Our QTBIPOC Parenting Group
Audrey Dwyer
The moment was heavy like mud. I stood there listening to one white couple share that their families were really excited for them to start making babies. I felt a knot in my chest. I heard another white couple explain that their parents were urging them to have kids. There was a tremor inside. When I heard a white person reveal that they believed a baby would bring their family back into their lives, that they had hoped a new baby would bring their mother back into their lives . . . that’s when the tears started streaming down my face. Hearing the word “mother” left me breathless. I was reminded of when my mother had accepted my queerness and then within weeks rejected me for being queer. I had never imagined creating a family without my mother’s support, guidance, and storytelling. I had been feeling quite isolated since hearing her firmly state, “I don’t accept your lifestyle.” As the tears fell and my shoulders shook, my partner took my hand. I felt small and vulnerable—suddenly, like dust, caught up by a great wind and carried off some place else. I felt weak. I heard myself think, “Oh God, I am alone and I don’t know what to do.”
In the spring of 2014, a friend of mine sent me an email from Toronto’s LGBTQ Parenting Network advertising their upcoming suite of programming because she knew I was curious about creating a family. I discovered that the Queer and Trans Family Planning Weekend Intensive was happening at the Sherbourne Health Centre in late November 2014. The LGBTQ Parenting Network is a program of the Sherbourne Health Centre, a health centre located in the heart of downtown Toronto that runs parenting courses in conjunction with the Queer Parenting Programs at the 519 Church Street Community Centre.1 It provides services such as health care and mentorship to lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, two-spirited, intersex, queer or questioning individuals—of all ages. It also helps those who are homeless or underhoused and newcomers to Canada. The LGBTQ Parenting Network offers numerous parenting classes each year. These include: Transmasculine People Considering Pregnancy, Dykes Planning Tykes and Daddies and Papas 2B. There are fertility groups one can join and queer positive prenatal classes one can attend. I decided to check it out, signing up for the weekend intensive.
As my partner and I drove to Sherbourne for our first evening session, I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t come up with any questions in advance! I didn’t do any prep. Would my desire to have kids be enough? I had no clue what to expect—a few games and some information probably . . . Snacks? We arrived there early (check). The chairs were in a circle (cool). My chosen fam was there (phenomenal, so thankful for these folk). I had my partner beside me (wow, we’re doing this, we’re sitting here, THIS IS SO EXCITING!). And there were snacks—veggies and hummus and crackers (with and without gluten, thanks!). We did a bunch of activities to help us all get to know each other. We did exercises that helped us identify what we wanted as parents, and where we were on our journey. They held info sessions that were curated around the varied deep, emotional and political concerns that came up on the journey to parenthood, sessions about bodies and about different ways to have young people in our lives. It turned out that simply desiring to have kids or being curious about it was enough for this intensive!
After I shed those tears within the first hour, I began grieving. I had an ache in my chest as I listened to the instructor, and to the other parents-to-be. I tried hiding my tears but I couldn’t. As the weekend workshop progressed, more and more information came down the pipe, and I became increasingly overwhelmed. Even though some of the weekend course content was informed by our requests and co-created based on what we needed as a group, there didn’t seem to be enough time to address the complicated feelings that came up for all of us. Questions fired in my head: I may have to adopt my own child in order to have my partner’s name on the birth certificate? This process is going to cost how much? How am I going to do this without my biological family? I didn’t retain a single thing. By the time the weekend was over, I was convinced that I couldn’t do it—I’d never be able to make the family that I had wanted. I knew one thing though: I needed to let the grief of my old plans pass. That message was huge.
Within a few days, I became more grounded. I discovered that the trigger around my mom had to do with feeling so desperate to have her in my life that I’d use my newborn child as a tool to bring her back to me. The idea was shocking. I questioned myself: I’d never do that . . . Would I? After more soul searching, I knew that I wouldn’t have that answer until I got to that moment, and that judging myself, based on my missing her, wasn’t productive. So, instead, I asked myself, “What do you need?”
