My greatest anxiety? Periods. Not my own, of course; I know I’ll never experience a visit from Aunt Flo. But the thought of my daughters facing that milestone terrified me for almost a decade. How could I guide them through this mysterious female rite of passage when I was completely in the dark? Sure, we read the classic American Girl book, “The Care and Keeping of You,” and I figured they’d learn some things from their friends. I thought I could put off confronting my fears for a few more years. After all, they had just turned ten—surely I had a bit more time?
Not quite.
It was a muggy summer morning just outside Seattle, where I had traveled to attend my fourth intersex support group conference—an annual event I cherished. It was a chance to be with my community. The other women understood my experiences; we considered ourselves sisters. We chose the rare and beautiful orchid as a symbol of our intersex uniqueness, embracing our shared journey. Although our stories were diverse, we all faced the reality of being born with physical sex traits—like genitals, chromosomes, and reproductive organs—that don’t fit the typical definitions of “male” or “female.”
I was born with XY chromosomes (usually male), internal testes instead of ovaries, and no uterus. Yes, I have a vagina, though it’s shorter than most and doesn’t lead anywhere. My condition, known as androgen insensitivity syndrome, meant I would never menstruate or have biological children. Instead, I became the luckiest mom in the world, adopting my identical twin daughters from an orphanage in Shanghai just days before Christmas nearly two decades ago. They have brought me endless joy—and also anxiety about parenting. The kind of parenting that involves helping my daughters navigate their first periods.
Back to the intersex support group in Seattle—my safe haven where I could truly be myself. Just as I was heading down to meet some of my orchid sisters for breakfast, my phone rang. It was my husband, Alex.
“So… Mia got her period this morning,” he said.
My immediate thought? Relief. I wasn’t there to mess anything up.
The irony wasn’t lost on me that this moment happened while I was at my intersex conference.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I went to the drug store and got her a box of pads. I showed her the instructions, and then I took her to day camp.”
I quickly hung up and called the camp nurse to ensure she was aware Mia might need help. The nurse chuckled as I explained the situation. “Mia already came to see me this morning. Your husband bought her some slim panty liners, which weren’t quite enough for her needs. She bled through her shorts, but we’ve taken care of her and have extra products and clothes. Maybe tonight, have your husband take her to the store so she can pick out what she needs.”
I was grateful for the nurse’s understanding and expertise. She clearly had a wealth of experience guiding young girls through these changes. If I had been home instead of Alex, I might have chosen the same inadequate panty liners. I was just as inexperienced as he was.
As time went on, I met more intersex individuals. There are many intersex conditions and a wide variety of bodies and identities under this broad umbrella. Some identify as men, some as women, and others as neither. Some, like myself, have been fortunate and persistent enough to become parents—through adoption, surrogacy, or even egg donation for those born with a uterus. Some choose to hide their intersex status from their children and the world, and I respect that choice. However, for me, being open about my intersex identity was crucial to overcoming the shame and struggle I faced. I publicly came out as intersex a couple of years after my daughters’ first periods. Living authentically helped me eliminate self-doubt, and I hope the same for all my intersex siblings.
I can’t deny my fears shifted from periods to worrying about how my increasingly public role as an intersex activist might affect my daughters. One evening, Mia left a stack of her 8th-grade papers on the kitchen table—nothing unusual, but that night I noticed a yellow worksheet on top. It was an in-class assignment asking students to write about someone they admired. She wrote about me, saying I was intersex and brave for advocating for others. I felt teary-eyed, realizing she felt empowered to speak about me and intersex so openly.
The following year, as the girls finished 9th grade, I received an email from a health teacher who mentioned covering LGBTQ+ issues in class. The teacher noted that my daughter, Sophie, raised her hand and pointed out that her definition of intersex wasn’t accurate, suggesting she should “talk to my mom because she is intersex and an advocate.”
The teacher invited me to speak to the health and biology departments about intersex issues the following September. The kids are alright.
If you’re interested in more stories like this, check out this other blog post for additional insights. For more authoritative information on this topic, visit this resource. Additionally, you can find excellent resources on pregnancy and home insemination from the CDC.
Related Search Queries
- Understanding Intersex Conditions
- Navigating First Periods
- Intersex Parenting Resources
- LGBTQ+ Education in Schools
- Support for Intersex Individuals
In summary, my journey as an intersex soccer mom has taught me the importance of authenticity and openness in navigating not just my experiences, but also those of my daughters. While I may have started from a place of fear, I’ve grown to embrace my identity and support my girls as they navigate their own paths.