Raising Ryland

by Hillary Whittington

  Whenever Ryland was given an option for face painting, she continuously chose superheroes or dangerous animals.

  Ryland and Gianna always got along great during playdates.

  The highlight of Ryland’s fifth birthday at Disneyland was when both she and Gianna were chosen to go onstage for the light saber battle with Darth Vader.

  Ryland was so excited to share her life with a little sister.

  Ryland and my mother-in-law, Peg, the day after Brynley arrived.

  Though we agreed on mostly boy clothes for the day-to-day, there continued to be a struggle on big holidays, like the Easter after Brynley was born.

  Both Ryland and Brynley’s baby showers were canceled due to preterm labor and bed rest, so my mom finally had the chance to shower us after Brynley arrived.

  Ryland on her first day of transitional kindergarten. She often zipped her sweatshirt up to cover any shirts she didn’t like.

  From the moment Brynley arrived home from the hospital, Ryland began talking to her like an equal and coaching her on how to be a good person.

  For many transgender kids, Halloween can be their favorite holiday. Ryland chose to be Iron Man, and ended up meeting a boy with the same name and costume.

  Jeff went out and bought a matching purple assistant-coach shirt so that Ryland wouldn’t feel uncomfortable playing in her uniform.

  Though Ryland hadn’t transitioned yet, most of our friends and family knew of her desire to only play with those items typically considered to be for a boy.

  Ryland’s very first professional boy haircut brought out an entirely different child.

  Ryland was so excited when he was able to get his hair cut at Jeff’s barbershop.

  Our first nuclear-family vacation was monumental and pivotal on our journey. The simple tasks of cooking meals together made us remember the pleasures in life and removed us from the chaos of back home.

  Ryland and his teacher Mrs. Dodds, who was his protector and second Mama Bear when I released him into the gates of school.

  From the very beginning, Ryland has always drawn himself as a boy within any self- or family portraits.

  Once Ryland transitioned, we signed him up for the boy’s soccer team. He was so much happier playing against some of the boys from his kindergarten class.

  Jeff, Grandpa Rand, Uncle Jay, Uncle Scott, Connor, and Ryland posing for a “guys only” picture at the Nicky Awards in San Diego.

  Ryland is coloring a book sent by one of the many kind supporters who have sent emails, letters, and even care packages to our family.

  Ryland and his sister posing for a picture on the San Diego sands where it all began.

  The perfected baseball stance that I love so much. It warms my heart to see him fitting in and playing with all of the other boys in the league.

  A child shaving kit (no blade, of course) was clearly one of Ryland’s favorite gifts for Christmas this year.

  Our dearest friend Macie’s wedding was incredibly special, as she honored Ryland by asking him to be her ring-bearer. Kristina Chartier Photography

  Our joyful family, after navigating down some difficult roads and finding peace through love, understanding, and acceptance. Vikki Dinh Photography

  Part Two

  Embracing Our Son

  Chapter Eight

  Transitional Kindergarten

  Christmas is a temporary reprieve when my parents—er, Santa—present Ryland with an amazing battery-powered kids’ quad vehicle. As Jeff assembles it in our garage, Peg comes out to join him. From the kitchen I can overhear her when she says, “You know, I’ve been reading that book that Hillary gave me, called The Transgender Child. Maybe there’s really something to this with Ryland, Jeff. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know, Mom,” he says. “I’ll wait for Ryland to tell me.” I shake my head to myself and continue my work in the kitchen, knowing he still can’t look this situation as squarely in the face as I’ve come to do.

  On Christmas Day, Ryland rides the quad around our property with such authority that the neighbor boys, usually so oblivious to her presence, stand at our fence and gaze at her in wonder. Two days later, Chase’s grandma, with whom I shared our latest updates before school let out for the holiday break, emails me with a suggestion to read a book called Raising My Rainbow, about a woman’s gender-nonconforming son, named CJ. Immediately I order it and thank Barbara for the recommendation. Her validation has been such a source of strength, and her overwhelming support has given me a sense of comfort and security at a time when I’ve been in such desperate need for people to understand what we’re going through.

  The night before New Year’s Eve, when we know most couples are putting the finishing touches on their party plans, Jeff and I are discussing Ryland. The topic is feeling much easier for me to bring up, and finally I’m starting to feel like I have a teammate in Jeff.

  “I wonder if there’s any kind of network in this area of families with transgender children,” I tell him. “Wouldn’t it be perfect if we could find something like the group we had after the cochlear implants?” Jeff sits down at the computer, and he begins to search for resources online to find out if there are any kind of support groups in Southern California for transgender children and their families.

  “Shift Happens,” Jeff says.

  “Huh?” I lean in over his shoulder to see the website he’s pulled up—it’s a parent support group in Orange County started by Sarah Tyler. “Hey, I remember her!” I tell Jeff. “I’ve seen her on TV.”

  Sarah Tyler is the mom of two beautiful children and the wife of an Orange County police officer. Her seven-year-old child tried to run into oncoming traffic because Sarah wouldn’t allow him to wear a princess dress for Halloween. On the TV interview, she discussed how she and her husband had embraced their son’s transition to be female. I found their story extremely inspiring.