A place that felt familiar . . . like home.
A place to learn about creating family more slowly and thoroughly.
Time to let the information settle, time to hear my heart speak.
My people. People who shared the same politics, people who I could learn from, who shared the same worries. Like, how do you raise a child queerly, what does queerness and child rearing mean, how do colonization and creating families on stolen land intersect?
I need to listen to people who look like me and live like me.
I need to create a community and foster closeness within that community.
I need to fill my heart with all of the beautiful and varied stories of resilience, fierceness, grace, and tenderness that come from queer and trans folk of colour.
Within a very short amount of time, my partner and I connected over brunch with two others who had taken the course that weekend. We began to chat about what went right and what could have been better. We really loved that there was a panel with numerous queer parents and their lovely children! And yet, we wanted to be in a space that dealt with the politics of raising a family—not simply how to get it done, how to deal with the legal system and the technicalities and options for different families to survive. The course was informative in a generalized way, but we wanted a place that spoke to our specific needs and our unique struggles. After my experience with the intensive, I realized that we needed a space where we could bawl or rage if we needed to. As we compared experiences, we realized that we wanted to create something that served us specifically. We talked about our connections to our bodies, the future, and, of course, we talked about babies. We talked about morning times, about brunch and about sharing stories over warm food that was homemade. And that was how the QTBIPOC Parenting Group began—from need, from specificity and from a collective vision.
It didn’t take very long for folk to gather—the trans folk, the folk of colour, the folk with questions, the folk with answers, the folk who had young people in their families, the genderqueer folk, the single folk, the coupled folk, the poly folk, the open relationship folk, the political folk, the folk who wanted kids, the folk who wanted to adopt, to bear children, to co-parent . . . A bunch of us came up and came through.
We connected with others who had taken the LGBTQ Parenting Network course and invited folks that we knew were going to take the course. We also connected with a few folks who had never taken the course before but had expressed interest. In total, there were around fifteen of us. We all gathered at one of our houses for brunch. We sat in a circle, on couches, on chairs, and on the floor. We ate fresh fruit and gluten free pancakes and bacon. We filled our bellies and shared.
Can we all introduce ourselves one more time and talk about how we identify?
Can we all mention why we want to have kids, and when—if you’re thinking of having them?
Can we all mention where we’re at in the process, please?
Our introductions were long and generous. It was such a blessing to hear about where people were at in their lives. It was so amazing to listen to friends (new and old) share their hopes and dreams around family creation. It was such a gift! I fell in love with all of the participants, and I wanted to make sure everyone’s needs were met. We acknowledged that each of us was growing and figuring out what we wanted. We knew that we couldn’t take our friendships for granted and that we needed to re-meet each other at each visit. These introductions became a beautiful, intimate ritual. We ended up getting to know each other on a completely different level, despite the fact that many of us were close friends.
We talked about adoption and what that would look like for some of us. We talked about how we wanted to be in kids’ lives—as aunties and as uncles. We talked about when we wanted to have kids, why we wanted to have them, if we actually did want them in the first place. We asked ourselves these questions again and again—with an eagerness for getting to know each other deeper and deeper.
As we shared our dreams, worries and vulnerabilities, we recognized that QTBIPOC parenting was extremely different from white parenting. In Canada, fertility options and sperm from nonwhite donors were going to be hard to find and hard to afford. We knew we’d be facing transphobia and homophobia in our medical system because of heteronormativity. Legally, registering more than two parents isn’t permitted, so differently configured families are denied their rights to create family. We knew that we wouldn’t meet the normative expectations and criteria of family that Children’s Aid looks for in adoption. We might be excluded from that process entirely. We knew that despite Toronto’s “growing inclusiveness” we’d still face obstacles due to the numerous oppressions POC face on a daily basis. Some of us had families that accepted our queerness, some of us didn’t. And creating family while queer—even in the best imaginable scenarios—can still have its troubles. The list goes on and on.
