Mistaken Identities: Our True Essence

by Jessica Villar Rosati –

When my youngest child was born, I thought she was a boy. She emerged from my womb, the doctor noted the little boy parts, and declared, “it’s a boy.” We gave her a little boy name, dressed her in little boy clothes, and gave her toys for little boys. Yet, it was not long before I began to think that she was not as he appeared. Her appreciation for my soft and feminine clothes, her desire to be best friends with a little girl in first grade, her gentle and sensitive nature, told me that she would not be the straight male that society expects little boys to become.

So, when, at the age of 15, she told me that she was transgender, I was not surprised. I told her I loved her unconditionally, no matter what gender or form she took. I told her it was her essence and spirit I loved, and that these bodies we inhabit are temporary vessels for our eternal souls. I told her I loved her, that I would help her however I could, that I would be with her all the way.

She said, “I thought you would say that.” The next evening, she let me comb out her long, beautiful hair, a voluminous mass of luscious curls and waves.

We never spoke of cutting it again.

As a mother, it is natural to worry about your children and their futures, but on top of this basic worry, was laid an extra blanket of fear and anxiety. I knew how cruel the world could be, and I worried about my child’s safety even more than I already had. She was on a difficult path, but I was excited for her. It was like waiting for a butterfly to emerge from its chrysalis.

Her transition from male to female was very slow and very quiet and very careful. Her sister had been present when she came out to me, and was every bit as accepting as I. Her father and brother were similarly accepting. Yet it would be still another three years before she came out to the rest of our family and friends.

Through her slow transition, which took place in a very small town in a very conservative state, people continued to see her as a male. For though she had very long hair and wore very subtle makeup, she still went by her birth name and wore men’s clothing (mostly jeans and t-shirts – more out of practicality and comfort, than anything). Also, she was by no means dainty.

She attended a technical college and learned about welding, electricity, and construction. She liked to work with her hands and be outdoors.  Many hours were spent in front of a computer screen, gaming with friends and working in computer support for the school. Her interests seemed to be in traditionally male-oriented activities, but then again, so were some of mine. As a child, she saw me baking cookies and sewing dresses, but also going fishing and using power tools.

As her parent, I assumed the role of teacher and she was my student. Yet here, I was mistaken again, for it was she who taught me the greatest lessons of my life thus far. These were subjects I already thought I knew but did not truly comprehend. Throughout her childhood she tried, with mixed results, to teach me patience, humor, and simplicity.

I never got to see the butterfly emerge. Her transition took a different course. Instead of male to female, she changed from body to spirit.

My heart broke open.  Grief poured out in a raging flood that washed away everything in its path. Yet even as that happened, love was pouring in, clean and pure and healing. In the eye of the storm, was a calm place where I could see what truly mattered.

She became my greatest teacher. Her loss was a painful lesson in impermanence, forgiveness, and most importantly – love. She reminded me that we are ever so much more than we appear. I thought her name was Justin, when actually, it was Alessandra. I thought I was teaching her, when actually, she was teaching me. I thought we were mere mortals, when actually, we are eternal souls.

We are not just animated lumps of flesh, here for just a few seasons and then gone. We are made of energy, and that energy is love.

We are love incarnate ~  We are eternal.