My child identified as gender-fluid. Then, they didn’t

I’m sorting through the never-ending pile of art supplies, beads, yarn and other detritus strewn about the living room when I come across a trans pride flag. I smile at the pastel stripes as I hold it up. “Should we hang onto this?” I ask my youngest child.

“Sure,” they answer, barely glancing over.

Not long ago, this flag — and the others we accrued as my child moved through a myriad of gender identities — was a prized possession. My child would wear them like capes and race down our neighborhood streets, letting their literal flags fly to convey their gender identity of the moment. 

They went through many moments, many flags and many identities. 

But now, three years after first coming out as gender-fluid — a non-fixed gender identity that can change over time and shift depending on the situation — they seem indifferent about it all.

“What pronouns should I use for you?” I ask.

“I don’t care,” they answer, exasperated with me in ways that 14-years-olds can uniquely express. 

Still, I think it’s important to ask. I want to ensure my child feels seen. 

I’m also trying to understand what this all means, when a child like mine comes out and spends a couple years exploring different identities, only to return to their original gender. 

One evening, my youngest confided in me: She was in a text group chat with her older sister and her sister’s friends, and some people in the chat had changed their names and pronouns. They hadn’t told their parents yet. But within the friend group, new identities were being carved.

I could see in my child’s face that she might be considering a change of her own.

Then one morning a few weeks later, my child came downstairs, handed me a note, and suddenly was no longer a daughter or sister. Or a her. Or Annika, the name I had given her at birth.

They were Nico.

“I am genderfluid,” the note read. “Please call me Nico from now on. It is my top choice for a new name. I have made a basic guide to answer any questions. … 1. If you are talking about me and I’m not there, please use they/them pronouns. 2. Please ask what my pronouns are. 3. You can share this with other people or post it on Facebook because that’s what you do when you think something is cute.”

It’s a strange thing, to have your child reject the gender you’ve known as immovable since a 20-week ultrasound. I felt a pang as I read the note that erased the name I’d selected with such care. 

But mostly, I felt so proud of my child. I marveled at how assertive they were in expressing their new identity. And I felt grateful they trusted me to share their new truth with the world  —  which is exactly what I did, in a Facebook post later that day. 

For the next year or so, the identities whirled past  —  gender-fluid, nonbinary, trans, pansexual, neoboy —  as Nico explored their way across the gender and sexuality spectrum with a sense of curiosity and abandon. My child painted, crocheted and beaded art that aligned to their ever-changing flag colors. 

Nico was out and proud. Suddenly, my timid child wanted to tell the world their truth. When they changed their name, I wondered how I should let their school know. Before I figured it out, I realized I didn’t need to; my child had done the work already. That’s how effectively they advocated for themself. It was astonishing, frankly, in the best of ways.

The pandemic isolation passed, and Nico’s frenzied gender pace slowed. 

By age 13, Nico told me to “use whatever pronouns you want.” They also gave me permission to refer to them as “daughter” and “sister” again, which made me smile.

I’d missed those words — a lot.

Now Nico is 14, and I flip between “she” and “they” pronouns for them. Her androgynous bowl haircut has grown out to shoulder length, and she’s traded shapeless sweaters for Brandy Melville tank tops. Nico’s friend group is a gaggle of girls who watch the “Hunger Games,” act in school plays and paint their nails. My child is happy.

As her/their mother, I’m happy too. 

I had reservations about sharing Nico’s story, as I don’t want it to discredit anyone else’s gender journey. I feared it could embolden the wrong side of the political aisle, who might try to claim my child as a victim of so-called “social contagion,” the notion that gender dysphoria spreads via social media and peer influence. 

I’m a cishet (cisgender and heterosexual) Gen X mom and a lifelong LGBTQ+ ally who doesn’t want to do harm to the community. I don’t claim to have all the answers about gender fluidity. What I do know is that we parents came of age believing gender was fixed and binary. It can be hard to wrap our brains around the cultural shift that’s moved gender from one’s physicality to one’s internal world. But whether we grasp it or not, for our kids, the shift is very real. According to a 2024 Public Religion Research Institute report, nearly 30% of Gen Z adults (ages 18-25) identify as LGBTQ, dwarfing all other generations.