Due to colonization and white supremacy, we queers have so much to push against. We try to work through all of these obstacles while building community and nourishing people. We take care of each other’s emotional states through active listening, warmth, and in ways that are nonformal and heart-based. It’s great to have technical (conception? legal? adoption? medical?) information but we wanted to deal with more emotionally rooted, challenging issues in a way that respected and took care of our humanity with dignity. Building community is an intentional thing, and our group is rooted in intention. The conversations are created with a bit of structure and the environment is one where people can meet and grow closer to each other.
As a group, those of us who attended the Weekend Intensive shared the info we learned in the course—to revisit it and see what stuck. We shared what we experienced throughout the intensive, and we were so thankful that many of us had the chance to take it with one another. We were thankful for each other’s presence because it wasn’t the easiest space to be in. I don’t think we anticipated all of the worry that came from getting the technical information about creating family, how expensive things could become, the legal system, and birth certificates. Despite the fact that we had so many POC in our session, none of the facilitators could speak to our situation because they weren’t POC. For example, the information we received about pregnancy stages was helpful, but we were facing extremely different scenarios.
We knew that we wanted a similar intensive to the one we had attended, but instead of being held in a clinical environment, ours would be offered in an intimate setting and we would tailor our course content to each participant’s needs and ensure that all questions would be addressed. We spent a great deal of time going around in a circle asking each other what we wanted to know. We made lists. We wanted to have sessions where our specific questions would be answered—no matter how personal those questions may be. We wanted to talk through our fears and where we were at present. We had questions about how to connect with our children, how to connect with extended family, how to raise children, how to move past the parenting we experienced, how to hold on to what we thought worked.
We wanted to know everything.
Let’s talk about our connection to colonization and how we’re populating this land.
How did you tell your parents that you were going to have a kid?
Let’s talk about crip babies and crip parenting.
Where did you get your sperm from?
How do you deal with triggers around survivorship while parenting?
Can you tell us any stories where the known donor system worked?
How do you deal with isolation?
How do you raise your child queerly? What does that mean to you?
Would you be willing to share anything regarding postpartum depression?
What do we take from how we were parented and is it possible to shift?
How do you raise kids in community?
How did you afford sperm? How do you afford raising a family?
How do you deal with white supremacy and navigating white queer communities?
How do you set boundaries with your bio fam?
We wanted to hear about the joys and the celebrations of creating a family with queer parents and we also wanted the guts, the hard moments, and the realities. We wanted mentorship from queer and trans folk of colour. We all had an abundance of questions and we all wanted to listen.
The thing about queer and trans parents of colour is that they are unique and strong, vibrant and loving, resilient, beautiful, bad-ass, and inspirational. They are direct and hilarious. And they are at the forefront of creating new and distinct families rooted in love and care.
We spent weeks developing how to give back to our invited guests because we valued their life experiences. We wanted our connection to them to be heart-based and filled with as much generosity as possible. We decided that we would ask the invitees what they needed because we had plenty to offer: babysitting, legal aid, bicycle repair, someone to wash your clothes and your dishes, someone to hold your baby (yes please!), a drive here or there, someone to paint your bedroom, your bathroom, your kitchen. How could we honour your time and your life experience and display our gratitude for sharing your personal stories with us? I approached my workplace to ask for donations so I could give the invited guests personalized gifts for them and their children. And they said yes!
We decided that an informal brunch at home was the best way to achieve a chill vibe and foster intimacy. The invitees could bring their children if they wanted or their partners or come alone. And they could talk about whatever they wanted. We were aware of the fact that some of our questions were going to be very personal. We wanted to be bold with our questions so that we could take care of ourselves. We also wanted to respect others’ boundaries, so we made sure to assure and reassure them that they didn’t have to answer our questions. They were encouraged to let us know their boundaries weeks ahead of brunch.
