When I came out as trans to my mother, she accepted me with open arms. But then she became distant and told me she was grieving the loss of her son.

• I decided to start my gender transition at 24 — just over a year ago.
• When I came out to my mom, she welcomed me with open arms, but then she became distant.

From the moment I was born, I had hypertoxic masculinity imposed on my lanky childhood frame like an ill-fitting costume.

My father, the main perpetrator, always espoused the importance of manhood and the expectations that came with it. I had to be a man — even though I was interested in women's clothing, poetry, and my cousin's Polly Pocket dolls.

For most of my life, I didn't know what transness was. I knew it was something that other people could be, but it was never something I could imagine for myself. Instead, I spent nearly every night praying to whatever deity might be listening, hoping I would wake up the next morning as a woman.

I finally decided to transition last year, and the most difficult part has been rebuilding relationships, especially the one with my mother.

I decided to start my gender transition when I turned 24

I took my first pill for hormone-replacement therapy on June 30, 2022. At that point in my life, I knew that something had to change, and I knew one common thread to follow: my gender.

The first six or so months of my transition were relatively quiet. I spent time alone, coming up with my new name as well as coming out to select friends.

I was living with my divorced mom at the time. She was someone that I imagined would accept me if I came out, but I was still scared to broach the topic while under her roof.

This year, I decided to come out to the person whose opinion I cared about the most: my mother

Early in my transition, I decided on whom I wanted to come out to. My dad's side of the family was infected with toxic masculinity and Christian conservatism. I knew they would not accept the new me. I decided it was easier just to cut ties with my father and his side of the family.

When I told my mother about my gender transition, I felt anxious and terrified. I sent her a text message while sitting in my car with a few of my friends who urged and supported me. I felt my heart beating out of my chest. After I dropped off my friends and began my ride home, I sobbed waiting for her response.

Finally, she texted back, and it was better than I could have imagined.

She wrote: "I suppose I've known for a while… I'm glad you're comfortable enough to tell me and please, I know I'm a tightly bound ball of stress but please don't ever hold something back for fear of burdening me. You're not a burden, you're my child, and I love you."

For someone deeply afraid of coming out, that was the best response I could have gotten. I was elated. But it wasn't the end of the story.

In the weeks following, my mom started acting distant

I half expected things to stay the same between us. I texted her a few times and even tried calling her, but I could tell something was off. She was barely responding, and when she did, it was flat.

Her sudden change in behavior filled me with fear and anxiety. I saw the signs of what might be happening. I started worrying that she wasn't going to accept me and that she couldn't see me as a daughter.

To temper myself, I decided to ask her directly, and it sent me into a tailspin.

"I'm grieving the loss of my son," she said.

She said many other things, but that's the thing that sticks in my mind almost half a year later. There's a fear that still grips me because of those words.

She and I didn't say more than a few words to each other for months, and I've seen her in person only once since I came out.

We are working on rebuilding our relationship

My mother and I are slowly getting back to where we once were. We're talking more, and we've talked about things like my prospective breast size. She's even begun urging me to come out to everyone — both sides of the family, as a power move. I'm starting to feel more connected to her than I had before.

I don't regret transitioning in the slightest — even if that means I lose the close relationship I had with my mom. But I haven't lost her completely; she's still here, watching me become the strong woman I was meant to be.

As I write this, I'm staring at an old school photo of myself when I was 9 or 10 years old. All I can think about is that I'm doing all this for her, the little girl that I never had the chance to be.

I look back and think childhood me would be overwhelmed with all this trans joy. I got to grow up and become a woman.