “female.”

My chromosomes are XY (typically male), and instead of ovaries, I was born with internal testes and no uterus. Yes, I have a vagina, but it’s shorter than most and doesn’t lead anywhere. Being born with androgen insensitivity syndrome meant I would never menstruate or bear biological children. Instead, I was fortunate enough to adopt my identical twin daughters from an orphanage in Shanghai just days before Christmas, nearly two decades ago. These two wonderful gifts have brought me immense joy and also anxiety about being a “real” mother — the kind who knows firsthand how to help her daughter through her first period.

Back at the intersex support group in Seattle, I found a space to express my true self, a break from pretending. Just as I was heading down to meet some of my orchid sisters for breakfast, my phone rang. It was my husband, Mark. “So… Mia got her period this morning,” he said. My immediate thought? Relief. I wasn’t there to mess anything up.

The irony of it happening while I was at my annual intersex conference didn’t escape me. “What did you do?” I asked. “I went to the store and got her a box of pads. I showed her the instructions, and then I took her to day camp.”

I hung up and called the summer camp nurse to ensure she knew Mia might need help. She laughed, saying, “Mia came to see me this morning. Your husband got her some slim panty liners, but they weren’t enough for what she needed. She bled through her shorts, but we’ve sorted it out and have extra supplies. Maybe tonight, let Mark take her to the store so she can pick out what she really needs.”

I was grateful for the nurse’s understanding and wisdom. She undoubtedly had plenty of experience guiding young girls through these changes. Had I been home instead of Mark, I might have made the same mistake with the panty liners. I had no more experience than he did.

As time progressed, I encountered more intersex individuals, each with their unique conditions and identities. Some identify as men, others as women, and some as neither. Some, like me, have been fortunate enough to become parents, through adoption, surrogacy, or even egg donation for those born with a uterus. Some choose to keep their intersex status private, which I respect. However, I wanted to embrace my identity. Growing up with an intersex body and dealing with society’s perceptions led me to feel shame and struggle with authenticity. A couple of years after my daughters’ first periods, I publicly came out. Living authentically was my way of dispelling self-doubt, and I wish the same for all my intersex siblings.

I would be lying if I said my fears didn’t shift from menstruation to worrying about how my increasingly public role as an out intersex woman and activist would affect my daughters. One evening, Mia left a stack of 8th-grade papers on the kitchen table. Amid the usual mess, I spotted a yellow worksheet where she had written about someone she admired. I was deeply touched when I read she chose to write about me, noting that I was intersex and brave for advocating for others and helping them embrace their identity. I shed a tear realizing she felt empowered to speak about me and intersex so openly.

The following year, as the girls finished 9th grade, I received an email from one of the health education teachers. During class, she had covered LGBTQ+ issues and briefly mentioned intersex. Mia’s hand shot up, and she politely corrected the teacher, saying, “You should talk to my mom; she is intersex and an advocate.” The teacher invited me to speak to the health and biology departments the following September about intersex issues. The kids are alright.

For more insights on home insemination and parenting, check out this link and for comprehensive resources, visit Make A Mom. If you’re interested in pregnancy options, this Wikipedia page is an excellent resource.

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In summary, navigating motherhood as an intersex woman has been a complex journey filled with fear, joy, and empowerment. My daughters have inspired me to embrace my identity and advocate for others, showing that our experiences can lead to understanding and acceptance.

Keyphrase: intersex parenting experience

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