Parenthood is an odd journey. I find myself endlessly scrubbing sticky substances off my furniture and uttering phrases like, “Please don’t poke your brother with that fork!” Yet, amidst the chaos of raising three little ones, these tiny humans have prompted me to take a long, hard look at my own identity.
I didn’t truly understand myself until my second child was born. Despite spending the first few years of my relationship discussing my discomfort with my body, there was still a disconnect. We’ve always told our children they have two moms, but I could never bring myself to accept that title.
I was an adult, after all. I was the best version of the unique “Jordan” that the world had ever seen (what’s normal about having your kids call you a name inspired by a fictional alien, anyway?). I had children, and being two moms in a conservative area was challenging enough. I couldn’t face the question: “Why do I feel like a boy?”
So, I chose to ignore it. Whenever those thoughts surfaced, I’d distract myself by buying a new skirt, growing my hair long, or experimenting with makeup.
Having my first child didn’t alter this mindset. My partner carried her, gave her life, and chose her name—she is truly wonderful. Yet, during my pregnancy and nursing of our second child, I felt an overwhelming sense of dysphoria tied to traditional female roles. I wanted to embrace those experiences, which led me to believe there still must be a woman inside of me.
After some reflection and research, I concluded I must be gender-fluid—surely that was it, right? I had masculine inclinations, but I still identified as a woman.
But then, my second child arrived, and he was a force of nature. He unabashedly embraced his individuality, laughing with every fiber of his being, and gravitating towards rainbows and unicorns while shopping in the girls’ section. He sometimes identifies as a girl, and when he does, I affirm, “You are one of the most incredible little girls I’ve ever known.” I use “she” until he switches back to saying he’s a boy.
I love him fiercely, and I am committed to protecting his right to express who he is, be it boy, girl, or anything in between. There is nothing wrong with him—he is the same little terror who can scatter an entire box of cereal across the floor in seconds or flap his arms with joy when excited. He sometimes shouts from the car window about being a girl, and whether this identity solidifies or shifts over time, he is perfect just as he is.
If my child is perfect, how could there be anything wrong with me? So, I made changes—I dropped the feminine parts of my name, chopped off my hair, and stopped pretending to dress like a woman. I began to build a supportive network and experimented with the he/him pronouns that resonate with me. These are baby steps toward embracing my true self, inspired by this little one who plays with my partner’s lipstick and sports his long blonde curls in a pink ponytail.
I carried this child within me. I birthed him. I still nurture him, and I am male. And that’s perfectly okay. My child has opened my eyes to who I really am, allowing me to shed the expectations of motherhood that never felt right. It’s a liberating yet daunting experience.
For more insights on parenting and identity, you can explore resources like Healthline’s guide to pregnancy and check out Modern Family Blog for authority on topics related to family dynamics. If you’re considering starting a family, there are even fertility boosters available for men that can help in your journey, which you can read about here.
Summary:
This article discusses how becoming a parent helped the author, Jordan Ellis, to confront their transgender identity. Through the experiences with their children, particularly their second child, the author reflects on feelings of dysphoria and ultimately embraces a male identity. The narrative emphasizes the importance of authenticity and acceptance, both for the author and their children.