no idea i had a son for nine years!
if people criticise Stevi Maydon, 38, for her parenting, she simply remembers these four words…
He was so much more comfortable wearing jeans and a T-shirt
Stomping up the stairs, my daughter screamed at the top of her voice.
The high-pitched wail rattled around the house, making me and my husband Josh, 38, wince.
‘Layla, what’s wrong?’ I called. ‘Come downstairs.’
But she just glared at me, before storming to her room and slamming the door shut.
It was 2015 and Layla – my only child – was 7 years old. I suspected that she was going through a phase.
A bad phase that, so far, had lasted at least a year.
‘Her teachers say she’s playing up at school,’
I fretted to Josh. And at home she was having regular tantrums.
It wasn’t like her – she was normally a studious, mature kid. But if we asked her what was wrong, she’d clam up.
Then one day, Layla came home from school with tears in her eyes.
‘Mum, I have a boy’s brain in a girl’s body,’ she said, looking frightened. I was shocked. Surely she was too young to be having these feelings. ‘It’s OK, darling, you’re just confused,’ I said to her. I wondered if I was to blame. I’d raised my daughter without worrying about whether her toys were for girls or boys.
I let her play with Barbies, but go out with water pistols and play cowboys, too. She’d wear a fairy tutu over her Buzz Lightyear onesie.
But I never expected her to be unhappy about being a girl.
‘She’s probably just a tomboy,’ I told Josh. ‘Rather than an actual boy.’
He agreed she was probably feeling confused.
Still, for the next year, I encouraged Layla to explore her emotions and be open with me.
She’ll soon become comfortable with being a girl, I thought to myself.
But her erratic behaviour continued. She was often off school, claiming she was ill.
And in February 2017, Layla broke down to me again.
‘When I go in the girls’ toilets, it makes me feel sick!’ she said, crying.
I was speechless, but I felt the power and maturity behind her words.
‘I don’t want to be a girl any more,’ Layla whispered.
At that moment, I knew
I had no choice but to help her through this journey.
I had to support her in transitioning from a girl to a boy.
Speaking to Josh, he was very supportive. But I knew not everyone would be…
One of the first things Layla wanted to do was cut off her shoulder-length hair. At the hairdresser’s, my heart raced as we told the stylist what Layla wanted.
Climbing into the car after the chop, she pulled down the mirror and grinned.
‘I’m such a handsome little boy!’ she smiled.
Then she needed a male name. Her middle name was Raye, so she chose that, because nobody could argue
that it wasn’t her real name.
Then, showing her maturity again, she had an idea.
‘Why don’t I take the name you would have chosen if I’d been a boy?’ she said sweetly.
If she’d been a boy, I’d have called her Jonus.
As Layla became Jonus Raye, or Jonus for short, it became apparent that ‘she’ would change to ‘ he’, and ‘ her’ to ‘ him’.
‘This will take some getting used to,’ Josh laughed, ruffling Jonus’ hair.
Chucking out his dresses and skirts, Jonus seemed so much more comfortable wearing jeans and a T-shirt or a tracksuit.
His entire mood soon shifted, and he started doing better at school – and they were really supportive there.
I lay awake at night asking myself if I’d made the right decision, but when I saw Jonus’ grin, I knew that I had.
I suppose I could relate the emotions I went through over the next few months to grief.
Jonus had been a beautiful little girl, my first and only child, the most precious part of my life, a mini-me.
Losing Layla was like losing my daughter, but I knew that my precious child was still there – I just needed to adapt to who Jonus now was.
If it meant he was happy, that’s all that mattered. At school, though, Jonus was suffering, too. Called names and losing friends, sometimes because of disapproving parents, he tried to put on a brave face. Teachers tried to protect him, as I did outside of the classroom, but it was tough. ‘Mummy, they called me a weirdo and said
I’d never have any friends!’ he cried. People couldn’t understand what he was doing.
Some family members weren’t as supportive as I’d hoped, either. Strict Christians, they had certain traditions, views and rules.
‘God made her a beautiful woman, and he doesn’t make mistakes,’ I was told. Some people felt Jonus was too young to make such a monumental decision. But they very rarely took the time to discuss it with him. Now, Jonus is 10 and we are still on a journey.
He has moved to a different school, allowing him to start afresh. At the new school, he is Jonus Raye, and has never been known as Layla. Sadly, we still get some criticism from strangers… ‘You’re forcing your child to change genders, it’s disgusting.’ ‘They’ll never be happy.’ In November last year,
I took Jonus to see a specialist at a gender clinic. I overheard him saying that before his transition had started, he’d self-harmed.
He was just 7 before the transition, and he’d been having suicidal thoughts. My heart broke.
It was the moment I truly knew that I’d made the right decision in helping him.
Imagine if I’d forced him to continue living as a girl? I may not have had a child at all.
Now, we are embracing the new life Jonus has. He is the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Currently using hormone blockers to make sure he doesn’t develop breasts or start a period, he’ll come off those when he’s 14 or 15.
Then, he’ll decide whether he wants to continue his journey and take testosterone hormones.
Or, if he’s changed his mind, he can experience being a woman instead.
I’m often told I’m making a decision on my son’s behalf, that it’s wrong, but I know it’s fully Jonus’ choice.
He loves being a boy, and we’ve even bought prosthetic packers for his trousers, to make him feel more masculine.
And, although it won’t be something he’ll consider for a long time, he knows there are opportunities for surgery in the future.
But he’s still only 10, and his journey has just begun.
Jonus is also enjoying being a part of the drag-queen community and has discovered a love for performance and make-up. He’s taking part in dancing lessons and has made firm friends.
‘I’m so happy, Mum,’ he tells me all the time, especially when he’s prancing around in front of the mirror.
The drag queens have given him a new confidence that he can still be a dancer as a man, expressing himself using make-up.
For any mother, all you want for your child is that they are content.
For most kids, it’s having their favourite dinner, going for a sleepover at their friend’s house or painting a picture that makes them happy.
But if happiness for Jonus means changing gender, I’ll do anything to see that smile.