  Jeff sends a request to the website’s contact-us section, and that evening the phone rings. On the line is Sarah herself. She is friendly, she’s soothing, and she promises that she’s going to get us to the next right place. It’s the first telephone conversation with another mom in months that brings me to laugh. Our families share so many common experiences.

  “If your husband works nights,” she says, “I know what that’s like. Please don’t hesitate to call me for some company, anytime.”

  In the meantime, Shannon puts me in touch with Monica, who’s the leader of the San Diego Transforming Family support group. When I call Monica, I can tell that she’s a woman who touches everyone she meets. Her son, Isaac, was one of the first kids to openly transition in the San Diego area, during a time when this subject was met with great hostility and misunderstanding. When Monica tells me that Isaac is pursuing his education at Stanford University, I know this will help Jeff see that this is the kind of kid we want to serve as an inspiration for Ryland. Having fully entered the acceptance phase of this, my natural inclination has been to seek out positive people who are dealing with this same thing in their families. If Jeff begins to see that Ryland can be happy, normal, and successful while being transgender, I’m hopeful that it will continue to evolve his thinking about Ryland’s situation.

  Recognizing a need in our area, Monica started the support group along with a middle-aged transgender man named Connor. From what Monica explains, they’ve grown significantly over the past few years as parents are beginning to listen to their children. Their first meeting for the year will take place the first week in January. Jeff agrees to go with me in an effort to start our new year with as much calm in our home as we can.

  Peg and Rand respond enthusiastically when we ask them to babysit that night. We tell Ryland nothing about the meeting; we ourselves have no idea what to expect, or if we’ll ever return for a second meeting. For the safety of the children, the San Diego Transforming Family support group is completely underground. It’s not advertised on the LGBT center website, and you can’t find any information about it online.


  Monica directs us to where it’s located. When we enter the meeting place, we find the parents sitting separately from the children while the kids go to a supervised playroom in another part of the building. Jeff and I exchange a look, aware that this makes sense: they separate the adults from their children so the parents can talk openly about their struggles.

  As the meeting starts, it seems gentle enough, but I can’t help but feel scared out of my mind. Everyone sits in a circle and takes a turn introducing themselves and stating pieces of their child’s story.

  Seated next to me is a younger man wearing a fedora hat, like Ryland’s. When I meet his eyes, he flashes me a warm smile. Nervously, I smile back. On the other side of him sits a woman who’s about my age. As the sharing circle nears our turn, I’m so anxious, I believe everyone can probably see my pulse throbbing through my neck. On the way here, Jeff and I agreed that we didn’t really want to tell everyone our story. “I don’t really feel like pouring my heart out and telling our story to a bunch of strangers,” he said.

  “I know, that’s what I’m nervous about, too,” I told him. “But let’s just hear what the parents have to say.”

  “I know, it can’t hurt us to go and listen. I’m sure we can learn from their experiences. I just don’t want to say a lot.” For him, it’s still too personal, and for me, I know I’ll cry. I’m so fragile and ready to crack wide open from being forced to stifle these emotions for so long. But with everyone else sharing so openly, for Jeff and me to pass on our chance to speak would draw as much attention as if we were to spill a puddle from our hearts into the middle of the circle.

  As I listen to the other families share their stories, immediately it’s clear to me that our child is the youngest in the group. When it’s my turn, I follow their format: I share Ryland’s name, gender, and how long she has been trying to express herself as a boy. Seated a few parents down from me is another mom whose now-daughter is transgender and, she says, just a little bit older than Ryland. She says that for a long time, her husband still tried to buy his daughter little-boy socks and clothes. She was already presenting as a girl and going to school as a female, but the woman’s husband has struggled very hard as the little girl’s father—by the sounds of it, even harder than Jeff has.

  In this first meeting, we learn that this is actually typical: the father of the transgender child usually experiences a great deal more turmoil about accepting his transgender child than the mother does. I relate, and I develop my own theories for why this is: perhaps it has something to do with a mother’s empathy and intuition, or maybe it’s that the mom usually spends more time with her children than the dad does and so is more attuned to what the children are experiencing. The woman shares that it seems as though finally her husband may be coming on board, and she breaks into billowing sobs when she turns to us and says, “I’m just so happy to see another family here with a child the same age as mine, and you are so lucky to have your husband here.” I look at Jeff, who’s listening intently from where he’s seated next to me. I take his hand. Not one day of this has been easy, but this woman is right: I am lucky. Jeff was willing to listen and learn with me this first time, together.

  Later on, another parent begins to explain the grief and suffering that she and her child are going through with insurance and medical professionals. Insurance won’t pay for hormone blockers or cross hormones. Many hormone blockers cost around twenty thousand dollars per treatment, with treatments needed three to four times a year. Many insurance companies will not pay for “top” surgery until a child is on testosterone for at least a year, but many teens cannot get a doctor to prescribe testosterone because the teen is depressed. There are so many twists and turns to navigate, and the insurance companies really don’t have a human appreciation for what children and families go through with this. “Maybe things will change soon,” the mother says, and sighs. “We just have to wait and see.”

