My greatest concern? Menstruation. Not my own—I’ll never experience that monthly visitor. But the thought of my daughters facing it one day filled me with dread for nearly a decade. How could I possibly guide them through such a significant female milestone when I felt so uninformed? Sure, we read the essential “The Care and Keeping of You” from American Girl, and I assumed they’d pick up information from friends. I thought I had a few more years to prepare; they had just turned ten, after all. But life had other plans.
It was a sweltering summer morning near Seattle. I had flown across the country to attend my fourth intersex support group conference—a cherished annual event that allowed me to connect with my community. The other women there understood me; they were intersex too. We called each other sisters and embraced the orchid as a symbol of our unique identities. Despite our diverse backgrounds, we shared the bond of being born with physical traits that defy conventional definitions of “male” and “female.”
I was born with XY chromosomes (typically male) and internal testes instead of ovaries, and while I have a vagina, it’s shorter and doesn’t connect to a uterus. Diagnosed with androgen insensitivity syndrome, I knew I’d never menstruate or have biological children. Instead, I was fortunate enough to adopt my identical twin daughters from an orphanage in Shanghai just days before Christmas nearly two decades ago. They have brought immense joy into my life, but they also filled me with anxiety about being a competent mother—the kind who knows firsthand how to support her daughter during her first period.
Back at the intersex support group, I could finally be my authentic self, free from pretense. Just as I was heading down to meet my orchid sisters for breakfast, my phone buzzed. It was Mark, my husband.
“Charlotte got her period this morning,” he said.
My first feeling? Relief. I wasn’t there to complicate things.
The irony of this happening while I was at my intersex conference wasn’t lost on me.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I went to the store and got her some sanitary pads. I showed her where the instructions were, and then I dropped her off at day camp.”
I hung up and immediately called the camp nurse to ensure she was prepared to assist Charlotte. She giggled as I recounted my conversation with Mark. “Charlotte came to see me this morning. Your husband bought her slim panty liners that were inadequate for what she needed. She bled through her shorts, but we took care of her with spare products and extra clothes. Maybe tonight, have Mark take her shopping for what she really needs.”
I was grateful for the nurse’s understanding and expertise. Had I been home, I might have made the same mistake as Mark, clueless about what a ten-year-old girl required for her first period. I was just as inexperienced as he was.
As time passed, I connected with more intersex individuals. There are numerous intersex conditions, resulting in a wide array of identities. Some identify as men, some as women, and some as neither. Some, like me, have been lucky enough to become parents, whether through adoption, surrogacy, or egg donation. Some choose to keep their intersex status private from their children and the world, a choice I respect, but one that wasn’t right for me. My intersex identity and society’s reactions have led to feelings of shame and a struggle for authenticity. I publicly embraced my identity a couple of years after my daughters’ first periods. Living openly and authentically was my way of overcoming self-doubt, and I wish the same for all my intersex siblings.
I can’t deny that my fear transitioned from periods to worrying about how my increasingly visible presence as an outspoken intersex woman and activist might affect my daughters. One evening, I discovered Charlotte’s stack of 8th-grade papers on the kitchen table. Among them was a yellow worksheet where she had written about me—how I was intersex and brave for discussing it and helping others embrace their identities. I was moved to tears, realizing she felt empowered to speak openly about me and intersex issues.
The following year, as the girls wrapped up 9th grade, I received an email from a health and sex education teacher. During class, she had briefly discussed LGBTQ+ topics and intersex issues. Apparently, Alexandra raised her hand, stating that the teacher’s definition was inaccurate and that she should “talk to my mom because she is intersex and an advocate.” The teacher invited me to speak to the health and biology departments the next September to educate them on intersex. The future seems bright.
For more on this topic, check out this article from our other blog, or learn more about home insemination from experts at Make a Mom. Additionally, you can find valuable resources on pregnancy and home insemination at Cleveland Clinic’s podcast.
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In summary, the journey of a mother navigating her daughters’ experiences with growing up and menstruation is made even more complex by her own intersex identity. With the support of her community and her family, she learns to embrace her fears and proudly advocates for intersex awareness.
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