Sarkastickunt

My oldest was born Maria Victoria.

Never a girly girl. Always taller and just having a thicker build than most of her girlfriends.

I always just sort of “knew” something was off but I couldn’t really put my finger on it.

Maybe I could and I stayed in denial. I don’t know.

When I was pregnant with Matilda, she confided in me that she didn’t want to live as a woman anymore.

I listened. I cried. Shit, I still cry. Although now I cry FOR her, not because of her.

So, we threw all the feminine clothes away.

I bought her all new men’s clothes.

We cut her waist length hair off.

She changed her name from Maria to Mason.

And it is a name everyone in our home respects and uses.

And that has been all I could do…on my end. 

I accept his decision. I support him with everything I have.

I want him to do whatever he needs to do to feel whole.

It’s just, sometimes that’s not enough.

I can’t walk everywhere he goes. I can’t fight his battles.

I can’t protect him from ridicule and bias. 

I can’t make all the self doubt and uncertainty go away.

I can only love him.

Sadly, there are days where I feel like that just isn’t enough.