Part two: a mum’s journey to understanding

Simone Wade is proud to now have two sons. 270076_20 Photo: SHELBY BROOKS

This is part two of this week’s people in profile on Miles Wade. His mum Simone Wade has reflected on what life has been like as a mum to Miles.

I began to reflect on my life as a mum. How my mistakes and successes have impacted my children, focusing on my transgender son, who had to have major surgery to affirm himself as ‘male’.

Some decisions I am truly ashamed of. Did I make these choices consciously, to hurt my child? Certainly not, but I can see how they have negatively affected him, making his journey more painful.

I remember my 20-week ultrasound I decided to find out the sex. A girl! I was so excited. A girl would complete my family. That afternoon I was compelled to get purple paint to cover the blue, add flowers and butterflies and ‘pretty’ things to the nursery. My child was not even born and I had already fallen into stereotypes of boys and girls.

The first six years were typical. My child played, dressed like a ‘normal girl’. They seemed happy. They adored their older brother, often playing superheroes and cars. This didn’t bother me. They loved each other; I was glad they had things in common. I thought I had done a good job as a mum. I let them both have the freedom to choose their interests and never thought I labelled things as society did, for gender. My kids were happy, that’s all that mattered… until they weren’t.

It was grade two that my youngest child started not wanting to go to school and seemed somewhat unhappy. They would hold onto the classroom door crying and stayed in the middle room away from the other kids. I sought help from professionals. After a while we worked out what my child couldn’t communicate.

They wanted to dress like a boy and have their haircut. Never did they say they wanted to be a boy or change pronouns. I was accepting of this. Why couldn’t kids dress how they wanted? Secretly I hoped it was a ‘phase’. I spoke to my husband and after some research decided to allow these changes to happen, no big deal. The relief for my child seemed instant. A happy child.

I remember taking them to shop for boys’ clothes. They were super excited. This made me happy, but under all that I was sad, just a little.

Life went on for three years like this. I even put them on the gender clinic waiting list. Even though I took this step I hoped I didn’t have to. I was scared, what would the future look like if they ‘chose this path’? It wouldn’t be easy, but was this just me being concerned of my own life and how it might impact me? Did my thoughts and feeling get projected on to them?

Fast forward to Year 5. Sitting at the bench my child stated, ’I think I want a dress!’ I was so excited. We rushed to the shops- the relief I felt was overwhelming. It was just a phase! Maybe he had just wanted to be like his older brother. I couldn’t believe I had my ‘girl’ back. Life would be so much easier. All my hopes and dreams that I had for them could come true. Little did I know that was far from the truth.

Seven years went by. My kids seemed happy. Life was good, on the surface. There were some days my youngest child’s mood was heightened; anxiety was high. I sought professional help again but not once did I think back to those early years- I had blocked it out. Seven years of them pretending, I had no idea. What mother has no idea of their child’s deepest thoughts and feelings?

My life changed forever. A little over 6 months ago, they came into my bedroom at 12am- these midnight chats are never about little things. They stated they were transgender. Out of blue, but what I didn’t understand, that for him, it was not out of the blue. It had been his whole life conforming to society’s expectations even my expectations. He struggled, in silence, trying to fit in with other girls. He copyied what they did, how they dressed but all the while feeling uncomfortable and ashamed.

How did I not see this? Was I so blind to my own child’s torment? I reassured him that it was fine, I loved him no matter what and we would work through it together. He told his brother, ‘Yeah that’s cool, I’ve got a brother now’.

His brother has been the biggest support, the most accepting out of anyone. I thought I was too. A couple of days went by, we had told the family and a few close friends. This all moved quickly. Everyone was great. Family, friends, work colleagues. Life was good, until I wasn’t. I tried to hide it, but the flood gates opened and wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t explain why. I was fine with it all. I remember just sitting on my wardrobe floor, ashamed of how I might make him feel. It didn’t work.