  My hands clench around the edge of my seat. Wait for what?! I want to ask her. You have to DO something! You can’t just sit around and wait for everyone else to do it! WE have to fight, we’re the parents! Who will do it better than we will? Who will do it at all?

  Unlike me, Jeff remains calm, if visibly disturbed, as he listens to the other parents tell their stories—always harrowing, sometimes horrible. There are multiple accounts about teenagers who absolutely despise their bodies so brutally that many of them refuse to bathe because of their self-disgust. Others bind their chests so tightly to hide their breasts after puberty that they’ve collapsed a lung or gotten severe skin infections. Nearly every single one of the parents talks about their children’s struggles with their peers at school and often even their teachers.

  And all of the parents in the room share one common theme: they all wish they would have transitioned their teenagers much sooner in their lives. The onset of puberty has multiplied their problems. Once puberty hits, there are some irreversible changes that cause many transgender preteens and teens to experience major discomfort, sadness, withdrawal, and thoughts of suicide.

  Something clicks: this is all Jeff needs to hear. On the ride home, he begins to open up and share some of his thoughts with me.

  “As reluctant as I was,” he says, “I’m glad we went.”

  “You are?”

  “Yeah. Those stories were heartbreaking. I get the consequences we’re facing if we don’t address more of what’s going on. I don’t ever want to see Ryland go through those struggles. I’m on the same page now, Hill. I get it.”

  As the words leave his mouth, I can tell, really, that he’s finally got it. We do not want Ryland to fall into this hugely depressed, self-destructing group of children who are suffering to be who they are. Despite the overwhelming emotions that I just experienced during the meeting, I am overcome with joy as I hear Jeff speaking. I know that we are now on the same page, standing side by side on this journey. Jeff has always been a source of strength for me, and together we’ve overcome some of life’s biggest challenges and struggles. It had pained me to feel like I was on this journey alone for so long, and now, in this moment, I know that I have my partner by my side.

  The following week, Jeff and I drive with Ryland to Hillcrest for our first appointment with Darlene Tando. Her entrance requires inputting a private code, to ensure clients’ safety, and inside, the office atmosphere is quaint and comfortable. As we take a seat in the small waiting room, I point out to Jeff the white noise machine that she keeps in her hallway to guarantee that the conversation happening inside her office is sacred and confidential.

  My heart beats with the same fear I felt the week before at the Transforming Family support group meeting. Among all the emotions bubbling up in me is frustration: during one of our conversations about Ryland, Jeff stated that he thinks it makes the most sense for us to wait until Ryland starts actual kindergarten, which is another five months away, before we begin the transition. I do see his point—it’s a lot for us to hope that Ryland’s tiny classmates would understand when they’re reintroduced to Ryland in the new gender—but after the support group meeting last week, I feel a stark sense of urgency about this. In my mind, the sooner we allow Ry to do this, the better.

  Darlene’s demeanor instantly helps to calm me. She has a wide, beautiful smile and an air of kindness and authority over her work. When she tells us that she herself has small children, I observe Jeff ease up a bit, too. For the first time, we both feel more understood and not so alone. We tell her all about Ryland’s history, including her persistent and consistent cross-gender identification, her insistence that she is a boy, and her most recent comment about wanting to cut her hair after the family dies. After getting this extensive history from Jeff and me, Darlene requests to spend some time alone getting to know Ryland, so she can ask her questions and Ryland can respond without our parental influence and her desire to please us. During her assessment, she asks Ryland how she would like to be addressed, to which Ryland responds confidently an
d swiftly: “Please call me a boy.”

  With her evaluation complete, we reconvene with Darlene. Her time with Ryland confirms what we already know: Ryland has the heart and brain of a boy.

  When she brings Jeff and me back in, Darlene affirms my thinking. “The longer you wait to transition a child, the more emotional damage you may cause,” she says. “My recommendation, based on all of the things you’ve told me, is that you need to try using male pronouns immediately and socially transition Ryland as soon as possible.”

  Jeff looks at me with hesitation. We had a feeling that this was coming. He chimes in. “What if we were to wait a few months until the school year is over?”

  “I understand that this is a very big ‘decision,’ if you will, for any parent to make about a child,” Darlene says. “I don’t always recommend transition the first time I meet with parents—it depends on where they are in the process of acceptance and how resistant they are. But from everything I’ve heard today, it sounds like the two of you have already come to a lot of conclusions on your own—am I right?”

  Jeff and I look at each other and nod. “Yes,” I tell her.

  “I want to encourage you to continue to do all the research you still feel is necessary to move forward from here. Ultimately, how you handle this has to be your choice.”

  “If you were us,” I ask her, “what would you do?”

  She nods, as if she was anticipating that question, and this makes me feel validated for having asked. “From everything that the two of you and Ryland have shared with me today, I believe continuing to force a child to live in such an uncomfortable state, even for a few months, could be even more detrimental than making an awkward transition mid–school year.”