When Your Child's Journey Becomes a Mirror: Supporting Autumn Through Identity, Body Image, and the Messy Middle
Parenting is never linear. Especially when you’re co-parenting, trying to heal trauma, and helping a child find herself in a world that doesn’t always feel safe.
Autumn, my bonus daughter, went through a time in 2021 where she began exploring her identity. For a while, she used the name Kai and asked for they/them pronouns. She was brave, thoughtful, and curious. And like any journey of self-discovery, it wasn’t about rushing to a destination—it was about the space to explore safely. Eventually, Autumn let us know that she identifies as a girl and wants to go by she/her again. And so we honor that. Always.
That year was layered. We were managing bedroom reshuffles, new sibling dynamics, sensory needs, and emotional waves that hit hard and fast. Autumn and her brother Andy (also non-binary at the time) started sharing a room to support better routines. Aurora and Maddy were paired up too, hoping to reduce chaos and increase connection. These changes were practical—but also deeply intentional. We wanted to create spaces where each child could feel seen and supported in exactly who they were.
And yet, it wasn’t just gender identity that Autumn was navigating. Body image became an overwhelming source of pain. She started sharing that she hated her body—especially her chest—and wanted a binder. She talked about wanting to lose weight in unhealthy ways and feeling pressured from all sides. She said her mom had been bribing her to stop sneaking food and commenting harshly on her appearance. One day she called Nick, visibly shaken, telling him that she kept asking her mom for space, but instead was met with body-shaming remarks that only fueled her shame. "She says I gained a lot of weight and eat too much," Autumn told us through tears. "I hate how I look."
As parents, it’s excruciating to hear those words. You want to fix it. You want to protect them from every cruel comment—external or internal. But sometimes all you can do is hold space. Validate. Remind them they’re worthy and loved exactly as they are. We tried to give her that, over and over again.
And still, the days weren’t always smooth. Like the day we all overslept. Autumn was slow getting ready and finally told us her foot hurt from slipping on the stairs at school the day before. When we asked why she hadn’t told anyone, she said it just started hurting in the night. That same day, I had a medical appointment for my hip, Nick had two major meetings, and we were scrambling to piece together a plan. I called her mom to see if she could help, but was met with complaints and dismissiveness. So we figured it out—because that’s what we do.
Every part of this story is messy. And real. Autumn’s experience of gender and body, our attempts to navigate co-parenting under pressure, the feelings of helplessness that come when all you want is peace and support for your child—and instead you're dodging landmines.
I share this because I know we’re not alone. So many families are navigating identity, mental health, and co-parenting dynamics all at once. And it’s hard. Really hard. But it’s also sacred work. To keep showing up. To keep listening. To let your child evolve and change their mind and try again. And again.
Autumn is not Kai anymore—but Kai was part of her journey. And every version of her deserves love, respect, and space to become.
Wela'lioq to the kids who are still figuring themselves out—and to the adults doing their best to love them through it.
