Names
Preamble: if you're not in a community where I've come out as a trans woman, well, now you know. If you're surprised, well, okay. If you're not: you aren't alone. Anyways.
I didn't really "come out" to my mom as trans so much as she forced me out. It was a terrible experience in the moment; she came after me on the drive home and when we got home, I did my best to not talk to her the rest of the night and cried for an unspecified period of time. It was fucking awful and difficult because she is otherwise a lovely and supportive woman and she's one of the most important people in my life, so to be pretty thoroughly rejected hurt a lot.
She has gotten a little better, but is still broadly struggling to grasp it. One thing she has been staunch about is using my dead name. A year ago, we had a conversation with her about how I prefer to be called Robin (we did not address the name Rose at that point, but she's not an idiot), and I acknowledged she might never call me a name other than my dead name. But, I wish I didn't have to make that concession.
I wish she could understand or at least see how joyful I am being myself. I get a letter or a package with the name "Robin" on it and my heart leaps in glee. It's so silly, but that's life sometimes. And don't even get me started on how nice it is that my students call me Ms. [Last Name]. That's the good shit. I guess what I really am kind of pondering is how someone could see their child so happy about something so small and think it's bad or wrong.
I'm not a parent, but I think more along the lines of another woman's parent who said something like "boy, girl, doesn't matter, I love you."