Dear Ryland,

I found a new love when you were born. As you grew inside me, I dreamed of my life with you as my daughter. I imagined the pink and lace you would wear, playing Barbies and dress‐up, putting on make‐up, cuddling in bed together on a Saturday morning, shopping for shoes for your homecoming dance, talking on the phone daily when you left for college, getting our nails done together as we laughed about your upcoming wedding, and holding your child as a new grandmother one day. I imagined your entire future before you were even here! Can you believe it? I thought that loving you meant giving you the perfect and seamless life that I had spent hours dreaming for you.

Boy, oh boy: it turns out, I was wrong.

It wasn’t until I stopped imagining your future that I began to learn what true unconditional love was.

My dreams for you became blurred the day that I realized you were deaf. Waking up to that reality shattered the world I had created for you. I was angry! Angry that you would travel through this world experiencing what might be less than a perfect life. Let ME be deaf, I would pray. Please allow my child to hear the birds singing, the waves crashing, my voice whispering “I love you,” or the song “Imagine.” (It was my brother’s favorite song, and after he passed away, it became mine, too.)

I wanted to give you every opportunity in life, and I felt it was still my job to give you the best life possible. So, Dad and I moved forward with the cochlear implant surgery with the hope that if all went well, it would allow you to access sounds. I knew I would face criticism from the Deaf community; our decision was controversial, but I forced myself to be strong and to care less about what people thought than what Dad and I thought was best for you.

As soon as you could hear, I thought my love had been tested…but soon, I learned that everything about that surgery was just a warm‐up to all that was coming.

As soon as you could speak, you stood beneath me and tried to explain. You knew there was something not quite right; something unfamiliar and foreign to your sense of self. Day after day, you tried to explain in that little voice with your long blond hair framing that perfect round face:

“Momma, I am a boy.”

I thought you were confused. At times, I even thought it was really cute. I loved the idea of having a low‐maintenance tomboy for a daughter. Everyone told me it was a phase and you would grow out of it. For awhile, that’s what I thought it was too. But we were all mistaken. This was different…and you were only growing stronger with your voice and opinion.

You’re a smart kid, Ryland, and what came next is what twists my heart. You began to see the disappointment from me (and others), so you tried to change. When people’s reactions to you weren’t positive, you knew it. You knew how to walk the thin line of trying to be you, while trying to please us. You worked so hard to smile when I dressed you in adorable little outfits. My bribes worked for a moment as I tried to distract you from the clothes you didn’t like, but because you didn’t want to hurt me, you took on the hurt. Soon, your heart filled with shame and disappointment. You had to hide when you needed to express yourself as who you really are.

I pressed forward. I fought your desires. I wanted others to say, “What a pretty little girl!” I wanted other kids to like you. I wanted adults to see you as a darling little child. Today, I can see how it seems our society only reserves those compliments for children who fit perfectly into one category or the other.

I grew more uncomfortable. What were people thinking? Was I not taking charge as a mother? Should I be doing something differently to teach you how to be a well‐dressed, well‐mannered little girl?

Finally, when arguing with my toddler brought me to my wit’s end, I realized: it wasn’t your clothes that needed to change. It was my attitude. I had to let go of the façade! The world I had created for you in my mind wasn’t right! The life that society expected you to live was so wrong! I saw the shame in your eyes, and I saw how painful it was for you. You didn’t want to be seen as my daughter. “Momma, I am a boy!” you kept saying.

I began to listen, and now, without having to insist so hard, you began to make yourself clearer to me. We’d spent years teaching you how to speak…and now your voice was shaping your future. Your words were powerful and full of determination. You wanted me to hear you, and I did.

Once I allowed you to be yourself, I recognized the amazing power of unconditional love.

Affirming you was as much a gift from you to me, as it was from me to you. You taught me that it doesn’t matter what I think your life should look like. Today, your smile speaks volumes and your confidence fills my heart with joy. You are happy, which means I am happy, and isn’t that what we should really want for those we love?

When I think back on the dreams that I used to have, I can’t help but chuckle about how different they’ve become. In the end, our relationship is everything I’d ever dreamed — it just looks a little different on the outside than what I used to envision. And I cherish it. You are the exact same child I have always known…with shorter hair, a different pronoun, and a much happier heart!

We still do most of the fun things I imagined: we play together, we talk every day, we go shopping (for Legos and SpyGear, of course), and we share the joys between any parent and child. We explore your interests and desires, and you continue to show me what makes you happy.

Just know that I would never change anything about you. I love you so deeply, just the way you are. I love the uniqueness that makes you Ryland, and I know the rest of the world will see that too. Continue to be you. Be happy, and keep your head held high. In return, I will continue in my quest to make this world a little more loving for you, and others like you.

Ryland, you make me proud everyday. I have grown and learned more from you in the last eight years than I had in my previous 25 without you…and for that, I am grateful!

All my love, this Valentine’s Day, & always,

Mom

For more information about our family’s story, click on the image below. HarperCollins Publishers, February 23, 2016.