Like many parents, I love to talk about my children. A conversation with someone to whom I’m newly introduced often begins: “Do you have children?” (Yes). “How many?” (Two). Their natural and understandable follow-up question usually is: “Boys or girls?”
Usually, I revel in the possibilities inherent in meeting someone new. However, at this moment I pause and silently protest. Ugg!! This is a question that one should NEVER ask someone you are just meeting.
I inhale, smile, and respond, “My older child is a girl. My younger child is trans nonbinary.” A second pause ensues as I gauge their reaction.
Typically, at this point the inquisition begins. “What does trans nonbinary mean?” “How long have they been trans for?” “Do you think it is a phase?” “How did they know?” “How do you feel about that?” “Are you worried about them given the political climate?” Some questions feel nosy and voyeuristic. “Have they had surgery?” “Used hormones?” “Do they plan to?”
The people are likely well-intentioned, curious, and wanting to learn. But as a parent, these interactions exhaust me. My child is so much more than their gender. They have fun hobbies, quirky interests, a sharp sense of humor, and a deep commitment to social justice. They do not want to be known as “the trans person.” They just wish to live as themselves. As my new conversation partner’s cisgender children do. I would not ask them, “How did your child know she is cis? And how did you feel about when she came out as cis? Do you think she is cis because of social contagion?”
With every reveal of my children’s genders, I must decide whether to answer people’s questions honestly or redirect the interaction. Raised as a people-pleaser AND being someone who strives to make the world a better place, I typically reply truthfully, hoping to educate the person standing before me so that they too can educate others. However, explaining and re-explaining is tedious and tiring. I would rather discuss my child’s summer plans or the hilarious photos they sent me yesterday.
Worst is when I meet someone who has a confrontational conversational style. They lecture me about their dislike of plural pronouns when speaking about a singular person. They quiz me about explanations for why increasing numbers of children have been coming as gender diverse at younger ages. They air their skepticism about people they know and wonder if they are “really trans.” How do they expect me to react to such diatribes?
Sometimes I share what I do know: I find using correct pronouns relatively easy. My brain rapidly adapts. Any gender diverse person has thought long and hard about their gender identity before coming out to those around them. Who would willingly subject themselves to scrutiny, doubt, stress, and questions without agonizingly careful consideration? When gender diverse folks come out, it is after a great deal of inner exploration. They exhibit such profound bravery by speaking their truth, knowing rejection by those who love them is possible.
I have the great fortune—and great challenge—of my home and work circles overlapping in my personal Venn diagram. In my work as a family physician who sees many gender-diverse patients and their families, I have the humbling privilege of accompanying people of all ages on their gender journey. Sadly, the medical system often has been a source of trauma rather than healing for many of my patients. My entire approach to doctoring centers on my aspiration to not only avoid inflicting medical trauma, but to provide a safe space to help mitigate it. Through verbal and nonverbal communication, I strive to convey, “You are welcome and celebrated here. How can we create a more affirming space in this medical space? You are the expert in your life experience and in your body.” My job is challenging, and I am profoundly grateful to do this work.
Since the November 2024 election, my work has become exponentially more difficult. My patients and their families are universally petrified of losing their gender affirming health care and human rights. I wish I could add ten minutes to each office visit to hear their concerns and respond. If patients do not ask about how the political climate may affect their care, I make sure to raise the issue. I observe their shoulders untense, their eyes open wide, as they meet my gaze and share a tiny glimpse of their vulnerability and great burden of worry. I reassure them as honestly as I can, knowing nobody can foretell the future. My heart breaks over and over and over each workday.
Like many people these days, I find myself constantly tinkering with my balance of news consumption and the need to take a break from the overwhelm. I have felt buoyed by articles describing right-leaning politicians who, after hearing speeches from gender diverse people, reverse their vote and help preserve the rights of trans people. These slivers of hope prevent me from drowning in a river of despair. Perhaps if more courageous folks speak up AND others work harder to listen, such changes of mind could become commonplace.
I continue to proudly share my children’s genders when asked. And I respond in kind to thoughtful, sincere questions. However, I cannot help but wish that people would ask questions not about gender identity, but about the shared path of parenting and the incredible process of learning who our children are as people.
Pamela Adelstein is a family physician.