The brunches would happen once a month on a Sunday. We’d all bring food, the meal would be cooked up fresh, and we’d all eat together—scrambled eggs and scrambled tofu, pancakes (gluten free), bacon, croissants, toast (gluten free), cheese, grapes, strawberries, oranges, coffee, tea, juice and ice cream (with dairy and dairy free). There was an abundance of food—always too much! And we were all pretty thankful that we were able to share this way. It was a privilege to have this food, this opportunity to meet as a group and to have access to this kind of learning.
We created a list of POC in the community who have children. Some were new parents, some were co-parents, some had teenaged or adult children. All were queer and are people of colour. And it was freaking amazing, thrilling and life altering! One of us who knew the guest personally would call them or meet with them in person and let them know about our group. Later, that person would send them a detailed email we had created as a group.
There are certain things that never change no matter how many brunches we have. I always feel excited and nervous when the guests arrive. I want to hug them and hide from them. I come with questions and I am afraid to ask them because I’m afraid that they are too personal, they reveal too much of my fears and insecurities … so I summon up my bravery each and every time. Some of them are reasonable and some are so ridiculous that I judge myself . . . but ask anyway. There are no wrong questions in our group.
For instance, one of my fears around creating family was bringing a child into the world while living in the second floor of a house. My parents owned their bungalow. I’ve always rented.
What if they fall down the stairs, though? Don’t you think I should live in a bungalow like my parents did?
The response was:
Sure . . . you could always just have kids and trust that no matter what happens to them, you did your best, you’re a great mom, people will judge you the same way and your kids will hurt themselves and be okay and there are stairs everywhere and calm yourself it will be fine just do it. Kids fall down stairs.
The end.
As soon as our guests arrive, we eat and introduce ourselves. We thank them profusely. And then we jump right in!
Things usually start off with our guests sharing how it all began for them: where they were at in their lives when they thought about creating family, their health, whether or not they were in a relationship, how they were living . . .
I will always remember the heartwarming and hilarious story of mood changes and demands that a guest shared. It was basically about their partner being sent out to get some food for them while they were pregnant. Their partner may have taken a little while to get back—they had had a coffee, they had shopped for nutritious food instead of jars of pickles and boxes of waffles, and there was a blizzard outside that prevented them from getting back ASAP. The anger that the waiting partner displayed towards the dear loved one that was simply caring for their family had us all laughing until our bellies ached. Theirs was a beautiful story about emotional ups and downs, practising patience and, well . . . being aware of the fact that creating a baby may make you do things you don’t usually do.
Our guests are so kind, warm, informative, generous, and enthusiastic. “Just do it! Don’t wait! Go for it!” Each beautiful one offers these generous words of encouragement. But what I find reassuring and profound about each guest is that at the end of the chat they a) don’t want to leave, and b) they want to come back—either to mentor or to listen to other parents speak. When I saw this happen over and over again, it confirmed the need for spaces such as the one we created. It showed me how necessary this space was. Each of them announced that if any of us had any other questions or needed help, support or community, they would be that for us in a heartbeat. What a gift! They say things like, “Okay, I don’t want to tell you the bad stuff.” Then we say, “No, no! Tell us everything we need to know, everything, tell us everything!”
Some of our guests shared stories of co-parenting, of wanting bigger families and of not wanting them at all. Some shared stories about troubled pregnancies, connections to their biological families, their relationships with their bodies, and taking hormones. Each of them speaks boldly of their profound love for their children—and that touches our hearts the most. The stories they share are so personal and we honour their sharing, so much so that we’ve promised not to share the details with those outside the group.
As mentioned earlier, we introduce ourselves at the brunches, even though we may already know the guest. We also talk about how this group came to be. One of the most amazing stories I heard was from Syrus Marcus Ware. He told us how he, his partner Nik and a few others had created TransFathers 2B, the first parenting course for trans guys in the country. They, too, had felt that something was missing in the gendered course offerings and wanted to create something that would celebrate trans people’s bodies and journeys to parenting. They began planning in 2005 and the first course happened in 2007. It was sixteen weeks long and approximately ten people enrolled. I was amazed! Our queer community is so powerful, and the lineage of what we create is so strong and impactful. We get things done!