He came in and I had to try and explain how I felt a ‘loss’, for lack of a better word. Those hopes and dreams I thought I got back; we’re gone again. The safe world I thought was waiting for him had begun to disappear again. It was then I realised that this wasn’t a choice. It had to happen and would have always happened, regardless. If I knew more, if I saw the signs maybe he wouldn’t have had to pretend for so long. Maybe the trauma wouldn’t have been so great. I picked myself up and realised it wasn’t about me, and that’s where this rollercoaster ride truly began.

I made phone calls, filled out forms, only to be told there was a two year wait. I wasn’t going to have that, he had waited long enough. It was time for him to be his true self.

I found a gender diverse GP who explained the process and what was needed. I sent over 50 emails to psychologists, endocrinologists, IVF specialists. Within six weeks we had our

appointments, the psychologist was amazing, hormones were prescribed, and we celebrated. The more I talked to people, the more I realised how accepting everyone was. Most people were like ‘well I’m not surprised!’

The change in mood, motivation, happiness, and conversation was simply unexplainable. The excitement for the ‘new’ future couldn’t be contained.

There were dark days, where things were just a little too much, but I had my child back. It was the same child I knew and loved. He stilled cared for others above himself, was creative, loved animals and thought he was the funniest person on earth. Nothing had changed, not really, only he finally felt he was becoming the person he was born to be, except one thing.

This was proven, when within the space of three days he was abused twice in public bathrooms.

A verbal, transphobic attack followed days later by a grown man, who chased him onto the street, in broad daylight and beat him. Physically the hospital dealt with the injuries, but mentally, the trauma, that would take time.

We needed to find a surgeon. This proved difficult. We faced huge wait lists or were told he was not old enough. Until one day he messaged me, and told me he got an appointment with a surgeon in a few weeks. It was in Sydney. He already paid the deposit!!

So I started booking the ‘holiday’. We meet the surgeon and couldn’t believe how kind, accepting and warm he was. We came out feeling very comfortable. A day later he got the call. You have surgery booked in 10 days. I didn’t not expect that.

I wasn’t going to let my own thoughts or societies judgement impact my choice this time. I got the feeling a few people thought he was too young, that it was too soon. He had already had to prove himself as a real boy to far too many people, including myself. I knew in my heart it was the right time.

Once again I booked everything. School and work returned, only for a day before we made the choice to stay at home and isolate to avoid Covid. It was a stressful time, but my eldest son was amazing and supportive of our choices. My guilt was huge from this. I missed him so much. He was sacrificing so much too for his brother.

We finally left, Covid free for Sydney. Two days later we arrived at the hospital. Within an hour I watched my son drift off to sleep with the biggest smile on his face. It was the longest day.

We finally got to see him after almost six hours. Although he was high as a kite, he was happy. The first thing he asked about was his brother, then proceeded to ask if surgery happened. Recovery was so funny. He shared many truths and thoughts. The elation he displayed I had never seen before. We got back to our accommodation and emotions took over. Crying, happy tears he exclaimed it was the best day of his life. It was then I knew that he could finally be himself and move forward with his life.

As I left him sleeping, unable to sleep myself I started thinking about the time since he was born. I’d made mistakes and I’d said and done things that I’m not proud of, that I’m ashamed of.

I can’t help but wonder, did I make his journey longer, make him suffer more, simply for him to make the ‘easy’ choice. Then I realised this was never a choice for him. He never had a say in what body he was born into, how life would throw him one hurdle after another. Which he would always jump over and seem stronger.

That it isn’t fair that he must go through so much just to be who he is. I can only hope now that he has some peace and can continue to have the courage and humility to keep going forward. To follow his dreams and make his own future, not the one I had imagined for him. I hope my mistakes have somehow made him more determined. That he knows how much I love him.

I now realised I never lost anything, I gained so much more. I am so proud and inspired by both my sons. Everyday I’m amazed at what they achieve and how they have grown into beautiful humans.

The last six months has been a whirlwind of emotions, at times I’ve just wanted to jump off, but I am proud of how far we have come as a family and only hope that others can do the same. Just love and accept our kids.

It’s just that simple.