The Journey of a Mommabear

Lisl had a close relationship with her son, until puberty hit and everything changed. Today her son identifies as a woman. Here the practising Catholic mother writes about her journey to living with, accepting and responding to this new reality in her life.

My daughter is 19 years old, and her name is Mary. But for the first 16 years of her life, she was my son Liam.

Mary is a male-to-female trans-gender woman, a reality that has been loaded with much emotion and a long journey of love, shock, questioning, hopelessness, desperation, fighting, struggle, frustration, tears, fear, acceptance, hope, resilience, and continuous stretches of emotion.

When asked to share our story, I would like to skim over the painful and confusing moments and rather focus on the happy and settled times. However, all these moments, painful and happy, are what makes our journey what it is. And it is my calling to tell you about “The Grey”.

But first, some background. My husband and I were married for four years before we were blessed with a baby. I remember walking up Adderly Street in Cape Town’s city centre, holding my tummy and saying: “It’s you and me forever, my baby” — and that was before the pregnancy was confirmed later that day. And I meant those words — I instantly became a fiercely protective Mommabear!

I had the best pregnancy and gave birth to a beautiful baby boy named Liam in 2004. He was just perfect in every way and my love for him grew with every passing year. We even developed our own language. I am sure that was our souls speaking to each other. We were the closest!

On suicide watch

Well, we were the closest until puberty hit and my child became, as one would expect, “different”. I welcomed the change because it was part of his growth, and I just wanted Liam to be the happiest and most grounded person. But he was suffering with mental health issues. I didn’t even understand these issues until he was admitted to a clinic and placed on suicide watch.

My heart shattered. Had we done something wrong? I considered what pain my child had been going through to arrive at such a situation, but I could never have imagined the reason.

He eventually “came out” after his release from the clinic. From that moment on, he was she, and Liam was Mary. She had been struggling in isolation because she feared that we would reject her.  I thanked Mary for telling us, and asked her to be patient with us as we started navigating this new reality.

Admittedly, I had prepared myself for the possibility of having a gay child — even in theory before I was married — but my child being transgender really knocked me off my feet. I felt untethered. There I was, between acceptance and disappointment in myself for not just accepting.

I later discovered that it was okay to feel the need to mourn the idea/existence of Liam so that I could accept Mary. But I had to do that in silence so as not to negatively affect her as she wanted to literally erase her existence as Liam prior to acknowledging her gender.

“The Grey” is the place some of us, as parents of LGBTQ+ people, find ourselves — the place in between the generally well-intentioned religiously fortified groups and the active LGBTQ+ community, the space where we are trying to find a way for us to be heard and understood and to live in peace. The “in-between”, where we parents or guardians are trying to navigate unchartered territory and the only certainty is that there are unmarked landmines on both sides.

Guidance from God

Often I felt as though my child and I had just been in a major accident and she was bleeding from the head while I was trying to flag anyone down to help. The passing cars included people who pretended not to see me for fear that eye contact would mean that they chose a side. And although no eye contact was made by certain clergy, friends, family, co-workers and, yes, even random members of the general public, they actually had taken a side, albeit subconsciously. Although it hurt, it also pushed me to seek peace and guidance from God, because it needs to sit well with my soul.

I had conversations with God. I was confused, angry, scared and disappointed in myself for not feeling now how I had felt about LGBTQ+ people over the years. I had admired their bravery, the flamboyancy and the confidence — but I had never realised the sadness, the hurt, the disappointment, the rejection, the abandonment and the fear which so many experienced from their own family members. How can some people reject their own blood based on a belief system which seemingly does not allow for mercy, compassion and love — even as Our Lord demands exactly these qualities: mercy, compassion and love.

But it took me about two long years of research, reaching out to others, listening to podcasts by Susan Cortrell (the co-founder of Freedhearts) — and lots and lots of conversations with God — before I arrived at the place where I am now. I now have a solid foundation — for me and for my daughter — and a better understanding of the journey we are on.

The 99 and the one

The Gospels of Matthew and Luke relate Jesus’ parable of the 99. “If a man has a hundred sheep but one of the sheep gets lost, he will leave the other 99 on the hill and go to look for the lost sheep” (Matthew 18:12). To my mind, the current “societally normal community” represents the 99, and the person who is different represents the one sheep. Jesus presents the one sheep to the flock, and that raises questions: How accepting, or rejecting, are we? Are we choosing to judge, deny, mock, reject that one sheep whom Jesus has gone out to find?

If so, then we are failing the test. I believe that I have been set on a mission, and I will not flinch from it.

If I can make one member of the LGBTQ+ community feel loved and even accepted, as the Gospel requires of us, then this will be good. I would rather be wrong in a world of love than right in a world of hate.

In some way or another, we all live in “The Grey”, a place where we need to listen to each other so as to understand, and where you don’t have to explain your existence as you will just be. We need to create a space where everyone, regardless of their situation, feels loved and accepted, and not just tolerated. Should that not be so, above all, in the Church?

Lisl writes from Cape Town. Her family’s surname has been withheld for reasons of privacy.

Published in the August 2024 issue of The Southern Cross magazine