He’s a Methodist minister, with a liberal, Gnostic view of Christianity and a healthy wariness of The Church, a recovering Alcoholic with 10 years sober.
He doesn’t “get” the whole “gender thing” but trusts that this is my journey, that I know what’s best for me and that he just wants me to be happy.
He’s started calling me “my baby” instead of “my girl”.
My mother, a staunch Afrikaans Christian, whom I’ve had a fraught relationship my whole life, to the point of not speaking for a year, now calls me “my child” on official documents, and after decades of not understanding me and having major issues with the lesbianism, now calls me “my girl… my boy… whatever”.
The “whatever” is the closest. She sees me for the first time ever and is praying for me. And for the first time in my life, I see her and know that’s her love language. Nothing short of a miracle.