I have a daughter who is eight years old. Yes, that’s right—EIGHT.
Recently, during a conversation with a beauty therapist while she was grooming my eyebrows, I was taken aback when she asked if I was worried my daughter might be a lesbian. This inquiry followed a lengthy discussion about my daughter’s interests and personality. Initially, I was at a loss for words. I chuckled awkwardly, mumbled that I didn’t mind, and left feeling unsettled.
As I sat in my car, irritation bubbled up inside me. I was frustrated with how poorly I had expressed myself, and I was upset because her question echoed the judgments I’ve observed regarding my daughter over the past four years—only this time, it was more blatant.
My daughter is what many would define as a tomboy. She isn’t just a girl who enjoys climbing trees or kicking a ball; she’s entirely devoted to everything typically associated with boys. From the moment she turned four, she refused to wear dresses. While her peers were joining Rainbows, she opted for Beavers. Her Christmas lists feature skateboards, black skull duvet covers, and Spiderman hoodies. She dons boys’ clothing, including uniforms and shoes, often tucking her long hair into a baseball cap. At our tenth wedding anniversary celebration, she wore a suit. Frequently, she prefers to be called names like Sam or Ben, and while she doesn’t know the names of princesses, she has a close circle of friends who are all Batman characters.
In the beginning, I thought it was just a phase and laughed it off. Yet, four years later, her preferences remain unchanged. The only thing that has transformed is my perspective.
People often struggle to accept a girl who dresses in traditionally masculine ways, and I recognize that I once shared that confusion. I, too, laughed at first, but soon my laughter morphed into concern—concerns about her identity, fears of gender dysphoria, and worries about how others might perceive me as a parent. Most importantly, I was troubled because she didn’t fit my preconceived notion of what a daughter should be, which strained our relationship. I simply didn’t understand her.
Surrounded by daughters in ribbons, Cinderella dresses, and Barbie dolls, I felt out of place. My daughter, in stark contrast, preferred army camouflage, painted faces, and skull-patterned wellies—constantly mistaken for a boy.
One of her teachers once approached me, expressing concern that my daughter might have “self-esteem issues.” The annual school dance became a source of stress, as they could not comprehend why she refused to wear a pretty dress. While the boys accepted her more readily, she still faced challenges at school.
Then, a pivotal moment arrived. A friend interrupted me mid-conversation, stating, “Rachel, I’m not discussing this now. She’s eight and she’s happy. If she faces real issues as a teenager, we can talk then.”
That was the wake-up call I needed. I realized my daughter is incredibly special and genuinely happy in her own skin. As for her self-esteem? She knows who she is. I needed to focus on her happiness, disregard the opinions of others, and correct my own misconceptions.
Ultimately, whether she identifies as gay or decides to transition in the future is irrelevant. What truly matters is her ability to embrace her identity openly rather than hide it away. I genuinely want her to be happy, and I will support her no matter what path she chooses.
Once I accepted her true self, our relationship improved dramatically. No more struggles over her choice of baseball hats or clothing. No more attempts to enforce girly activities or arguments over hairstyles. I stopped being a mother who disrespected her daughter’s clear self-identity, even at such a young age.
Lately, I’ve noticed discussions online where parents express frustration over their daughters conforming to societal norms, often lamenting the impact of princess culture or the prevalence of pink. They worry about their daughters fitting in, and I understand this concern.
But I have a daughter who neither conforms nor cares to; however, the reactions to her nonconformity are often bewildering. She’s frequently mistaken for a boy. Sometimes I correct people, sometimes I don’t—because, ultimately, she doesn’t mind. When I do correct others, I often receive looks of confusion or comments like, “I thought that was a boy.” I’ve faced questions about whether she might be a lesbian or if I’m upset that I don’t have a “girly girl.”
A notable example is Shiloh Jolie-Pitt. The media frenzy surrounding Shiloh’s short hair and suit was astonishing, with speculation that her parents wanted a boy. I may not share much with Angelina Jolie, but I bet we both understand the struggle of trying to encourage our girls to wear dresses while simultaneously admiring their strength in being true to themselves.
I’ve come to realize, like many parents, that what matters most is raising a secure and happy child.
Just yesterday, my daughter shared that her classmates sometimes ask if she’s a boy or a girl. I asked how that affected her. Her response was simple: “I don’t mind. I’m not bothered. They’ll learn.”
Yes, they will.
I then went out and bought her a Batman bag.
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In summary, embracing our children’s identities, irrespective of societal norms, fosters deeper connections and a supportive environment for their growth.