The holidays come with their own kind of nostalgia. The type that rises when you open a box of ornaments you've collected on vacations or given as gifts over decades, or when you pull out a favorite recipe card that's been folded and unfolded a hundred times. These traditions hold pieces of who we've been as a family, snapshots of years that feel close at hand and far away all at the same time.
But when you're parenting a transgender child, the holidays bring questions in addition to joyful get-togethers. How do we honor who we were while fully embracing who we are becoming?
The first Christmas after Leo came out as transgender, he went through his tub of ornaments and picked out all the ornaments he wanted to keep. The tub contained ornaments he had either made at school when he was younger, or had been bought for him over the years by relatives or me.
When he was finished, I went through what was left, picked out a few to save in the memory box I had created, and then we discussed a couple of others that Leo had made as a child and whether Leo was okay with me still hanging them on our tree.
The following year, as I decorated the tree, those same ornaments brought a lump to my throat, because they carried a name that no longer belonged to a child in my family. Because I had been okay with seeing them on the tree the previous year, I wasn't expecting the sadness that welled up as I placed those ornaments on the tree. But I was also grateful for the spark that had returned to Leo's eyes since coming out, and for the happiness that was filling his life.
And in that moment, I realized that creating an affirming holiday wasn't about rewriting our past. It was about making room for our present.
Affirmation doesn't have to be loud and obvious. It's the warmth in your voice when you use the name your child chose. It's the ease that settles over their shoulders when they know they won't have to explain themselves at the dinner table. It's the feeling of being seen without effort, the kind of recognition that allows your child to exhale fully.
More than anything, affirmation is about presence.
It's in the way you continue to show up for your child. In how you listen to their worries and fears, their joys and triumphs. It's letting your child lead the way in how they want to be celebrated, remembered, and included.
Sometimes that means traditions evolve, not erased, but reshaped. A stocking gets a new label. A holiday card uses different pronouns. A family photo looks a little different from what you imagined, but somehow feels more honest, more aligned, more true.
And maybe, in the quiet moments, those slow afternoons between gatherings, you'll notice something tender: your child softening into themselves, relaxing into the familiarity of home, trusting that this space belongs to them just as much now as it ever did.
That trust is worth more than the most perfectly decorated tree, more than a flawlessly cooked holiday meal, or any Instagram-worthy memory. It's the heart of what makes the holidays feel like home.
Affirmation doesn't require grand gestures. It just asks us to love our children out loud.
Affirmation looks like choosing language that aligns with who they are.
It's creating an atmosphere where our children don't have to brace themselves against what might come next.
And in doing that, you might find that the holidays begin to feel more authentic for you, too — not because they look the way you planned, but because they reflect the family you are becoming with every brave, beautiful step.
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