After our guests leave, we chat about what we learned, how we feel and what we need next. (I, personally, want to move in with each guest, follow them around and learn everything I possibly can.) Our collective goal is to have all our learning needs met and we work towards that by checking in and double-checking in. By that I mean we are continually asking each other how things are going, what needs need to be met for the next session, and what did and didn’t work. We do our best to make sure that we’re inviting people who can help us answer all of our questions—no matter what role we play as parents.
At this point, we’ve had a few brunches and some of us are taking the steps needed to create little ones. Some of us always were. I feel grounded and informed. I also know that I have a stronger community that is only growing more and more each day.
My biggest fear is that the group itself will become too big and that the intimacy we are building will be lost. But the more I talk about it with folk and the more I listen, the more I learn that queer people of colour are desiring this kind of mentorship, story sharing and connection building. So, it is my goal to create a larger group for a weekend or a weeklong intensive where folk can have their needs met in a way that leaves them feeling seen, inspired, and grounded.
There are so many cherished moments for each of us. When parents share about how special it felt for them to be invited to speak, we learned that while parenting can bring so much joy to your life, you might also feel alone—even if you’re partnered. You’re not going to be at all of Toronto’s queer events, you may lose a few friends or all of your friends. You may gain a completely different family. I remember discovering that being part of community is about making space for those who want to be there, but for certain reasons can’t. I can always offer to babysit when I notice my friends with babies haven’t been on the scene lately. I also learned that while I’m so focused on the family I want to create, it is terribly important and mandatory for me to keep my eye out for what others need and how I can help. I consider us so lucky because our group has offered us opportunities to create lasting relationships with our invited guests, thus expanding the Toronto QTBIPOC network. We have become more aware and more knowledgeable about the process of creating family, we’ve become closer, and we’ve become more confident and stronger in our beliefs and choices around family planning.
In retrospect, the Queer and Trans Family Planning Intensive Weekend was a great place for me to start. I was able to shed some of the deep-rooted issues that were stopping me from making the moves I needed to complete my dreams. I needed to grieve. I needed to discover—in real time—what I needed to let go of. I don’t even have names for all the things I let go of. I just believe that the letting go happened. I needed to weep away the past and the rejections and the conditional love. I needed to allow room for new questions, new visions and new imaginings—and hey, maybe some new worries and concerns. What are the boundaries I need around a little one and my family? What if I never connect with my family again—what would that look like? Would I be okay? Today, my answer to that is a very firm “Yes.”
I’m so thankful that that Weekend Intensive launched me into the process of developing a different kind of resilience. I know I’m going to need that if I’m to raise a family. I’m thankful for the information I’ve gained about my body. I will always cherish the time that I was surrounded by so many members of my chosen fam as I learned about babies! Discovering that my partner and I were on the same page, having not discussed certain things, brought me so much joy and relief! And just experiencing the weekend while sitting beside them makes me feel strong and connected. That weekend launched me into deepening my community, into education, into dream building and I truly feel confident that I’m moving towards creating the family I’ve always wanted with support and insight. Who knows … I may take the Weekend Intensive again, because the technical information was so valuable.
When I think about our Parenting Group, the fact that our guests want to stay longer or that they find it hard to leave the group is the biggest gift to me. I feel so thankful that they share their stories and that they help us to achieve our own goals and to dream bigger and bigger and bigger.
In terms of community building and information that affects me directly, in terms of intimacy and familiarity, and in terms of being surrounded by chosen fam and people that I love deeply, I’m so grateful for our grace and our spirit to make things work as a team. I’m so thankful for the Parenting Group that we’ve all put so much time and energy into creating. I know that we aren’t the only people creating community like this and asking questions like this. We’re clearly not the first, and I know that we’re not the last. I hope that groups like this happen all over the world.