The evolution in reactions from my Mother (whom I consider the true litmus test, as to my friends it’s all pretty much irrelevant) has been marked. My first coming out (which I fondly refer to as ‘the lesbian one’), aged 19, was explosive to say the least. Having walked into what she thought was an empty house, my mother had heard myself and my girlfriend at the time engaging in some pretty noisy 'exercise’ locked in my bedroom at the top of the house. As she had always seen my lady friend as nothing more than a work colleague, you can imagine her shock when we emerged red faced and somewhat dishevelled sometime later. Waiting only for ’S’ to leave, things rapidly descended into tears (mine), confusion (hers), and a general desire to be anywhere else in the world but there (mutual). We were slow to properly discuss it, but when we finally did, some months later, she made it clear that as long as I was happy, then so was she.

Fast forward 9 years to my second coming out (the trans one!), and I had just returned from an eye opening and life affirming 6 months in NY, during which time I had met my first trans man, a great guy called Nicco, who had finally given me the courage to tackle my gender issues head on. Back in London, I had gone to my mum’s for lunch, adamant that I would tell her that I had already seen a psychiatrist, who had flicked his pen across a little box, and confirmed that I wasn’t just crazy (phew!), and that I would be ‘allowed’ to start testosterone in the near future. After a lovely afternoon together, and with no sign of an appropriate segway to lead into what I thought would be a reaction of cataclysmic proportions to my news, I decided to start an argument, to help things along. Loosely summed up, this centred around the fact that she wasn’t correctly separating her recycling, as certain bottles belonged in certain bins, and the ensuing and entirely proportionate anger at this allowed me to neatly announce that I had always known that I was a boy, and was in fact about to transition. There followed tears (mine), a briefly stunned silence (hers), then several glasses of wine (mutual), before she asked, matter of factly: 'Well, what are we going to do about it?’.

To be honest, all that’s really left to be said is a huge thank you to my old mum, for always being quite so amazing. I know I am one of the lucky ones. Now my staunchest supporter, she proudly tells anyone who listens of the work I do, and the films I make. She’ll frequently come home with stories from dinners where she has happily discussed me, and all of my ups and downs, and, on more than one occasion, has met and counselled parents of similarly misgendered children. Quite the hero among her circle, from what I hear!

I suppose that I should briefly recount the last time I 'came out’ (the gay one…) Earlier this year, dating a man for the first time, I was over at the family home, repeatedly referring to 'my friend Danny’, when mum looked at me over the top of the newspaper, and enquired: 'So, are you dating this Danny?’, to which I replied a not very nonchalant 'yes’. Returning to her paper, she simply replied: 'Go and put the kettle on, dear. Biscuits are in the cupboard.’

 

link to artical here