Supporting their decision, 110%

When my child first shared their decision to pursue top surgery, I knew without a doubt that I would support them completely—emotionally, physically, and practically.

This was not a decision I needed to question or second-guess. It was their body, their life, and their choice.

What I didn’t expect, however, was the intense and humbling realization that, as a parent of an adult child, my support would not just be about offering words of encouragement or showing up for the big day. It would also mean providing hands-on care in ways I hadn’t fully anticipated.

In the days leading up to the surgery, I boarded a plane to fly halfway around the world and found myself preparing for a role I’d never truly imagined—one that was much more than just offering my love and reassurance. My job would be to meet their physical needs in every possible way just as I did when they were little: cooking their meals, keeping their space clean, and offering whatever practical assistance was required to ensure they had the most restful, stress-free recovery possible.

I won’t lie—this wasn’t a decision I took lightly as there were moments where I wondered what it would be like, as a mother, to fully understand the emotional weight of this surgery. How could I, as a priviledged, cisgender woman, possibly comprehend what it’s like to feel so disconnected from one’s body that surgery becomes the solution?

I knew I couldn’t fully understand their experience, but I also knew that didn’t matter. What mattered was that I was willing to stand beside them with no reservations, no hesitation, and no doubts about their right to pursue what would make them feel whole.

In the days following their surgery, I was prepared for a lot of quiet moments—moments of recovery, yes, but also moments of deep reflection. I assumed there would be pain, both physical and emotional. And while I could never know exactly what they were going through, I was determined to be there in the most supportive way I could—listening, holding space, and providing the comfort they needed. I kept reminding myself to talk less, not feeling the need to fill the space with mindless or nervous chatter.

The practicalities of recovery filled my days—organizing meals, ensuring they had everything they needed within reach, and helping them in ways that required me to be fully present, physically and emotionally.

But beneath all that, there was an undeniable sense of pride—pride that my child had made this decision for themselves, pride that they were living their truth, and pride that I was invited by them to be a part of this moment in their journey.

It hasn’t been easy, of course and I wish I could say that everyone in my life understands the honour of it all.

Recovery can be a difficult process for anyone, especially when it’s such a deeply personal, transformative experience. But as a mother, I’ve learned that my role is not to fully understand everything my child is going through, but to walk beside them—patiently, with compassion, and without any judgment.

This surgery was not just a physical change for them; it was a symbolic one. They were reclaiming their body in a way that felt right for them, and that’s something I could get behind 110%.

As I’ve supported my child through this transformative time, I find myself reflecting not only as a parent but also as a professional and an advocate. This experience has deepened my understanding of what it means to fully show up—not just in my personal life, but in my work and within the broader community.

The journey has challenged me to consider how I can bring greater empathy, authenticity, and openness to every space I occupy.

Next Saturday, after much more thought and time has passed, I look forward to sharing my thoughts on what I’ve learned through this experience and how it’s reshaped my perspective, both as a mother and as someone who believes in the power of living—and supporting—truth.

Stay tuned for the final part of this journey,

The Feisty PM